Obituary: Ralph Winterton

At 11am on 15th September 2010 Ralph Winterton died of boredom after watching another news piece about the battle of Britain. Born in Toulouse to a French bramble picker he was forced into hiding during the war by his mother over concern about his dress sense. Nazi occupation was difficult for the Winterton's, money and food were in short supply but it was this austerity that formed Ralph into the man he bacame. When he left gyspy college at the age of eighteen he started a hospital for disaffected moths. Demand was high in the years which followed the war and he made a success of himself. There is a tribute to Ralph Winterton on a hill which overlooks the Auvergne valley for his work. When asked about his reasoning behind his career choice he would reply:

"What's a Butterfly without the Moth?"

This will be an epitaph on his gravestone.

In 2005 Ralph retired from humanity. Tired and weary he submitted his resignation to the United Nations and moved to an Island in the Atlantic where he lived in peace until his residence was raided and seized in a pessimism raid. He was convicted of spreading widespread dissatisfaction and melancholy over the internet. His last year was spent in a council flat in Tipperton.

A Collection of Sayings from the Great Rabbi Schnitzel:

When the birds swim backwards thats when the fish fly upside down.

The Lord of the Rings: Where does he keep his keys?

I was interviewed by the police regarding a homicide. I told them I was on nobodys side despite my religious convictions which I had already done time for.

I saw a snake in the apple tree in my garden. Recognising the religious connotations I grabbed my shotgun. Heavy balistics would have made a big dfference to the story of genesis.

The problem with Nietschze is primarily one of pronunciation.

Small Packets of Nothing

Hole: A hole is commonly referred to as 'something' although in actual fact it is a small packet of nothing. If we were to idealise it then the comparison to a banal something is inappropriate. It is a worm hole to a different time and place. It is through the unending procession of holes which we travel every day that we proceed consistently towards the moment of our death. We are always in a hole of one sort or another. I sit in a hole in the middle of my office during the working day. I walk through a hole in the doorway to get into my hole in my office. Thus our environment is not made up of the somethings that surround us but is in actual fact defined by the gaps between the somethings that surround us.

One Day Like This

In the not too distant future when my work has been done and my bones ache. I shall look out of the window at the beautiful blue sky and look back on what one has achieved. Perhaps I will see the birth of a son. The first laughter of a daughter. Will the tears rolling down my cheek be ones of happiness or regret? Is that not the question we should ask ourselves every day? Carpe diem.

Where is the humour in this you ask yourself? There is no humour in life, you have one chance to get it right. Time is precious. Savour it, get the most out of it. Put down that book by the Comte de Lautremont. Listen to me. It could be the most important thing you've ever done! This week is a triple rollover on the lottery. Take every spare penny you have and buy as many lottery tickets as possible. Remember: it could be you!

The Manifesto of Taking things Seriously

There is one very serious question left to ask. Hopefully it will be your last because once you ask it you are changed forever. The very seriousness of it leads you to a realisation of profound insight. Understanding through antithesis represents harmony and balance. This is the most stable state of mind. It is an exciting day for all of us. Every person who accepts the tenets of this manifesto makes the world a better place and weakens the power of the corrupt authorities that govern our lives through seriousness and stout determination to make things extremely serious. So, if you are ready it is time to ask the question.

"On my death bed would I be wishing that I had spent my life taking things more seriously?"

Pursuant to that - can you think of anybody in the history of (wo)man who should have taken life more seriously? Think of all the things that you enjoy in life - music, drama, literature are all created by people at play. This childishness is sometimes criticised and even called evil because on the whole it is not considered productive. Only serious things are productive. That's why the most serious people of us all are the leaders of society and considered the most productive! (Wo)Men in serious suits talking about serious things without even lifting a pen are obviously so much more productive than a man working hard in a factory. His crime? Having a break from seriousness at the weekend with his family and friends. If you cannot see the irony of this then perhaps you are overcome. A sudden intervention of extreme silliness is the only path to salvation.

