The Gutter Above.

I had been up on the roof of the squat for about five minutes when Jambo came lurching up the fire escape and, greeting me with a grunt, sat down. He rolled a joint while I stared down at the people filing out into the street. He didn’t much feel like talking and neither did I. The comedown was upon us and our thoughts didn’t seem to be anything worth mentioning.

The bass from the party rumbling below comforted me somehow: I guessed the party would probably continue for another day or so yet and I had no intention of leaving. I had seen something when I was under. That trip told me things that I knew I could never forget…

And now all I could think about was the office I was supposed to be in today, the text I had sent to get out of it and how little I cared about whether or not I got fired as a result.

As I looked down, I thought about the fuckers I would usually be suffering at this time of day… god how I hated them. I could see them all… shuffling out of Waterloo station in their suits; Chained to their briefcases and silently making their daily pilgrimage to their respective chapels of greed. I could see them all, I hated them all because … shit they were me– I had become just another drone: One of the herd of idiots so consumed with the monotony of this bullshit world that conformity was now just a given.

Every fucking day I joined their little parade of misery. Walk, stop, walk, stop. Silently apologise to someone who bumps into you, walk…walk… walk.

Nothing makes me more miserable than that morning commute. Not because I’m on my way to work, not because the crowd cuts the pace to a deathly crawl, not even because of the unavoidable claustrophobia, No. It’s more than that. There is some hideous truth deep down in all of this… Just beyond the capabilities of my senses, but I can feel it, deep down in the very core of me.

The deafening silence of a thousand people saying nothing; the terrifying prospect of actual human contact that sends us walking out into the road rather than accidentally brushing past a homeless person; the weirdly sickening stench of a thousand freshly showered people, so desperate to please the gods of pay that they cover themselves in chemicals, balms and lotions; the miserable sight of a thousand people doing their best to ignore everyone them for fear their solitude maybe shattered with a word. The sour, bitter taste of last night’s drugs in my mouth… The drugs I took to forget the previous day’s encounters with the very same horror. The drugs I always wish I was doing at that very moment now, instead of dealing with these fuckers.

That commute, that moving prison of slaves to a power we’ll never understand always killed me inside. Every day, a little part of me died.

So consumed are we by our need for money that we lost our humanity a long time ago. And its no one’s fault but the Designers of it all: The people with all the money that we want; the people with the power that we don’t see.

Because we can’t see them can we? We look at our world with all its flaws and try to find someone to blame but they simply aren’t there.

So we look to the educators of the masses: the media, the politicians, starving for answers… ravenous for solutions. What do they tell us? Who can we blame for this mess if not you? And they’ll fucking tell you. Of course they will.

Blame the immigrants for stealing your jobs while you scan your own groceries at the supermarket.

Blame the Muslims for committing terrorist atrocities even as white supremacists kill your politicians.

Blame the poor people on the other side of town for relying on benefits, while giving your money to companies that pay zero tax.

Just go on with your lives… work hard, produce, contribute hate and save, safe that you have your whipping boys, your scapegoats to point your fingers at…

I should be with you right now of course; In that thronging mass, but not today. Today is not a day for that world. I’m not there. Not in your city.

This… This right now, siting above an illegal rave in central London… the fact that this exists is the only reason I can handle joining you pigs when I have to. Because I know that when the gutter calls, I can come. Not just because I have a boss who believes any half-baked lie I tell him (food poisoning today, again), not because I have no qualms about lying to him in the first place… Just because I never bought into it like you did.

Because, Fuck your world. Fuck your rules. And most importantly Fuck You for believing the parents, teachers and guidance counsellors who planned your life for you without once asking you: “Does this sound like it makes sense?”

Because does it? Really?

We spend a third of our day at work, a third of it sleeping, anything up to a sixth of it commuting… leaving… one sixth for living. 4 hours. And what do you do when you’re ‘living’ exactly? Drinking yourself calm? Running or working out to unwind after that hard day at the office?

Maybe you prefer to play video games: Escape reality and pretend you live in a world that’s somehow less awful than this one. Well, I don’t blame you… but I still hate you.

I hate you because you don’t even try to find out what’s wrong with all this. So you’ll never change. In fact, quite the opposite, if change ever seemed like a possibility you’d fight it, because you are the cunts who worked out the rules of this sick and twisted game and played them to your advantage, while holding a cold middle finger up to all the ones who have to suffer as a result.

Change would mean you might not get that holiday in the Bahamas, that new BMW or that new pair of tits for your awful wife.

And so… Change will never happen. Because when you have people who have stuff, they will fight to the death to keep it.

That is why I’m not with you today. Because some days I can forget this truth and pretend I’m like you, but today is not that day. Today is a day to remain with the others, in the gutter. The other conscientious objectors who saw that truth and said , simply, “go fuck yourselves”

The gutter is clean compared to that savage swarming pit of greed and dehumanised production.

The gutter is more honest than your world will ever be.

Like what you read? Give Rinse and Repeat a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.