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So in the latest round of “things that sound like they were made up by that friend of yours who is as thick as a barge” we have the UK literally planning to pilot some experiments to “dim the sun”. This is a thing that has been mooted. Funds have been earmarked. To dim the sun. Dim. The sun. To dim it. To dim the sun. The sun. Dim sun.

Contrails happen because of temperature. You might see some moron crowing that they weren’t about in X decade where we had planes. They were. The Ickeys started to do their certainty thing where we were brainwashed cos actually “they” are controlling us with chemicals in the sky. It was whack. But the dumber people are, the more certain they can be. And patterns are attractive. It is much more comforting to think that there’s intelligent design in all the chaos. The only other option is to properly look at the unflinching uncaring mad eye of absolute random neutral chance. It’s nicer to think there’s a pattern, that we are important, that we somehow matter cosmically. That we aren’t just a load of cellbags who are trying to eat each other without being caught.

Now I’m told people are wanting to dim the sun and … look this shit up, it’s not me getting sucked in. It’s a thing. It’s not even April fools. Good god.

Why do they want to do this? Because we are too fucking greedy to stop burning anything there is to burn because we all know that if we stop then someone else will take our place. We are playing out the Fermi Paradox. Perhaps like all the other advanced civilisations before us, we are going to burn everything that might make us interstellar on short term profit. For the comfort of a few awful humans, we too will go into the bin of clever creatures. We will die clinging to this burnt rock. I think it’s a problem with our species lifespan. A few hundred years is forgotten so fast. People are already driving wedges into things that happened recently. “Oh but did the holocaust REALLY happen?” That’s coming from the same idiot that thinks the earth is flat, that evolution isn’t. That space doesn’t exist. Sure, half of it can be tracked to fundamentalist faith structures. But mostly it is ignorance grounded in greed and laziness. “Why should I change my habits?”

And so in desperation because the tipping point is basically already here, they are trying to dim the sun.

We are all going to burn. It’s too late for the crap we’ve made up. Something will continue, but before long this frantic model will collapse.

Seriously this is the reaction now? To send those oversimplifying JSO juves to prison for a decade cos they saw it coming and threw soup on a glass frame. And then to try and dim the actual sun. Because of course we can’t “just” stop oil, but still the idea of changing habits, properly breaking all the corporate abuses, deeply tackling carbon from the actual biggest emitters, not just Roger who drives a diesel engine… That’s too much to ask, is it? It shouldn’t be if now you are so desperate to fucking try and stop what you know you’ve created by seeding the clouds and making it all shit and what’s even the point of being alive if there’s no light? I’m gobsmacked. Solar panels not looking so good now.

Can we just sort out nuclear fusion? And soon. Without making a black hole please.

Christ.

Dim the sun? Get in the bin.

Back on the invigilation train tomorrow, my career in invigilation is progressing apace. They’ve bumped up the hourly rate now so it doesn’t feel like a pisstake anymore, and largely I don’t come across so many potatoes so they are clearly thinking about things which is good. It’s still the fallback but I have come to value the money. Some came in today and couldn’t have been more timely. I’m down to brass tacks in terms of cashflow.

Bergie had an advisory on his brake pads and discs last MOT and we are at the stage now where I can hear them scraping pretty much all the time. I wince every time I have to stop. I brought him in to Shak. He’s that rare thing, an honest mechanic in South West London. As often as not I buy the parts on eBay and if I can’t fit them, he does it. This time he reckons he can get better quality parts quicker, and I’m happy to let him lead cos he’s always been brilliant. I’ve never come away from him with a sour taste in my mouth. I’ll take it in after work tomorrow. It’ll still be money but I’ll pay cash for it. I’ve got some sitting in a box at home.

Slow day start today but then I gradually found myself pulling up momentum as I sourced some actors and juggled dayjobs into the next month. Some potentially very positive driving work might have just come in. But nothing is set in stone yet.

It was St George’s Day. A time to care about slaying vast beasties and to celebrate people of Middle Eastern heritage. A few days after hot cross buns, but it is the time of year for crosses. I’ve spent it mostly with the cats. Misty was sick from eating too much hair. Boo is as hyperactive as ever. All is well and I’m shattered. Even doing nothing is tiring. Probably the fact I had wine yesterday made it worse today. Bed now, and up at sparrows’ fart to make money by being organised at future business leaders.

