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Saturday, 31 January 2015

Alex Jahans on Sex and Romance 31d 01m 2015y

On Sex and Romance

By

Alexander Gordon Jahans

Warning: I will be talking about my views on sex and romance. If this idea repulses you or squicks you out, leave.

It is tea time on the last day of January 2015 and as I write this one of the great burdens of recent months has been laid to rest. I have cataracts but they have always been there. My next big medical issue will be the one to address the issues of my body's confusion regarding gender. Suddenly sprouting tits is not usual for a man after all. 

So I sit here, vision blurred from eye drops, my thoughts inevitably looking towards my next appointment. I'll spare you most of the details but suffice to say the physical issues have been a psychological burden, a lead weight on the soul. So I need to confess my sins and renounce my strangeness. I need to admit who I am before I can fix something so indelibly tied to who I am and how society sees me.

How can I be so confident though as to share something so personal? I mean I am wracked with depression and self doubt and I am being open about that which I am most ashamed of? How? Why? Well firstly I am honest to a fault, I don't even like committing lies of omission which has made meeting people hard. "Hi, how are you?" is a greeting of courtesy not a sincere question so I answer relatively "I'm good" - in this specific instance when usually... and it cuts. Secondly a man I much admire once wrote an article in a public paper about his abstinence from sex and I know that at most there will be fifty views on this blog. If Stephen Frey can do it so can I and I already tried running away and considering suicide so why not go for the hat-trick?

No, seriously go! This is your last warning! 

I am a bisexual geek which biologically means I am attracted to certain types of people of any gender, though I am pickier when it comes to men, but in practice means that there are times when I get rather annoyed by my sudden lustful fixations and how they detract from my writing and enjoyment of video games and TV series. You see I don't and (due to certain biological issues) can't have sex with myself. My lust is biological, a chemical induced fixation, but solely romantic. There is an appreciation of the biological form of the subjects of my lust and my imagination can sure think of fun things to do with the people I find myself lusting after but in practicality it is a fantasy.

That distinction of lust as something in the mind and not biological is why when these urges drive me to distraction I find myself writing romance stories without the sexual element and not utilising the simply astounding set of porn a few clicks away on my ever present web browser. 

Porn is boring, it's just predictable images of the same staid movement. So what? There's no story there, no reason to care, it's just a sordid piece of art and like art it takes a second to see and then there's no reason to continue looking.

What excites and exorcises the demon of lust is seduction and romance. The slow burning firework of interaction, the rising unresolved sexual tension and its climactic release in a simple declaration of mutual trust and understanding. It helps if both parties fit my shallow ideals but isn't necessary.

Because love and romance is how I deal with lust I am rather old fashioned in wanting some ideal of true love. I want a woman who will take the lead and if possible make the first step. I don't want to be a creep adding to the poor treatment of women, I want to be their prize, their piece of meat, their reward for finding the courage to ask. Perhaps that sounds arrogant and maybe it is but I know that part of me still wants to believe in that myth and so this way I figure that until I am confident enough to be the one who asks I can be the guy who makes the dream come true for somebody else.

Submissiveness in men is still very much taboo, a hang up we've had since the Romans, who were fine with the emperor having a relationship with a man so long as he did the penetrating. I know from my own research though that fetishes related to submissiveness are very common among men. Heck even some of that vore stuff is kinda hot to me and that's the fetish of being eaten. It's a topic that is very squicky and I think that if I just stated the size of my penis and what position I prefer that'd almost be easier to discuss for some people. You may not want to imagine my penis but at least you're broadly familiar with the concept of a penis and what it looks like. The idea that a man might like surrendering power to another insults the patriarchal idea that man is strong. How dare you surrender power to another? How dare you want to be weak and helpless before someone you trust? It's pathetic isn't it? And that's why so many men with submissive fetishes and fantasies are screwed up internally and end up breaking down before dominatrixes. (What is the corrrect term for more than one dominatrix) As men we know just how violent, angry and abusive men can be, we know that to admit to weakness is social death and even if people aren't so judgmental (because they each more than likely have their own hidden demons) we feel the judgment in our own heads. The voice that is entirely our own and calls out our weakness and unmanliness. The terror of being seen as less than a man. A terror that drove me to the doctors when I grew tits and kept getting mistaken for a woman. A terror made terrifyingly nightmarishly real when my own mother lectured me on how I needed to get hormone treatment because I wasn't manly enough. A terror that causes fans to cry out at the prospect of a female Master, female Doctor, female James Bond or female Ghost Busters. 

The terror must die.

Ha.

George Bush was right.

Now is the war on terror but it's not the terror of extremist muslims, it's the terror of the unmasculine that society is rightly going to war against. 

See I want the woman I marry to be some fantastic scientist who wins a nobel prize and makes the world a better place and maybe she's in love with her work and always busy but there I'll be with a mug of tea or coffee, a Sunday Roast and homemade cookies as I work from home on my novels or scripts. That's the future I want. I could do the finances and some DIY but I have poor hand eye coordination and bad eyes, even with glasses. 

I guess it's time to draw this to an end so what are my conclusion. Sexually I am bisexual but I live to serve and get the pleasure through romance. Romance wise I am what I eat, a nice bird with big breasts ready on the plate of whoever asks for me. Culturally  I feel stigmatized and have depression because of it but I won't give up and I won't give in, I will champion the cause for the submissive to be respected in society.

Friday, 30 January 2015

Adventurers of the Multiverse part 3: The Legend of Ronnikin Skyweasel

Part 3: The Legend of Ronnikin Skyweasel
By
Alexander Gordon Jahans



Sally leaned back into the strong fur covered arms of Ronnikin Skyweasel, natural drugs released by her body giving her a gentle buzz of joy, warmth and love. “You... are... good”

Ronnikin chuckled, his throat reverberating the sound like an odd purr. As his right hand caressed the right of Sally's head his left slid down from her belly to her trouser pockets. As he rummaged, he said casually “Yes, behind the ears is always good spot, so hard to reach by yourself and worth inconvenience of getting a friend to do it for you. Did he ever scratch you behind the ears?”

Sally swallowed and blinked away the unpleasant memories “He kissed me and undressed me like a woman...”

Ronnikin noted the hesitation in her voice “And then he played with you, like a cat playing with a mouse, a true sadist.” At last Ronnikin found what he was looking for and slid his hand out of Sally's trouser pockets and passed the passport to one of his underlings. “Nothing worse than a pussy tease who gets you to the point of purring then uses you like a piece of meat.”

Sally nodded sadly, sober enough from the memories to remember that she was still lying in Ronnikin's lap moment's after he'd conned her from the Farsh-nuke. “How did you manage it? Conning the Farsh-nuke? Who are you anyway?”

“Hush” said Ronnikin as he leaned in to whisper in Sally's ear “This is not a respectable establishment, I cannot appear weak.”

Sally nodded imperceptibly, disguising it as adjusting how she sat.

Ronnikin leaned back and said casually “There is a legend, a legend that tells of the first Ronnikin Skyweasel and how the Felis Sapiens came to be...”

*

Earth. 2013. A nineteen year old nerd pauses his audiobook of World War Z to shout back at his mother “No, mum, the Mayan apocalypse idea is bullcrap! Our Calendar counts down to the death of Jesus Christ but that doesn't mean Romans thought Jesus Christ would bring about the end of Days!

