A Stray Ballardian Neurone

There’s probably no better start to a book than line one, page one of ‘High Rise’ by JG Ballard. The trash infested tower block was the hell that was replicated in ‘Kingdom Come’ and ‘Cocaine Nights.’ The most disturbing part of all three books was the central (male) protagonist chose to stay in hell, the place where ‘madness is the only freedom left.’

I was sat in my car at a junction staring down at the trash thrown out of windows onto the grass verge when I suddenly realised that Planet Earth is our High Rise – revolving around the three obsessions of security, sex and food.

Microplastic beads are polluting the rivers and oceans, just like the disgusting swimming pool in Robert Laing’s apartment building that became a stinking cesspit. People throw fast food wrappers out of their windows as they speed through the village I live in, tossing out beer bottles that shatter on the pavement and cut the paws of cats and dogs.

Maybe I’m getting old and judgemental. Maybe I should get off my arse, stop blogging, get a carrier bag and go and clean up the trash.

But this Alsation is damn tasty; I wonder what’s happening on the other floors?



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