Friday, September 24, 2010


Another week, another list of things that have made me smile. I’ve been staying with friends all week while I wait for the new flat to be ready for me to move in. I’ll be back in Brockley, where I started making comics, so that’ll be a good bit of nostalgia.

In the meantime, I’ve been living in different places with different friends and their pets; James and Simon with Velcro the Basset Hound, Paul and JaxXon the Labrador, Chris and his friend’s cats and on Ilmar’s houseboat on a pier in Chelsea where there’s some wonderful canines. Last night, I stayed with Craig and his flatmate’s Old English Sheepdog, Sam.

So, I’ve been seeing lots of London, lots of friends and lots of dogs. If I’d been doing this for an hour at a time for cash and sleeping with these friends rather than watching films and chatting, I could have called this a research trip for The Lengths.

Add to that, the mention the comic got in Time Out, Chris who helped with picking out clothes for the characters in The Lengths took a photo of it when I bumped into him on Old Compton Street (how fitting!):

HTTP://ACIDARMOR.TUMBLR.COM/POST/1167503080

I’m now down to the last couple of pages to draw and scan, then the comic’s off to the printer! There’s only 9 days left on the totaliser on the fundraising page and I’m thrilled to say we’re really close to the total, so I’m just supremely proud and flattered to have received all this support.

HTTP://WWW.INDIEGOGO.COM/THE-LENGTHS

So, this week, I’ve got to finish the comic, move flat, hold down three jobs, get ready for my MA to restart in a couple of weeks and then next week I, um, start an astrophysics course, too.

Simple, eh?

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Militant Atheism isn't why I oppose the Pope...

It's more a sense of agnosticism that's anchored very deeply within a set of beliefs based upon a Christian philosophical framework.

I don't often talk in too much detail about faith, apart from to lambast it, but perhaps rather than join a chorus of voices repeating a mantra of finding fault with the way of life that others adhere to, it's better to assert a positive standpoint and state clearly what I personally believe in and why that sets me in opposition to some faith groups.

It's a common point of faith among most faiths that inflated pride is a sin, and although I know I'm often someone who falls into that bragging pit of temptation and ego, I think there's a line between having an inflated sense of your own importance, which is bad enough and assuming that we are in any way capable of knowing or understanding the infinite, universal mind of that thing that religions describe as God.

As a person with a great interest in science, it's hard not to be drawn into a sense of profound awe and wonder at the profound majesty and complexity of the machine of the universe. The way that energy and matter interact to create a reality that confounds our capacity to comprehend it is something as humbling as it is compelling. To try to understand the way that this grand engine works is not to detract in any matter whatsoever from the sense of deep respect for the fact that it exists, let alone that we can only just scratch the questions of what where when and how, but are yet far from understanding any notion of why it exists, and we within it, at all.

To be drawn to understand the microscopic or the macroscopic sciences, to witness the rules that bind everything from gravity to immunology to how a bicycle's brakes work, to me, does not diminish in any manner, a sense that there's a sense of connectedness and poetry to the universe that dwarfs human endeavour and it doesn't take much to understand that the teaching tool that says if the Earth's a marble and the moon's a peppercorn, then the Sun's as wide as I am tall to start to function as a parable for how my own struggles and achievements are nothing compared to the scale of the cosmos.

Science does not seek to destroy the sense of wonder that Faith encourages, but to inspire it in new ways.

That's not to say that Science and Faith occupy the same intellectual role. I think that's a logical error that Stephen Hawking was making when he said there was no room for God in his cosmology. Perhaps that's true for him personally, but I think it needs to be unpacked before it can be taken alone as a statement. I think it's very fair to say that few people of religious conviction remain unswayed by the evidence that empirical science puts forward in order to demonstrate how the universe exists, and to describe what happened in her earliest moments. It falls apart when you add in some omnipotent extradimensional entity, because you can say, "Yeah, ok, so that's how He did it, but He made it that way." and we're none the wiser.

And it's that none the wiser that I want to think about for a little while.

It's a fundamental tenet of Christianity that you must not worship false idols. Partly, to me, it seems that that's rooted in a desire to stop you from joining other ethnic or faith groups at a time when the faith would have been a very real tribal set of values, but I have a slightly different take on it.

We should not attempt to represent God in any manner, because it's inexcusably arrogant for us to in any way whatsoever assume that we, as insignificant pinpricks in the infinite tapestry of the universe, to have any idea what the image on that tapestry might be, or what the hand or hands that wove it might look like - if they exist in any way we can understand, or if this is even a meaningful metaphor or if there are hands there. We cannot know. We simply don't have the right perspective to ever know, nor should we pretend to know.

Pride is first among the deadly sins for a reason; it implies that you have lost a sense of your own insignificance in the face of the infinite almighty and omnipotent divine. This is something I believe in, and that is why I believe that the idea of religions that place intermediaries between individuals and that nebulous sense of wonder that we sense might be some resonant connection between us and something much greater is a woefully arrogant sin of pride, even by their own rules.

