What colour is your aura? I was once told mine is purple... whatever that signifies, if I even have one. And does a person's "effect" on others depend on whether one is trying or not? Being or doing - is that the question? Being natural without ulterior motive versus deliberately working at making an impression and building a following?
As I typed out the list line by line, names just came straight to mind: Elon Musk, Jeffrey Epstein, Donald Trump, Benjamin Netanyahu, Vladimir Putin, Peter Hegseth, Nigel Farage, Bezalel Smotrich. I could go on. It's like a carousel ride at the world's end fair. But those are only the most high profile and shocking. Beneath them come the legions happy to embrace the same lack of ethics in their quest to make their own "personal effects" tell on us all. As Bob Dylan said, "Watch your parking meters".
Oh dear! To lighten the mood on this depressing Saturday evening, here's a new comic poem tenuously about personal effect, class conflict and mild thuggery..
Hugh or The Tin Of Tartan Paint
They thought to cut Hugh down to size
that first day, have a laugh
at his expense, son of the owner.
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| prsnl fx |
Some historical figures are renowned for having possessed charisma sufficient to bend or persuade others to their beliefs, cause or purpose: think priests and prophets, military leaders, orators, politicians, confidence tricksters. Others are famed for inspiring less impacting allegiances: actors, musicians, sports people, writers even all have their fan bases. We're used to the rise of "personalities", a pervasive phenomenon that has grown with the arrival of the press, movies, recorded music, radio and tv, the internet.
However, since online social media birthed the "awareness economy" and its monetising plague of influencers, I feel it's all got a lot more competitive and cynical, with any Tom, Dick or Harriet setting themselves up as some sort of influencer or oracle. I think I can ignore most of it and resist pretty much all of the lies and lures, but I sense its corrupting advance all around as we slither collectively towards a less moral, less principled world.
Recently I was reminded of Mahatma Gandhi's reclassification of the Seven Deadly Sins, as quoted by President Carter at Senator Hubert Humphrey's funeral in 1978. Ghandi (a charismatic influencer himself) itemised the modern Seven Deadly Sins as follows:
- wealth without work
- pleasure without conscience
- knowledge without character
- commerce without morality
- science without humanity
- worship without sacrifice
- politics without principle
and I think that's a pretty damned fine check list by which to identify much of what's wrong with the world today.
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| Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi |
Oh dear! To lighten the mood on this depressing Saturday evening, here's a new comic poem tenuously about personal effect, class conflict and mild thuggery..
Hugh or The Tin Of Tartan Paint
They thought to cut Hugh down to size
that first day, have a laugh
at his expense, son of the owner.
A quaint initiation rite: ‘Go to the stores
and fetch…’ He knew what was coming
and played along, thought he’d be cunning,
had made the label in advance, being good
at art. ‘McGregor’s Finest Tartan Paint.
One coat required. Apply thick. Do not stir.’
All he had to do was stick it round the tin
and walk back in. His workmates’ ready smirks
soon turned to scowls and chips. He was
making them look fools, not mindful of
class sensitivities. Not clever. Big mistake.
After hours, some of the lads lay in wait
and though Hugh bolted hell for leather,
unsure if this was still all in fun,
the pursuing clan soon outran him,
hauled him down, the owner’s son,
administered a broad-brush beating,
black, yellow and blue, a tartan Hugh.
and fetch…’ He knew what was coming
and played along, thought he’d be cunning,
had made the label in advance, being good
at art. ‘McGregor’s Finest Tartan Paint.
One coat required. Apply thick. Do not stir.’
All he had to do was stick it round the tin
and walk back in. His workmates’ ready smirks
soon turned to scowls and chips. He was
making them look fools, not mindful of
class sensitivities. Not clever. Big mistake.
After hours, some of the lads lay in wait
and though Hugh bolted hell for leather,
unsure if this was still all in fun,
the pursuing clan soon outran him,
hauled him down, the owner’s son,
administered a broad-brush beating,
black, yellow and blue, a tartan Hugh.
Thanks for reading. Stay colourful and wise, S :-)
