Tuesday, 25 October 2016
I’m Not Sick But I’m Not Well
I like complexity and conflict and drama because boredom is a poison to me. My mind obsesses and if I don’t have an exterior fantasy to obsess over then my mind will obsess over all the reasons why I suck. This however can be a double edged sword. I like dark stories with dark protagonists because it reminds me that however flawed I may feel I am and how fucked I may feel, hope remains and people can be redeemed, I can be redeemed.
Alexander Gordon Jahans
I like life again, I feel a vibrancy to reality again, a strong pulsing sense of importance and sensation. Things taste better, feel better, sound louder and are more enjoyable. Even rendered unto death by a wretched bug that left me aching all over I found myself basking in the warmth of the sun. I am so much better and I want to live because living is amazing. I have multiple podcasts that I love, a few good friends that I keep in regular contact with and there are such sweet games that I have discovered.
Dishonoured is a brilliant steam punk fantasy about overthrowing treacherous fascists in pseudo England to restore rightful rule. It is a game with a story and setting that plays to my heartstrings right now and has gamer mechanics that suit my playstyle. It can be played stealthily, pacifistically and heroically but if you’re a bit shit you can be thoroughly awesome as a mad killer. It is the perfect blend of Skyrim, Assassin’s Creed and Batman Arkham City for me, with a setting and story that resonates much more strongly than anything else. If someone wants to buy me Dishonoured 2 when that comes out that would be amazing but for now I am happy with Dishonoured one. And yes there will be a letsplay at some distant point.
Civilisation 5 is the grit in my machine. It is thoroughly addictive, if annoyingly hand holding. I really need to mod in a way to just skip to the next turn as it doesn’t quite seem to work on my computer and will glitch out on occassion. I am very much shit at it but it is immensely compelling and really seems like it should be ported to ipad and Android tablets if it hasn’t already. It is a complex, feature rich cookie clicker machine and could easily be free to play. Yet it’s not. I am currently intending to try out the different countries to see if I can learn it and maybe once I have I might play with others.
Hannibal fucked me up. It is a thoroughly great tv series and I think by the end I had a crush on almost every character, or at least their actors and actresses. Kind of hard to have a crush on a cannibal if you don’t have regenerative abilities, at least vampires just need to drink a bit of blood. There I go with thinking through this too much. Hannibal Lecter is a monster. He manipulates and gaslights Will Graham. He kills, tortures and brutalises. And yet he helps Will Graham, using murders to guide him into stopping other killers and will fight to free him from other killers or even the framing he himself arranged when it becomes convenient or interesting to him. It’s a horrible abusive dangerous and utterly fascinating relationship. And a heck of a headfuck when you yourself have been abused and write about cannibals. Hence why I have not done a review of it for the channel. Feeling more means you can feel scared more as well.
Politically things are grim. The far right are taking charge, bigotry is on the rise and the economy slumps ever further. Trump may not be president but his supporters aren’t going to go away. It’s almost a relief to feel like I’m part of the problem as a cis white male condemned as transphobic and misogynistic while the alt-right obsess over me because that way I don’t have to feel like it’s my responsibility to clear up this mess. I’d gladly be first against the wall when the revolution comes if it means a revolution will come.
Personally I’m trying, but failing. For a brief moment I had universal credit and volunteering, then I had a brief romance with a boyfriend and I have nothing again. There are too many people volunteering for me to even do that. And the longer I remain unemployed and not able to volunteer, the more unemployable I become. If people are working for free to maybe get paid at a future job that is shitty. Certainly shitty for me. Unless I can get on benefits, suicide looks somewhat inevitable. The alternative is slowly starving to death as I become homeless. Sooner or later I am fear these will become the only options ahead of me. Just give me a job. I will literally shovel shit but who wants to employ an out of work autist to shovel their shit?
Interestingly Youtube and Patreon does offer hope. Even when I do basically everything wrong it brings in a not insignificant trickle of funds, not that I deserve it. So maybe I might be able to live after all. And maybe thye alt-right might be able to come up with an argument that isn’t complete horseshit.
Sunday, 23 October 2016
Friday, 21 October 2016
Thursday, 20 October 2016
The End Is Nigh
A lot has happened since university, it has not been fun in large part but I emerge stronger. I have faced my deepest of fears, I have confronted the worst aspects of myself and I have survived the worst my mind can throw at me. I understand my sexuality and mental scars far better now. I know what I am capable of and what I am not. It has been a very educational experience and now it’s going to come to an end.
Alexander Gordon Jahans
It is very tempting to look at the political situation and feel overwhelmed by negativity, particularly considering my trolls are the new threat to geopolitical stability, but I have faith that Britain will repel the nazis as we repelled them before. Nonetheless though it is not hard to understand the sense of apocalyptic despair so many are feeling about this. We have been bought low by austerity, neoliberalism and greed. My generation has to deal with technological unemployment, climate change, income inequality and a new nazi menace, all while dealing with crippling depression, poverty and living with our parents. No wonder so many of us commit suicide.
I however am out of the darkness, or at least I can see light at the end of the tunnel. My parents are divorcing and the house I tried so hard to get away from will be sold. The cancer of Woking will no longer weigh down upon me. Amid my angst I have been growing as a person and improving my skills as a writer. I have been writing utterly repugnant shit and perhaps my left wing critics have some truth in what they say. My approach to men is much more healthy than how I view women and that is something I intend to work on. All practise is garbage though and my garbage has made me a writer for more capable of achieving my more lofty artistic ideals.
