Don’t Worry! Forget about it. Have some hot chocolate.
‘Like a rocking chair, worry will not get you over the hump.’
This quote is interesting. And quite incisive to boot. Any person with a decent quotient of intelligence would subscribe to this by nodding in an agreeable fashion. The worry contagion is finally at an end! I mean who wants to worry – who even has the time to worry? Forget about it.
There are some nutters out there doing alot of worry! To be be quite frank, this worries me! You spill a pint of milk, quite whining cry baby! You get run down by an on-coming bus? Get some crutches you loser! Cos you can bet the next bus isn’t going to be so kind!
If you are going to spill milk, forget a phone bill, then wouldn’t it simply be more effective and efficient (on brain power) to try not to worry about worrying? If someone’s going to skip the queue – why worry? If someone is going to call you shit-head bampot fucktard –why worry? If someone is going to break into your home and steal your best LPs and rape your dead carcass on the way out – why worry? Forget worry and start living the Good Life!
To be quite frank it seems that there is no reality to this thing called “free will”, no matter what a person might say or do, and that the best thing to do is to kick back and enjoy the sun and hot chocolate! Why not take that cruise to Italy that you’ve always wanted? Jump out of a plane? Learn draughts!
Without labouring this point, it is true to say that what we can conceive in our own minds is something that we can achieve! So if I really think about jumping out of a plane or learning draughts (or chess, for those with higher learning abilities) then I can actually achieve it! ‘Hold on Michael!’ I can hear you say (because that’s my name, you know), ‘How am I going to afford these draught lessons?’ and, ‘who is going to fly the plane, my orthodontist?’ They are valid questions but NOT part of the worry factor. The point to recall is that these negative nellies bring a halt to these dreams! Bringing in the negative nelly you might just say, ‘I’m rubbish at all board games and draughts is beyond my ken! I might as well be better off dead!’ or, ‘I can’t cook pizza from scratch! That’s for other people!’ Ask yourself this question: why is it for other people? Are you really so retarded?
Early humans didn’t have the same worries that we have today. They worried about normal things, like when is the rain going to come so I can eat the crops and get a decent swim in the pool? They didn’t worry about children watching too much television, because children were too busy working, either skinning the animals or giving the cave dwelling a new lick of paint. These times were much more idyllic than our own time. Today we have Terrorism, World War 3, plague epidemics, 21st century Pirates, New World Order conspiracies, cancer of the rectum, and Obesity on such a fat scale that cinema’s are being advised to strengthen their plinths. So many worries that if one were to actually worry it would send the person stir crazy! But forget about it! Have a Coke!
But you say that your boss has fired you, given you the boot, the jotters. Time to worry? Hell no! MORE TIME FOR FUN! Tell your boss he or she can go and fuck themselves royally and while you are there why not put holes in his or her tires? Does he have a nice looking wife? Have sex with his wife! He calmly says, “clean out your desk,” that’s only a permission slip to fuck his shit up! Isn’t this better than crying yourself to sleep and chewing on your teddy bears? Come on now, let me see that lovely smile! Cheer up! Forget about it.
One worry I have at present is worrying about the TV license man. I’m worried that he’ll be back next week, and also worrying if he’ll still have all that strange clump of hair on his nose. Should I be worried? Fuck him, and his hairy nose! If you have this worry, say goodbye to it! What if we all burned this worry, where would we be then? Exactly! It is time to enter the sphere of mind space and sensual sounds of delight. You have a day old Yoghurt? Bin it! You missed church? Bin church! Go to the green fields and take plenty of booze! You have an alcoholic partner with violent tendencies? Have a bath! Turn up the radio! I don’t want to have to put up with other people’s troubles!
Back in medieval Briton, people dealt with stress by playing games. They would do so with such gaiety that all worry would vanish into the ether!
One little game the folks played was “Stew the Rabbit”, and it basically involved a team of men and women running over hills and trying to shoot a rabbit, and once the rabbit was captured, they would take it home and the old folks would turn the Rabbit into a nice meal the community could enjoy and they would recall their daily stories. “Well, I walked up one hill, and there was this Rabbit! I thought, ‘ello! Here is one for the stew!’”.
