By ‘predict’ I don’t really mean in the Nostradamus sense, I mean ‘act as if such a prediction were made’. So when we plan our holidays in Croatia we are acting as if we have predicted Croatia will be trouble free and holiday friendly in six months or so. 

The greatest acts of prediction must be with relationships and property. When we get married we are predicting spending a lifetime with someone. Through thick and thin. When we buy a house on a mortgage we are predicting the house will still be worth something in thirty years time. And that we will be able to pay for it. Quite a prediction!

But what if we want to extend our predictive powers and try and compete with such master predicters as Marshall McLuhan and Herman Kahn (who, though nutty, was very spot on about many things). In fact both of them were nutty. In fact maybe being nutty is a precondition of being good at predicting.

Though I want to like everything McLuhan writes some of it- maybe 20% is plain unintelligible without very close reading and an investigation of his special use of homemade terminology. He coins or adopts words then uses them in telegraphic sentences to build a sweeping arcing projection of the future which sometimes is uncannily accurate and sometimes plain bonkers. His predictions in The Global Village of data harvesting and internet shopping were thirty years ahead of the game. If you can successfully predict 30 years on you must be doing something right.

Nuttiness. Which means in this context neither academically acceptable nor artistically licensed. A strange hinterland is occupied. A place where the mind can soar and no one will laugh, well they WILL laugh but that mustn’t put you off. The role of tribal seer is attractive to many- note the rise of this post in the postmodern age and the movement towards what McLuhan identified as the re-tribalising of the West. For him that explained the move from political leader to tribal chieftain figure (you know who they are), the rise of drum based music, pop festivals and the increasing influence of non-whitebread culture.

Tribal seer. Oracle. The consultant as witchdoctor- influence without responsibility. It is less about predicting the future than WANTING to be seen to be predicting the future. Is there any difference between a futurist and a man who says he knows when it will rain?

What other tribal roles are emerging in the re-tribalising West? The chieftain, the seer, the master of ceremonies or leader of revels perhaps? The purpose of the Tribe is to celebrate being in the tribe. Ritual wars, or more likely raids, are staged on neighboring tribes to diversify and entertain the youth. Also to supply young men with a rite of passage- which is itself a substitute for the very real knowledge needed to survive in a world of large and dangerous predators. Or more likely we have a conflation of two necessities- survival skills plus the secret knowledge of the tribe’s evolutionary path.

By which I mean, a gang or loose affiliation of angry young men can for a while coalesce around rites of passage but they can in no way sustain a community unless there is some defined path to enlightenment of various kinds. A knowledge path that sees only its barest parallel in the advanced degrees of the left-brain world. These degrees, which proliferate now in a desperate way to differentiate people in a world where the real is elsewhere, serve only to take us further from the invisible. The tribe, in contrast, provides men and women with ways to advance in the invisible world.

In a way you could say the whole problem of living is how we conceptualise, and make peace with, the invisible world. I think the haunting power of David Sylvian’s song Ghosts is a recognition that we in the developed West have but a paltry knowledge of how to manage the invisible, once mainstream religion was forced into massive retreat. 

Science of course, with its visual probing and measuring seeks to make the invisible visible – but that just extends the problem rather than solving it. The invisible, that which we cannot see and barely conceptualise, given its best though equally damaging metaphor in Freud’s notion of the unconscious, is something we can only approach through the tribal gateway. Notice the proliferation of gate forms in the ancient world- and in places like Japan with its Mon gates even today- the right way to approach is seen as almost the most important thing.

The tribal mindset or angle of approach starts from an assumption of wholeness and connection between all aspects of the situation. Progress is one of breaking and reforming existing and known relationships. The spiral rather than the arrow is the image of progress. Circling a situation, following the seasons and yet moving in and out to get a slightly different focus. The labyrinth, the cup and ring gravure are all variations on the spiral that also appears in carvings and ayahuasca and other shamanic dreams the world over. The holographic notion of progress, of adding intensity rather than detail, a thing known is known better. It is known in greater and greater significance. In the often analagous world of martial arts a top teacher can express something as simple as saying ‘you must attack with no thought of defence, defence will take care of itself’ and those words can have a huge significance to some owing to years of training and reflection but mean nothing to a new recruit- who will only learn to parrot them (with the fond hope they will later remember them and connect the dots). Many mystical traditions insist on learning things, informing oneself sufficiently well that when the time comes the true significance of a sentence or two in terms of its connections and importance will cause a synaptic circle to be joined.

