The evolution of dirt must wait a day or two. Let us consider, brothers ad sisters, the matter of demons. And lo I have said, elsewhere and at another time, that all that we know is made of demons. Fucking amazing, I hear you cry, we never did suspect, and if it is so, as you say, oh Master of the Universe, how come we’ve never seen one of these so-called demons, not a one, of which you say in your wisdom that everything we know is made up of. Answer that.
Take misogyny, brothers and sisters. Or rather do not take it, but put it away from you, banish it from this world. But just before you do, let’s take a look at it. Okay, we know, brothers and sisters, that misogyny is a vast and shapeshifting form, like the clouds of the earth, like storm and tempest and all the fires that consume the parched wildernesses of the world, and it stretches back in time beyond memory and we can’t possibly look at the whole bloody thing, it would take forever.
So a fleeting glimpse, then. A collage. (And let us remember, o sisters, that misogyny is not a sin of men alone. Think Irish nuns, think South Asian mothers in law, think mothers themselves, complicit in genital mutilation, think women who read the British gutter press). But okay, brothers, it is basically us, we see ourselves as the beneficiaries, just another aspect of our gargantuan and sacrosanct male stupidity. So think, “get your tits out for the lads. And then... Or else...”
In this world, brothers and sisters, you don’t have to walk far to find an example of misogyny. Or go far in your own head, either. That is because when we, oh human beings, want to blame somebody for a great crime, be it genocide, or be it putting something in slightly the wrong place in the fridge so you knock it over and it’s not your fault, then you do utter, under your breath or in a great roar, "If that fucking" — and then, because we want to move quickly, we choose the most inclusive attribute of the person, place or thing onto whom we wish to transfer guilt for the world’s ills in their most proximate manifestation — "[woman, man, ethnic/cultural/religious/stereotype or, if analysis won’t even run that far, something considered obscenely taboo in your own culture] had not done that particular thing, then [my particular and cherished perception of myself would not have been momentarily shattered in that unforgivably violent way]."
So I say to you, somewhat out of the blue, brothers and sisters, misogyny is a demon. And a demon is not a tiny homunculus, it has neither wings nor horns nor a little pointy fork to prod you with, neither does it sit in the shell of your ear describing all the unthinkable pleasures of doing evil things, and suggesting there's no time like now. No. A demon is an irreducible locus of meaning.
Oh yes, brothers and sisters, I thought that would do your heads in. I thought that would have you murmuring among yourselves, and not even to the point, not even, “what the fuck is the mad bugger on about?”
I will leave it there for the moment. Off you go. A layby on the Huddersfield ring road is hardly the Mount of Olives, and it has started to snow again. Go forth and fast, and reflect upon those words: a demon is an irreducible locus of meaning (which might sit there and suggest things, but it's much further into your head, and further outside it, than the little fleshy wingy thing). Same time tomorrow, brothers and sisters. Have fortitude.