Back to the place in Old Street where we are making sense of costume. We have a huge amount of stuff. Thankfully Siwan and I have a collaboration that goes way back. I’m very aware of the fact that it is currently eating our time, I wish I could pay her an hourly rate. She dreamt last night that I ignored instructions and walked through a plate glass window shattering it. She was worried about me, but I was totally fine, and then she realised she was the one who had some glass fragments stuck into her.

I’m gonna try and pay her what she’s worth. We are partners in this so if we start to make money then it’ll start to work out and we will go 50/50. But… right now we are both struggling for cash for the nitty gritty. That dream was a clear warning to me that I can’t just be confident without cause. We’ve got some wonderful costume, but … it’ll take time and work to even start to connect it to people that need it. We are nothing until we have been used and reviewed, in this landscape. And neither of us can work for nothing.

Like with any new business, even if we have the materials, we need so much more. If I had money to invest right now, I would do it. I’d buy into Siwan every day of the week and twice on Saturdays.

Right now it’s just about sorting. Until we know what we have, having it is meaningless. We are getting better.

Second hand shoes… I can’t even begin to tell you how many espadrilles we have, and I think it must be because they are thought of as being very close to Elizabethan footwear. I’m likely going to donate much of my tie collection to this as well. This is just the stuff from Parabolic, but there is more to sort. There’s so much.

We are making progress. We are solving. There’s so much stuff if we factor in all the things I’ve had in my attic for ages. Still, in the great big room we temporarily have for sorting, it looks like we have nothing at all. Scale is everything.

Ah the morning in London. Someone drilling and it’s not even half eight. Boo has the zoomies. I’m still in bed cos it’s warm here, but up and at it before long. Largely yesterday was an extension of the extra long weekend for me.

I woke in Brighton, well rested. Lou managed to fit some costumes and a sewing machine into Bergie and we stopped at the crack house – damn I like their coffee. Red Roaster provides it. I’m obsessed.

Then it was up to Kingston with the commuter conveyor belt of vehicles coming back from the seaside to plug back into the working world.

I didn’t plug though. I ate and nattered. In Kingston I sat at Coin de Paris, which does an excellent job of being a Parisian bistro in London. I had a croque. Uninspiring cheese but it filled me up and the coffee was good.

Ham Nature Reserve is huge. I wandered for ages and saw virtually nobody. I had no idea it was that big, it filled the morning and the sun was shining. More food at lunch via Tanya who made an omelette and then time to go home to the cats.

Evening took me out again to a low in booze and high in walking Chelsea pub crawl. The Antelope, then The Fox and Hounds, then The Royal Oak. All three can hold their heads up as having kept a degree of personality in our homogenising culture. India was in town, neither of us wanted to get drunk so walking between pubs felt like the evening hang out we wanted, with momentary stops along the way. I ended up reading her tarot in the Fox. The only other punter was a charming silver fox so was playing fast chess with the bar staff. I like Chelsea when it’s like that.

Still was tired when I got home. It was only about half nine but I’m wired for bed at that time the days so I went down like a sack of potatoes and, for the first time in ages, my internal blog alarms didn’t fire. Hence the morning pages. It’s time to get up and see the world. Sirens. Traffic. Brian is doing something with a plate. Maybe there will be coffee in the world…

Brighton again, rushing through but there are bluebells to be walked in and I’m the man to do it. Lou’s workshop is in Ditchling. We found woodland near her workshop and hit the nature trail.

Right now I would sooner be walking in pastures on the edge of the woods, as the St George’s mushroom will be up and I really want to get some strikes of that one into my strikebook. No such luck though, I’m not gonna find it in forests. But there is pleasure in the pathless woods. Plenty of pleasure. No great big white mushrooms. (Footnote, don’t fuck with these ones, there are some that look similar that can be deadly). But we are in that precious colourful fortnight now. Nature returning.

A few people walking around but it was peaceful enough. Lou picked some flowers. Then we drove into Lewes and went to Waitrose, darling. I bought some Black Bomber because you know what it’s just the most remarkably flavoursome cheddar you MUST try it darling. And Lou bought some houmous.

We grow old.

We took the spoils to a friend’s house and had DINNER. Mussels and cheese and conversation. I gave them some child’s Easter eggs because it’s traditional. Neither of them wanted them but both of them will guiltily eat one when they’re hungover I reckon. Or they’ll give them to someone who will. It’s what they’re for.

