I’m a stickler for nuance, especially in the times we’re in now. Sometimes, it can be a pain in the arse - someone can state something and I find it hard to let it go without piping up, sometimes I wish I wouldn’t, sometimes I do shut-up then wish I did pipe-up, I can’t win and it probably makes me a pain-in-the-arse to be around. It’s worth mentioning, though, all of the above, I only tend to do offline, online that’s a fight I’m too afraid of, which was part of the reason I started this blog.
Some trite examples of popular opinions, in the past few years, that were often on my radar, where I at least try to present a more nuanced point, would be The amazing feat of Leicester winning the Premier League and The amazing success of Stormzy as an independent artist to Jeremy Corbyn is a Marxist and Nigel Farage is a fascist. All these four things are nowhere near as clear or as simple as they’re made out be, some more serious than others, of course but I’m not settling for any of those four statements, as absolute truths, which they’re often presented as.
Brexit was a big one for me, as I’m sure it was for many. A binary question on a highly complex issue - I can see pros and cons on both sides. The toxicity of the mainstream campaigns and debates seemed to detract from what I thought was the original question. It just became another battlefield in the so called culture-war and it all got a West-Side-Story.
Maybe that’s what the problem is, we’re too quick to get partisan and jump in the what we think are the best equipped camps, no one wants to be in no-mans land; expect perhaps for nobs like me who want to take time to figure things out, when there probably is no time. Trouble is, for someone like me, I can only act on what I know and whilst I do read a lot, especially about politics and social issues, I don’t always understand it and when it comes to arguing it, I often struggle to get my points across; yet that insatiable desire for a bit more nuance never goes and I can get obsessive seeking out alternative views.
At times It feels like a dangerous obsession, or at the very least a nagging one that often riles me up and I don’t quite know what I get out of it. Perhaps I’m just an aspiring smart-arse, who’s not yet earned the ‘smart’ part of that phrase.
At some dull-yet-turbulent moment in twenty-twenty, I wrote this little poem, tyring to make sense of what I’m doing. Suffice to say, on the long road to Damascus, I probably got side-tracked at a service station stressing about what flavour of crips I wanted with my over-priced motorway meal deal, when I should’ve opted for the Pan-Pipe Moods CD compilation from the bargain-bin.
The Unlicensed Diver, by Paul Cree
At some point I got lost deep diving for truth
whatever that is
been learning to breathe ever since
can barely swim, let-alone dive
no tanned-man in Thailand
just read what I could
asked a few questions from the few people I
knew and the few books I had
made maps on the internet marked with x’s
got my Nike’s dirty down rabbit holes
realised some rabbits weren’t as wise I thought
just a lot of rabbit talk
I remember getting that irritating twitch back
at school, from playground spats to classroom analysis
often thinking there’s more to this than what’s being presented
just never quite knew what it was
some other texture and taste I weren’t getting from that
bland food I was instructed to swallow
got older and felt the same about the news and everyday
views I’d hear out and about
felt stupid when I aired mine
unformed and messy, like a piece of homework
produced on the bus, I’d produce my two p and
instantly feel out my depth, like I took a bath, shut my
eyes and woke up fighting a storm in the North Atlantic
convincing myself I was better off with the inflatables and the
flumes, at least they were a laugh, that and I
wouldn’t get cast out the clan for
breaking ranks
give it a day or two and the feeling resumed
just didn’t know what to do
so I took to diving, with no licence
just a bunch of erratic thoughts and a thirst for something more
I’ve unearthed a few things that muddied the water
each time I come up for air, I find the land more divided
spliced-up and taking sides
status seekers and self-publicists
political mules nudged into reactions
nudged into action
all armed with their half-truths,
cherry-picked data grenades, firing at will
desperate to catch a dart from the opposing side so they
can spin it out the stratosphere
sealing off all access routes to alternative views
dogmatic with diminishing returns
seen the distance between them turn from stream to river
with the banks threatening to burst
I’m back at school again, choking on the tripe I’m being
co-erced to swallow, thinking there’s a lot more to it, a
lot more, I’ve tasted it and I’m
barley getting started but I’m no
Olllie Twist, please sir… just
forget it
The Unlicensed Diver