Man moves towards hope and towards zones of greater meaning. If the extant official world rather excitingly denies these things owing to the speed of the current changes and disruptions in the orderly nature of living then we must dive off the highway and take to our all terrain vehicles, so to speak. There is some rough living ahead and yet by embracing the tribal perspective and letting go of orderly lettered and automated left brain man we have only our chains (of logical reasoning) to lose.

We live in times where books have never been cheaper. Often we have too many. I accumulate books very very easily. I am, despite my protestations to the people I share my house with- my wife and children- a bibliomane. More of a maniac than a philiac I’d say. I am not sure I really love books, I just seem to need them and I seem to be able to get a lot of them very easily. I get them from second hand shops, from the Co-op which has a scheme where books are given away and then sold back to people at 50p each. In the town where I live the quality of reader is high- lots of good books turn up at the co-op. I’ve ‘borrowed’ books from a telephone kiosk microlibrary in my street. A disused phone box, still a bit urinous and musty, has about five shelves of books- and I’ve found volumes of poetry (even Wallace Stevens- a bit of a triumph that). I have never returned any of these ‘borrowed’ items, I am not sure why. My standards are higher with the similar ‘library’ at the train station I visit each week. I have yet to borrow ‘The little world of Don Camillo’ from that library but it has been there for weeks. It is the BCA edition (book club associates) a style of jacket and inner cover that reminds me of holiday homes we stayed at when I was young. In such holiday homes I started reading Alastair Maclean novels and Hunting the Desert Whale- a travel book by Earle Stanley Gardner- a very underestimated crime writer these days, though huge in his day- I suspect he is every bit as good a writer as Simenon, though not dark and therefore not fashionable. So I resist some of the books. Others I took knowing they were ‘worth something’. I found a book about railway interiors which was worth £8 on the internet, so not a huge amount but enough to make me feel as if I had got one up on the day. I even thought of trying to sell it to the local bookshop I visit and often buy things from, usually when I am in a mood to buy- dangerous condition so I try not to spend more than £10-£15 when every book looks worth getting (that’s how you know the mania is upon you).

And of course I buy online: ebay, amazon, Abe. Maybe two or three a week. Always cheap. Well, almost always.

I get a few books from publishers and writer friends. Not that many. 

So I get books which means lending them is natural. But the ease of getting them means, I am sure, that books are not that scarce or sought after anymore. The internet and kindle have made reading almost free. Why would you lend anything except when you were travelling with someone and there were no shops? Well we still do.

I once leant “The Midnight Love Feast” by Michel Tournier to the daughter of a friend. Such was her initial enthusiasm about books and novels and me being a writer and all I gave away the book I was reading which was this one. But the title made it a little embarrassing. She gave it back as soon as she could, almost certainly without reading it, which I did not blame her for since this book falls into the category of works that start brilliantly, have a great idea behind them, are by boastworthy writers but actually you can’t be bothered to finish. Salman Rushdie- all his work falls into this category. So does Joyce. Lots of people. But not Italo Calvino or Borges, not them. And lots of other writers too I might add. But those boastworthy writers- I might include Robert Macfarlane here too, they pitch their writing so perfectly that you both want to praise it yet you don’t want to read it- so giving away their book is a perfect solution- you can get to do both. And you can pretend to have read it all, which you can’t if you just give it away (it is always a little soiling to admit you have read a book that was intended from the outset as a present).

Some people- I have one friend in mind- who manages to find very interesting books I often want to read. But I very rarely find books he wants to read. And since he has said no so often I no longer ever try and foist a book on him. But when he comes round to my house he might take a book off the shelf and I feel rather chuffed I have lived up to his exacting standards.

The foisting side of lending books is important. It is very easy to lend books to children and young people: you are standing in as a teacher though in my mind I recall lending books to friends too, where we were like co-researchers. Though it was always a bit more gratifying when they bought the book on your recommendation rather than simply borrowed it. But when people do that some kind of resistance builds up that doesn’t when you lend the book. They feel they have ‘invested’ and they don’t have to be so polite. They own it and like living in your own house you don’t need permission to knock the walls down.