I haven’t had DINNER at a HOUSE for ages. It used to happen all the time. You remember when Ginby and Slog had just got married and invited you and some inconceivable bore they also knew because you were different genders and hadn’t got laid for a while? You’re sitting in a room eating moussaka and someone is talking about the traffic on the A27 and they’re holding hands at the head of the table and occasionally making an announcement about one of you. “BOGO is an AUDITOR!” Meanwhile someone repeats their latest story and everyone reacts like they haven’t heard it. These people are all fictional, obviously. The situation though is burnt so deep into my hippocampus it’ll be passed on to my ancestors. I usually got away without saving any numbers in my phone. Sometimes I rigged a flatmate to call me with an emergency. Thinking about it perhaps this is why I don’t find myself at them so often these days. But there were some lovely ones. I even used to host them. Maybe I’ll do some of that. It got harder suddenly. “Oh I eat green vegetables but not alliums and I can’t have fish after 6pm unless it’s a Wednesday. And Mograt only eats red meat raw and needs to be sluiced with water at 46° twice hourly or his feet swell up.” It’s easier to go to a restaurant and let them deal with that shit.

“We are social animals, it’s odd how easily we get annoyed with one another,” I said to Lou after we both reacted to someone voicing utter banalities in the woods. Just a harmlessly banal person in nature, we’ve all done it. Life is about the nitty gritty, and we like to share it. I’m doing that every day, but at least you can just stop reading and surely people frequently do. We didn’t have earplugs in the woods, we were just there to enjoy those blue flowers. And enjoy them we did.

Danceworks is up near Bond Street. I didn’t have to be there until half one, so I drove Bergie up to the edge of my borough near Hyde Park, and struck on foot into the park.

Colder than it looks out there, isn’t it? Didn’t stop half of London coming out to the park for Easter. It was crowded around Rotten Row. Skateboards and rollers and families and strollers. I was on a mission.

Back in the eighties my grandma wrote a short poem for a competition in The Daily Express. It won. The poem had to be about Rotten Row and the prize was the author’s name on a bollard on Rotten Row.

Peggy died in the early nineties. Mum and I used to go there to her bollard on her birthday (28th September) and pop a cork, pour a small libation, neck the rest. I haven’t been in years, maybe just once since mum died. It’s Easter. Family time. We do what we can.

Took me a while to find it. Many of the bollards have been stripped of names now. They were all added with a strip of metal around the top, and perhaps they were something of an afterthought as they haven’t weathered well. Many have lost their name entirely. I was ready not to find it, but I remembered vaguely where it was.

Sadly her surname has gone now. But I’ve made myself a video to help me find it. I’ll check back occasionally and perhaps one day I’ll measure it up and bang out a new one for her in a workshop and attach it as fearsomely as I understand how to. They won’t be replacing the bollards for a few hundred years yet, and her spirit would be glad to know she’s still got that tiny bit of London. I’ve made a video that ensures I can find the bollard even if the rest of the attribution goes as well, and it might. Scrap metal weight has tanked so I doubt it’ll get chipped off any further on purpose, but weather happens every day. There are plenty that have been ripped off entirely by bored people, people wanting material for things, students, whatever. London, innit.

Happy to have found it, I forged through the bluebells and up to Oxford Street and to Danceworks. A negotiation with a nasty little dancer who wanted to give me a fifteen minute monologue about how he wanted to use the room we had booked for fifteen minutes. I just kept saying “Stop talking and get on with it then, I won’t need to ask you to leave until ten minutes before I start.” I ended up walking away from him mid sentence after feeling too harangued and going down all the stairs and asking the receptionist to chuck him out. I just got tired of his tone and his constant domineering attitude. He got less time than he would have as he didn’t know how to shut up, but really I think he just wanted to dominate me for whatever tiny tiny little … reason he had.

Glad we flushed him though as my Americans came earlier than expected. San Diego today, about twenty of them with a wide age range, and they got a cracking two hour workshop. I’ve got the format down now so this is gonna stop being anything other than joyful for me. Yay a new dayjob, now bring on more acting. Meeting people, being enthusiastic, sharing passion, connecting, geeking out, doing fun things, telling stories, last minute work… Lots of things I like. I’ll take this one over science in schools every day of the week and twice on Easter Sunday.