Of course these games weren’t without their own stress. Sometimes individuals would run on the hills themselves and try and capture the rabbit and did so at the risk of a row with the local landlord/baron. Sometimes it was considered illegal to shoot ‘game’ (where we get ‘game-board’ from) and a peasant could be fined or have his eyes plucked out –so he was unable to find game the next time. The peasant would sometimes get off lucky and only escape with a serious beating and clubbing.
Relieving stress in the modern world can cause a great deal of stress! The drugs business is making a killing out of people’s stress, some drugs claiming, “Eat this pill and be stress free!” Well, who wants that type of thing? Rhubarb! Stress can work as something positive. Recently I was meeting up with a girl for a date and I was looking forward to drinks and a chat and sexual relations; what I didn’t know that she was bringing her mother along as chaperone! Did this cause me stress? Hell no! She can play too! You see? It is all about our frame of reference! If you are walking down a street and someone mugs you taking your money and phone do you blame the world? No! Forget about it. Have some hot chocolate. There are more phones on the shelf!
Often the best means of beating stress is by doing NOTHING. On my travels through South America I spoke with a man on the topic of worry. He was a nice man, although he had red and black/blue eyes and looked as though he’d been terribly beaten inside a sleeping bag. He instructed me that I shouldn’t buy a ticket to the next station, and that maybe I should turn back and return home. “Why?” I asked. “Well,” he said, “I was beaten and raped and my friend was brutally killed with a lawn mower and I lost my favourite shirt!” His holiday had clearly been a bit of a dampener! Did this cause me worry? Hell yes! The flecks of spittle alone made me think of returning my passport and becoming a deck chair attendant.
Australians have a little doozie of an expression that goes, “no worries”. They use it all the time and it marks them out as being positive in nature. It isn’t a new expression of course; the original meaning harks back to the white settlers that would fight over kangaroo meat. When someone that looked as though he would sooner eat you than have a falling out over a nice piece of meat it was common parlance to say, “The meat is yours my good friend, I’m away to the bookies anyway.” And the reply would be, “no worries.” These common sayings all have their original roots in history.
The church is another source of worry. Some years ago it was natural for the second or the third son of the local land baron to join the church. The first son had no time for church as he inherited the farm. Those that didn’t inherit went to war or to the church. Some took their religious profession seriously and would tell people they were going to the hot fires for being late on a Sunday.
Religion itself has grown up through stressful times. During 10th century France, the violence, the rapacious raping and terrorising was so chaffing that the Pope commented: “Those crazy loons on their horses! How am I supposed to get any sleep around this gaff!” Policies were passed through government and made law: The Peace of God and The Truce of God. The Peace of God, passed in 989, meant that nobles could not enter religious places with ideas of chopping of limbs, raping impressionable nuns, or setting fire to relics in a state of anger – in other regions it was permissible. The law also protected women and children, that is, they could not be beaten if they were defenceless; however, many nobles would circumvent this law by placing a stick close to where the dead body had fallen.
Another attempt to bring about a worry free world was the “Truce of God.” This Truce of God mainly was passed for the Knights, as they were killing and fighting all over the parish and it was said by one local Bishop: “These are hard times for us religious folks.”
The Truce meant that certain days were strictly allocated for violence. If a knight killed on the wrong day (say a Sunday, God’s Day) he could find himself hauled up in front of local Sheriff and fined for a breach of the truce. The Church agreed that the best days for violence were Mondays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Not all religious folks agreed however, one local bishop commenting that when the clocks struck 12am on a Friday all the knights acted as if it were Christmas morning setting about each other with clubs, nailed cricket bats, and ironing boards.
Life in these times clearly weren’t a barrel of laughs but they knew how to get on with things. If they didn’t we would have been wiped out with the plague millions of years ago! Some groups obviously had it better than others. Take the bankers for example. They would take your money away and send you away to war and the local governments would pay them highly. It was an ancient system and it is for this reason that the common expression still survives that, “Bankers are rats! They want our money and our blood! Cunts!”
