Thursday, 20 July 2017
Alexander Gordon Jahans
I walked through a graveyard today. A grave where one of my own relatives is buried, the only funeral I ever witnessed. I felt nothing. There were complicating factors of course. I was having to plaster on a smile as I walked with a living family member whose anger could give the hulk a run for his money. The walk itself clouded my head with all sorts of distracting stimuli, aching feet, uncomfortable heat and bitter musings on the route taken. Yet I still felt the unease at being near the church.
See hypocrisy is fundamental to my character, I am the atheist who went to a C of E primary school. The rituals and mythology of the Church of England are indelibly marked upon my soul as the foundations of my personality, even as I dismiss the notion of a god and miracles. I am fast realising that I am in many ways an anti-theist C of E Christian. C of E Christianity is arguably one of the more harmless and positive forms of religion but the hatred at having it forcibly absorbed into who I am has created a quiet simmering rage. It is a rage that is not content with the red heat of violence and lashing out. It is a rage that burns cold. A rage that seeks nothing more or less than the complete and total destruction of religion as an active force in the world.
Something you should understand about me, that even I am only just beginning to understand, through my fiction, is that if I go dark side I don’t do it loudly. See I have been writing a lot of truly abhorrent dystopian organisations lately in my fiction and I can’t help noticing that they lack the chaotic bluster and loud violence of real life monsters.
It’s like a friend asked me today if the Valeyard could come back as Toxic Masculinity because they saw it as a buzzphrase amongst the douchebros. Here’s the Irony, Toxic Masculinity is almost exactly what the douchebros criticise black men as being. Toxic Masculinity is an obsession with wealth, displaying said wealth, bragging about sexual exploits and collecting anecdotes about sexual exploits like someone filling a pokedex. Toxic Masculinity is the performative aspects of masculinity - fast cars, cool tech, nice suits, pretty girls and alcohol - taken to a dangerous extreme. That is not the Valeyard.
The Valeyard is a quiet calm calculating viscious predator. If Toxic Masculinity is a riot or James Bond bringing an entire base down because he had orders or someone wronged him, the Valeyard is the quiet man in the corner who nobody notices but just passively accepts and subtley but surely brings about your end and topples entire empires because the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few and you have been selected for destruction.
I have rules to counter my anger but there is another aspect of myself which I am only beginning to understand and is if anything far more ugly and dangerous. I’m not Toxic Masculinity, I am much more like the Valeyard. I am the man who just quietly decides I hate something then starts plotting to undermine or change it. Sometimes even I am not fully aware of plots I’m working.
I’ve mentioned before that as an autistic person I can get too close to something or someone. I remember everything, it’s stored as a sequence, or story, whenever I’m doing something associated with that activity. I can’t reread books or rewatch films because every passing moment refreshes the experience of the prior experience through my brain. People are the same and of course my social skills are conscious so I shape myself to better respond to the person I’m with. I can even make myself temporarily believe things contrary to my character if it suits the social ettiquette.
This causes problems when my natural personality comes unstuck and reasserts itself. It’s the social equivalent of your computer rebooting mid session and suddenly that hackintosh has reverted back to windows 7. Except I’m the computer. The whiplash for me and the person I’m with can be astonishing. You repeat a lie often enough and I will believe it until one day when the truth reasserts itself.
This is why I can have plans even I don’t know about. I said before that I was lurching in the dark from one disaster to another. Not entirely true. Indeed I recently snapped back to full awareness after months in a kind of cognitive hibernation where I left more basic logic and emotions in charge. There has been a very pronounced period of whiplash. The cognitive hibernation was necessary for a reason. It does not do for a mind that solves problems to stare too long into a shit hole where there is no quick or satisfying solution. So for months I have lived for the moment, focused on the things that make me feel good and distracted myself from the present.