I will never be a normal person, I can never change who I am fundamentally but the time of depression is over. The videos will start being reviews and attempts at scripting will begin in earnest again. Tonight I start playing a game to play once my current play through of skyrim is done. Doctor Who no longer has the power it once did over me and I am sure that given time I will find a way to gm a pathfinder game of D&D 5e game that works for me. I will volunteer, I will improve my cv and multiverse willing I’ll get a job.
I have been trapped for a long time by a straight jacket of morality. By this almost christian idea of the heavenly feminists and demonic right wing, by the idea that I am a monster unworthy of heaven but desperately trying to break into it. These past few years have shown me that is not the case. A label and and political perspective does not mean you cease being human with all the magnificent potential for heroism, compassion, cruelty and rage that that entails.
The angelic left betrayed me and destroyed a community I had found a home in. leaving me alone when I had worked so hard for them without even telling me why until the person whose honour they apparently acted in honour of stepped in herself. The demonic right has stalked me, told me to kill myself, threatened my family and written incestuous fanfics about me. Yet they have also defended me against the stalkers, donated money to help me keep going and bought me games on steam.
As for myself, I have learned that while my mind is capable of thinking of great evil and understanding a satisfaction there in I will never be that kind of person and I will always champion equality, fairness and peace, because anything else is to me moronic and cruel. I am not some terrible monster bound by a great moral duty, I’m just a nerdy idiot who does the best he can.
I am better now and I will be much much better but I will always be me, no matter what name I have. Which is why I am writing this at 5 in the morning. Schedule or no schedule I am the same dumb twar with the same dumb sleeping issues, and this was after I took sleeping pills and tried to sleep at midnight. Look I am going to be carrying around a lot of angst for a long time yet because that’s just the kind of stupid I am but I would be a far lesser man had I not endured and survived all that I have. So thank you, all of you, you may have been cunts, you may have been sadistic and cruel, you may genuinely hate me and wish me nothing but ill will but thanks in part to you I am in a better place now so I forgive you. I forgive all of you. Live good lives, live good long lives and be happy.
Sunday, 16 October 2016
A young man in pyjamas and a dressing gown is slumped in a throne on the bridge of a starship. He looks out a great glass viewscreen at a vast shimmering light show in space. He sips from a can of diet coke and sighs.
Alexander Gordon Jahans
A tall middle aged man with emerald green eyes, dressed in a mismatched three piece suit, materialises on the bridge beside him. The tall man looks about the bridge, muttering. “Not in the shit anymore.” He stares at the young man in the captain’s chair. “Alex, what is this? Where are we?”
“A different metaphor for a different problem, William.” says the young man and he leans forward in the throne, pointing at the viewscreen with his coke hand. “What do you know about Wormholes?”
The Farsh-nuke strides up the viewscreen and stares into the heart of swirling, shimmering, light show, trying to determine what lay at the other end. “They’re a theoretical spacial feature. a passage connecting two entirely separate parts of space and time with a singularity at either end. Virtually impassable unless you have a very fast and tough ship and even then the conflicting pressures could tear whatever tries to travel through apart.”
The young man nods and sips his coke. “This ship is in full reverse trying to get away from it and we’re just holding position.”
The Farsh-nuke looks back at the young man. “This ship is you, I’m your goddamned psyche, this whole thing is an exercise is understanding an issue, so what is it? What’s pulling you towards this singularity?”
The young man drains the diet coke, crunches it in his fist, tosses it aside and stands to his feet, dressing gown like flowing robes. He looks at the Farsh-nuke with a green fire in his eyes. “Racism...”
The Farsh-nuke stares at the young man sucks on his teeth then looks back to the viewscreen. “You intend to drive this ship through the singularity, to risk the damage that may cause, and for what? To defeat a concept?”
The young man shakes his head. “I’m not a nice man, hell, I’m not even sure I should still be alive, but my world is going insane and I have a platform from which to preach.”
The Farsh-nuke burst out in laughter and looks mockingly at the young man. “They aren’t your choir! They despise everything you stand for and everything you are! Even those who like you, like you the same way villains in movies like the heroes. The whole “We’re just alike you and I” schtick. They are deluded and obsessed! You cannot engage with them!”
The young man nods. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I can’t engage with them. Not directly.”
The Farsh-nuke stares at the young man. “Not... Directly?”
The young man picks up a staff of diet coke and strides towards the viewscreen and the Farsh-nuke. “My hatebase are the enemy. They are exactly the demographic I would want to be reaching with my rhetoric. If there is even a chance that I can change someone’s mind, that I can cause someone to become more moderate, to question their research...”
“They will use you.” pleads the Farsh-nuke. “If you give them an inch they will take everything. They know where you live, they’ve tried hacking your accounts and they are stalking you. Don’t provoke them.”
The young man smiles. “They will try but those who spend their lives in shadows can’t fathom those who live in the light. I’ll be fine. And anyway what good are my morals if they make me run when I can fight.”
“They could hurt your family.” says the Farsh-nuke emphatically.
“They’re just trolls.” says the young man, smiling and looking at the window.
“They are for the moment.” says the Farsh-nuke. “Do you really think it’s going to stay that way when you are analysing every aspect of their culture and rebuttling it? When you’re lying lying your arse off to get onto the Daily Shoah, Millennial Woes and other alt-right podcasts? You’ve had to call the police because these people couldn’t handle indifference, annoyance and ranting, just what the fuck do you think will happen if you decide to go to war with these people?”
