"surface emotional manipulation"



Life Let's briefly catch up. How are you? Strange weather we're having.

ITEM! The new edition of the General Election is the usual shit show, with only the minor parties, by which I mean the Greens, having anything like a clue but no hope of influence. Of course there should be another referendum on whatever the inevitable Tory majority stumble into in two years with an option to Remain in Europe. Of course there should. But logical ideas for giving us people the chance to change our decision is the last thing on the minds of this xenophobic, self-serving bunch of retirement dodgers have in mind. If Labour adopted this policy their poll numbers would shoot up, but since Corbyn's as much of numpty as the rest of them but amateurish in his communication its unlikely to happen. We're fucked. We're seriously fucked. Unless, as I keep suggesting to anyone who'll listen, as I suspect, Brexit won't happen. I have a feeling. Something in my gut. Or at least something in my gut which isn't related to my anxiety disorder.

ITEM! My anxiety disorder continues. I awake every morning with a knot in my stomach which doesn't ease until I've taken the correct medication and my usual porridge breakfast (oatmeal for those you watching outside the UK). The medication continues to have weird side effects in terms of being able to emotionally process some films properly - although I did get a tight throat and real tears for the first time in six months the other morning watching What You Leave Behind, the Star Trek: Deep Space Nine finale so my heart isn't completely in stasis. To some extent, it's become a decent barometer for how much a film is utilising surface emotional manipulation or genuinely presenting something heartfelt. The sertraline version of me takes less narrative bullshit, in other words. Frankly, I'd be much happier if I could experience the range of human emotions, but it's precisely that which got me into this mess to begin with so for now, I'll keep popping the blue pills and keep an eye out for the end of the story. Morbius.

ITEM! Saw Guardians of the Galaxy, Vol.2 this afternoon with about ten other pretty well behaved people in Screen One at FACT's Picturehouse. You'll notice the lack of voluminous "We Need To Talk About ..." post because it doesn't really merit that attention. It's a fine old time, but nothing more. Having established the excesses of the world, as everyone's noticed, it lacks the shock of the new. But for all that it's still a couple of hundred percent more entertaining and original than the majority of film blockbusters in production (as per MARVEL's spec). The meta theme of the MARVEL universe is the dysfunctional family and that continues, albeit on a more cosmic scale. Plus it establishes a whole bunch of my favourite characters from the comics as at least existing in this verse even if they're not given a terrific amount to do. What's especially noticable and not a spoiler, is the film is set not long after the first one, which means it has to be set just after Age of Ultron and so before Ant-Man, Civil War and Doctor Strange. We'll see how that effects the group's appearance during Infinity Wars.

ITEM! The old gas showroom on Bold Street, previous container for a temporary HMV, Argos, REX and a weigh your books emporium amongst other things now houses the LIV Organic and Natural Food Market. Visiting on opening day, not all of the stock was quite on the shelves yet, but a boggling variety of fruit teas, just the sort of thing for someone who, thanks to his psychological stresses can no longer stand to have more than a couple of milligrams of caffeine at any one time even if the decaff coffee selection is a bit pitiful (because what's the point) (sigh). Chatting to the manager about the aims of the shop as I sold to him the benefits of Rooibus tea, an American woman was literally skipping through the isles, grinning in a way which looked like it had the capacity to break her face shouting, "This is the happiest day of my life". Which just goes to show how much the shop is needed in a Liverpool still spurned by Waitrose. I've since returned to check if their coffee selection has improved and experimented with some chicory, discovering quickly that chicory is the beverage they must serve in hell.

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