There have very definitely been plans that I have been passively working on, even while the part of me that makes such plans was offline. Not evil plans you understand. I have rules. These rules incidentally are why people on the left hate me. Because I need my rules to be action based not context or reason based because I know I can come up with whatever damned context or reason to justify to myself.
Justice as a contextual understanding of power structures and dynamics sounds very good in theory. In practise man can come up with an excuse to justify horrendous barbarism. Indeed if Trump were a smarter man he could even use feminism as part of his arsenal to oppress the people and pervert American democracy. Justice may have firm logical foundations but in practise it is a story used to justify hate and horror. The white supremacists committing acts of terrorism believe they are enacting justice after all. Yet our perennial problem as a species is we so often fail to recognise our own flaws and hypocrisy.
If I thought like a radical feminist? If I allowed myself to make such stories to justify amoral actions? Then I would be the Valeyard. Consider this. I know of two instances where my rage has burned cold and I have calmly done things I would otherwise never have done. When I walked away from school for the last time and when I tried to make my abusive father leave. Both times I broke my own rules. Both times I did so calmly and calculatedly. I have already shown myself to be problematic but more than that I am a proud supporter of true regulated capitalism (not this neoliberal horseshit). These rules that make me hold back from relentlessly pursuing those I disagree with, the ones that are anti the thought police, are much the same as stop me from say making plans to save capitalism.
I mention all of this, the plans, the morality and how I can believe a lie, to explain why I have of late become more spiritual and religious, why churches still bring me great unease. You see I’ve been listening to the Kurt Vonneguys podcast and in many ways it feels like Kurt Vonnegurt writes like me but that he is ahead of the curve. You see that podcast put into words what I have been grappling with for a while. You can know something is horseshit, it can be completely and utterly false and inaccurate but what matters is that it brings you meaning and solace.
It’s like I know Doctor Who is fiction. Hell I’ve shook the hands of the people whoo made my favourite bits of it up. Yet it still matters in a very fundamental way to me. There are better shows and better characters. Farscape, Babylon 5, Blakes 7, the Culture novels, the Watch books. Doctor Who is poorly paced, campy, broody, manufactured, artificial, monster of the week, poorly serialised garbage. It is also a show that defines my identity and if you aren’t willing to give it the time of day or at least bite your tongue when I mention it then we cannot be friends or associate with each other because Doctor Who matters to me. You accept that or you get to fuck. No discussions, no debates, no fucks given.
Which is where capitalism comes into things. Capitalism fundamentally is the science of desire and incentive. I think Paul Mason best summed up why capitalism matters and works with my brain where in one passage he mused on how a post scarcity society might simulate the effects of Nike not investing so much money into the Nike swoosh of rates of young male depression. The brutal reality is brands matter. Advertising matters. It’s just that brands and advertising are not as rigidly defined as people think.
Feminism is a brand, Christianity is a brand, Communism is a brand. Advertising works both ways. You stick pretty girls in adverts to sell products to boys and men then you reinforce those standards of beauty in women by associating them with all the cool products. What was it Daniel Craig said about Apple products? Bond only takes the best? So what message do you think it sends that Bond only fucks skinny young white women?
Here’s the truth: Capitalism works. Advertising works. Brands matter. Advertising matters. Truth is secondary to a compelling narrative. The problem with the system is always those other evil people and their evil ways because evil is innately subjective. Something both the left and the right hate as an idea because rallying behind hatred is a lot easier than agreeing on actual solutions.
I walked through the graveyard and while felt the weight of all that belief I also just saw buried rotting meat. Empty flesh. I know that graveyards help the living mourn the dead. I know that rituals are important. I have small rituals in my own life that help me work and exercise. I’m not talking about pentagrams or incense or anything like that. Just reassuring patterns of behaviour to ease transition into a different head state. Music on at a precise volume, writing gown on, then to work.