Back then, Heaven was something to aspire to, especially if you had a dodgy green limb and someone wanted to cut it off saying, “what pain killers?” The medieval world brought natural stress to people. One example during the Tudor period was the disease referred to as “The Sweat.”  This was something that was quite different from the Plague, and those who suffered from the sweating sickness said it was worse than any pain they had ever had. People disputed this however, and said that the plague of 1381 caused more pain, but it was a qualitative distinction, and indeed one that could not be verified. The disease finished the person off so fast, that contemporary doctors kindly explained to relatives (crying behind a door) that there was little time for worry, as they were too busy shaking and “sweating” to death.
The sweating sickness started with a terrible shivering. People’s teeth would chatter annoying the neighbours. Individuals would wrap themselves in all the clothes they owned simply because they felt such a terrible freezing in their bones. Some would scream out, “I haven’t done any training today!” For people who didn’t own many clothes, they caused a public nuisance by kicking strangers over in the street and undressing them. However, this was not the worst part of the disease – this was the start of the pain, and apparently insignificant to what followed. The person struck with the sweating sickness would grab at their many layers shrieking “I’m so hot!” and every layer would become harder and harder to pull off as the sweat acted as an adhesive and would be glued to jacket and shirt and glued to socks and boxer sorts and finally glued to flesh. In the final stage (before death) the individual would become delirious and start making flight reservations to cold countries; some would jam themselves into freezers ironically finally dying of being too cold.
Parents. Friends. Lovers. They could do nothing to help their loved ones as they were not to be found. Unworthy and Unchristian behaviour unfortunately did take place. People would make sport on the poor sweating person and make wagers on how many glasses of ice-water a person could manage before finally bouncing on the ground.
Henry VIII on many occasions thought he had been struck down with the sweating sickness. The first symptom was shivering, and whenever he felt a chill he would jump out of bed and do press ups – at the age of 34 it is said that he managed (at one sitting) to do 24 press ups: without stopping. When he stood he was very tired, his arms aching, his chest burning. It was then that his servant remarked that he, “seemed to be sweating more than usual.” At this Henry started gobbling huge chunks of ice and even climbed out of his window to make the sweat retreat. In the morning the servant was fired from a canon, although Henry was too tired to light the fuse. Over the years Henry’s worry of the sweating sickness waned somewhat, and at the age of 52 rather than do sit ups he watched his lamp lighter do 50 star jumps and 200 squat thrusts.
So what our modern world instructs us is that there is less to be worried about; we don’t need to worry about the Sweating sickness or the plague – and this surely is something of a boon. Often, worry is without a single object, and is merely crazed paranoia. For example people worry that they will not meet an attractive woman, and that they will die all alone, eating nothing but pot noodles, and masterbating to cooking programmes.
Another sort of anxiety is being in public spaces, where lots of people are mulling around. Now, when I used to work as a commodity officer, I would take the tube close to my place of work. I was terribly anxious some mornings, as the tube windows would be crawling with what looked like hot body mist, and when the tube was full with people, and my face would sometimes be stuck against this window, I would feel less likely to spark up conversation, and would wear a worrisome look on my face. However, there are ways to relieve such stress, for example by riding a bike to work, or by simply taking a pleasurable walk to work! But I tended to sleep in rather late and someone had borrowed my bike.
However, if I had taken myself out of bed early, I could have walked through beauteous landscapes on my way to work – this would have been one means of making my life less stressful, as it is said, “nature brings wonders to the mind!” And often these wonders can come to us as spontaneous, as Wordsworth starts his poem:
I WANDER’D lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
If one cannot see daffodils and lives surrounded by concrete then one must seek them out! Burn the concrete and set forth into the green lands!
We should look around the city and think: “Shit, I bet I could grow flowers here!” For example, take the modern tower block. What do you see? A tower block? Exactly. But, the real question is: what are you NOT seeing? Well, you’re not seeing the flowers that you could plant on the window; or the carrots that you could place and grow on the balcony; the coconuts you could grow, weather permitting, in your back garden! How nice would this be? The question now is: who wouldn’t want to live in such a building?