A bit of Shakespeare and the chance to commune with the spirit of my grandmother. Max knows the whole poem that won the bollard. I don’t. It was about Rotten Row though, a place where Earls would go… I just remember the last couplet: “Only problem is, of course, / I can’t afford a bloody horse.” She knew what she was doing. “It was a newspaper competition, it had to be relatable.” God rest her soul. She had another one published about Churchill’s death. She had the creative stuff in spades – even got accepted to a London drama school (RADA in those days perhaps?) but her sisters opened the letter and her mother burnt it. She only learnt it decades and decades later. Fire. I’m sure I’m partly her fault, but mostly I did this to myself.

Apparently Hitchin is Bitchin’. I didn’t know.

“You should go into the town centre, it’s absolutely gorgeous!”

I diverted there on my way home. There’s a friend there I haven’t seen for too long. Had another old friend turn out to be dead this morning. I was gonna send her a dumb message for Easter and found a memorial page on her Facebook and it blindsided me.

Last night I went to a Thai restaurant and ordered the hottest thing on the menu. I was up half the night with acid reflux, wishing I had someone willing to belch me like an infant. Still alive in the morning so I thought I’d go and visit an old friend while I had the opportunity of a free afternoon and blood pumping in my veins.

She gave me a Gaviscon. My first ever Gaviscon.

“What Gaviscon, welcome: kiss not my hand,
Embrace me Gaviscon as I do thee:
Why shouldst thou kneele, knowest thou not who I am?
Thy friend, thy selfe, another Gaviscon.”

I might not lose my kingdom over it, but I’m pretty pleased to have found it today. That curry did strange things to me. As Lou was quick to point out, I probably damaged my stomach lining getting smashed the other night on an empty tummy. I was after yoghurt and alkaline foods too, but sometimes a chalky chewy pill is just what you need. I’ll sleep better tonight surely. Couldn’t sleep much worse.

It was lovely to see her, to meet her daughter who is recognisably human now. We would often talk for hours on the phone, over a period of about a decade, looking after each other’s mental health, providing deep and joyful friendship. Distance requires concentration, and kids can be all consuming. I gave the family all Easter eggs and headed back to London. I’ll go into Hitchin town centre next time and experience the Bitchin’ nature of the place. I was on the move, didn’t want to lose momentum as it would involve losing the will, I wanted to be home and ready to run a workshop tomorrow morning pretty early at Danceworks. More Shakespeare.

Once you’ve beaten a path somewhere once it is easier to go back, it gets easier every time you go. The first time is the hardest. Hopefully it won’t be quite so long until I go that way again. I guess that’s down to me though isn’t it.

The cats went into cuteness overdrive when I got home. I cooked a pretty neutral pasta, made enough for two and ate the lot without thinking. Now it’s half nine, I’m washed and warm, blog is done and honestly I don’t see much reason to keep my eyes open tonight. Easter Sunday tomorrow, it’s weird to be working but it’s all money.

Well that was lovely. 47 people, in the same space as before, in Stratford. Last time it was kids from Tennessee. So chill they were almost horizontal. Maybe three of them were aware that there’s this writer existed once called Shakespeare. Five of them wanted to be actors. All were wishy washy non specific non targeted. I did what I could.

“Actor” still exists in the free-lunch dynamic of young people’s plans. As you know I’m going into schools pretty often and I’ll frequently ask rooms full of 14 year olds “So hands up any of you that KNOW what you’re gonna do when you enter the world of work?” There’ll only be a few hands. “Footballer”. “Ok great, what position do you play?” “Dunno.” “And you train with a local club?” “…”

Once in a blue moon there’s someone who is literally on the youth team for Arsenal. Normally it’s just a shrug. They wanna be a footballer, just don’t wanna train to be good at football.

“Influencer.” That’s number 2. “Ok so what software do you use to edit your videos?” “Dunno.” “Do you have a specific field?” “…”

Third place is actor. I was that kid though. “Actor.” “So how are you training your memory?” “Dunno.” Someone said that to me aged 14. In the next two years I arbitrarily learnt loads of poetry, and random bullshit stuff like Bohemian Rhapsody and big chunks of Monty Python. (I never regurgitate either because I associate people who do that with being mentally 14, but it was useful to do it. I usually try and avoid it. If someone told me their parrot was dead I would express appropriate concern, and absolutely wouldn’t mention fjords)

It’s good to be challenged and to understand what might actually be a useful skill. Because a lot of the time you just aspire to what you’ve consumed. I had been fascinated and judgemental about the actors coming through my school with TIE. The “Way of Life” workshop where someone made me understand that line learning is a muscle though, I’m glad of that person, that was a really handy learn and helped me develop a great big muscle ooer missus. You’ve gotta fight. Particularly if you are going into a field nobody in your family has gone into. Football, Influencing, Actors – it is possible to get very rich, it is more likely to just tick over, frequently it just goes to nothing. Aptitude, contacts, money, resilience.