The young man stares into the wormhole. “I think I’ll make a lot of money from angry idiots, catch a few scum bags and do my part in the culture war. I mean they did want scripted videos with proper arguments.”
“Exactly!” says the Farsh-nuke. “This is what they want, don’t do it.”
The young man shrugs. “I thought talking to you would help me make up my mind. I’m even more confused now.”
The Farsh-nuke falls silent and stares at the young man in his pyjamas and dressing gown, carrying his coke staff. “You want this don’t you? You’ve cut the bullies off and you’ve succeeded but that’s the problem isn’t it? All you’ve ever known is the school yard and being bullied. You’re not even scared of your father and self loathing any more. You want to start a war because you’re bored and want more trolls to swat. You’re mad.”
The young man giggles and turns his back on the viewscreen. “I was gonna have us meet round the dinner table given my recent Hannibal binge and my writing of Weresylph Dawning but I thought that might come off as a little too nuts and well the ending of season 2 hit me a tad hard so I dredged up this dilemma, had to write about something.”
The Farsh-nuke stares at him.
The young man smirks. “You’re right, you’re absolutely right, I want to pick a fight. I thought these were just isolated insane morons but now the British government is giving them they greatest desires so I want them to suffer. And since they’re all depressive autists like me I know just what buttons to press.”
“I did not know you were so sadistic.” says the Farsh-nuke soberly.
“Where do you think you came from?” says the young man then he narrows his eyes at the Farsh-nuke. “They are genocidal nazi fuckers. That means by my morality they can die. More than that though I want them to, I hate them. I despise everything they stand for and that the vile shits could ever think to find kinship with me. I have a policy against revenge but I very much enjoy it and these fuckers are presenting me with the one situation where I can allow myself it.”
“There are laws to obey.” warns the Farsh-nuke.
“Oh don’t worry about that. I’m not going to physically harm anyone.” says the young man. “But these people have forgotten how to troll, if they ever did. They have a culture of viral ideas and jokes. A union of the isolated with a shared language of memes. I could give them such an education.”
“It’s dangerous to poke the hornet’s nest.” says the Farsh-nuke. “Hell just this autoexposiprose could cause bad consequences for you and your family.”
The young man grins. “We you know me, I’ve never really been one to listen to threats.”
“Yeah, you’re an idiot.” says the Farsh-nuke.
“And if they were just coming for me I would agree with you.” says the young man more somberly.
The Farsh-nuke closes his eyes. “You’d do it, wouldn’t you? Risk death to save others in the propaganda war.”
“Yes.” says the young man without hesitation.
The Farsh-nuke glares at him.
“No.” says the young man, then he shrugs. “I don’t know. Any decision I make is going to affect my family and that makes it more complicated, particularly when I don’t know if all I’m doing is providing a straw man image of the left wing for the alt-right to laugh at.”
“But the moment someone threatens your family -?” asks the Farsh-nuke
“I go line by line through every video of millennial woes and every podcast of the daily shoah to deconstruct the alt-right and lecture on the wisdom of 4egulated capitalism and techno-progressivism.” says the young man. “Or at least I’ll want to.”
The Farsh-nuke laughs.
The young man laughs.
The wormhole shimmers behind them.
Saturday, 15 October 2016
Thursday, 13 October 2016
Better Every Day
Alexander Gordon Jahans
It is odd to be continually brought low and yet feel yourself rising. It's like there's a black hole pulling my world in and every step I take away from depression allows me to fly just in sync with the pull of the black hole.
My issues currently are a cold making it hard to think straight and focus, a left foot that it hurts ever so slightly to stand on, likely a casualty from one of my slips down the stairs, haemorroids, my parents divorcing, my cat being a daft manipulative shit, the prospect of moving house, my continued inability to get a job (still I feel a madness about all those "Just get a job" comments), my uncertain future and the madness of the world at the moment. I swear any day now the sharks are going to start flying, the dolls are going to maul people to death and guppies are going to start phasing through solid matter...
But none of that matters, not really, not to this post. These are all solvable problems. Some less so, some more so, but all problems distinctly outside of my own head.
Getting better is a return to sensation. I used to hate films and tv series because I couldn't focus on them, because I was always wondering what I was missing, well now I don't, I just enjoy them. I don't need the alcohol any more, I don't even need the diet coke or the food. I am sitting here with a teapot filled with a lemon, ginger and peppermint infusion and I feel fine.
Now yes I have taken practical steps. I have a schedule now (and no wanking isn't on it), I know when to take my pills, when to work, when to do chores and when I can relax. I have a watch so I know what time it is no matter what I'm doing, so I don't fret that I'm missing stuff. I have an exercise routine now and am building up my fitness so I don't hate myself quite so much when I binge. IO've cut out the sources of self doubt and am fortifying myself socially, giving myself time to socialise so I don't feel neglected or neglectful.
The biggest cure is time though. My brand, the brand of Alexander Gordon Jahans, was shameless, honest, moral. That's a complete fucking lie. I am a self pitying fuckwit riddled with shame. I lie all the time for the sake of politeness, I lie to myself and the world. I wouldn't be so self consciously obsessed with morality if I wasn't a vengeful sadistic dick who had already made a lot of questionable decisions. Everyday I live, every day I survive, is a day further away from those decisions, away from the sources of all that shame.
I am never going to be a good man, I am never going to look at myself in the mirror and be happy with what I see, because the better I become the more disgusted I become at what I was, what I will always be to some small extent. Everyday I live and everyday I am not the dickhead I once was is another reason to stop being so shitty to myself.
