personal rebellion

Surviving Life In a Parallel Universe

Examining the bubble of society that I have been fated to reside in, I look outward at the people around me, the cohort I have become part of, and then I examine the person I have become.

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A Faint Whiff of Rebellion

Being a rebel has never been my forte. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always seen the romanticism in rebellion, from the heroes of the French Resistance to the ‘rebel scum’ who stood against Vader’s Empire. I grew up in the seventies & eighties, when every cop series featured the gritty detective fighting against the strictures of his superiors and getting the job done, dammit! The rebel was my hero, the aspirational self of my fantasies.

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Where are the Rebels?

I sat today and wondered, where are the Rebels? Do they still exist? Does it even matter?

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The King's Shilling

Expectant of something long forgotten, they wait. Chins rest on chest, vacant television eyes, gaping mouthed snores, their minds drift and bob like the peas in yesterday’s soup. They wait for bed, they wait to get up, they wait for the visiting relation they can’t quite place, they wait for the silent ambulance. In a quiet corner of Hawthorn Vale’s musty lounge George waits for eight o’ clock. Tonight George will check out for good.

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You can't ban me

Jamie bit her lip, as she walked up the football field behind her parents. Would they still consent? They encouraged her to be herself, but mum wasn’t too enthusiastic about her running around in shorts. Nervously she spun the ball under her arm, while she scanned the boys on the field. They didn’t even waste a single look on her. Since the ban three years ago everything had changed. When women had once drawn more spectators to the games than men, the Football Association ban of 1921 effectively killed the women’s game.

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Drinking Games

I used to think drinking was cool. I longed to be 18 so I could sit in the pub and get royally hammered. And that’s what happened. I spent the best years of my youth drinking my ass off. Is there a bar here? What time is it open until? Do you mind if I get messed up?

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When I was 15 years old I was living in what was once the industrial heartlands of the West of Scotland.

Thatcher has swept to power. An air of despondency crept over my town as the mines and steel works closed with abandon.

Unemployment hovers at 3 million and bleak times lie ahead for school leavers.

I shared my home with 4 brothers and 2 sisters and 2 non drinking parents.

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Number Ten's Commandment: Thou Shalt Not Party

Ye hud high unemployment n’ picket lines; Boays Fae the Black Stuff showin families livin oan the breadline, survivin aff a’ scraps like they feral Harpies in Jason n’ The Argonauts. Meanwhile, yuppies wur quaffin in snazzy wine bars, n’ Harry Enfield wis actin pure gallus wae a wad a banknotes yellin, ‘LOADSAMONEY!’

Nae wunner thur wis a reaction.

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Rebellion in a Wasteland

I am a reader. Which means that I was brought up on rebellion, on change, on this isn’t right, on conflict, on resolution. Words on pages morphed into battle grounds as 9 o’clock and one more chapter morphed into one in the morning. Through their stories, other people’s stories, I have lived so many lives and rebelled in a million ways.

Aside from being a reader, I am already well-versed in rebellion. I had the good fortune to turn eighteen just last year. I don’t need to read fictitious stories about atrocities and oppressive systems, I only need to open a newspaper.

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Rebel - Mindless belief

The whole point of being a member of the 'group' was conformity. We all had to follow the same rules. We all had to have the same hair, dress and beliefs. You would think that in carrying out all these rules that I would be happy. That was not the case. I found it impossible to completely repress my individuality.

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