I was brought up in a family where my parents wouldn't have me Christened, reasoning the future of my soul was my own business. They taught me about Taoism, Buddhism, Christianity, Judaism and any other Faith they could find out about; but they also let me read stories and I think my standpoint on faith comes very much from this upbringing, as much as the upbringing of a Catholic leads them down their own path.

I do not believe that religion is inherently dangerous, not by any measure. I am an artist, I tell stories, make pictures and write poetry. I would be a hypocrite to say I did not believe that symbols have a power beyond their physical forms to inspire, transform or provide meaning in troubled times. I believe that the Bible contains some incredibly powerful stories with profound and lasting value as lessons for how we can and should live, but those lessons are the same lessons we learn of human kindness and frailty that we are shown in Greek legend, Fairy Tales, Shakespeare or Eastenders.

To me, it doesn't matter where you learn your morals from, so long as your morals are sound, so to proclaim that one Faith is right while another is wrong is to say that Shakespeare teaches us about human existence in a way that Dot Cotton does not, or that Alan Moore does not. It's a meaningless distinction, and dangerous if it leads us into conflict, when we could instead celebrate that Shakespeare still teaches us that vaulted ambition leads us into dangerous turmoil, that Eastenders teaches us that the truth will always come out and Alan Moore tells us that the world around us is interwoven with symbolic power we should be mindful of.

Humility, honesty and mindfulness are all wonderful virtues, and I think we're losing all of those if we find ourselves saying that there's only one true path to gaining those, or that there are some arbitrary exclusions from virtue. If we say that anyone is inferior by virtue of being female or male, gay or otherwise, disabled or not, then we're playing into a notion that there's a hierarchy of humanity that's based on what you are, rather than what you do, and if that prejudiced is couched in a rationale of holiness or ritual cleanliness, then we're back into the awful muddle I described before about the arrogance of assuming that it's possible to understand the mind of God.

It's not. There is no intermediary between anyone and the infinite divine, because it is around and within everything, because it is everything. Its universal nature makes it, perhaps oddly, impossible to detect and certainly impossible for us to define. If God exists, God exists everywhere and everywhen and beyond that, and the universal nature of God therefore means there's no meaningful difference whether God exists or does not.

To say that God is irrelevant is not to say that the teachings of Faith or the power of art are meaningless. If God is like Shrodinger's Cat within a universal box we can't ever open, there and not there at once, then what matters instead is what we can know and what we can deal with, and that means we must accept responsibility for our own actions. With a God who may or may not exist, we cannot abdicate responsibility for good fortune or ill to some mystical force, but instead we must accept that what happens happens and that what we do has consequences that we may or may not witness directly.

I don't believe it's possible to live a life free from causing harm or from being harmed, but I think that if we remove a pressure to make an external and anthropomorphic entity responsible for a moral framework for what happens, then we can at least try to take personal pride in our own actions and feel remorse for when we inflict harm on others.

All I can hope to do is to attempt to tread lightly on this beautiful, majestic and complex universe, whether or not we see a divine hand in its poetry, and that's enough for me. If that means refuting anyone's right to stand between me and that Romantic sense of wonder, then I will defend my beliefs.

I am not a militant atheist, nor a militant secularist. I simply believe it's not for us to pretend it's for us to know anything about God at all. Just be the best person you can be, using whichever story you need to remind yourself of how best to do that.

That's my standpoint, what's yours?

Monday, September 13, 2010

Glib platitudes get us nowhere.

Jonathan and I broke up yesterday. Three wonderful years, but the ritardando diminuendo in the soundtrack of our romance reached its final cadence as we sat at the breakfast table in the morning light after a night of hugging opposite sides of the bed and I finally said, "Should I speak first?"

The tensions and truths tumbled from our troubled hearts onto the table and onto the carpet we'd picked out together and fell into the places where even the new Dyson couldn't erase their shadows. We've been so good for one another and we've helped each other grow so much, but we've grown apart and the differences between us and our needs and desires have yawned like time-lapse trees just as quickly as we put down roots of love into our hearts. We grew apart.

What's said can't be taken back, there's no chance we could try again, change, repair the mistakes we've made along the way or to step backwards to admit the things we should have admitted to one another much, much sooner.

I'm wounded, of course, who wouldn't be after an amazing and wonderful relationship has ended not with a storm of fury but with solemn, quiet acceptance that we love each other, but that we can't pretend that I can be what he wants or that he can be what I want any more. Like a marathon runner who walks across the finish line, it's not the grand finale you'd imagine, just a pained, tired sigh and the knowledge that there's a lot more pain to come.

I don't know where I'm going to live. I don't know if I can afford anywhere I'd like and I don't know if my erratic earnings over the last few years will make it impossible to prove that I earn as much as I do now and that I can actually pay the rent I'll be needing to pay. I've just left a job that was breaching every rule I gave my soul but now I'm facing the challenge of paying a deposit, losing my home, my rabbits, my neighbourhood and possibly my dignity as well as my savings and my man.