Everything fades in time. At some point I won't remember the fanfiction or the group that disintegrated, already I find myself struggling to recall who it was I pissed off. Even the trolls and the police reports will fade in time. None of this will matter. Not to me anyway. That's how this always goes.
These last two years I've been haunted my how I chose to end my shark nightmares. That I ended the pain and the fear by giving into it and choosing death. Except that's not what happened. My mind forced a terror upon me that I could not escape, that was breaking me and making it so I could not sleep. Instead of giving in to the terror I took control of the situation, confronted the source of my fears until I was bored by the spectacle and then I made it a part of me, made it work for me. I took my worst nightmare and I made it into my mascot. That isn't what a victim does.
I think this is why, for want of a better term, vore fiction appeals to me. Not in a sexual sense, just a literary and entertainment sense. I am a lapsed vegetarian, I know that the vegans have the moral high ground and yet I continue to eat meat because I like the taste and my body needs protein. To the man who strives so hard to be moral and fears his darker hues this is unforgivable. So I watch Hannibal and Game Of Thrones and I write oh so very dark fiction to confront that hypocrisy head on until it loses its potency.
You see my foes work in darkness and they think shadows shield them but when you work in the light and you live in the light you are not afraid of that which lies in the dark because to get to you the shadows must strike in the light of day and have all their flaws revealed. Exposure to light makes dark hues fade away to nothing. I stopped being afraid of fading away a long time ago, indeed now I find comfort in it.
The world is insane and the night is dark and full of terrors but I am walking along in the sunshine and I feel alright.
Tuesday, 11 October 2016
Alexander Gordon JahansI am a neurotic bastard and I basically trust no one and for the last two years my sanity has been severely tested. I have needed someone to turn to for support and guidance but I haven't trusted anyone and noone really knows what I'm going through except myself, so I created the autoexposiprose.
The autoexposiprose is in essence a way to access and critique knowledge and perspectives within my own mind that are hidden by my neuroses through the medium of fiction. Alex Jahans is too much of a neurotic mess to think coldly and clinically about the avoidable options in a shitty situation, the farsh-nuke is not. So I write myself and another as fiction as a way to externalise and analyser problems with someone who knows everything I do about the situation but without my neuroses and self loathing.
This is a way to vent and find clarity on a subject of confusion by utilising my limited fiction writing skills as a tool to better understand myself. I can't imagine how surreal it looks to someone else but I make these intensely personal -pieces of writing public, partly for the sake of my sanity - consulting a fictional character for advise is a lot less odd if it's published fiction, and partly as an insurance policy. You see I live in constant irrational fear that I am secretly a monster, making such intimate fiction public means my thought processes can be analysed and discussed by others so that if there is something troubling in them it will be found. When nothing is found I thus am reassured that everything is okay.
I can't be as honest as I used to be anymore but I still try to be as honest as I can. I don't expect you to understand this and I do expect you to judge me for it but the autoexposiproses help me.
In The Shit
A young white man in pyjamas and a dressing grown with a straggly almost beard wades through an ocean of shit, stumbling vaguely towards a glint of light in the distance.
Alexander Gordon Jahans
A tall white man, older by a decade or so, clean shaven and dressed in a charity shop suit, materialises in the shit. “Well, it’s not the cliff...”
“So there’s this mountain and everyday a little bird comes along and chips away at the mountain side...” says the younger man.
The older man frowns and starts wading after the young man. “But you’re not the Doctor and you aren’t trapped in a personal torture chamber.”
The younger man snorts. “No, William, my name is Alexander Gordon Jahans and welcome to my torture chamber, my mountain.”
“But shit?” says the older man. “Wading through a river of shit? This is really how you see your life?”
The younger man grimaces and shrugs. “You can read souls, read mine.”
The older man sighs and stops wading through the shit. He crosses his arms and stares at the younger man. “The Presidential Election, Brexit, your parents divorce... None of these are news surely?”
The younger man shakes his head. “This is a shit storm that has been coming for a long time and I am handling it better because well, we aren’t meeting at the cliff.”
“Then why am I here?” asked the older man. “You don’t write an autoexposiprose, you don’t come to speak to the Farsh-nuke, unless the shit has hit the fan and you need guidance.”
The younger man snorts, still wading through the shit. “Who does this arrogant fool consult in times of hardship when he needs guidance and wisdom? He talks to the part of him that is not held back by awkwardness, neuroses and self loathing.”
The older man shrugs and says wryly. “There are worse coping strategies.”
“I’ve started drinking.” says the younger man
The older man takes a deep breath then asks. “Only before films though?”
The younger man shrugs. “I’m watching a lot of films and I’m starting to like being drunk, to feel like thinking and focusing is an effort.”
The older man snorts. “That’s called being young.”
“I’m twenty four!” cries the younger man.
“And I’m several times older than the multiverse.” says the older man. “You’re fine.”
“It’s not just the alcohol though...” says the younger man. “I’m back on the diet coke and I feel so hungry, I’m eating two or three meals a day now.”
The older man smirks. “Woah there, party boy!”
The younger man groans.
“Look, I read your soul and more than that I’m a representation of your own psyche trying to help you.” says the older man. “The reason you are watching all those films right now is because having breached 70,000 words on Weresylph Dawning you are taking a much needed break to top up on creative energy before diving back into the frey. It is only natural that you are going to have an enlarged appetite, it will pass. And anyway aren’t you working out now?”
“I missed my session today.” says the younger man.
The older man shrugs. “Then make sure you don’t miss tomorrow’s. We all fall off the wagon now and again. The trick is learning how to get back on it when you do fall off.”