It is odd. I feel like I’m looking at the world like an alien slightly removed, commenting on my observations. I am noticing how ritual matters even in matters of sex. Through ritual, through Doctor Who, I am coming to understand the usefulness of religion and so the last great fire of my life starts to simmer down.
I am still lost, in a kind of cognitive hibernation again. I can’t take the life I currently lead, not full blast, not with full thought. I can hibernate until it changes, if it changes, but I can’t live in the middle of such a shit hole and think to the best of my ability. I need a change of location, a lock that abusive monster does not have a key to, a house he has no right to enter. I can’t work while so imperilled.
Anyway, I have been me, you have been you and the writing progresses well.
Monday, 17 July 2017
The Ugly Truth
Alexander Gordon Jahans
I’ve changed a lot in just the last two years. I have hope now. We have a female Doctor (not that I’ll believe it until the episode actually airs) and a socialist is so close to power that the demons of the world look vulnerable.
Hope is a marvellous thing. A beautiful thing. A heartbreakingly tragic thing.
I have hope now. I have a dream to fight for. I have an idea of how to get there. I want to believe I can get there. I want to believe I can commit, that I can make it work. Things you don’t know, things you can’t. Ultimately though hope is not victory. Hope can keep you going, can keep you fighting but hope does not put food on the table, a roof over your head or a partner in your bed.
My generation is fucked. The economy is fucked. The planet is fucked. There is hope now but hope is not victory, not yet.
I’m tired. I’m tired, I’m in pain and I genuinely don’t know how much longer I can do this. It’s why this writing project is so important to me. The move could destroy what is left of me. The final hurdle I can vault being passed might be what ultimately kills me. I’m like the woman believing a female Doctor or Prime Minister will do anything. It hurts and it’s frustrating but it’s a realistic dream to pin your strength to. So what happens when you get your wish and nothing changes? We’ve had a black president and black kids are still being shot dead for stupid reasons while white rapists are given light sentences.
And I know, I’m comparing a fucking move to representation for the genuinely oppressed on the world’s stage. I’m a melodramatic fool okay.
I just feel so fragile and so aware that so much of the world keeps forcing themselves against me. My head is a mess and I am so done with everything. Yet still I must be strong. I don’t know how long I can do this. I keep telling myself I can pick a side. That I can solve things. I can’t. I just can’t. I live, that’s about all I can promise and even that’s a risky promise to make.
I’m going to get this story written. I’m going to try for the move. I can’t promise anything else and even those feel like promises that I might very easily break.
I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I feel so shit about this, so guilty. I just don’t know if I can be strong forever.
Sunday, 16 July 2017
Alexander Gordon Jahans
Suffocating, muscles aching, under ice.
Left fist makes contact.
Right fist makes contact.
So tired, can’t breath, much pain.
Raise your head up. Take breath.
So tired, muscles aching...
Raise your hand up, slap it down on the ice.
Raise your other hand up, slap it down.
So tired, such pain...
Scrabble up the ice.
So tired, much pain...
Roll over, look at the sun, smile.
So tired, such pain...
Roll over, scrabble forward.
So cold, get to dry land, get to a beach.
Such pain, so tired.
Reach beach, dry land, safe.
Scramble to your feet lurch against a tree.
“Need food... Need shelter... Need heat... Need a way off this damned rock...”
You don’t give in. You don’t stop. Your body aches. Your body screams. It pleads and it pleads. Rest. Sleep. Die. End the pain. End the tired.
You don’t give in. You don’t stop. It hurts and it hurts and part of your screams for death but you don’t stop. You will survive. You will live. One day you will be happy. One day you will rest.
Today you survive.
Monday, 10 July 2017
Ignorance Is Bliss
Not Safe For Work
Content Warnings Everywhere
Alexander Gordon Jahans
So my mind is a problem solving device and one that works without conscience, morality or direction. Those are decisions to be applied once the solution is presented. This is the part where I hold up my hands stand up before the firing squad and say. “It’s okay, I forgive you, I’m a monster.”