A ginger cat who could comfortably sleep in a shoebox slinked into the room. His hair was long for a short haired moggy and shone with all the shades on the lighter side of orange. He stood up on his hind legs and played with the drawstrings on his owner's pyjama trousers.

The owner hurried picked the cat up in his arms and shrieked quietly “Ronny, don't do that, that is very dangerous.

Ronnikin Skyweasel The First looked into the bespectacled eyes of his valued food provider and yawned then started biting his hand.

“Ow!” cried the man as he extricated himself from the fluffy biter.

*

“This doesn't sound like the amazing story of Ronnikin Skyweasel The First” said Sally “This sounds like you're pulling this out of your arse.”

“Well excuse me for setting the scene” said Ronnikin flippantly “I suppose you emerged into the world a fully formed goddess?”

Sally thought for a moment “You think I'm a goddess?”

Ronnikin rolled his eyes and handed another underling Sally's wallet “Fine, I'll move the story on a bit...”

*

Ronnikin lapped at the water in his bowl and wondered when the ghost in the bowl would stop trying to lick his face when a trainer thudded down beside him. It was the face of his food giver. The giant loomed over him and said “Ronnikin... I-I'm sorry. I hope the reports aren't true. I mean it's ridiculous... But I have to see for myself. I have to know. And that means I might not return.”

The food giver bent down and hugged Ronnikin Skyweasel The First then stared into his eyes and said “Ronnikin Skyweasel, Son of Dennis and Patch, you are so much smarter than you think you are. You are the very best of cats, strong, smart and loving. If I don't make it, look after yourself. I believe in you. You can survive and who knows? Years after the fall of man maybe the great Emperor Ronnikin Skyweasel The First will build a statue in honour of his friend the Farsh-nuke.”

Then the food giver left the house and Ronnikin went back to lapping up the water but this timre something weird happened, the ghost followed his every movement. Angrily Ronnikin lashed out at the ghost, his right paw slamming down on the surface of the water, the water splashed Ronnikin in the face yet had also apparently splashed the ghost in the face too. As Ronnikin prepared to slam another volley of water at the ghost, his paw hung over the water, the ghost's paw was doing the same and looked just the same but the ghost hadn't hit the water, Ronnikin had. Ronnikin tentatively dipped his paw into the water and watched as the ghost's paw met with his then seemed to vanish as Ronnikin's paw dipped below the water. At this point Ronnikin had... not quite an idea. He remembered seeing the ghost elsewhere and wanted to try something.

Ronnikin exited the kitchen via the cat-flap and padded over the gravel and grass to the paving slabs beside the pond. Yes, there was the ghostly bastard and dry now. As Ronnikin reached out a paw before the water he saw now that the ghost's being dry mimicked his being dry. Ronnikin knew now that this ghastly act must be done. Ronnikin needed proof. Ronnikin jumped into the pond.

As Ronnikin writhed in horror he watched the ghost do the same and felt buoyed by the further proving of his not quite idea. Ronnikin found the ghost. They were half joined now at the body but the ghost's head stood prod and determined, like Ronnikin. Ronnikin and the ghost glared at each other then headbutted as Ronnikin submerged his head and imagined the torrent of water that would cascade off him as he lifted his head. If he was right then he knew what the ghost would do. Ronnikin lifted his head above the water and watched water cascade from the back of the ghost's head as he felt it cascade from his head. Ronnikin nodded and his reflection did likewise, there was never any ghost, just a poor illusory copy. Ronnikin climbed out of the pond and lay panting on the paving slab.

The name Farsh-nuke meant something, it carried an ancient weight, significance. A storm was coming.

*

Sally stared into space for a moment then said “How does the cat know what the Farsh-nuke means? Also is it getting hot in here?”

Ronnikin chuckled “Darling, I am covered in long fur and wearing clothes, if it was hot I would damn well know about it. No, you are undergoing Bestial Synthesis, your body is transitioning from a thinking feeling individual to an instinctual animal and animals do not like clothes.”

“Strange that nobody fixed that” said Sally “I mean I can't strip in front of all these people.”

Ronnikin shrugged “To many it is a feature, not a bug and please feel free to lose yourself to the animalistic urges. I will look after you. To answer your question though it is believed that was the moment the Farsh-nuke blessed Ronnikin Skyweasel The First with the soul of a human and Ronnikin, being five years old, had enough memories to get very smart very fast. Farsh-nukes are always playing multiple games at once, maybe he subconsciously prepared Ronnikin for his destiny. Whatever happened though the name of the Farsh-nuke burns in the very core of every non-thinking animal as it was likely from him that the logic of non-thinking animals was copied and now Ronnikin Skyweasel The First had the consciousness to understand what that meant...”

*

Ronnikin ran. And as he ran he cried out. He screamed of the apocalypse and danger, get north the blight is coming. Cats knew of the blight as kind of a fairy story, the blight was the malevolence that took the sick and the dying. The cats could smell the rot in the air so they ran with him and echoed the cries. Soon the cats cries were ahead of the blight by quite some way and Ronnikin followed them north.

Late in the day as he was growing tired he smelled someone like the food giver. Cats could tell the difference between their favourite food and the people who merely put it onto dinner plates by smell alone and Ronnikin smelled this one but she was different, sweeter somehow, a touch of cinnamon and lemon.

The giant was sat at a cafe table, her cat dressed in a fluorescent waterproof coat that identified her as “Campuss”. The cat was a female and clearly uncomfortable but glad to have food.

Ronnikin approached cautiously and Campuss acquiesced. Ronnikin ate his fill then jumped up on the table and cried. The shorter of the giants had red hair and was drinking something creamy, the taller had spiky hair and was drinking from a can.

“Aww!” cried the short one and she picked Ronnin up and hugged him.

“Oh Christ! Not another on!” cried the tall one

The short one hit the tall one “Don't shout!”

“Well what the fuck do you call that!?” cried the tall one, spitting out his drink.

Ronnikin decided to lick the short one by way of distraction, he needed these food givers.

The short one looked pleadingly at the tall one.

“Fine” said the tall one “But you're feeding him. It's bad enough Campuss scratching at the door when I'm trying to scratch one out.”

The short one glared at the tall one again.

“Right! I am going to check on the progress of the ferry.” said the tall one leaving the table.

*

“And it is at this point, my dear Sally that I fear I must abridge my tale for you. You see Ronnikin Skyweasel The First carried the gift of comprehension in his blood and he was not a castrated cat...” said Ronnikin.

Sally groaned her understanding then slid out of her jacket “Do you have something I could change into?”

Ronnikin nodded in understanding then raised a hand for an underling to take Sally's jacket. As the underling, dressed as a concierge, approached Ronnikin whispered in his ear “Bring me my travel bag and a bikini from our stores.”

The underling nodded and took the jacket.