This is interesting stuff, I'm sure.

There's been tears; I'm sure there are many more to fall. There've been flashes of guilt and recrimination, blame and esprit d'escalier thoughts stretching back to conversations we've had or failed to have across the years, but a world of "if only..." isn't this world; those strands spun off into the ether as ghosts, whispers, polaroids of other lives that haunt and discolour and darken as whatever process made them seem real burns them from the inside.

No, this world doesn't have those light flares, those soft glows, that sad sepia. Instead, it's just got the bitter burn of acknowledgement that no matter how much we have loved and still love one another, it's not working and it can't work; that it's time to move on from those little portals into moments of bliss or the moments where the needles became knives that slowly cut the ties that bound our hearts as one.

He'll be fine; the flat's still here, the rabbits are here and so are his many friends.

I'll be fine; I'm looking at flats, I've got a little money and a lot of imagination and there's plenty of time yet for me to make some other fucking incredible domino cascade of mistakes with my life, interspersed, as I always manage, with the jigsaw puzzle pieces on the streets of the city that show the true picture of my life. Disjointed, interrupted, fragmented, but so wonderfully connected by chaos and beauty and limitless truth.

It's sad, of course; it's a fucking disaster in a lot of ways, but that's fine. That's actually fine. There's so much hope and joy and love and friendship and incidental wonder to be tripped up on or tripped out on that I know things will be just fine.

I'm sad, but I'm so fucking far from broken that it's almost hilarious.

Maybe we should give Brockley another go, what do you think, Coterie? I think it might be fun.

Love you all, now I've got to do some drawing for The Lengths. I've only got a couple of weeks to finish it in, and if I'm sofa surfing at the same time, that's going to be a bit of a giggle, eh?

Go and do something brilliant.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Burn.

If a book burning isn't your way of protesting against global injustice, I suggest:

  • Burn your bra (you might have to buy one first; make sure it fits, most don't)
  • Burn your toast (but not with one of those "hilarious" toast stamps, burn that instead)
  • Burn your tongue on a Pop Tart (mmm, pop tart)
  • Burn your nose with poppers (I mean, fill your room with their delightful scent, don't inhale!)
  • Burn your bridges (...or maybe your copies of Bridget Jones' Diary?)
  • Burn your nasal hair (for the truly penitent among you)
...but burning symbols of faith this close to Eid is a bit like burning Santa on Boxing Day. Actually, that'd be fucking hilarious, but perhaps not the done thing.

Maybe burn your prejudices and stop caring about what it says in someone's religious text, whether it's the Bible, Qu'ran or the Girl Guide's Handbook. Instead judge people by what they do now as individuals rather than by some bizarre hypothetical set of rules in a creed written centuries ago, lest other people let your actions define you.

Be good, people, burn evil out of your lives by not looking for it in every hint of difference when the chances are you might just be humbled by how good, kind and disappointingly normal people are everywhere.

Then, take a torch to the authority that taught you to be so jingoistic and afraid of difference, and a brand to the society that stigmatises poverty and maybe we should all think about sorting our own shit out individually, then as households, then as families, then as neighbourhoods, then as communities, towns, cities, regions and countries before we start moralizing about how people live elsewhere.

Right, you languid, docile fuckers, get off your arses and be nice to some people today and see what we burn to make the world a better place. Rather than cutting benefits to the naughty selfish poor for being so cheeky as to have been born into poor families, maybe let's start to cut off the chains that hold people into those cycles of disenfranchisement and disconnection.

Fuck hugging hoodies, go have serious and engaged conversations with MPs about how current policies are going to create generations of social ills. Burn your apathy, burn your silence, burn the fucking rules that say you can't say what you think when there's a voice nagging at the back of your head that something's wrong.

Purge it, burn it, scorch the earth with the harsh fire of kindness, reason and love. There's so much that's brilliant, what will you be setting alight today?

Fifteen Years


Last night, Duckie held its fifteenth birthday party at the Royal Festival Hall and it was amazing. Strange to think it's a decade and a half since I first went along there, almost, with my sister, and both ran into people we knew there and had an amazing night dancing and giggling to ourselves.

Amazing to go now, at 34 and bump into friends, lovers and all sorts in between I have met through those fifteen years and to see the same sense of joy we'd all had when we'd first discovered Duckie individually across the years.

I've said it many times before, but that club, that set of beautiful people, Amy, Simon, Mark and Mark, Dickie and everyone, they helped to define me, to give me a sense of belonging in a scene that when they appeared was bereft of places to go if you liked boys and wanted to sing along to The Smiths rather than Kylie.

Of course, I love Kylie and pop, but there's something about those midnights of Stevie Wonder leaping into Depeche Mode into James that just make it.

Posted by ShoZu