Because a very central part of sylph lore was very clearly misunderstood as something it very clearly wasn’t and that planted a dangerous seed in my mind.
I say now with clarity and forethought. Trans people deserve, love and respect. Their gender identity must be respected and they must be given all the medical, psychological and cultural aid as they deem necessary. My opinion does not matter.
I was accused of coming up with the cure for trans gender identities so I came up with the cure for trans gender identities. Well, a technology that could be so applied by someone so evil. Spoilers. There is someone so evil in the latest novel I am working on.
The point is that I have had this technology rattling around as a concept for some time. It’s called mind bounding. In the same way that a body can be bound to remain in a shape the idea is to conceptually bind a mind into a particular position. I mean to be fair to me the story is actually far more complex than that and no trans people are actually harmed (within the fiction of the story anyway) but the technology is still used in part.
It’s like the whole Logicular Replication thing. The idea that it might be possible to save scum a moment of consent by printing off innumerable duplicates of a person just after they have consented because it’s arguable that philosophically the clones are the same person. Except you save scum within the moment, face to face as part of an ongoing process. Convince someone to accept a little lie for a moment or be more open about something they disagree with then bind their mind in position and take another step. It’s utterly and ridiculously evil and manipulative. More than just a mind rape, it’s full on on going mind abuse.
Except that’s fine. Monsters can be monstrous. Especially when you already have a reputation as a transphobic misogynist. However this is isn’t another piece angsting about how hard it is to be problematic. I wanted you to understand the horrific thought process and that I know how this hypothetical technology could be misused.
Then I wrote this distraction fic about a pretty submissive girl who eventually gets shrunk and kept as a pet. It occurred to me then that mind bounding might work then. Not to make someone think differently but just to keep an innocent from growing. Obviously there are massive ways this could be exploited and men who think it would be hot to mind bound their girlfriends or other female associates in this manner are clearly massive creeps. (Though keeping them shrunken and in a cage probably crosses that threshold already.) Yet to the woman or other individual there might not seem to be anything wrong with that. I mean they’d still gain new memories they just wouldn’t even be aware of any cognitive dissonance from growing up. Like how I have always not eaten lamb and fish for moral reasons and it wasn’t until I tried and failed to become a vegetarian that I accepted my hypocrisy was even a thing.
So then you take it further. Ironically inspired by a podcast pointing out the creepy misogynistic moments of Kurt Vonnegurt specifically the idea that it might be nice that a woman is mute. Not an entirely insane idea once you’ve taken the huge leap of shrinking a consenting adult. To be clear I am fully aware that microphilia as a fetish is totally misogynistic. It’s literally a fetish about callous, intimidating or seemingly powerful women literally becoming play or pet objects at best given the rights and respect of a hamster or a dog. But hey, it’s fun to pretend. So once you’ve crossed so far and taken the intimidating woman as your pet hamster, it makes sense (from an evil misogynistic perspective) that you’d want to reduce their intelligence until they literally just squeaked like hamsters.
I would like to reassure people that shrinking is literally impossible, mind bounding in the manner I describe is literally impossible and regardless of my fantasies/fictional ideas, in real life I have morals and always aim to avoid being a dick so far as possible. (unless it’s conservatives or nazis)
So anyway I have been playing around with this idea for a time, contemplating its usefulness hypothetically in committing acts of evil. (I half wonder how many people are now convinced I actually own a functioning shrink ray and mind bounding technology?) At the same time I’ve been listening to podcasts bringing closure/reminding me of the year before I went to college and during my second year at university.
I have been reminded of who I used to be. I really gave a shit you know. I wore suits and I enjoyed thinking about solving problems and multitasking. Now I just masturbate to submissive women and write stories about submissive women then listen to left wing podcasts and desperately try to convince myself I’m a feminist. So I pulled my shit together, I got woke bruh, and I saw the light.
