It was a cold March evening in New York, the kind where the wind knifed through the alleys and rattled the grates of the subway vents. Popeye Doyle, retired but never really done, stood outside a Midtown coffee shop, chewing on a toothpick and watching the street like it might confess something.

He hadn’t worn the badge in years, but old habits didn’t die—they just went into hiding. The city was different now, smoother around the edges, like a con job that got too good at pretending. But the stink was still there if you knew where to look. And Doyle knew.

He pulled his coat tighter and checked his watch. He was waiting for an old pal from the force, a guy who still had his ear to the ground. But then, something caught his eye—a motorcade rolling down Fifth Avenue like it owned the place. Black SUVs, tinted windows, men in suits with earpieces.

“Jesus,” Doyle muttered. “This circus.”

The motorcade stopped in front of a gold-plated skyscraper, a gaudy monstrosity that looked like a casino rejected it for being too much. And then, stepping out of the biggest SUV, was the man himself—Donald J. Trump.

Doyle had seen him plenty of times on the news, always talking, always selling. A New York hustler who made it big, but still just a hustler in Doyle’s eyes. He watched as Trump adjusted his overcoat and waved to the few stragglers who still thought he was worth cheering. Doyle just shook his head.

“Hey, Popeye,” a voice called. His pal had arrived.

Doyle grunted in greeting, but his eyes were still on Trump.

“You ever meet him?” his friend asked.

“Nah,” Doyle said. “But I know his type.”

“What’s his type?”

“The kind that never got their hands dirty.”

Doyle spit out his toothpick and watched as Trump disappeared into his tower, flanked by security. A guy like that, Doyle figured, wouldn’t last five minutes in his old beat. The streets didn’t care about money or ratings—they cared about who had the guts to stick their neck out.

And Doyle had never seen Trump stick his neck out for anyone but himself.

“Come on,” Doyle said, turning away. “Let’s get a drink.”

He’d seen enough for one night.

I turn out to be a hard determinist. I believe that humans have no free will and that the gargantuan weight and momentum of history in all its forms has brought me – and you – to this particular moment of awareness. This moment. Now. This seems to be my foundational belief.

Perhaps there are channels – complex weaves of various force, strengths and breadth – of compulsion behind every moment pressing us through spacetime and its four dimensional waves of uncertainty and possibility. All other possible actions and outcomes collapse as each (illusory) moment passes.

So what would the weight and momentum of history have me write?

My adoption of hard determinism has brought me great personal comfort. Combined with an understanding of trauma and my personal history it has freed me from any element of guilt over my small but very damaging crimes and disappointing behaviours. I can accept that I was responsible but that hard determinism provides the most mitigating of circumstances. I don’t need to sentence myself and it isn’t helpful to anyone.

It was the universe and the me it made the moment before that made me do whatever it was and whatever it will be next.

All this applies to all humans, to my cats, to all living things and to Donald Trump. That is a challenging thought.

If we are all spinning around with our consciousnesses propelled by forces that are so strong that our free will is an illusion how should we act? Do we “act” at all if we are simply compelled? If I chose to sit still and do nothing I would have been compelled to sit still and do nothing. Instead I am compelled to write. And to resist.

The weight and momentum of history that made me and continues to make me includes the evolution of my biology. It is the function of my biology as a human to compel me to survive and thrive to reproduce and nurture both my genetic code and that of my group and my species.

I have no choice but to surrender and comply. I am coded for physical health, sex, learning, culture, competition, othering, violence, greed as well as love, empathy and altruism. All of these elements and others are present as a result of their utility over time. Pick the elements poor Mr Trump is missing.

These compelled elements of the survival, reproduction and the nurturing of the individual, the group and the species is the arena in which personal, social, economic and political relationships play out. It is the balance of the determined application of those positive and negative elements at any given time that determine our experience as groups, classes, societies, nations and – especially with the existence of global warming, pandemics and nuclear weapons – our species and all others.

We have no free will. We are compelled to act. We are compelled to survive in society with others – a polity – and so compelled to interact with that polity in one way or another. Even sitting still and doing nothing is political. And sometimes I have done that. I have been compelled by history and circumstance to fall asleep in the passenger seat and let someone else drive.

Now I am compelled to act; to seek to understand the accelerating instability of the global political environment and express myself within the polity; to write. And to do that effectively I will have to investigate and explore the experiences and motivations of others who also have no choice and for whom – to their relief – the concepts of guilt and punishment are irrelevant. They may have to be quarantined though…

What are the implications of hard determinism for political analysis? Will it bring anything new to the debate?

Does any debate change minds? Is there any debate? Can minds change when the weight and momentum of history is upon them? Not unless history changes its mind, unless the material determinants change.

Voters are among those material determinants. The confused, the uncommitted, those newly awakened by the idiocy that confronts them might be the material determinants. And so are the activists on the left that have no choice but to draw their attention to it as gently or loudly and RESIST.

He could have turned on the TV or the radio but he expected few surprises and he felt quite drained of outrage. He guessed there would be global revelations of tax avoidance, financial fiddles, bent MPs, another mass shooting in the USA and the President of the USA going about Asia seeking forgiveness for the cloud of radioactivity he was about to dump there in the course of solving the problem of North Korea.