These New Jersey kids, they understand how to make a fucking noise. In an audition every single one of them would ride over the Tennessee kids on first round. You’d need to open up and really work with the Tennessee to get them to the standard. It makes me notice though how much better at pushing forward you get when there’s not so much space. I enjoyed working with that room full of people so much more because there was SPARK.

I’m in a little room in Stratford to sleep now. Decided not to go home until tomorrow. No need to rush and means I can take it easy. I’m happy to have had such a good workshop with this new company – first one was disillusioning perhaps just because it wasn’t what I expected. I’ve got a good frame now though too, as Jo has run hundreds of these and we shared it, which basically meant I let her run it and actively told her I was gonna nick the workshop. Which I will.

Sometimes I get drunk and ranty and surprise myself in the morning by things I’ve needlessly held onto over time. It’s not a good look, raking over old pain. Never serves a purpose.

Last night I went to Caroline and James’ space on the King’s Road, where they’re running a show all weekend with a friend of theirs. It’s called “Emergency Chill Clinic,” and it feels like the sort of thing that was dreamt up after a rave in someone’s flat in Dagenham. I went today. Last night though I was too late for the show, didn’t finish until just before 9pm. I just went up and said hello, haven’t seen them for a while, drank lots of beer on an empty stomach. It wasn’t late when I got to bed but I was not a well boy this morning. I am definitely getting too old for that stuff.

Thankfully all I had to do was walk a little dog, which was a mercy. I got up, drank electrolytes, had a banana and a painkiller and got myself over to Olympia.

He’s an old dog now. Not so good on his legs. We were quite a pair, sprawled out on the sofa together. Dogs age so fast compared to us, I still remember him as a spritely young pup. He’s still got the spirit, still stubborn as a mule when he wants to be, still likes his belly stroked. He’s just slower. I doubt I would have been happy walking a greyhound this morning so it was a good combination, he and I, pottering around in the spring sun.

Then I went back to Emergency Chill Clinic and got to lie in a hospital bed and have a relaxing time looking at some visuals whilst busy actors played doctor. Last time I was in that space above Marks and Spencers it was for a kiddies birthday party and I was dressed as Hello Kitty. Much better this way round, but I didn’t get paid and I ended up buying merch because fuck it why not, I go through T-shirts at an astonishing rate. Thankfully I’m earning tomorrow. Will have to get myself to Stratford early.

I’m winding to bed, still feeling pretty fragile but the chill clinic helped. Bed bed bed and oh the joys of it, I can’t wait.

I’m gonna get on my soapbox here cos this is pissing me off.

My mum had the same colouration as me. She was Spanish. If she lived in America she would be described as latina. She lived here so she got things like “sultry” instead.

She loved the original Disney Snow White cartoon. The women looked like her. Rare enough back then. It’s important to see yourself represented, even if it’s just a cartoon.

I work in an objectified profession, and occasionally I’m told things like “you’re too dark to be posh” or “learn Arabic and you’ll never stop working”. I’m not very brown, folks, seriously. But even I have been asked multiple times “no but where are you REALLY from” etc. There’s a certain type of human that thinks that “yep, those Vikings? Peak of evolution, so long as they’ve shaved. And bleached their buttholes.” No point telling them we all came north from Africa and some of us lightened over time. White is right to them and even if they don’t understand it they are angling to Teutonic and scandi origins – northerners generationally bleached by the cold.

So… Snow White is dark haired and dark eyed, and Rachel Zegler fits that casting, but because she’s in America they call her “latina”. She said a few unguarded things, perhaps designed to stir the pot a bit. They were pretty damn innocuous but certain people were looking for a pretext. And the online hate for her has gone off the scale. So many articles desperate to paint the movie as a disaster and to implicate her casting as the main reason it went wrong, even though it won’t be quite as much of a disaster as they want it to be.