The problem was the light of knowledge had me staring down the barrel of just how fucking shitty my life is and just how objectively I should be dead and I want to be dead but I am all about morality so I’m not because I think just barely people, at least a few people, might feel temporarily worse if I died. So... yeah... I basically woke up, saw the light, then realized/remembered, why I keep the curtains closed and went right the fuck back to sleep.
I can’t die. I will not allow myself to die because I am somewhast convinced of the idea that it would be immoral to do so. So right now I would early love to be mind bound. I mean that’s basically what all this stuff is about and why I can’t stop masturbating and writing fetish fic. I can’t ever allow myself to try be sane and smart. I must always be insane, stupid and in a giddy sexual daze of uselessness.
No wonder I keep writing story after story of submissive getting preyed upon. At this point this is my happy ending. A fucked up part of me sincerely wants to be martyred by my stalkers because at least then I wouldn’t have to bare the guilt of the grief my death would cause. Although knowing my luck it would be deemed that victim blaming is okay in my case because I’m a cis white male and blatantly misogynistic.
So yeah just as I would take the sylph cure to reset my body to human male basic, so I would accept mind bounding to be alive and happy. Ignorance is bliss. Now the fucking nazis have removed my ability to scream as well through their predatory attentiveness.
I can’t allow myself to die, I certainly can’t allow myself to ever admit to such considerations but I can desire for ignorance at least just this once. Let me be thick like the neurotypical. Let me go about the world as an optimistic fool in a perpetually sexually escapist daze.
I think now that if Trump just blurted out that the world has been part of the United Civilisations for ages that I would first write a strongly worded essay against the ownership of sylphs then go sign up to become one, because fuck it, give me stability, give my ignorance, give me freedom from the responsibility of thought and actions. Heck if they only take women, I’ll take the sylph cure and fucking lump it. I’m done with all the bullshit of the world.
Now if you’ll excuse me I have a podcast on Kurt Vonnegurt to finish listening to and then I’m going for a walk into town. Also I’m quite seriously tempted by the works of Gor, because fuck it if I must survive through ignorance and sexual escapism and I am already a misogynistic transphobe doomed to be first against the wall; when the revolution comes why not let myself entertain the notion of a world where women are just naturally subservient, instead of convinced be so through cultural indoctrination. Even if I actually think it’s cooler and more interesting how we’ve managing to convince so many people that women are submissive when they literally control the survival of the species. It’s like the battle of Orgreave all over again, I will never not believe it was a hideously deliberate act because it’s just so much cooler and more interesting in a very evil way to consider my nominal side forcing this massive defeat upon another demographic.
Yep. I’m evil. If hell exists I totally deserve to go there and I think I’d probably accept that as a fine fate compared to this purgatory because if you’ve getting tortured horrifically every day and you know there is no escape you also know you can’t fall any further and can just let go.
I should not write drunk.
Saturday, 8 July 2017
You Can Be More
Alexander Gordon Jahans
So I’ve been in this kind of holding pattern, just finding ways to stay sane and keep surviving amid torrents of bullshit. Ways to keep my mind active and busy despite the fact that I am going nowhere. The problem is that my mind needs problems to solve, conflict to resolve. I grew up being bullied 5 days a week during term time. I need a certain amount of background bullshit to keep my mind stable. Except that creates a problem. And not the one people expect.
I am trapped in the middle of fucking nowhere with goddamned no one. I am used to a wide but shallow range of connections. Instead I have one or two people delivering deep bullshit. I have these vast stretches of time and nothing of import to do with it. I’m like a tiger kept in a tiny enclosure. I need to move. I need to be able to begin again, to make long term plans and I can’t do that in this purgatory of schrodinger’s house sale. And yeah I’ve been through a lot of shit and it hurts. So I get low and it upsets people.