“I was going to get changed under that” said Sally

“Oh don't worry my dear, I am sure we can find you privacy somehow” said Ronnikin “But as I was saying my ancestor had an awful lot of fucking to do and he screwed whenever he had the opportunity. He would always try to teach his partners a little of his knowledge and what to expect from his offspring but aside from these affairs his main hobby was learning, particularly from books. Eventually the Ferry arrived and he, Campuss and his adopted food givers traveled by cruise ship to America. Along the way there was a lot of fear about zombies. This was why the ship was running but the quarantine procedures had worked, the one good thing to come out of 9/11. So there were no zombies but there were families from all over Britain and even abroad as they all sought to enter the land of guns and survivalists, the last best hope for mankind against the zombies. As the news spread though and the fear built up, paranoia sent people mad...”

*

Ronnikin Skyweasel The First looked at the shambling creature as it approached, a giant with foul breath and grey skin. It was lurching his way and behind him, not three hundred meters, were his food givers and Campuss. This threat had to be dealt with.

Ronnikin snarled and hissed. Back off, I'm warning you. Don't make me do this.

Still it approached.

Ronnikin darted forward and slashed at the thing's legs.

It didn't notice.

Ronnikin remembered his games with wildlife as a kitten. He knew a vulnerable spot but how to get there?

Ronnikin tried crawling up the creature, some success on the third attempt but it grabbed him. Ronnikin wriggled free and went back to the drawing board.

He remembered his food giver used a shiny metal implement to breakup pieces of flesh before he ate them, maybe if Ronnikin found an implement?

He remembered the food hall, they had tons of implements and this one was slow, it was the only hope.

Ronnikin ran to the kitchen as fast as his legs would carry him, jumped onto the table, snatched a steak knife between his teeth, handle in his mouth, then ran back. The shambling creature had barely moved. Ronnikin swiped at its legs with his knife and it bled. A victory but a Pyrric one since the creature still moved and Ronnikin's teeth hurt. He needed to get the knife to the vulnerable spot but how?

He thought back to his games as a kid for inspiration and remembered one time when had punctured the mouse in the chest then started spinning around, dangling the mouse from its tail, listening to its screams when the thing separated from its tail and went flying.

Ronnikin had an idea of what to do now. He got into position before the shambling creature and spun, stopped before the creature and let go of the knife. It dropped to the floor uselessly.

So Ronnikin tried again without stopping and went wide of the mark.

Again. Wide.

Again. Wide.

On his tenth try Ronnikin grazed its leg.

On his thirtieth he hit it in the knee.

On his fiftieth it narrowly missed the cheek of the shambling creature and a guard picked up his knife as two of them led the creature away to quarantine.

*

“Your bag, Sir” said the underling.

“Thank you” said Ronnikin “And if I might take your coat”

“Of course” said the underling, used to his employer's odd requests.

Ronnikin handed Sally the jacket and bikini “As you request, dearest.”

Sally was flushed red “Thank you”

As Sally changed Ronnikin continued the story “The ship made it to America without much incident and once it did arrive there everybody found the situation was under control. This was an America post-government crackdown on terrorism and post-the great zombie fiction craze. They had this shit under control. Long quarantines, armed guards, constant surveillance, on the spot execution of zombies. The cities weren't so well preserved. Human rights still being a thing even in America meant that cities were overrun by the infected but anywhere the government had control and security was tight then zombie threats were swiftly dealt with and in the time it took for the ship to arrive in America safe zones had been established.

Ronnikin Skyweasel The First, Campuss and his food givers lived in one of these safe zones for five years. Since the safe zones had boat travel locked down and zombies didn't do so well in the water they managed to keep society going. There weren't so many mouths to feed and they had primitive farming going. North Korea ended up being America's lifeline as Britain, Australia and the entire African continent fell. During this time Ronnikin fathered many children, read many books, practiced his fighting and taught the other cats.

As the years went by though the effect of so much of the civilized world falling to the infected took its toll. The planet started to cool down from the dramatic reduction of pollution. Diseases developed and spread. Harvests were hard. Sea trade became harder and harder as the satellite network fell out of sync and life boats and weather forecasts became almost non-existent. Then something changed, a whisper on the wind, a tremble through the earth, a message through the ether...”

*

Ronnikin Skyweasel The First froze when he realized what the message was. He jumped out of the lap of the short food giver and ran forward to get a twig. It was a primitive form of communication but the best he had to hand. He dragged the twig through the dirt.

“R, U, N” said the short foor giver reading aloud “Run? Holy shit Ronnikin is writing. I need to get Tom.

When short food giver and tall food giver arrived back to see what Ronnikin was writing he was on his last word.

“What does it say?” said the tall food giver, squinting against the sun “Run! The Farsh-nuke is coming!” The tall food giver thought for a minute.

Ronnikin started dragging the twig through the dirt again.

“Do you think Farsh-nuke means Alex? Only I haven't heard from him since this all began and he was the only person I knew who went by such a ludicrous name.” said the short food giver.

“Wait there's more” said the tall food giver

“And yes, I can read and write in English. Get over it. There are zombies and I need you two safe. Trust me.” read the short food giver “Huh. Well nice to meet you Ronnikin, I am Emma and this is-”

The tall food giver look at the fence where zombies were swiftly congregating and grabbed the short food giver's hand “Honey, run!”

Happy that his food givers were running Ronnikin, rounded up his troops with a series of whooping cries.

There were Ronnikin heard the tall food giver tell a guard “Look, you don't have to believe me, I know this sounds crazy but I saw the cat write the message with my own two eyes and now the zombies are up to something so be ready and trust the cats. They're up to something and they're on our side.”

The guard said “Tom, if you really feel so strongly would you like to enter quarantine? Very safe in quarantine.”

“Actually, that's a good idea” said the tall food giver.

“You're serious aren't you?” said the guard

“Good luck” said the tall food giver “Come along honey, this way to the padded cells.”

“Shit” said the guard then he radioed in “All units be on alert and watch for... unusual cat activity. Something's coming.”

Ronnikin Skyweasel The First stood guard, ready with the word that would bring all to action. His family and friends were out rousing the army he had been training and teaching. He tapped the ground impatiently with his tail. He wanted to bring the fight to the enemy. He wanted to surprise them. He wanted to act rather than be acted upon but his forces were using the time the enemy was granting him and it was foolish to waste it on some adrenaline fueled charge.

The zombies massed outside the gates. The guards armed themselves and got ready for the fight of their lives. The civilians hid and readied themselves for a lost stand they hoped wouldn't be necessary. And the cats ran and cried. The cry spread across the continent from cat to cat.“Ronnikin Skyweasel needs you, the Farsh-nuke is coming!”

*

“Urgh! Enough with the waiting!” cried Sally “I just want to hear how this story ends.”

“Okay” said Ronnikin, pulling out a needle and thread from a jacket pocket “I will skip to the good part if you will allow me to make certain cosmetic alterations to your good self.”

Sally took a deep breath then sighed “Finish your story.”

“Thank you” said Ronnikin “Well eventually the Farsh-nuke arrived as we all knew he must...”

*

Ronnikin Skyweasel watched as the Farsh-nuke, his old food giver, approached the gates. He looked like a walking corpse and smelt like one too. The old friends locked eyes for a moment and then he tried to get in.

“It can think” said one guard as the Farsh-nuke tried various different techniques at opening the door.

The Farsh-nuke smiled at this and stepped back then waved on his friends who proceeded to form a living battering ram by forming up layer upon layer and pushing.