It is said that your ‘imprint’ stays on a book you have read- and I believe that. Some books have a tired knackered feel and you just can’t be bothered with them. A crisp new unread book is like the first day of the holidays- full of promise. Knackered books are only OK when you are backpacking and have limited space and lots of time to fill.

So lending books is like lending your worldview, or the emotional weight of it. As if you are looking over someone’s shoulder as they read the lent book. The reading becomes a sort of three way conversation between you, the author and the person reading the book. That can get in the way sometimes. 

I won’t talk about borrowing books here- that is another subject entirely.

I think when I lend books I am trying to be someone’s teacher and mentor (the difference between these two being that a mentor has to accept more push back) and I realise this is slightly off-putting. My own father, who actually was a teacher, was very oblique about book lending. He’d nod at one on the shelf and say- “You may like this”. Nothing more was needed. But that lesson, like so many, passed me by. I am more like my father’s father who was didactic and pushy about promoting his interests. I think I know best when it comes to reading. I’ve spent so much of my life doing it- nothing to be especially proud of- I’ve watched just as much TV too I expect. But TV is nothing to me- despite a late onset box set habit- I’ve gone years, even a decade without watching it, but I’ve never gone a month without reading. And I am disdainful of TV despite seeing the odd good program; like a true child of Gutenberg I venerate books.

I have lent books that have never been returned. Often it was to people I wanted to be friends with, so not getting the book back (in one case it was two books) also signalled the friendship wasn’t going to happen, not in the way I wanted anyway. You can only ever be a mere acquaintance of someone who repeatedly fails to return books. Is it like going to dinner with people and never inviting them back? For some reason I accept there are some people who are inviters and some who are accepters. I have been both at different stages of my life. I never hold it against someone who eagerly comes to the ranch but never reciprocates. But many people do. Just as I do with book lending…

I lend books to some people who don’t really want them but accept out of politeness. The book usually comes back very quickly. Sometimes I lend a key book to someone (often I give that book now, just to propel it harder and more sincerely) and when they don’t like it I get disappointed. I’ve even put a friendship on hold or the back burner because they disliked my favourite book. Lending a book you really care about used to be for me like offering someone a chance to join my exclusive friendship club and when the book came back with their imprint on top of mine I never usually read that copy again, it had rejection stamped into it, too deep for me, too sad. When I give my favourite books away I still don’t like the rejection when they aren’t read (you always find out) but I don’t hold it against them as I would with a lent book. The act of lending, the contract of returning the book puts a time clock on the activity, intensifies it. Giving a book means you could read it anytime, even though the implication is you’ll read it ASAP. 

‘Neither a borrower or a lender be’ they say, and though I can get the parasitic side of borrowing being less than ideal, I can’t see the problem in lending. Lending books isn’t like usury, there’s no rising rate of interest- or is there? Maybe all lending has some subtle interest rate involved. And interest is the right word. We are asking people to be interested in us, in our ideas, or ideas we want to share or say we have a part share in. We are angling for interest, possibly a show of attention however we cover it up to ourselves by saying inwardly- ‘they’ll really get something out of this’, or ‘this book will help them grow up’.

Books I have lent that have never come back include those I left with people, using their homes as storage facilities. I’ve learned the hard way that this isn’t thought of as me lending them a nice library to read, in reality they think of it as a minor imposition and that after a certain period of time (perhaps linked to the legal notion of losing title after seven years have passed) they start to think of the books as their own. Often I have been reduced to sort of stealing them back one at a time.

Sometimes I am in a mood to give things away. But lending books is different. I have learnt my lesson. Now I never, almost never, lend a book that I cannot get again on amazon or Abe. If it is a rarity I keep it under lock and key. No friendship is worth sacrificing for a mere book.

The most prominent voice was that of John Krafcik, CEO of Waymo, whose driverless taxi service still has a human driver in the front seat. He said that we are probably “decades” away from fully self-driving cars being common on roads, and even then, they will need a driver behind the wheel in poor weather, as sensors may not work properly in rain and snow.

Fantasies about robots and AI are stoked to raise funding. Successful technologies don't need so much hoohah because they actually work. Currently we live in an era in which people find it hard to judge real from bogus technological claims. Sometimes this is because the technology is complex but usually it is because they do not pick apart claims. They want to be fooled. Somewhat similar to people living under a witchdoctor...

And being able to point out the correct reasons for worldly success are no guarantee of achieving it...