It is astounding how much time we devote to the act of being earnest. We wake in the morning and joylessly prepare for work or the lack of it. The burdens of breakfast and the trials of hygiene start the day as a precursor to what is to follow when we shall get into all sorts of grave mischief. Why don't we start the day with a smile? Treat the clocking on time as something to be graciously overlooked? Spread the thought of joy to our fellow citizens. For heaven's sake would the world not be a better place if everybody was lackadaisical and whimsical? Is it so hard to see? What is this fog that clouds fundamental common sense so completely?

Now that you have had your eyes opened and you perspective re-aligned a few things become apparent:

Firstly - matters that are vital to the earnest persons heart are suddenly meaningless i.e. money, devotion to an authority that has claimed dominion over you without your consent, hatred of people you neither know or are affected by. Shake free of the shackles of religion and piety to the state. Time spent in joy with people who have abandoned seriousness is worth more than any amount of material wealth. Is there any laughter in being a passive obedient consumer?

Secondly - the term 'important' has a new meaning. The first letter of this three syllable monstrosity suddenly seems out of place. We start to replace it with the word 'umportant' because much of what we consider 'important' are actually other peoples priorities. It is important to be productive and punctual, it is important to get a bigger house or a better car, pay taxes and have children. There is no importance any more. We have escaped the ravages of nature, we have food and water and shelter why should other things replace those as fundamentally important? It is the gradation of priorities that renders things serious, if you stop taking things so seriously does the universe stop? Then why do we have to label things as 'important'?

Thirdly - There is no amount of earnestness that can overcome someone who has abandoned seriousness. How can somebody bargain against your list of priorities if your list is empty? Now that there is no thing that is 'important' there is no wager to commit with your actions. Whereas previously you have had to mitigate some loss for not fulfilling somebody else's priority. Now they have no power over you for you have torn up the social contract and rewritten it in your own terms. And why not? After all you are the paying tenant, exercise your right to free market. Take from life what you want.

Finally - The term 'my' or 'mine' is irrelevant. Ownership implies a high level of importance which you place on an object. Once the term 'mine' has been abandoned you are free to give without hindrance. Finally true freedom. Not the kind of freedom that comes with ability to operate heavy machinery via a licence but the kind of freedom that lets you be the person whom you always wanted to be. "I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none."

Live your life as you would like to live it. Be frivolous, be lighthearted and start the swing to power of reasonable people with reasonable aims. Make the world a better place. Have a lie in.

Thus Spake Harry Toaster

Harry entered the village and spake thusly - "I have meditated these last ten years in solitude on the mountain. It would have been really nice if someone had bought me a cup of tea or something."

The villagers were confused. This bearded and weather beaten man was a stranger to their eyes and yet he knew each of them intimately.

"A piece of toast would have done. It's actually really hard to sit and meditate all day with nothing to eat. I could be contemplating the will of the universe or something instead I am using all my power to fight off hunger pains."

And they did see the logic of what he spake but still he was not known to them. The Harry Toaster that went up the mountain ten years ago was not the same person that stood before them now.

"Has anybody got a piece of cake I could have, or maybe some fruit? I've got something really important to tell you but I do really need to eat."

The villagers gathered their surplus food and burned it so that Harry Toaster may feast on the aroma.

"You...bastards. I spend ten years up the mountain and realise ultimate knowledge which I am trying to share with you by the way and you mock me!"

And they saw that it was good.

"I'm going back up the mountain."

Death of a Nail

I watched the hammer strike the head of the nail. The thin silver cap bent and buckled. The nail sank deeper into the wood. It was nearly done for. Only the smallest brim was above the flat of the wood now. One more strike and it would be completely submerged. The hammer raised up preparing for another blow. I thought of the fear that nail would be feeling. It is impossible to empathise with a piece of ironmongery so close to having its existence extinguished under the almighty force of a large claw hammer. But I tried. Still gravity overcame the upward thrust of the hammer and it started to fall. Gathering speed its aim was perfect. I wanted to close my eyes but I had to be there for the nail in its final moments. With a dampened thud the hammer struck. There was no scream, I wasn't even sure if the nail was still cognizant at the moment prior to the strike. Now there was no doubt. The brave little nail was no more.

As I reflected on the profligate abandonment in which we spend lives in the name of cabinet making the carpenter pulled another nail from his pouch. He placed the tip not more than an inch from the grave of the now dead nail and lined up another hammer blow.

Will it ever end?