“I still don’t like it.” says the younger man.
The older man nods. “Well we know why that is don’t we?”
The younger man groans.
A huge black shark lunges out of the shit before the younger man.
The younger man screams and takes a step back.
The shark explodes into green goo.
The older man lowers his plasma pistol. “Self loathing can go to fucking hell while I’m here. You’re fine, Alex.”
The younger man groans. “Look where I am, look at my life.”
“Yeah, you’re in the shit, a whole ocean of crap.” says the older man, stowing his pistol in its holster. “But you are alive and you are doing better than ever. Quit being so fucking hard on yourself. A bunch of shitty fiction does not make you into the chair of the anti-feminist league, nor does it mean you are in favour of the oppression of cocking anyone. More to the point even the people who actually hate you because of your fiction don’t actually hate you in the way you think you do.”
“Says the man who eats women for breakfast...” says the younger man bitterly.
“Says your own goddamned psyche when its not weighed down by bullshit.” says the older man. “For fuck’s sake even the trolls can see you’re too hard on yourself. You have spent your entire academic career turning single sentences into massive essays so you assume the same approach is true of others. You saw the screencaps leaked from the chat, you know that the people whose approval you still crave are perfectly capable of straight up insulting you, so why the fuck would they spend an essay doing so? Unlike you they mean every single word they say. Which is ironically precisely why do hate you. Because in a story explicitly set in a different reality where the laws of physics are mutable every action depicted is seen as insight into the soul of the author.”
The younger man turns and looks back to the older man. “Why are you talking about that? I’m over that.”
“Because you aren’t!” cried the older man, wading through the shit towards him now. “There are nazi stalkers out there right now trying everything they can to bring you down and you don’t care because you are still obsessive over the trans people who decided they don’t like you. Because the man who has written himself getting eaten alive and shown his tits to the internet is too scared to even try and write a trans character again after one group of strangers on the internet took issue.”
“They were friends...” said the young man icily.
“As if that has ever fucking mattered.” said the older man still wading towards the young man. “Love and friendships is pain and heartbreak in the making, that is all it ever has been and all it ever will be. How many people have betrayed you, how many of them have betrayed and humiliated you in far worse ways than that group of oversensitive callous pricks who happen to be trans and how many of them were far greater friends that you loved and trusted so much more?”
The young man clenched his fists, gritted his teeth and looked away. “This isn’t right...”
“No, it really isn’t.” agreed the older man, wading closer now. “You need to let go. Let go of the pain and the heartbreak. Let go of the distrust and the guilt. Yes, they were hurt, yes there were angry and yes their reasons may have been just but yes they were cunts to you. Now for the sake of everyone. abandon the memory of them Let it go.”
The young man smirked and looked the older man in the eyes. “Let it go?”
The older man snorted and gave a half smile then looked the younger man in the eyes and put his hands on the younger man’s shoulders. “The name you chose, Alex Jahans, it was a promise, a promise to stay alive and not kill yourself in memory of the boy who lived. But do you know what else that boy was? A cold arse mother fucker who could cut a bitch out of their life if he needed to.”
The young man nodded cautiously. “I wanted to be a good man though. How can I call myself a good man if I allow myself to be so cold?”
The older man grimaced then regarded the young man coolly. “They tried you and executed you months ago, Alex. They cut you out of their life, it’s no sin to return the favour.”
“I don’t do revenge.” said the young man icily.
“Which is as I understand it part of the problem.” said the older man wryly then he looked deep into the young man’s soul, as if trying to cut the cancerous thoughts out with his eyes. “This isn’t revenge, this is mercy. End the pain. Let them fade into the mists of time as yet another bunch of arseholes.”
“And what if they’re right?” asked the young man. “What if my writing really is transphobic?”
“Then you’ll get better.” said the older man. “You will try and you will fail and you will be hated but one day you’ll get it right. That’s how this works.”
The young man sighed. “It’s not going to change anything you know? I’ll still be here, wading though shit.”
“Yeah, but you might actually be able to live with yourself.” said the older man. “And that will make it easier.”
“Okay then...” said the young man. “I’ll try.”
The older man nodded.
Then the older man vanished.
The younger man turned around and started wading though shit again.
Monday, 10 October 2016
Sunday, 9 October 2016
Saturday, 8 October 2016
Thursday, 6 October 2016
Wednesday, 5 October 2016
Tuesday, 4 October 2016
Monday, 3 October 2016
Alexander Gordon Jahans
I am in a dark place and I have been in this dark place for a long time but I have slowly been pulling myself out into the light, into a bold new hope. Except I have attracted haters along the way. Haters that seem intent on pulling me down into the much.
I'm fat, I wear glasses, I have mild asperger's syndrome and I have kallman's syndrome. These are things that have altered the way society sees me, that have caused me to gain the attention of obsessive gaslighting stalkers who claw at me desperately for attention. It is not nice and it is not fun but that is not what bothers me, what niggles away at me and makes me want to die at 4 in the morning.
I was raised by tv by scifi and fantasy. By stories of brave noble heroes vanquishing evil and winning the hearts of fair maidens and princesses. I have found that to me this is the faith I ultimately believe in. I can talk for hours about the pragmatic, mathematical and moral reasons behind being what I consider "A Good Man" but none of that keeps a man going when his own mind is trying to convince him to die. Faith is the perfect counter to reason and my faith in the fundamental idea of heroic nobility is what keeps me going. Faith that for all my sins that if I just keep trying one day I shall be rewarded.
