on the type of criminologist i might always have been, anyway …*

I have been reading an Oxford book – the Oxford book on the subject, I think! – about criminology.  It’s around 1000 pages long.  My Kindle tells me I have read 15 percent so far.

It’s a totally grand read.  In particular, I have enjoyed the chapters which give an overview of the differing approaches in the field; on the psychology applicable to and used within criminology; and on the version of the practice that is called cultural criminology.

Cultural criminology is what I have been writing since 2006 at least.  Inasmuch as it is involved with the meaning of discrete cultural “events”, and even where crime has not been the focus of my thoughts, the discourse I have used most definitely has been that of the aforementioned approach.

I suddenly feel at home and at one with the world in this persistent, resilient and robust search for meaning in everything: and in truth, where the question “why” trips easily from our lips I always shall be.

Not for me the positivist who chooses to measure the easily measured, and who only values the clearly repeatable.

Let us not define our radii of activities by what first comes to hand but, rather, by what engages with the full complexity of modern thought and curiosity.

And if we are prepared to spend billions on constructing consumerism, let us spend a few hours at least deconstructing it.

* As a footnote to this gently reflective post, I now understand more clearly the games the natural allies of positivists have played with me for the past two years or so, or maybe much much longer.

It does become so very manifest.

How cruel you have been to me and my emotions.  And one person in particular I shall never be capable of forgiving.  They acted as agent provocateur in a most unseemly and repellent manner.  But then I guess their mistresses and masters are just as repellent and unseemly.  Of the people we work for, so we become?  Or does your behaviour emerge entirely from within? 

Tell me, dear positivist (you know who I mean when I direct these words at you), what would you conclude if I was able to push you far enough on this one?  What would your instincts lead you to obfuscate this time?

No more, OK?  


No more.

And thus battles commence … but this time I realise …

… why.

when mad is good not bad

The human brain is a marvellous instrument of joy and expressiveness.  Through it we laugh, learn, share, make, fuck, love, like and thrive.

But sometimes things go askew.  And sometimes they go askew by themselves, and sometimes they get pushed in the direction of askew.

And when those who get pushed realise not only what’s happening but also who’s happening, sometimes more than askew is committed: sometimes grand injustice, too.

In order that this must not happen to all the intelligent people who share this rock, and when I say intelligent people I mean everyone I’ve ever met, we must surely do everything in our power to communicate and understand and like and love each other more fully.

As Michael Collins, a wise person from Ireland, once famously said: “Let us be judged for what we attempted rather than for what we achieved.”

And that force of individual and collective will is surely something we all should emulate if we are to ensure realities are shared not denied; truths are exchanged not hidden; lives can thrive not survive; people can become the intelligences they were born to become and not the sadnesses of spirit and broken existences we so often see.

“Nothing about us without us,” they do say.

Another clarion call: “We will remember.”

And finally, I would myself humbly suggest: “When mad wants good more than bad allows, question your understanding of mad.”

Whatever my story really is, whatever the injustice or inexactitude carried out against a dear acquaintance and – if in my case – my own person too, the real takeaway needs to be one of future solidarity in community and society and culture and politics and art and education and business.

Let us not waste the life of a single individual.

Measure us by our ambition.

And strive to thrive.


time for a green tea, i think (and some other thoughts on friendship)

Meeting at midday cancelled at last moment.


Does tend to happen rather a lot to me, you know.

No matter.

Was probably going to be fairly inconsequential, though definitely agreeable: the person in question is a very interesting, difficult to get a handle on, sort of man.  My sort of person, I guess.

Will do some paperwork first instead, then maybe go off to Liverpool for the day.  Planning my long-weekend retreat will be on the cards too.  Plus going to visit a dear friend when I come back, so that all sounds good.

I’ve got into the habit of calling members of my family who I want to be with my friends, rather than calling them family.  I think this is right, you know.  Just because you are family doesn’t make you my friend.  And just because you are just my friend doesn’t mean you’re not a part of my family.


Time for a green tea, I think.


Time for a green tea …