Once upon a time I think we were all political.

We marched on the streets. We listened to The Jam. We burned bras and held political demos. We read Chicken soup with barley at university, and Look back in anger. And we demanded with burning anger a different kind of world.

It strucks me that we are now so caught in our small worlds, our own hamster wheels of self-perpetuation, that we haven’t got the time, the energy, the foresight, to realise the world under our feet is changing again. It is becoming less about us and more about me. It is edging towards the space between one screen and the other, and I wonder how we can survive this travel through the desert with our enthusiasm and hunger for change intact. Not easy when you spend ten hours a week wedged on a crowded bus, forty hours keying words on your screen, and far too many hours daydreaming.

Sometimes I want to be me again, and I don’t know how.

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