“Guv'” said one guard “Lots of zombies in America, if this thing can call on even a fraction of them those doors are going to bust. So the question is then when do we start shooting, where's only ten of them or when there's three hundred?”

“The gates will hold” said the governor “And anyway we aren't the only hold out. There are others all thought out America and the rest of the world just waiting for the zombies to die off. If three hundred get in here then we can thin the heard of three hundred zombies.”

The Farsh-nuke nodded at this “Enough games!” He walked through the metal of the gates, phased through it like Ronnikin had phased through his reflection in the pond.

Ronnikin cried out.

The cats massed both inside and outside the gate. The ones inside were armed with knifes and backed by other cats who scampered back and forth delivering more knives.

“You've been busy Ronnikin” said the Farsh-nuke, impressed before striding up to a guard, bullets and knives phasing through him “Pity it won't help you.” then the Farsh-nuke's right hand phased through the guard's chest and he cried out in pain, falling dead as the Farsh-nuke removed his hand and stole his keys.

As the Farsh-nuke approached the gate Ronnikin used the word.

Ronnikin Skyweasel The First cried out in English “Alex!!!”

The Farsh-nuke froze and a hundred knives were fired at the Farsh-nuke but they weren't meant to do harm, they were scaffolding for the cats to climb as they bundled on top of the Farsh-nuke, forcing him to the ground as they meowed to the tune of Journey of the Sorceror by the Eagles.

Ronnikin cried out in English “Alex, these are prepared words, chosen carefully. I know about the Farsh-nuke. I know this was your bungled attempt at fulfilling your greatness but you caused the apocalypse. You gave me the gift of intellect and learning. I have made an empire as you wanted. Return the favour, old pal.”

The Farsh-nuke cried out “You are right Ronnikin, good boy. Humanity is sunk but there may be a way for them to live on. I need to use my powers though.”

“Leave him” commanded Ronnikin Skyweasel.

The cats ran away from the Farsh-nuke and took off defensive positions.

“Here boy” said the Farsh-nuke when he stood up.

Ronnikin ran over and the Farsh-nuke lifted him up to eye level “You've been a good friend to me and you are a good friend to humanity but now it is time for you to lead a new power, into the light. The cats. My life to your life, blood to blood. All that rots shall die and all that purrs shall live!”

The Farsh-nuke collapsed from pain and scrawled his last gift to Ronnikin in the dirt as Ronnikin and all who shared his blood became more than just smart cats but also humanoid.

True to his word the zombie disintegrated overnight and Ronnikin's great army of his brethren? They were now ready to retake the Earth for humanity,

*

“So what was the Farsh-nuke's last gift then?” asked Sally

“What else? The sylph pill” said Ronnikin Skyweasel “Now if you will excuse me I have a lot of experience of sylphs. Very charming creatures but they do have a habit of getting naked and falling asleep in the most inconvenient of places and I have a client to meet with in an hour so excuse the practicalities but needs must.”

Ronnikin opened his travel bag and slid the securing strap at the back of Sally's head and shoulders, resting beneath her armpits.

“Well I suppose the bag provides padding to rest on” said Sally idly

And then Ronnikin hooked Sally's feet though invisible thread he'd just secured as foot holds in her arse and pulled her knees up to her chest.

“Okay, this is odd” said Sally, not resisting.

Ronnikin had earlier sewn the same invisible thread joining Sally's thumbs and index fingers, now he inserted one of Sally's hands through the hole between finger and thumb of the other hand and used her arms to hold her knees to her chest the remaining loop between finger and thumb, hooked over an invisible hook over a move.

“I've got to admit Ronnikin this is a bit more bondage than am used to” said Sally

“Do you want to walk?” said Ronnikin

“No...” said Sally, aware that she was now so relaxed and blissed out that she was effectively paralyzed and in a dreamlike state.

“Then sleep” said Ronnikin as he zipped up his travel bag, slung it over his back and walked out of the casino.

*

Michael leaned back in his Elizabethan armchair and stared at Sally, who was in her own armchair. “You – you let him do that?”

Sally shrugged “In fairness sylphs are not the most convenient of pets but you can see why this place is a definite improvement. Though he always has his travel bag with him just in case.”

Michael facepalmed then said “Fine, okay, tell me about the lizard dude.”




Tuesday, 27 January 2015

Why equality does not benefit manly men

So what's so difficult about things?

I'm no stranger to sadness, betrayal, loneliness and the daily wondering if maybe today I'll do the deed that ends my suffering. Granted on prior occasions my family was still a single unit and I didn't have to suffer the bad days of my father on my own but never the less there really is no right for this to be hitting me so hard. I have good friends and I am cultured enough to keep my life entertaining even in darkness so why is this so hard? Why is this depression and not merely living in a hellish situation? What makes now so different in school?

In school I was a child, a second class citizen to be rounded up upon running away and ignored when I crowed each day about the solution to my troubles, there was a sentence to be carried out, years to be endured. It felt so artificial and in many ways it was, I could end the pain by just not going to school and basically did. It was psychologically damaging but again that psychological damage was tied to specific areas that I could avoid.

My problem now is on the one hand a lack of money and thus a reliance on parents that you may have gathered I don't exactly have a good history with and on the other a physical blight that affects how I see myself and how the world sees me. There is no simple solution. No magic bullet. No way to just leave my problems in Woking. I survived in the past by focusing on surviving as that was all I could do but now I have to not just survive but thrive. While battling against depression and shame about my body I need to forge a life great enough for the depression to go away and that is far harder than it sounds. Making friends and getting jobs requires confidence, something I do not have and can't really fake.

I am realising now just how much I need to fight to make this happen and how much I really can if I put my heart and mind to it but I worry that I'm too weak. That the struggle to survive before was so tough and daunting that doing it again would break me. I feel like someone who has experienced something horrific and is forced to relive it. It's tough.

Youtube keeps me going, my blog keeps me going. I mean here is a success story within the blighted times. These sites could only recently start making money and already they are. That is the surest evidence that there must be some worth in continuing this stuff, in trying to make money from the media. I cling to that hope like a life raft in stormy seas. I know the dangers and realities of making money from youtube but it is still something, some proof that I am worth something.

So thank you. Thank you, my friends. I hope you are enjoying my pulp series and I look forward to the day that I start getting comments on my blog. You really are amazing, all of you.

Sunday, 25 January 2015

Adventurers of the Multiverse Part 2 Origin of the Sylphs

Part 2: Origin of the Sylphs
By

Alexander Gordon Jahans



Michael and Sally appeared sitting in Elizabethan armchairs in the middle of what appeared to be an Edwardian living room, sqwarks and squeaks abound a draft brings with it hot air and the smell of chesnut and oak.

Sally watches Michael, a barely perceptible smile on her face.

Michael stares and gawks and fleetingly wonders “Is this what it feels like to be a pokemon?”

Then a tall man in a tuxedo walks up to them carrying a tray upon which sits two Firefly mugs.
“Your tea madam?”

Sally takes the tea, draws a deep breath and sighs at the pleasurable smells.

The tall man coughs “Your tea, Sir.”