We ought to walk about our towns looking for this beauty, seeking it out! We should set our mental set to “WORRY OFF” and be free and at one with Mother Nature. Of course if you are walking free and easy and looking for the beauty, you ought to make sure that you have friends with you, some people might not want you on their private lands. But seek the flowers! Watch and burn the worry!
Of course someone might come at you with a knife and want all your clothes (it is unlikely that the person will be suffering from the sweating sickness of the Tudor period) then you ought to set the mental set to “RUN!” But, you will do what you will do. You are pre-programmed. Don’t worry about it!
Taking holidays is also something that we should do more often. There is no need to spend all our times stuck in our small towns whistling away our worries – we should go to Egypt, Morocco, Norway, Japan, Wales! To far off places where we can lay in a hammock, drink cocktails, smoke cigars, and have pleasure with our hand maidens or hand men (for you girls). When we are on holiday, we are more at home with ourselves – away from the crime statistics, the politicians, the silly fantasy box, the threatening family members. And if the family come with you – why not lose them at the zoo?
Another aspect of this thing we call “worry” is the paranoia syndrome, where a person is “worrying” but not necessarily about something important, or indeed real. A person stuck in a toilet with a fat sexual deviant – this would be something to worry about. Another thing to be worried about is when a person jumps on your shoulders, and you realize that their body weight far exceeds yours, and that you may have to speak to a chiropractor in the morning, to check out a broken neck. But what about “worry” that doesn’t exist? Forget about it. Have
I used to have a Freddy Krueger poster on my door when I was a child, and when the lights went off this poster would come alive- or rather Freddy would come alive. Taunting me with his razor fingers, I would be paralysed with fear. When I got enough courage together, I would approach the poster, and take the thing down, and lock it away in the cupboard. Once Freddy was in the cupboard he made less noise, the lock was on my side. In the morning, usually the period when I would fall out of bed, I would stalk to the cupboard, and Freddy would go back on the door. We all have our fears and paranoia, some more than others. But, the important thing, especially when worry is involved, is to chill! If you don’t like scary films? Go and watch 10!
The simple truth is, we all have things to worry about. Some people worry about whether they are going to get run down by a milk float, others that a comet will land on their heads, and other folk worry that they are going to be attacked by stray cats. My current issue is a little fucktard who works in our local swimming baths.
He has informed me that I may not dive from the board, as the flag is up. I corrected him by saying “This is bunting: not a flag.” Then he told me that his “colleagues” (pool attendants) might allow me to dive, but he just doesn’t want to. So, this is an example of the little Hitlerites that we have in our society. It isn’t policy! Oh no. This is his policy! He doesn’t want me to dive and have fun. If “I” want to dive, who the fuck should be allowed to stop me? Eh? I ask you! It is runts like this that are sending us back to the dark ages! Fuck you and your bunting buddy!
I digress. We meditate then, on the old days, and we find the golden days. Yes nothing was always perfect. They had their plagues and sweating sickness and people were strapped in irons. But they were rock and roll! The average life expectancy back in these times was 19-22. If that is not high rock, I do not know what is! The parallel to this is that when someone achieved life over 50 years of live it was not uncommon for the person to be hailed as a “witch” and in league with the Devil. Rather than a 50th birthday card a person would have their doors smashed in and they would find themselves upon 4X4s pieces of wood and having someone lighting them with matches and fire lighters. It was mostly women that lived to 50. Those men that did life to 50 and beyond were said not to be in league with the Devil, but were wise old masters and what they said was the gospel.
Yes, they were tough times, especially for those folks continually trying to doctor their birth certificates. Today, many people live into old age, and they do so without reproach, and without fear of being chased by an angry mob. Today our old folks are the embodiment of our culture, of our values, and of our society. If you ask an old person if he or she worries, they will most likely say “Worry? What do I have to worry about?” And they would continue skipping rope or dancing to a song only they can hear.
Man and Woman has been set free. In many ways this is the key to our discussion. In Ye Olde times, it was natural for the working man (working class) to be at the plough for 4-8 hours and for woman to be picking apples from the trees – or spread eagled on her back procreating. They were tied to the land, and tied to their duties, some more onerous than others.
