Prime minister fucks dead pig’s head. Yawn. Heard it all before. Are you actually surprised? I’m not. Don’t really care to be honest. You don’t either. They’ve been fucking children for years and nobody batted an eyelid. It’ll all blow over in a week – seriously. Our disgust was briefly titillated then we plummeted back to a barren earth with a dissatisfied thud. How fickle we upright pig-fucking apes are! What porcine triviality we all revel in! We actually like it, don’t we? We like the fact that the PM is a dead-head-pig-fucker. I did, but I’m bored now.

“I want a child to grow from my vagina.”

Back on earth this week, I had a horrendous – nay – soul destroying experience. The Volkswagen emissions scandal had come up in polite conversation. Everyone was talking about the potential effects on human health and how we might all get emphysema and choke to death. I quietly reminded them that, as well as toxic particles, Volkswagen vehicles were pumping out tonnes of CO2, and because of these emissions, the earth will be uninhabitable in just a few years. “You’re always so dark,” a young person with nothing to live for said – “be more positive….man.” I looked quizzically at this person, and then stabbed him to death with a broken pint glass. Pig-fucking or not, it appears that our dying planet has become infected with an incredibly virile strain of positive-banality.

“I want a child to grow from my vagina.”

This week’s news is no different. We’re told that we have to be ‘positive’ about the brand spanking new Chinese funded nuclear power plant, announced by our Holy chancellor Gideon Oliver Osborne. It is to be built in Somerset and will replace the older defunct power plant – on a “nature reserve” and “site of special scientific interest.” This happens to be on the coast and a few meters above sea level. Never mind rapid sea-level rise – Fukushima was a one-off, apparently. “I’m so excited about the power-plant,” shouted Mary, “I’ve never felt this optimistic about energy in all my life – woohoo!” I didn’t kill Mary with a pint glass, she ran too fast.

“I want a child to grow from my vagina.”

On Sunday, a “top general” in the British army openly threated a military coup against a (future) government led by Jeremy Corbyn in the Sunday Times. He said the military would take “direct action” and “mutiny” against the left-wing government using “whatever means possible, fair or foul.” Instead of the outrage that you would imagine from major newspapers in a supposedly democratic country, we saw this being treated as a totally legitimate threat. Certain right-wing papers practically cheered it on. “Hallelujah,” shouted Derek who reads the Telegraph, “my life’s never been so good. Mindfulness makes me feel so goddam placid.”

“I want a child to grow from my vagina.”

Northern Ireland is the place where satire goes to die. A land so overwhelmed by absurdity, contempt for rationality, and religious nut-jobs that few believe it really exists. As the permanently collapsing Stormont continues to not exist, Secretary of State Teresa Villiers said that talks between both sectarian cabals were “useful and intensive.” No doubt they were. I imagine they, “moved forward” too. I wouldn’t be surprised if talks were “positive.” Never mind that Peter ‘Robbo’ Robinson was doing dirty deals with NAMA, Sinn Fein still have – lo and behold – IRA links, and both groups are pulverising public services and the remnants of the welfare state. In the North we are constantly reminded how much better off we are not being murdered. What price peace? Butchery is the price of peace. Butchery of civil society on a scale never imagined. Bugger the sectarian bickering – class war is what we need.

This week, a close friend, half-joking, half-serious told me that she wants “a child to grow from her vagina.” This is one of the most beautiful and moving things anyone has said to me – I joke not. To my shame, I discouraged her, and made the case for ceasing all procreation. This is not because I worry about population increase. This is because I worry that an infant born in the next few years will be growing up to die a horrible and brutal death – and this is something that I don’t want to contemplate.

You see, it’s relatively easy to be ‘positive.’ All you have to do is put things out of your mind, smoke a big joint and focus on the good things in life. That’s easy. But that’s lazy. What is more difficult is to look at the world, in all of its seemingly insurmountable horror, ingest it, then challenge ourselves to imagine a future where the conditions of life are different, and optimism is actually possible. Excuse me for my lack of cynicism, but isn’t this what Corbyn is doing – if in a hopelessly sentimental way? He proposes a “caring” world where people “look after each other” instead of kicking each other to death. Changing the world. Seems so difficult – impossible even – but isn’t this our task? If it’s not, we may as well fuck pig’s heads till our brains fall out and watch the world burn. Anyway, I’ve been feeling a little negative and I’m late for my mindfulness class – see y’all next week.

Connor Kelly