There are no mountains left to climb, no countries left to discover and no dragons left to fight. Even if there were I'm a socially awkward fatty with poor hand eye coordination who needs injections every 3 months. I am no hero and I can never be a hero but still I cling to that faith in heroic virtue. to the idea that if I strive to be the best person I can be that I will be rewarded. Does that make me a "Nice Guy"?
Funny how we turned niceness into a toxic insult. Now I get it women are allowed to rant and rave about how horrible men are because of very real oppression that continues to this day. (Let women have proper pockets for fuck's sake! And y'know work on that equal pay shit.) I, by virtue of my gender, am expected to sit quietly and never complain. I do genuinely understand most of the reasons for various aspects of feminist discourse being the way it is but if this paragraph read like a slap in the face then maybe you understand a little of how it feels to know what a person is saying is right yet still feel unfairly attacked.
I take things personally and I get defensive because my entire life I have been attacked. Not even out of hatred most of the time but just because it was funny. I feel like a woman can lash out, a trans person can lash out but that because I'm a white man I can't. Now yeah that may just be within the leftwing feminist circles I choose to inhabit but I want those circles to win the culture war so it would be rather nice if I had some place within it if I fight and suffer for it. Because I am suffering for it.
I've not even been that vocally anti-Trump and already I am being stalked and feeling under threat. In the age of the safe space this priviledged white male has none. And indeed I got blocked from a safe space I was not insignificant in facilitating. So I am bitter and I am hurting. Fuck the alt-right, fuck the racists, fuck the brexiters, fuck the trump supporters and fuck the fucking gym bros. I don't care about them, their greatest attacks would never come close to the torture I put myself through on a good day, but I would fight and die for the left and for feminism, for equality and a land of peace, tolerance and reason. For that is my faith.
I live for women, for their beauty, cuteness and success. I live for fantasies that I might be worthy of them, my writing a relentless retread of how fantastic it would be to gain the love and attention of one. And there's the rub. The essential catch 22 at the heart of my being. I desire to have a relationship with a woman so badly and that's why I'm unworthy. I am love with the concept of women, in love with the idea of a submissive beauty, and not with the people they happen to be. Which is why even the gym bros have more success than me, they may be misogynistic douchebags but at least their overconfidence and unwillingness to give a shit about women stops them being so directly and overtly objectifying of women.
My faith is heroism and I live for the fantasy of a submissive woman but I am no hero and no woman could want me while I am so blinded by what they are to know who they are. Unfortunately being aware of one's flaws does not make it easy to change them. I have tried to fight against these urges within myself for so long but I can't win, not in the long term. I love women, I love how they sound, how they look, how they walk and the way they navigate society. Men are so boring, we're all just apes chasing after glory, money, girls or the happiness of those we care about.
Perhaps I am a monster? Perhaps I've tried so hard to stick to heroic virtue because I know at heart that I am not? Perhaps I am destined to be a bigot future feminists will rage against? Well future moderate feminists at any rate, The radicals already think I am a transphobic misogynist.
Maybe I'm over thinking this and it's not that I am a monster but just that I am a failure?
Here lies Alexander Gordon Jahans.
Died christmas 2016 by a knife to the chest.
He fucked everything up.
I mean lets look at my successes shall we? I hated school and thought gcses were pointless so I passed it with flying colours, I went onto the wrong college course by mistake and got a good grade then I went to university and succeeded at getting a useless degree. Youtube I only succeeded at when all I wanted was to vent into the wind and success became an annoyance. Do I ever write novels because I intend to write novels? Nah, I write novels because I try to write short stories and things get out of hand. I am the king of failure and sod's law.
Ah well, I still have my faith and I still have my writing and love for women. I may have completely fucked up my life but at leasty I can be sort of happy. At least until the people I love and champion come to decorate the wall with my brain.
Sunday, 2 October 2016
Fleshing Out The Lore Of The Shrinkening
Alexander Gordon Jahans
So The Shrinkening is an odd story in that it basically exists to wrap canon around a property that inspired the canon itself. It's like if Doctor Who did a story with Bernard Quatermass to explain how all their stories happened in the world of Doctor Who. It was also intended to be short and an illustration of the shrinking woman genre (more or less), This thus resulted in some corners being cut and elements left unsaid or implied:
- How is the shrinking actually orchestrated in the first place and why?
- Just how exactly do the governments decide shrunken people can be kept as pets and how the fuck does that even work?
- How well do the families of sylphs take their loved ones becoming pets?
- Why did William get those headaches when around Lucy and when thinking of how the shrinking worked?
- Who is Eliza and how is she so awesome?
- Who is Galla Placidia and why is she working with MI5?
- How do the various plans actually shake out?
- What exactly is the 3d printer device given to William at the end?
- How does the other Bam-Kursh relate to this story?
1.So every world in the multiverse has a chance of generating a Farsh-nuke, Bam-Kursh, Gfaxxy Quluwmcy, Spring Heeled Jack and their associations. In this world a Bam-Kursh generated, realised their potential and because the Bam-Kursh is just that kind of sociopath who sees people as ants that are fine to squish, decided to build a shrink ray for shits and giggles.
Except the shrink ray is actually turning individuals into toys ala The Toy Maker, rewriting the localised logic associated with them so they don't need food or oxygen to live. Once they are turned into Toys the Bam-Kursh then created a second skin of logic made to reflect their every move and sensation. This second skin acts as the interior of a pocket of reality exactly matched to a third skin which can then be scaled however big or small since it is an illusory interface created by logic with the second skin around the individual.