Michael stares at the man “I don't drink tea”

“Try it” says Sally

Michael shrugs and takes the tea, expecting it to be scalding hot even through the mug. It's not. Curious. He tries the tea, a great warmth spreads through him as ginger mint and a kick of something alcoholic goes down his throat. He loses control of his mouth and vocal chords for a moment, so overwhelmed by the perfectness of the tea is he but then he regains his sense and says “Evolution has taught me that all forms of life are possible given the right circumstances. The internet has taught me that there are all sorts of people who will enjoy all sorts of weird and wonderful things but science tells me that suddenly serving the perfect tea at the perfect drinking temperature is impossible so tell me how is this possible?”

Sally sips her own tea and asks wryly “What would you say if I told you reality is an illusion?”

Michael sipped his tea thoughtfully and says “I'd assume you'd watched too many pretensious blockbusters.”

Sally chuckles then leans forward “Everything you see hear, smell and feel is all ultimately electrical impulses in the brain. That tea you are drinking, the tea I am drinking, it's just water.”

Michael leans back and marvels at his tea.

Sally leans back and gestures to the room around them “This place is very real, achieved by convincing reality physics works the way that's convenient but at the little places where altering the laws of physics can't work it alters our perception of reality.”

“Why?”

“You mean besides keeping me happy?” says Sally raising an eyebrow.

“I mean this isn't real, why do it? Why enjoy a world of lies when you can enjoy a world of reality?” asks Michael

Sally nods “Good question.”

“I thought so”

“I could tell you, could explain that I am useful to Ronnikin, that my usefulness depends upon my being happy and relaxed but I think it's better to show you why I am useful. Jeeves, activate protocol 17”

The tall man nods and pulls out a gun, firing at Michael.

*

Michael wakes up sitting in a metal chair in a minimalist boardroom. A starscape can be sen moving outside a window. “Why does this keep happening to me?”

Then Michael sees that the busty bl;unde officer in the funny looking uniform opposite him is actually Sally. She raises her index finger to her lips then points Michael's attention to her right and the head of the table.

A projector clicks off and the man standing before the projector screen hunches over the meeting table. He is old, grey and serious looking. “As you can see, we are fucked.”

A man off to Michael's right speaks up “Can't we send off an ark ship or at least seed our children throughout the multiverse?”

The old grey man at the head of the table shakes his head sadly “I've done projections of the various outcomes, I've had entire planets dedicated to computing this task. We can't outrun this, we can't hide from it and we sure as shit can't fight it. Gentleman I think we need to accept that our species is doomed.”

A man to Sally's right says “But we can't just give up, there would be chaos. We need something to fight for or we'll just descend to savagery.”

“Not necessarily” says the old grey man “I believe our endeavours are best served ensuring that as many people as possible die happy and painlessly. We mercy kill those we cannot afford to support then give the remaining population the best most comfortable existence before the end.”

A silence hangs over the meeting until somebody asks “But sir, you can't be serious? Just rolling down the blinds, turning out the lights and calling good night on the survival of the species?”

The old grey man flashes with anger and thumps the table so hard it cracks “Dammit! What would you have us do!? Wage a pointless war to make all the upperclasses feel good!? There is NOTHING we can do!!!”

“Not necessarily!” cries a voice from the hallway.

Michael turns to look but the figure is shrouded in darkness “Have you considered the third way?”

The old grey man looks up from his despair, calculations running in his head.

Another person nervously raises a hand and asks “What is the third way sir?”

The old man answers cautiously “It's a legend, a theoretical alternative to the first two ways of life: Domination-”

A Dalek watching over robomen slaves in a desecrated London flashes in Michael's mind.

“And Democracy”

A man with a wide toothy grin wearing a suit and tie declares before TV “Our three main goals are: Education, education, education” flash forward a few years later “There are weapons of mass destruction in Iraq and that is why I believe we must commit pour troops to this endeavour” Michael shudders.

The old grey man says “The third way was always the excuse behind why farming animals is acceptable.”

Michael pictured himself standing in a field before Bessie, a great cow.

“Well you see, they'd say, the cows depend on us eating them for their survival.”

Michael suddenly remembered eating a beef burger at a fair and felt sick.

“We feed them, they'd say.”

Michael saw a farmer pouring slop into a trough that Bessie eagerly guzzled up.

“We clean up after them”

Michael saw a farm hand using a shovel to scoop up cow dung from a field and load it into a wheel barrow.

“We help them reproduce”

Michael saw a farmer pull on latex gloves then reach under a cow, flash forward a month and a vet is reaching his hind up Bessie to pull out her calf.

“Indeed if modern day cows were allowed out into the wild they'd be dead within a week, we keep cattle surviving as a species and the price of their survival is our blood tax”

Michael saw Bessie being led out of a van and into a stark metal stall, her friends went first then it was Bessie's turn, she was led down a narrow metal walkway until a great pair of metal prongs was lowered over her head and she was zapped. As she twitched and started to collapse unseen hands secured her rear up to a gantry crane and she was raised up into the air, her head hanging down. She swung helplessly as she was carried over to a grate where a man in clean overalls with an absurdly sharp blade slit her throat in one clean movement and blood poured into the grate.

Michael watched in his mind's eye as Bessie's corpse was butchered and preserved then packaged and cooked and served up as a burger in McDonalds.

The old grey man said “That third way is not a pleasent way to live but it might just offer us a chance and one that does not involve needless suffering. The Farmer will have more care for his cattle than this thing will for us and the third way does not just extend to cattle, it extends to any that make themselves subservient and disposable for a higher people. Pets, slaves, soldiers, servants. It may be a way.”

Another man spoke up “But how do we do this? We can't just start living lives as cattle.”

“No” said the old grey man thoughtfully “But we could design a biological machine capable of producing drugs that would rewrite our genetic code and make us the perfect travellers of the third way...”

The woman at the other end of the table stands up and says “Syrus when our only other options are needless suffering or speciel suicide, I think the third way is our third option. It'll give us something to do at the very least.”

The old grey man nods “Thank you, my Lady, hope it is.”

The vision of the board room vanishes and Michael and Sally are sat where they were a moment ago in the Elizabethan chairs.

“Okay” says Michael “So that's why Sylphs are... Sylphs, but why are you a sylph? I mean you're human aren't you?”

Sally laughs “I knew you'd ask that question”

Reality distorts around Micharel and Sally as a grand court forms around them. Baroque and neoclassical with gothic arches. Architecture that speaks of power and decadence.

Seven men sit in seven thrones each dressed in distinctive styles of garish wealth displaying styles.

A man with a fauxhawk, guyliner and a stylishly ripped pinstriped suit is brought before the seven thrones in chains, 4 burly guards holding onto his chains. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting my lords?”

The man in the centre throne opposite the prisoner speaks up “Farsh-nuke you stand accused of 7,777,777 counts of kidnapping, 7,777,777 counts of murder and 7,777,777 counts of eating the flesh of thinking peoples.”

The Farsh-nuke grins.

The Farsh-nuke's apparent judge then asks “How do you plead?”

The Farsh-nuke laughs “Well it would be rather satisfying to round all those sevens up to tens”

The judge glares at the Farsh-nuke then adds “Farsh-nuke you began life as a sentient universe, correct?”

The Farsh-nuke nods.

