The Labour MPs who just left their Party should not retain their seats in Parliament

So, seven eight MPs – this updated count may well be added to further in the coming weeks – have just made a big grandstanding to-do about leaving the Labour Party. Whether their stated motivations for doing so are valid is an interesting question, but I’m going to put that to one side for now.

Because I just find it absolutely astonishing that they presume they ought to still keep their elected office.

Now, lest you think that this reaction is merely a partisan tantrum – as though I might just be a rabid Labour and/or Jeremy Corbyn devotee who’s feeling wounded by this ‘betrayal’ – I’ll preface with a few things. I do not support any political party, nor any political figure, and never have done. Yet it goes far, far deeper than that. Let me put my cards on the table. In point of fact, I deeply abhor the entire system of representative democracy itself. Even in theory. It is a fundamentally and profoundly and irredeemably flawed setup. Its chief effect is to placate people with the illusion of control whilst distancing them from any power to directly alter the way in which they are governed. (If you care to, you can hear me talk about my reasoning for this stance at greater length here.)

That being said, I also think that given that representative democracy is the system which happens to be in place, the people should at least get what little it’s supposed to grant them. Which is the right to choose who represents them in Parliament, based on that person’s political affiliation and stated intentions.

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First of all: some things to know, some things to click

Okay, look, I’ll be straight with you. It’s simple, this site is where I’m gonna post the things I write. They’ll be non-fiction, of varying lengths, and about anything and everything. Like, sometimes just blog posts about my life, sometimes thoughts on politics, etc.

Hmm. I nearly just made some hackneyed quip about that pairing being appropriate because ‘the personal is political’ and whatnot. But then I stopped myself. Because, as we all know, you’re entitled to vomit copiously onto anyone who says that unironically, as if it’s some notable insight. And *this*? This coat right here? It’s mink. Not just any old mink-fur either; my one is made solely from little minks that really, really wanted to escape being skinned and made into coats. This added note of tragedy, for still poorly understood scientific reasons, renders the resulting garment especially soft and delicate. It will, therefore, definitely not pair well with stomach acid. And I don’t know exactly what ‘dry cleaners’ are or how to use them. I think they may only exist in movies. Just like those weird white open-top boxes which Chinese takeout comes in.

Now, it may almost seem patronizing to even explain the purpose of this site to you, given the URL, but I know that you’ll give me the benefit of the doubt here, negating that potential faux pas. Strangers on the internet are inherently kind like that, right? I sure hope so. Otherwise perhaps that down on his luck king-in-exile who emailed me asking for a loan in order to reclaim his throne and confer honors and riches upon me as reward is… actually not who he says he is?…

No. Impossible. I mean, I’ve already done the requested bank transfer. And so I will be a wealthy prince of Madeuplandia – strange name, an etymological relic from the original, umm, Dutch settlers there I imagine? – in thirty to forty business days. (The well-known standard waiting time for overthrowing usurpers and restoring order, of course.) Don’t worry, I won’t forget the little people when that happens. Probably. Depends on your littleness I suppose. My memory can only retain six-footers and over. It’s a very, very rare neurological condition. I tried to create a GoFundMe page to crowdfund money for treatment, but the error page it gave me just said ‘Fuck You’. Which is… fair. I guess. From a certain point of view.

We’re getting off track here. Let’s focus. Why am I making this blog? Because I have what one might call a manic-depressive relationship to writing. As in, during times where I’m not writing, it makes me depressed. I feel hopeless and insecure and sad. But when I am habitually doing it, I feel elated and fulfilled. Writing makes me feel worthwhile. Writing makes me feel real. Life is better with it, and better when processed through it. Many things are very complicated; this core truth of my self is not. It could not be more simple. And it’s taken me a gallingly long time to just accept that.

I’ve never had my own actual website before. So I’m probably going to be crappy at this for quite some time before I even get okay at it. I do not know how long that length of time will turn out to be. I’d say I hope it’s not too long, but the universe has a way of feeding you your hopes back in their maliciously inverse form. So I’ll just say that I’ll continually be trying to figure this shit out and get better. And we’ll see how it goes.

One last note. Maybe you sometimes prefer absorbing words through your eardrums rather than your eyeballs. Variety is allegedly the spice of life, after all. If so, you can find the podcast I do with my absolutely darling girlfriend here: After Reading This And That (EDIT 09/4/19: Name change! In the interest of greater upfront honesty, the podcast is now called After Rambling Through All That…) It’s super fun, I swear. It’s even been described by an avid listener as “a series of working mp3 files downloadable via an RSS feed”. More effusive praise, you will not find. At least, if you’re asking low-grade androids which you were too cheap to buy the personality-upgrade for. Also, you can find some audiobook recordings I made here and here. You may enjoy them, you may not. Like, I’m not psychic, so just chillax with those expectations of psychicness or whatever. It’s 2019. I don’t owe you anything.