In order to do this to a wide enough number of people the Bam-Kursh probably just built a few rudimentary quantum oscillators, gave them basic algorithmic targeting computing to randomly target then maintain lock until shrinking was complete before selecting another target. The Bam-Kursh then probably got them into orbit themselves or had them piggyback on a satellite. It's most likely programmed to activate a random wide burst every 25 years or so to give the population time to recover.
At the time the tagging system made sense when the governments didn't know what they were dealing with, after all the tags let them know where to find the sylphs not just their owners. Plus there were probably some hushed up government records about interactions with Farsh-nukes and Bam-Kurshes in the past and references to the Sylphs of the multiverse. Certainly it's likely there was data on the system tied to these keywords indicating that shit was about to get real and suggesting that a cautious inoffensive wait and see attitude combined with data gathering was the best option. The thing about sylphs not being able to go to college or get jobs is likely tied to this cautious refusal to escalate a dangerous situation.
After William realises he is the Farsh-nuke and finds out what the sylphs actually are word is probably disseminated that sylphs can be trusted to take part in society again and afforded the full extent of human rights once more. There'll probably be with size restoration clinics within a decade but by that time society will have come to accept sylphs as pets and many will actually look upon the option as preferable to being a wage slave so the legislation will be adapted to allow people the right to become sylphs if they wish.
Well the reunions are certainly awkward, even if the sylphs can get their size temporarily restored for the occasion. There just isn't a good way to announce to family that you're a pet, even if your family is sex positive, but society's values become subject to change. Particularly as for many in the beginning becoming a pet was not a choice and their owners quite literally saved their lives. Once shrinking becomes reversible and largely opt-in it just becomes another way for people to relate to one another with some couples entering into monogomous relationships as pets to two different owners.
Before the Great Septagonoid War the souls of Fash-nukes that were bonded to host bodies stayed largely dormant but would give their hosts nightmares of their past for example. Once the Great Septagonoid War entered its last act Farsh-nukes started to awaken to a wider consciousness beyond any one host. The headaches are caused by the Farsh-nuke soul that lays dormant within William stirring and suggesting ideas to help him out but in so doing risking death. The last act of the war tied Farsh-nuke souls to Septagonoid souls so the Septagonoids would continually be dragged to a pocket dimension where they could do no harm. Farsh-nukes can regrow their souls all beings of matter can but since Septagoids are just souls they can't escape using the same loop hole.
Eliza's story was part of The Contravoxai Survivor (http://farsh-nuke.blogspot.com/2015/11/the-contravoxai-survivor-nsfw.html) She was a humble publican who got given the ability to control the exact positioning of every subatomic particle of her being. She's kind of like a more OP version of Ozymandias or the Green Lantern but her abilities couldn't have saved her from a blast of logical void fire so she would have been dead had a farsh-nuke not materialised his ship around her and flown her to safety. Eliza now helps run a newly non-interventionist and restructured Logicio Empire.
Galla Placidia is one of the most powerful Elder Gods as she never had her powers watered down by hedonism or removed to survive execution. She entered a universe to survive as head of MI5 and ensure that there would always be a Britain safe from multiversal and alien threats capable of producing fiction to inspire the Farsh-nukes of the multiverse to be the heroes it needed. She has been keeping tabs on the politics of the world and quietly doing her bit to ensure nothing goes too badly wrong. You can read her origin in The Venus Trap: http://farsh-nuke.blogspot.com/2014/11/the-venus-trap-online-edition-part-1.html
So those are:
- Cassie and her plans for AI development
- Lisa and her ideas to revolutionise Sylph Cage Design.
- Amy's plans to help sylphs who need legal aid.
- Daniella's investigation into how shrinking affected the new media.
- Riksu's decision to get into the family business maintaining a media empire
- Emma's plans to take the art world by storm and write a novel about what it is like to be a sylph.
- Alisha's plans to write a paper explaining the multiverse to the scientific community.
- Lucy's development of an online safe space for Sylphs to interact.
- William's chronicling of his past adventures in the multiverse,
Lisa created her own brand of sylph cage that was designed with the comfort and well being of sylphs first. To begin with they sold badly because of how little care was taken to pleasing owners but they were cheap and got a reputation among sylphs as being the best cages to have. So when later Lisa created more expensive art pieces designed for the aesthetics of the owners first they sold much better and still the sylphs who lived within them would find that their accomodations were by far preferable comfort wise to alternatives. Finally Lisa came out with incredibly expensive cages that made use of pocket universe technology to give the sylph occupants flushing toilets and powerful computers without ruining the aesthetics and the cash started rolling in so much that Lisa was able to fund Better Caging initiatives for sylphs with owners from poor backgrounds.
Amy made her own law firm that recruited and trained sylphs to act as legal aid to sylphs who were going to court being taken to it. This set a precedent that started reforming the legal industry, particularly when Amy's apprentices left to form their own law firms or join pre existing ones. It was thanks to her that firing a person for shrinking was established as unlawful dismissal.
Daniella's work ended up redefining feminist discourse on the subject of feminist discourse for centuries to come and helped define what was the appropriate way to display sylphs in the media, though of course she remained an active participant until well into her ninth century but by that point she had largely retired from feminist academia, preferring to spend time with her wife and owners.
Riksu took over the family business and thanks to her understanding of what sylphs wanted she was able to quickly grow her media empire to overtake Murdoch's and crush it financially. Overseeing directly for 500 years before her apprentices were ready to take over it for her as a collection of separate smaller companies that would keep competing with each other and prevent either subsidiary getting too big or another media empire getting big enough to rival the combined might of the empire.