Meanwhile the glaciers were melting and the mass extinction came a day closer as the plague upon the earth – humanity – increased. All he could do was try not to be one of the very bad guys. As if the opportunity to be bad ever came his way…

He did sin but only in a small way. He ate meat that exploited animals, drove a diesel, drank tea and coffee with sugar, wore leather shoes; the normal small private mindless sins that contributed in a minuscule way to the big fat public ones. He was a paid up consumer, a member of the fraternity, doing the small ordinary things that contributed to the rape of the planet and many of the animals and people upon it.

This wouldn’t go on.

He knew he and we were doomed. It was only a matter of time. Time just fluttered down like the deep sea snow of organic matter. And he walked upon fragments of the past.

At 73 he was beginning to accept that he should stop waiting for his life to happen once all these nuisances were dealt with and accept that dealing with all these nuisances was his life. It always had been.

So best get on with it.

He decided to make his morning coffee; a medicinal cup to get him through the energy dip after breakfast and out on the road of tidying the kitchen, looking at his to do list and doing stuff…

So I wondered how AI would write a cheerful post about our one-eyed cat. Another experiment. Taking a bland AI post and making it mine takes as much time as writing it all yourself. And it still reads like an ad!

Meet Nelson, a spirited and resilient feline who has overcome adversity with grace and charm. This handsome tabby and white cat may only have one eye, but he sees the world with twice the zest and enthusiasm of most cats – and humans.

When Nelson first adopted us, he had unfortunately suffered an injury that required the removal of one of his left eye. From the moment we met Nelson, it was clear he had to help him.

Getting him into the cat basket was a wrestling match where teeth and claws were very much allowed. Once in there however he remained quiet and calm (or maybe frozen). The vet was very special, calming and stroking him so that she could examine him and admit him for his surgeries.

He came home the next day with a collar to stop him scratching his stitches, antibiotics and painkillers. The next two weeks were very trying but we all got through them and now he is free of stitches and collar (and his balls).

Rather than letting his disability slow him down, Nelson seems to have embraced it as part of his unique identity. He struts around our house (not into it yet) with confidence, navigating obstacles with his one eye, exceptional sense of smell and hearing. In fact, although Nelson might seem to have developed even keener instincts since losing an eye. He is lazier than ever!

Whether he’s napping in a sunny windowsill, or greeting us at the door with his signature tiny meow, Nelson exudes an infectious joy. His unwavering appreciation of any affection and loyalty have made him welcome household. Even with just one eye, this special cat seems to see the world with twice the love.

Through Nelson’s resilience, I’ve learned that true beauty lies not in perfection, but in the determination to live that shines through. This one-eyed furry wonder is a daily reminder to approach life with optimism, adaptability and an abundance of purrs. Nelson’s story is a heartwarming testament to the power of perseverance and the immense capacity for love in the feline heart.

It’s also a reminder that all one has to be is…be. Even if one is not a cat.

So we are giving Nelson an extra pat and treat today – this champion deserves to be celebrated for being the truly remarkable Zen cat that he is.

Connectedness, influence and movement from the quantum to the universal level, nature, free will and zen just being.

Mind as a prediction machine.

Reality as a probability wave form.

Me as an ape full of chemical driven chimp-like emotions. The problem of controlling the chimp. The limitations of programming the computer so the best is waiting there when the outraged chimp calls.

Humility, the acceptance of my minute and fragile humanity, my fragile consciousness in an overwhelming universe. The importance of a “spiritual” myth. Gods.

The liberation that comes from an understanding of trauma, evolutionary biology, brain function and the absence of free will is double-edged.

On the one hand I am a very privileged and lucky person. I have lived long enough and read enough to begin to understand my history and forgive myself, to have compassion for myself and stop despising myself. To stop punishing myself. I have an explanation for how I have behaved and who I am. This is extremely positive and liberating.

On the other if my actions in the past were determined by evolution, genetics, culture, politics, economics, parenting, trauma etc. so must they be now.

If I have that understanding, to what extent am I empowered to alter the depths of my personality – my very identity – to feel a more relaxed and happy person?

Can the knowledge that I was “doomed” actually make me any less doomed in the present and future? Does that knowledge of the absence of choice give me any choice? Aaaaaagh! My head hurts! Inevitably….

This afternoon whilst out riding in the sunshine one of my pannier bags fell off my motorcycle. I didn’t know until much later when I stopped at the pharmacie. I retraced my route twice, looking into ditches as I passed. I couldn’t find it. Particularly annoying because my Carte Gris and insurance documents were inside.

When I got home I found I had a missed call on the landline. I called and the phone was answered by a French man who spoke English. He had found my pannier bag, had called my insurance company which couldn’t help and then called Triumph in Limoges who gave him my number! Thanks Triumph. He’d also called the police in case I called them to report my loss.

He texted me his address and I went to collect the bag. He and his family farm bees and sell wonderful honey. I bought two jars!

What a fine and honourable man. He turned this into a wonderfully lucky day. Thank you Julien!