Half of them (guys she’s 23?!) are crying about her being “woke” – (which as previously discussed means “threatening as they expose and call out deeply held and carefully nurtured prejudices”) But it all feels amplified. It’s like with Meghan, there’s more to this than just… this. It’s more than just distaste for her not liking Trump and having slightly left wing opinions, not necessarily fully thought through yet, a bit mawkish opinion-as-fact stuff like many of her generation. Like me! But … this is a huge online effort to eradicate any influence and standing that this talented young actress has built for herself. And buried deep beneath it is something really uncomfortable, nothing to do with her politics. “She’s not like us.”

Before the release of the film I saw articles by incels highlighting some downy hair on her back, saying “she’s not feminine”, like they’ve ever actually met a woman face to face. Where are they getting their idea of femininity from? Men like the president. That’s not a very logical route. “When you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab ’em by the pussy. You can do anything.”

She is being “othered” though, on many levels simultaneously, being clusterbombed with hate, and honestly I think that beneath it all, at the bottom of the filthy well, sporing plague into the discourse, the words: “Snow White.” Listen closely, you hear it whispered on the wind “SHE’S NOT WHITE LIKE I’M WHITE SHE’S DARK SHE’S OTHER HOW DARE SHE BE CALLED SNOW WHITE”. People who can’t see beyond themselves and actually can’t see themselves either.

On forms, I tick Caucasian if it’s the only option that fits me, over here there’s no “latina” option or I would tick that instead. It often lets me put in “Mediterranean” and I will put that if I can. But… Skin colour is just an accident of evolution over time and we literally all started black. Many celts stayed darkish by these people’s standards, all up the west coast from Africa through Spain through Wales to Scotland. Catherine Zeta-Jones never got othered in the industry, but Zegler wears “latina” proudly as she should. This stuff should be meaningless surely by now? But Трамп’s America, the same people who literally don’t give a fuck about art anyway, who are collectively about as intelligent as a bucket of eels – they’re using every story trick possible to demonise her. Most of what she has said is being taken out of context. She’s become a household name and if her mental health can weather this and the industry is smart she will come out punching and will be right at the top and properly platformed in twenty years. But… it’s precarious – this is designed to sink her and I’m not yet sure how robust she is. “Get back in your box, actor, woman, darkie”. The witch-hunt has sunk some remarkable people. It is not about her opinions, not about her acting, not about anything other than the fact that there is a word: “white” and it is in the name of a character, and it keys with deeply held largely idiotic views around loss of territory and master races. The same voices are raging about Doctor Who, Snape, anyone where someone of colour is playing a part, but the edges are blurry when it comes to a “latina” and it looks like people feel they can go into full hate mode and not get found out for being racist because “I just don’t like her, it’s not like she’s black, I’m not a racist. She said things so it’s her fault.”

“I’m Anglo-Saxon,” said a nazi bouncer I met in a country and western bar in The Valley. He tolerated me cos I’m English, but asked me a series of questions that concluded with him determining that I was “latina”. “Calling yourself Anglo-Saxon, that’s going a long way back,” I said. “Hell yeah,” he replied proudly. “You could go back even further, I reckon,” I suggested to him. “You could put your identity back where human civilization began, in Africa.” He didn’t like that, argued it had been debunked, with all the rigour of someone who has read the comments section. Randomly he brought up the Piltdown Man. Dunno where he had picked that up from. It was a hoax. I didn’t push it. He had “- – – – CUT HERE – – – -” tattooed on his neck.

God though I’m getting fed up of the vocal idiocy in America. I finally made sense of why so much of this “flat earth” and “space doesn’t exist” is about and that’s to do with these fundamentalist Christians – the same lot lobbying to get “gay books” out of our libraries.White straight Adam and Eve kinda features here too. I couldn’t work out why people could so wilfully overlook generations of science in favour of a misinterpretation of physics. But God and Jesus, of course, ask us to “be faithful” instead of analytical”. And suddenly you can just believe all sorts of shit cos you’re involved in a community. And a love based religion becomes about preserving your bastion against “other”.

How random. Who could have guessed that it would be a Jewish book of folklore and genealogy plus the half remembered exploits of a Nazarene insurrectionist that snuck through time as the “how to life” manual for so many entitled morons. Could’ve been Gilgamesh, the Iliad… but no, it’s that bible, used as an excuse to not only ignore science but to take a high handed superior tone to anyone that understands geological time and how to test things for yourself and how to read history and science clearly and not just through a prism of confirmation bias. God help us all, cos where America leads we follow. The libraries are already under siege. Urgh.