Five past eleven. Next door have moved on to Rage Against The Machine. I know I’m old. I know I’m a bit of a square, but how’s that going to settle anyone down on a Sunday night? It’s just angry boys shouting.
Now. If you’re a teenager, there’s something deeply empathic about angry boys shouting - it’s how you feel inside half the time, and it’s nice to have people who rage like you do, and know how to express it. But when you’re old, when you’ve lived through all that, and your hormones stabilised themselves decades ago, and when you want to go to sleep because your body aches… that angst is honestly a lot less welcome.
Oh it’s somewhat noble, I’ll grant you. Since the 1990s the boys have been 'raging against the machine' - venting their fury about global capitalism with their sweary lyrics. It is noble to stand up for what you believe in. It’s even noble to get vocal about it, maybe even chuck a few sabots into the cogs from time-to-time to right the wrongs, and raise a fist against the injustice of it all. Crumbs, the last couple of years have shown us that there are generations of people who are very empowered to do exactly that, rightly or wrongly.
I just don’t think there’s any desperate need for it after 11pm. I really need to sell this flat soon.
It got me wondering what machines I could rage about. Self-service checkouts? Call-centre switchboards? Printers? The machine that determines which estate agent to put you through to? Actually I’m pretty easy-going about most machines these days.
There’s only really one I could rage at, and unfortunately that particular machine is currently next door blasting loud angry pop through my trembling walls. Gosh, I need to get better at forgiveness. Or maybe get some earplugs.
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