Win Yourself A Cheap Tray

There is sometimes a grotesque missed opportunity within the flurry of technological advancement. A freedom of choice which in leaps and bounds can help us immensely to those who do choose it. A revolution of the masses tap away at their gadgets, going to places that they can do at a graceful ease.

However where are they going? There comes a point where everyone is saying the same thing in internet subcultures but a point has clearly not been reached. A marker for society isn't put down. 

This stasis goes back to the aged problem of the zero point of the words that sound funny: homo sapiens. Undoubtedly when words became de rigueur and a bounce of bright sorts decided to get creative from this form of species we have been treated to works of pure, other worldly joy. 

But there is a puzzle involved. It hasn't been straightforward. Never has it. If everything were simple then we'd spin off the axis and end up in a better terrestrial stream. It seems that an acute puzzle affects the one precise point of creativity: lasting the course.  

It must be a matter of endurance. It must be a dispelling of pride, arrogance, exorbitance and all the other flowery adjectives. At worst boredom can castrate beauty. At its most obvious we're all massively in love with the idea that as you get older you get stale.  

An example that is both frustrating and glorious at the same time is The Smiths. I take this example as The Smiths sear into a cultural, and sometimes lazy conscience. It's understandable that a career which spanned five years brought out the best in a country bored to tears with the politics affecting their society. 

What bothers me about them is not Andy Rourke continuously chasing Mancunian drug hostels, or Mick Joyce getting his share of the band takings erratically wrong. Nor is it how Johnny Marr was overworked to the point of his quiff collapsing. It was only because they got slack and broke up.

Millions of relationships, not documented in grand poetry, do the same thing too many times. It's a continual hiccuping of missed chances. The failure of the adjudged unfailing. Like witnessing an accident when you don't expect to witness it a shock overtakes the soul and time takes a wicked paternity.  

I feel sorry and hateful for creativity at the exact same time. I don't have a laudable skill in it. By the power of every possible thought imaginable I wish the genuinely gifted ones realise that you may get bored, irritated, doleful, tired, angry, jealous, confused, victim, arrogant, drugged, undrugged, geographical, political, religious, naive....famous.      

We may take for granted that "we know so much about these things".