That may be precisely the time to start thinking inside the box.

Over time, basic principles get extended and bent out of shape, very often they become the reverse of what was originally intended. Go back to those principles and ignore the excrescent growth- see where the original principles lead now.

If you say it, you'll do it, eventually.

It may not happen over night; it may take ten years, but thoughts become words become actions, over time. If you read a man's words and they are intemperate don't be surprised by his later actions, or the actions he inspires in his followers.

So how do you NOT think it?

The old way. Put it in a box and put the box on a dusty shelf and when you find yourself going there, don't. Leave the box undisturbed. Never explain it or worry at it, just box it or even double box it and leave it alone. Malign thoughts need attention to flourish. Find other, more outward, things to do, like helping others.

And vicious thoughts, cultivated even a little, wreak all sorts of havoc as they can spread virally, almost by telepathy.

And it's worth thinking about the opposite too. What the right thoughts do.

The town grew famous for its sea air and delightful harbour and beach. Tourists came and made it wealthier. The fishing declined but still existed. The tourists loved to buy fish and chips and ice creams and over the years the number of outdoor restaurants increased. The friendly tourists wanted the sea gulls to like them. They wanted to be friendly to the world and they dropped chips and bits of food for the seagulls to eat.

The gulls did not change at first. But then the tourist numbers increased so much that one day it was possible to get more food from swooping down on chip wrappers and hapless kids with ice cream cones than from going out to sea to catch fish. On that day the first professional seagull was born, the first modern and well-adapted-to-current-life seagull. 

Very soon everything changed. Seagulls now preyed on the people. Who defended themselves with curses and thrown stones. The tourists still came and some still fed the gulls but that hardly mattered as the gulls now knew how to feed themselves. They grew more aggressive and daring by the month.

How does it end? Some believe the people will simply live indoors, give up their outdoor eating. Others believe in a mass cull of the pesky gulls…meanwhile the fishermen shrug their shoulders and head out to sea, guided by their electronic fishfinders and not their old pals the gulls…

It is because the trickster is so slippery that its hard to make any rules about them. Suffice it to say, to benignly keep your inner trickster in shape is incumbent on all those who would skip a little in their feet of clay...

People get lifestyle envy and sometimes even kick in their safe job to buy a fishing boat a la Forest Gump and go trawling for shrimp- but unlike the movie it presents a whole new set of headaches. Which isn't to say it can't be done- it's just the method is wrong. When you shift lifestyle it should be secondary to shifting mission or engaging purpose. Mucking about in the woods isn't a purpose- which is why the downside of that- maintaining woodland will quickly overwhelm. you have to be able to make what others call WORK into what you think of lightly as PLAY and that can only happen when you have a sharpened sense of mission. Otherwise stick to the day job.

A sharpened sense of mission requires sacrifice. It means that what you do is ALL you do- at least until you have created a sustaining bubble of people and activities around you, at least until you have shifted 'world'. I sometimes have taught people writing who are in the their 50s and 60s and they dream of 'making it'. Which is wholly possible- but at that age you can't muck about. Writing must be ALL you do (apart from stuff that sustains writing like a bit of yoga and some interesting conversations, a walk or two- but nothing that gets in the way). When I hear they are, in addition to the writing, playing in a skiffle band and slowly turning their garden into a miniature Heligan I know the writing project is doomed. When you change late in life you have to change sincerely- whole heartedly- otherwise the ghosts of your old life will drag you down.

A sense of mission is nothing very fancy or hard to instill. You just have to cut out all the distractions and only focus on your main thing. If you start to go a bit manic- maybe you chose the wrong thing. Maybe you chose something because of its image, the fond picture of you doing it. That's often a sign- when you want to be, say, 'an artist' more than simply painting or drawing pictures. The lifestyle should always comes second- even better if you rub a bit against it, aren't interested in telling folk your new trade. The doing is the key thing. How you will spend your time day after day even if no one recognises you as something special. And the right mission will have one or more things you are aiming at that are attainable- crazy goals are out. The right mission, for you, will energise- for sure- but it won't tip you over the edge. If it does, find something else.

You don't find passion and interest like finding a tenner lying in the gutter- you grow it. From small beginnings you cut out other things and do your main interest all the time- pretty soon you'll have a full blown mission on your hands. Make sure its worth it as you'll be skirting a slight madness the whole time...