One duty that was indeed onerous was when there was a draft coming from under the lords bedroom door, and It was a custom for the eldest son of a peasant to sleep at the door to trap the cold wind: often the eldest son would die, not because of the cold mind you, mainly because the lord would wake in the night and think a burglar had broken in, and would set his dogs on him.
Another duty that used to worry those that were tied to the land was not being paid any money. Such people worked, “hand to mouth” – while the lord would be galavanting around on his horse shooting foxes and farmers that reminded him of his father. Living hand to mouth was not a pretty sight, especially when people didn’t have hands, then it was called living from “stump to mouth” – and if a person didn’t have a stump then it was really messed up.
But, during the holidays, people would celebrate! Celebrate all holidays! One positive thing was that the working week was more relaxed, and folk would only work a Tuesday to a Thursday- and never on St. Monday, Monday being a holy day of rest. One way that the local peasants put their hair down was by going to the local hanging. They would buy sweet meats, popcorn, and fizzy drinks for the occasion, and if they were truly in a positive mood they would throw foodstuffs at the person being dragged to the platform. They didn’t care if the person was innocent or guilty, they just wanted to see what it looked like for when they were hanged, so they decided to celebrate.
The social, cultural, and moral world was utterly different back in the old days. For example it was normal for people to attend church 7 days a week, and even on a Sunday. People would respect their betters through deference, by doffing caps, bending their bodies, or lying face down in a pile of shit. Boy and girl relations were also different, many of the nobles would marry for political reasons, but those further down the ladder would marry because it meant an extra holiday pay. It was also normal for the lord of the manner, after he had had his mid day lunch, to have what was called a “belly warmer” – a “belly warmer” could be anything from a ripe and pretty young girl to a fat pig with make up and a super-glued wig. Sexual relations for the working peasants were more strained, as the men had to wear their best trainers to try and catch their women folk.
Another aspect that highlights the difference is that the lord could call his retainers in time of war, and they were duty bound to fight for him, even if they were scared of dying, or got itchy from wearing the chain mail. The origin of the word “knight” goes back many hundreds of years and originally meant “servant” (from ‘cniht’); the knights would be in the service of a lord and whenever they were called to arms, they would fight for their lord – they secured the lord in his manner; as music and drugs and alcohol were at an early stage, many lords would get bored and make war on each other – they would do it to attain the castle and the surrounding land, so they could aggregate further power, or because they wanted to steal the wife from their fellow lord.
This system was called the “3 orders”. There, at the bottom, the vast majority (the 99%) would work to feed and cloth those above them; the knights would fight to protect and have fun robbing, pillaging, and savaging the countryside; and there would be those at the top who prayed for all those below them; it worked simply because those at the top were the best at arguing for its continuation. One group that is not included in the “3 orders” are the great and powerful – the kings and the wealthy lords: this group basically sat in all day, eating vast amounts of food, drinking wine from silver goblets, and sometimes attending the opera.
The industrial revolution has brought many great things, the railway (getting from A to B), the airplane (flying, rather walking, or getting the railway: from A to B), bars of soap, radios, televisions, computers, and orange squash machines. These things may be of benefit to people, but the industrial revolution has also brought its ills – it has brought a class of people that only think of money, people who sleep with money, and people who want to control you to make money.
The working week is now a system: the 9-5; and if you don’t wish to participate in the 9-5 (or 8-4, or the “flexi-week”) then you will get beaten with the big stick. But it isn’t just the Time you sacrifice, once at work you have no freedom, you are told when to piss, and where to piss. Do you like that? One worry that people have at work is, “Where do I put the family photo?” However, some businesses frown on this as a distraction to work; one method “employees” are undertaking to circumvent this obstacle is to have tattoos of their loved ones etched onto their forearms. Sex is definitely a No-No at work, as one will be sacked if the boss discovers fun has been had. I’m saying it brother! Masterbation is also frowned upon in the work place. Employers will always be on the look out for that “post-wank expression” on the countenance of the individual leaving their office/bathroom. Basically the slavery continues! Are you ready to take it back?