“You thus have great power over reality, being able to control and rewrite logic instinctually?”

The Farsh-nuke chuckles as he nods again.

“And is it not then true that were it not for our own discoveries regarding logic and your choosing to trade off some of your power in favour of corporeality and the passions thereby available that you would be killing us all in the most gruesome ways as we very speak?”

The Farsh-nuke grins “It is a great kindness that I do not let you know just what I would do, your honour.”

“Then I hereby sentence you to death. Goodbye Farsh-nuke and good riddance!”

The Farsh-nuke is dragged off laughing.

Michael says “I don't get it, a mad god was sentenced to death, what does that have to do with you?”

Sally laughs “Spoilers!”

Reality warps around them and they find a 15 year old boy in a tattered suit dancing around the interior of a strange ship. “Haha, you fuckers, my plan worked! Your killing me only made me stronger, I am the Great Farsh-nuke! The first to realise his potential! The first to exploit his knowledge for the greater good. A million Farsh-nukes will come after me but I shall be the Farsh-nuke that founds the empire of the Logicios, an army loyal to us!”

Reality warps again and they find three men eating food in a gastropub, one is short, the other has a beard and the third wears glasses.

The short guy asks “So how are we going to find these Farsh-nukes then? I mean the great Farsh-nuke wants an army of his selves from other universes.”

The guy with the beard says “It certainly is a pickle isn't it? I mean we don't just need to find the Farsh-nukes but contain them.”

The guy with the glasses says “Well apparently Professor Logicity, the guy that saved the Farsh-nuke's soul and helped him pull off this plan, apparently he left a back door in the Farsh-nuke's soul, a kind of morality subroutine that will kick in if the Farsh-nukes remember who they are instead of merely deducing it like the Great Farsh-nuke did. If we can somehow make them remember they are the Farsh-nuke then suddenly the chaotic elder god of lust and greed can be controlled like any superhero, through their morality chain.”

The guy with the beard says “If we could find a way to do that then I know the perfect morality chain. Gallalucia, Empress of the first world like universe, she died and her soul ended up in the multiverse because it was kind of glitchy back then. Anyway the Farsh-nuke mercy killed her and that began his decent into humanity, she's been haunting him ever since. I bet we can extract a record her soul from him and seed it throughout any universe we suspect contains a Farsh-nuke. The Farsh-nuke won't want to see her die again.”

The short guy says “Well if that's the way we're going then I know the perfect way to remind him of his past and make his morality pet more easily manipulatable. Sylph pills.”

The beardy guy says “Yes we seed the world with sylphs”

The guy with spectacles finishes “And let him decide what to do with the situation.”

Reality shifts again to show a version of Sally leaving a club, sweaty, bedraggled and very drunk.

There's a sound like a stammering “Sh!” and Sally goes rigid “We need to go down this ally”

Iris, a dark skinned woman dressed in jeans, a tanktop and leather jacket, groans “Sally the tardis does not exist, it's probably just some slut fucking a pervert”

Jessica, slathered in fake tan, wearing clothes meant for supermodels despite her average build, perks up “Fucking? Lets go watch some fucking?”

Nathaniel, tall, skinny wearing trackies and a tshirt with curly hair and glasses, says “Really, you want to run off down a dark ally when you're drunk as a skunk? Have you not watched horror movies?”

Sally shakes her head “Go if you like but I am heading down there.”

Iris groans “Sally, this is stupid.”

Jessica says “There's 4 of us, if it is a rapist we can tackle him.”

Nathaniel groans “We really can't let you go alone.”

Iris stares at Nathaniel “Mate, she's already gone”

“Fuck” says Nathaniel as he takes after her at a run.

Sally is running down the ally when she sees a familiar rickety wooden shed, a tall muscley man in a miss matched suit opens the door. “Well Sally you wanted to know who I am and what I do? My name is William Dickson Wright, I am 35 and I come from Woking but my name is also the Farsh-nuke I am trillions of times older than this universe and I travel about the universe helping people but I have one vice, one addiction I cannot quit.”

“What is it?” asks Sally

“Love” answers the Farsh-nuke.

Sally blushes.

“So what do you say? Fancy a gap year travelling the multiverse?”

Sally runs forwards and hugs him.

Nathaniel sprints into view and cries “I'm coming too!” before sliding on a used condom and collapsing.

Iris runs up and starts seeing to Nathaniel “Christ mate, what have you done?”

“If you're taking her, then you're taking me too” says Jessica

Iris stands up, reassured that Nathaniel is okay and glares at the Farsh-nuke “Answer me this honestly, if I were to try and knock you out would I stand a chance?”

The Farsh-nuke laughs “Sorry I have eaten Hitler, arrested Jack the Ripper, survived being eaten whole and thwarted an invasion of weresharks.”

“Then I guess I volunteer as well” says Iris

“Perfect” says the Farsh-nuke

Michael turns to the Sally sitting beside him, showing him this and baulks “You joined him, you and your friends joined a man who terrorized the multiverse.”

Sally nodded “I mean he did reform a lot and is genuinely a hero but he turned me and my friends into sylphs without our consent. Here's how I got out...”

Reality shifts and a version of Ronnikin sits before the version of the Farsh-nuke that kidnapped Sally and her friends. They are playing Blackjack in a casino. The Farsh-nuke has a flass of white port. Ronnikin has a scotch.

“So Mr Farsh-nuke to what do I owe the pleasure? I want your genuine answer this time please?” says Ronnikin

The Farsh-nuke looks at his cards, an ace and a 7, he asks for one more card and sticks “There are... rumours. Rumours that the Septagonoids are working with the Roboliquefiers.”

Ronnikin looks at his hand: the ace of spades and the jack of hearts. A flicker of a smile spreads across his face “I have heard these rumours.”

The Farsh-nuke nods “I thought you might.”

Ronnikin smiles as the concierge asks them to show their cards.

The concierge declares “Well done Monsieur Skyweasel, will you remain in the game?”

Ronnikin smiles at the Farsh-nuke “The fun is only just beginning, why would I leave when it is only beginning?”

“And you Monsieur Dickson Wright?”

“Oh I play to win and I clearly haven't done that.” says the Farsh-nuke with a toothy grin.

“Alright Monsieurs, new round.” says the concierge as cards are collected back in.

The Farsh-nuke checks his hand, a ten and a five.

Ronnikin asks “Tell me Mr Farsh-nuke what are you prepared to risk losing in order to win?”

“Anything” says the Farsh-nuke and he gets a new card, the ace of spades.

Ronnikin nods “I have heard the tales but I thought you had mellowed, that there were things even you would not risk.”

The Farsh-nuke gets a 2 of hearts. “That's not true, I still have some tricks up my sleeve to let me be sure of my risks.” He gets another card, the two of clubs.

Ronnikin smiles, sure of his hand “Then would you grant me your lady sylph in return for the information?”

The Farsh-nuke takes a gulp of port and looks to where Sally is playing poker with the head of Microsoft, Apple and Valve, then he stares off into space and reality distorts to show what he's thinking about. Iris and Nathaniel researching possible leads with the ships computer. Jessica interrogating a Roboliquefier.

“If she goes willingly” says the Farsh-nuke sticking.