Emma's art came to represent an age future historians would name The Time Of Sylphs. Her graphic novel became a bestseller and was adapted into a movie still taught in film studies classes thousands of years later. Her biography would later be adapted into a tv series and Emma became the colloquial term for Sylph among a certain kind of acerbic and cynical individual.
Alisha's work was widely derided at the time but it opened the eyes of the scientific community to start contemplating the multiverse in earnest and later attempts to disprove her findings only proved to vindicate her time and time again until finally the scientific community accepted her findings and started trying to make sense of the multiverse.
William's Tales From The Nothingness series were ideally regarded as a fantastic scifi series and at one point there was a comic adaptation, a film adaptation and a TV series all running at the same time. Then the scientific community quietly announced that everything outlined in the original stories could actually happened and William reaffirmed that small details aside everything in the books actually happened. People then lost their collective minds and William ended up dragged before a show trial to apologise for the sins of other Farsh-nukes.
The 3d printer is just that a 3d printer. It is no more creating life than a pancake maker does. What the machine actually is is a Quantum Oscillator locked to one setting with preprogrammed actions and abilities. It scans the exterior logic skin around the shrunken person and maps it onto the 3d printed body so that the shrunken person can poses the body and will feel what happens to that body but the body is just lattic around which the logic skin is applied. The 3d printer can thus make any number of recipes to fit the basic mould for sylphs to possess.
The Bam-Kursh from the end of The Shrinkening is actually fresh from the events of Weresylph Dawning and genuinely made the restaurants and the 3d printer to say think you to the Farsh-nuke. After the end of the story she does indeed travel to the past to intercept Jody and Jamie and make them her sylphs.
After a couple of decades William, Alisha and Lucy end up setting up similar tetrarchies of egg laying sylph and weresharks in each major country to act as overseers against fascism and bigotry. They also train these people on how to use albino sylph squirrels and quantum oscillators so that they can become Logicios should they get bored or need to leave to avoid conflict hurting civilians.
The wider multiverse starts importing shrunken sylphs from this universe (or rather - block of universes) and the shrunken sylphs are branded Jo0dies in honour of the sylph that so opened the Bam-Kursh to their value as pets.
I think that's all there is? Ah no there are still the unanswered questions from the original comics well maybe I'll save answering those for when I next take a break writing Weresylph Dawning.
Saturday, 1 October 2016
Alexander Gordon Jahans
So there's this guy on an alien planet swimming through toxic shit to reach his ship. This shit is thick and viscous and it gets everywhere. It takes an absurd a mount of effort just to move an inch and the ship is fucking miles away, The smell is horrible and bugs keep buzzing around this guy as he wades. As he moves he disturbs the smaller particles of shit laying atop the surface and ends up breathing them in so naturally he is ill and coughing and sneezing. He has been in the shit for weeks, he can barely sleep and every day he adds to the lake of shit.
Can you imagine how hard it would be to say sane swimming through all that shit? And then this guy makes it. drags himself out into the land and lies panting in the midday sun. Still he lives, still he strives, never giving up. He crawls up the beach of glorious white sand, blemishing it with his shit coated body and being scraped clean as he crawls. The sand cakes of the shit drying it out and making it fall off in clumps, it grinds against the smaller pieces of ingrained shit, blasting him clean. It's a long slow arduous process but finally as he nears the ship the stink of shit has almost left him. The lord of shit is reborn as the white knight and king of dust. He slams his palm against the door and after a moment electronic systems recognise its him and open the door.
The pilot pulls himself inside his ship, stares back at the shit and the dust and closes the door. Already life support systems are kicking in as he passes out. He is not home yet and there is still the matter of how he came to be on that planet so far from his ship in the first place but none of that matters now. For now he is safe, he can get clean, he can shave, eat some good food and start to feel human again in the knowledge that now the real work begins.
That is how I feel. I am better, I am so much better. There is still so much work to do and I'm not just going to walk away from this experience without lasting effects and bad days but for now I am safe, I am happy and I can get clean. Kallman's syndrome, this perpetual family drama, questions of my sexuality and masculinity and key aspects of my self loathing have been answered, can be managed or are being solved.
I still need to get a job or make a living somehow and I would like romance again but those are things I am in an infinitely better position to deal with now I'm not so consistently waylaid by self loathing. Last week was wonderful, last week was everything I love, microphilia, characters I care about, lore I love, exposition, beautiful women, scifi pulp, late nights tiredness, diet coke, writing and productiveness.
Do you know what it wasn't? Last week was not over-sensitive attack dogs savaging anything that thought differently to them and neither was it pathetic creeps creaming their pants over trying to provoke me. Last week I felt gloriously, wretchedly damned-to-hell weird and I didn't actually feel judged.
I have known for quite some time that my youtube channel might have to be abandoned, that's why I created the other channel. I don't need bullshit in my life and I have slowly started cutting it out, piece by tiny piece, only my commenters were never very quick on the uptake. I am a very adaptive and reactive contrarian personality but there is a resilient long game planner within me that very slowly and carefully strides towards goals. I'm done with the bullshit, done with being screamed at.
I am happy, happier at base level than I have been for a while but I am done with the bullshit. I will write, I will review, I will play games and I will be a better me but I'm done with the audience. I care about my friends and my family, not what strangers on the internet think of me. I have things to do, things that matter and I am leaving the shit behind.