So, it is freedom for those who have the money and a grinding existence for those who have none and are eating hand to mouth (or stump to mouth). In the medieval period, it was indeed a sign of sin to work for money, and people could be cast out of the city for usury, for lending and for borrowing: many followed Jesus’ example and walked about with sandles and didn’t preach the word of the banker- but instead lived to make a joyful life. St Francis was another example, he walked about towns wearing nothing but a brown sack, and had a smile on his face that many said of him: “That guy sure does smile alot!” And his inspiration came from Matthew 10:9:
9Provide neither gold, nor silver, nor brass in your purses,
10Nor scrip for your journey, neither two coats, neither shoes, nor yet staves: for the workman is worthy of his meat.
Of course many of Francis followers could not adhere entirely to this scripture, as it got pretty nippy in the winter, and some folks didn’t even have a clue what staves were – one person thought “staves” were buttons, and walked about with a button-less denim jacket, and found it difficult to remain warm- especially during the snow season: although people were certain he was wrong about staves meaning buttons. It is more worrisome for the adherents of Francis these days, either join a monastery or a call centre, and for those monks who like to get their party on, the monastery just doesn’t cut the mustard – so they must eek out an existence, paying bills, wearing shoes (or fear mockery), use tokens (sometimes gold and silver) to buy goods, where they would rather have them sent from heaven, and to only wear one coat when the temperature is –15C.
Another cause of anxiety of course is the afterlife. What will it be like, and will there be privacy enough to pick one’s nose at pleasure? But joking aside, what will it really be like? Will it be like what we read in the bible – although I can’t say I’ve read the bible (well not at length) – with angels and naked women all over the place? I mean, if this is what it is like – what is it that is keeping me happy in this life: surely I would have no worries with all the angels, and the white clouds, and buxom beauties – and I pray they are all dark haired or red head angels! Not that I’m entirely against blondes or punks (with whatever colour, in fact they can be quite comely now that I think of it), but if I have a choice- I hope God has allotted me a red headed women or a dark haired woman! And they must have nice shapely legs, and not too big breasts, but certainly a good cup size to get my hands around!
I wonder if the women folk in Heaven have a say about the men they are with? Will they complain if my head is all bald and patchy, and if I stink of garlic? or if I made inappropriate sounds while I was having my helmet polished? Ah! I’m sure everything is just fine and dandy up there! As it is down here on the earthly level! I think I got a little carried away there, please accept my humble apologies.
Yes, that does bring us to an important juncture. I wonder what Hell is going to be like for all those that have lived for evil? A typical idea of Hell is the following:
The abode of condemned souls and devils; the place of eternal punishment for the wicked after death, presided over by Satan.
Basically It doesn’t sound a pretty place. However, if I turn up in Heaven and the only music they allow is Cliff Richard, Lionel Blair, and Christian Rock (which I presume will be allowed!?) and the only fun they allow is holding hands with one’s loved ones; and if the beer menu consists of fizzy water and orange squash – then I would be an unhappy bunny, and cursing myself for not doing more to get into Hell! Surely the devil has all the good music and all the good drinks? Ok, he might rule the underworld with a strict hand, but I’m sure he only does so to keep his minions in order – what would Hell be like if it was all out of order and chaos? There can only be one devil, and I’m sure he would want to keep his dark ways the only true way – the Devil needs to compete with God, or else he wouldn’t have a job to do.
So, many people are living with worry, worry about whether there will be blonde’s or brunette’s in Heaven, or whether the Devil will be having the best fun with all his buddies. The truest word to say on the matter is that we cannot be sure for certain; we are certain on some things, that milk doesn’t taste so good if it has been lying, and that having a red hot iron pressed against the cheek is going to smart. My technique is to work to get to Heaven, but to let God know that I have some predilections regarding the afterlife. When my flat is quiet (when no one is home) I will walk around saying (out loud) “When I die I really want to have some fun…I wonder how good God is going to be with me?” –and I pretend that he can’t hear me, but I really know that he’s listening. Over the years I have made my requests, although at some point I want to drop the hint that I don’t want to see my ex-girlfriend in Heaven. If I get to Heaven and it isn’t what it’s cracked up to be, then I’ll twist heads, and smash up the place, until God sends me to be with his arch angel and buddy Satan.