Ronnikin nods “It's been a pleasure doing business with you.”

The concierge has them show their cards “Monsieur Dickson Wright has twenty but Monsieur Skyweasel has Blackjack again.”

“Thank you” says Ronnikin “It's been a good game but I best leave before I upset anyone. Mr Farsh-nuke thank you for your kind offer, I know nothing. I am a merchant and a smuggler, I do not work with anybody who wants to end the multiverse, except... perhaps, you?”

Ronnikin goes over to talk to Sally.

The Farsh-nuke downs his port and stalks after Ronnikin, he taps him on the shoulder and whispers “You cheated me, what makes you think I won't kill you where you stand.”

Ronnikin turns “You are the fool who played to win. I just wanted fun and maybe a little reward for putting up with you being such an asshole. It is true that you could kill me right now but then I would be dead and free from pain and your darling lady friend would see what a monster you truly are and the most powerful individuals in the multiverse would know you are a madman who is not to be trusted. Aren't games fun? Now if you'll excuse me I am going to claim my prize.”

Ronnikin turns to Sally “My Lady, I am an anthropomorphic cat. I know what it is like to be patronised and mistreated because of your race. I will be frank, cultural courtesy means that if you agree to go with me I am technically purchasing you from your owner but I need a sylph to aid me in my endeavours and if you help me I will help you. I will get you whatever you want and treat you however you want, hell I'll give you the cure after a certain amount of service if you wish and you will be paid for your work, what do you say?”

Reality shifts back to Michael and Sally sitting in Elizabethan chairs.
“And you said yes?”

“I said yes”

“So what about him? What made him the man capable of outwitting the Farsh-nuke?”



Microsoft will bring us Holograms

Alex Reviews The Killing Joke

Thursday, 22 January 2015

Alex Does Science Episode 1 Sight and Sound

Adventurers of the Nothingness Part 1 Down The Rabbit Hole

Down The Rabbit Hole
A Scifi Pulp Serial by Alex Jahans

“The chances of anything coming from Mars were a million to one they said but if you go down to the woods today you'll be sure of a big surprise!” cried Ross as he leapt out from behind a tree and started to laugh.

Michael grinned and hugged Ross. Ross was tall and rippling with muscle that his checked shirt barely hid from view.

Ross gave Michael a bare hug and whispered “You weren't followed?”

“No” groaned Michael before coughing and pulling back “I mean I check the coast was clear.”

Ross chuckled lightly as Michael blushed and led him to a secluded area nearby where he had strung up a tarpaulin roof, set up mosquito nets and a camped big enough for two.

Michael blushed and he let out an involuntary cry of joy “This is amazing!”

“And...” said Ross as he untied a rope, causing a cake to lower down from above the tarpaulin.

Michael hugged Ross “This is all so fantastic but there is something I have to tell you and it isn't easy but...”

Michael stepped away and took a deep breath, closing his eyes for just a moment to hold back tears.

When he opened his eyes he saw that he was falling into a vast blue ocean. “Fuck!”

He hit the water and was paralysed from the shock and pain of impact.

He tried to swim but his clothes dragged him down.

As he wrestled with his shoe laces he saw something coming out of the darkness of the water. A familiar beat of two filled his ears. There was no escape. Michael was 5 foot 8, obese and fond of wearing fancy suits. A long coat may look badass but in the water it is a vast anchor dragging you down, and yeah good luck getting it off when you are in shock, half drowned and panicking because a shark is approaching.

Fortunately for Michael he blacked out before the shark reached him.
*
Michael woke up naked on a beach. He didn't know much about geography or flora and fauna but this looked like your standard Mediterranean beach with palm trees and golden sands to him. He cried out “Hey”

No response.

He cried louder “Hey! Thanks for rescuing me but where the fuck am I?”

He saw... things... raise their heads to see what the commotion was then a 6 foot 5 slender blonde woman with fair skin strode across the sand to see him. She wore an emerald greed bikini and bright blue flip flops but foremost in Michael's mind was the strange gun she held in her hand.
“Hey now what's the point in saving my life if you are just going to kill me!?”

The woman ignored him and knelt down beside him, she placed the gun into his hand pointed the gun at her own head and made him pull the trigger, literally forced his index finger against the trigger.

The shot rang out and the woman shrugged, took back the gun, pointed it at him and fired.

“Do you understand me now?” she said.

“No but I can comprehend what you are saying” he said.

The woman laughed and extended a hand by way of greeting “I'm Sally”

“Michael” he said as he extended his hand to shake hers. “Now first thing's first, why did you point that gun at me?”

A rich deep male voice explained calmly “The Memory Gun transfers memories. If you happen to have a creature capable of understanding any language, such as that fine sylph you are talking to then they can use the memory gun to get an understanding of your basic thought process and language then transfer their own understanding of languages to you in a form you will be familiar with.”

As the voice spoke Michael saw who it was coming from stride into view. He was 8 feet tall, green scaled and had a crest of horns surrounding his head. He wore something like combat trousers, great black baggy things with numerous pockets. He didn't wear a shirt but something like a long coat without the sleeves was worn and secured by belt buckles. He had a metre long prehensile green tail.
“I am K'rizz N'tjango. Feel free to mispronounce my name, everybody else always does.”

“Only because you insist on a spelling that makes the great gods' seem rational” said a light almost welsh voice. “Now Mr Mik Hail I see you like my darling Sally, I could arrange for you and she to spend a lot of time together...?” and that's when Michael saw that the sing song almost welsh voice belonged to a 7 foot tall ginger cat person who wore baggy shorts and an array of bags and pockets that were all belted together about his torso and arms. His metre and a half long feather duster of a tail swayed like the American flag on the moon.

Michael swallowed “No, I am gay thanks and anyway it's kinda weird. Like she's an independent person and you're pimping her out.”

Sally laughed “I understand your confusion but I'm not human and I haven't been for a long time.”

The cat person reached out and secured a well worn collar around Sally's neck as if in evidence.

Michael stared.

Sally said “It's like how on your world you kept a cat as a pet? Well I'm his pet and he's Ronnikin by the way, Ronnikin Skyweasel.”

Michael swallowed “Right...”

Then a 12 foot tall Great White Shark with cybernetic arms and legs threw Michael's clothes at him. “These have final finished drying. Put them on. We don't want Sally to get in heat again.”

As Michael dressed the cyborg shark said “I'm Bertha by the way. That isn't my real name but as you might imagine Charicthian language isn't exactly something anyone can communicate in unless they too are a Charicthy.”

Then a five foot 2 white rabbit wearing a waistcoat walked into view and checked his pocket watch “Now that won't do, we're going to be late. Ron put the flesh rakes away, we need to make progress fast.”

Ronnikin saluted and pulled a ball about the size of a tennis ball from a strap about torso and threw it at the ground before Sally and Michael then everything went dark.

Tuesday, 20 January 2015

On faith and physics. My view as it is now.

On faith and physics.

My view as it is now.

20/01/2015


First let me make one thing very clear, I am not a scientist and if a scientist comes to me with a ton of evidence that proves I am speaking bullshit I will respect that they are correct.

That said, while I may not be a scientist I am very interested in science, particularly in the grey areas of theoretical physics where things get very strange, I intend to do a series highlighting the physical and theoretical evidence for the cool weirdness that is a fact of reality later but for now I want to leave the realms of practical science and enter the realm of the multiverse.

You see scientists are now more or less convinced that a multiverse of some sort must exist but there are many varied and different theories and schools of thought about how that might be, from the idea of inflation, where out universe has just grown and grown ever outwards, creating a multiverse to the far more radical and dense idea of sting theory which my  own is probably more in line with but only in the same way that Ben Aaranovitch's Rivers of London brushes against Aristotle's ideas that physical objects have a metaphysical pure form.

My idea starts with one statement and a few key rules then builds from there. The statement is derived from, a simple thought experiment and it is this: If there was a time before the universe where nothing existed, nothing at all then there is no logic to define and restrict nothingness. 

I continued from that point instead of examining and testing it because I am a scifi writer not a scientist but I admit that it sounds obviously crap and may well be but the upshot of that is that once you have defined the absence of logic you add a new dimension to the invisible barriers of physics. This is not in itself a new idea, it's only logical to think that if we do live in a multiverse universes where physics is different would be natural, after all it explains how we were so lucky to live in a universe capable of supporting life, we just didn't experience the ones where they couldn't (which is in itself its own scientific theory. Google quantum suicide or quantum immortality).

So physics are codified as part of the space time of a universe and these universes exist within an impossible eternal void, I suppose that it's green to puncture the idea that something so scientifically impossible would be black but that's just a writer's flourish.  The logic from these universes leaks a little (explaining why gravity can have an effect that extends so far but is so weak) and so they subdivide like cells through a version of mitosis (hence how you can get an interference pattern from a single particle of light, subdivision isn't instantaneous and there is some interaction during subdivision between the universes.) I then add the writerly flourish that they order themselves because of the leaked logic and propose that for every universe where something is fiction there is a universe where it is real and vice versa. That is clearly just me being a writer who wants an excuse for meta and it makes a mockery of free will so I think it's bullshit but it's something to think about.

So far so pedestrian. Lets get weird. Souls exist. Probably not an afterlife but souls do exist. This is because reality is a function of logic and logic is subjective to our universes and we are thinking beings within said universes. We are more than a bunch of matter, we have software to our hardware, we know this because we haven't found thoughts or memories physically existing  within brains. They may be encoded like a computer but there is still a meta level to our existence, a meta level that must be duplicated when the universe subdivides, therefore we exist as part of the logic of our respective universes. Further more we know that we carry a meta level of logical data with us because general explains how we each carry our own interpretation of time with us, something that has been scientifically proven multiple times. If you bring your own time with you then you sure as shit exist as some independent thing within the great reality logic thing that is the more ethereal aspect to our universe.

And now we have a basis for grounding bullshit in "reality". The first, most likely and most reasonable idea is that humans as sentient creatures capable of thinking and interfering with the reality of the universe (see general relativity) could also conceivably affect the universe through thought alone. This isn't to say that this has happened, nor that I am correct in how it might happen but we know that certain individuals have phantom limbs that cause them pain because at a certain level our minds are programs being run on brain computers and if the hardware gets removed, the software that represents it might not and so it can glitch out (which by the way is something we should be careful of when designing artificial intelligence) so if all reality is in a sense software and our minds can affect the physical world through interfering with reality (again see general relativity) then might someone in future use a phantom limb to affect the world? 

And once once you open that door so much more is possible and here are three examples.

The first is something that I outright refuse to believe in to the extent that were I to meet one I would deny it until my dying breath: Fairies. For this you can substitute basically anything though I'd argue that big foot and the Loch Ness monster don't need this level of hand waving, once you have established that reality is a function of combined perception and there a nearly infinite number of universes with widely different physical laws then it is not impossible for something very like a fairy to evolve within its own weird universe and enter our own. This though is more like me as a skeptic  saying "Sure aliens who are advanced enough to travel here could have some way to remain undetected and experiment on us without our knowing" It might be possible but I do not believe it and there is no evidence for it.

The second is something I don't believe in but I could see being true: Ghosts. Essentially this idea has two parts to it. First we have all played games where characters will glitch out behave really fricking weird and these are games that were designed and play tested prior to release. Not grand systems of reality that slowly evolved from chaos in an impossible void. With any software however com,plex glitches will occur. Granted some might argue that quantum physics is proof that those glitches exist as it is based on studying them and what they reveal about reality. The second part to this explains why we don't see ghosts everywhere. We carry our own logic with us and it affects us. This we have proof off, our brains lie to us about sensory data to make sense of the world all the time, we carry our own time with us, we affect quantum measurements, we might have quantum immortality. So naturally ghosts are glitches in reality, they shouldn't be there, so we don't see them. Or maybe we do? You see what I'm saying, But lets take this further. It has been proposed that despite the spaghettification that happens upon crossing the singularity of a black hole, from the perspective of the people on board reality would be perfectly fine. So what if upon death you didn't realise you had died and so your software kept running for you, adapting and making sense of the changing physical situation? It's possible, maybe.

The third is something I have always been radically opposed to but have been ;lapsing towards for some time. Christianity. Now again, I fully accept scientists telling me this is horse shit and equally there is no reason to think this couldn't work for your religion. So Jesus was a gu, a real dude who existed but his name might as well have been Tom for all that history is full of changing names aqnd yes he probably wasn't the messiah but rather a very naughty boy. We are talking about history written well after the fact in many cases and if not outright invented then one only has to look at the accuracy of the news today to see how oral history might have started out far more realistically and yes I wasn't just making a flippant reference earlier, he, his beliefs and the religion that grew up around him would probably have been very bigoted by our standards and really that's fair as prior generations being more bigoted is a fact very observable today and arguably a natural consequence of each generation being grounded in the knowledge and experiences of the previous generation with advances in science and communication technology making it easier to learn and meet other cultures and races but in a way Jesus the man isn't important. What is important is the history of that shared cultural belief and how even though parts of it were outright manufactured because it was good politics, we still culturally, despite our secularism, cling to those ideas.Christmas was a festival made up by Christians because pagans would not abandon their festivals so christianity was like "Fine if it means that much to you you can keep your stupid festival. And right now we are having the same struggle as Christians and atheists alike are crying "It's Christmas damnit! Don't Happy Holidays me!". Religion is important, the flavour yours comes in will appeal to you but it matters, it affects how we live pour lives and how we feel and it is a grand exercise in metadata significance. Britain and so America and Australia and lots of other places were heavily shaped by christianity. It changed us as a people and influenced things from the ruling of countries to the kind of foods we ate, Atheist or not, that shit deserves respecting and from the view of the multiverse that belief creates a grand reality spanning behemoth. I mean we each of us are a function of billion different inter connected cells and even a good deal of utterly independent single celled organisms so from the view of the multiverse how is Jesus Christ not a god shaping our lives. It all depends on your perspective, this man spans time, he defines how we date time. If reality is all of our collective thoughts interfering with the localised physics of our universes then might we not be the cells of some great multiverse striding metagod? All hail Jesus Christ, a man raised up by belief and the actions of his followers to a being of eldritch power and reality.

And it's at this point that I think I need to go and get baptised as an atheist christian.