The problem is that these people don’t understand me and they don’t listen. They are seemingly pathologically capable of understanding that I think differently and have a different approach and different needs and priorities. So when the very real problems affecting me reach the point of upsetting these people they do a kind of triage whereby they cut back all the things distracting me from the unrelenting shit I can’t do a damned thing about.
I used to be more. I used to wear suits, I used to care about class as more than a political subject and I used to use my fucking brain. But no. Don’t think. Can’t think. Drug myself up. Fuck about with a fucking diet and shitting exercise regime, masturbate myself into a bliss coma and tell myself this is an improvement. I need to care again. I need to put myself on the line again and I need to use my mind to do something important. Fuck money. Fuck life. Fuck fucking family and all the bullshit excuses for cowering away and shutting myself off from the things that make me feel alive. I am not just a survivor. I am not just outlasting purgatory. I have a mind. I need to use it.
Friday, 7 July 2017
Walk The Line
Alexander Gordon Jahans
So a few things happened lately that kind of combined to inspire me to write this.
The first is that I really, really, just got sick of the misogynists thinking that feminism and multiculturalism is genocide of the white male and I decided to try and write a short story setting up a force I want to have existing as a rogue chess piece on the great war board of the multiverse. This was supposed to be like “No, mother fuckers, this is what a white male genocide would look like. I’ll talk about the results of that later but I started writing it right about the time a drama bomb was dropped in the household and one of my favourite podcasts unexpectedly featured someone making a defence of gamers gate and clearly feeling quite a victim of the feminist side. So I wrote it in a rage.
The second is that as my confidence has grown and my understanding of my sexuality and fetishes have grown I found myself in a position to feel newly inspired by an old fantasy. A the same time that was very definitely affected by the powerful charisma of John Simm as kind of Classic Who Master for a the New Who age. Lots and lots and lots of feels about this.
The third is that I have been kind of binge listening to the Farscape Friday podcast which is essentially the only podcast I listen to where it is just women talking together without men dominating the show. Not intentional, not conscious on my part, it just happened to have turned out this way but they’re awesome podcasters talking about an awesome show that I love and helping me see it and this huge part of my recent life in a new light. At the same time this is really the first time I’ve been able to experience what women are like behind closed doors without men even subconsciously affecting things.
So, starting principles. I am autistic, more than that I am mildly autistic, kind of bought up as more autistic than I actually am hence my denial about it for a long time. I’m also effectively still going through puberty since I have a condition called Kallman’s Syndrome that means I can’t smell and my body doesn’t nasturally produce testosterone. I have just turned 25, I have been on testosterone injections for about two years, spent time as an anti-feminist at university, swung back to being a feminist and tried to join that side only to be rebuffed and called out as misogynistic and transphobic in the last two years. At the same time the last two years have seen me stalked by actual fucking nazis, my family, friends and people I respect attacked because of people trying to provoke me, things that caused the police to become involved. Oh and I am overweight so I have this regular persistent pain in my feet, I have been stuck in limbo for the last two years as the house could be sold, I have been forced to claim government social security payments when I really can’t be fucked with the bureacracy and I am in general 300% done with this shit and would have blown my brains out by now were I not in England where gun control is strong,
So I wrote this dystopia to be an origin story and in a way it harks back to proper scifi roots. The Feminarchy as they are called would be formed from an idea that has been within the background lore of the multiverse since the original ninth Doctor fanfic that bought the character of William Dickson Wright into being. It’s actually quite similar to an idea that Joss Whedon used in explaining the Reavers of Firefly/Serenity. You can be the greatest scientists in the ‘verse but you can’t design a chemical that will have exactly the same effects on everyone.
I mean it’s literally within the origin story of the sylphs and how they ended up associated with human women that this biological packaging to help a species survive through exploitation will have different effects on different species. The Free Sylphs who became the Sylph Liberation Front, the new major players in the multiverse, were explicitly formed from those sylphs who didn’t react as strongly towards the biological incentives towards submissiveness. With some effectively being Demi-Submissives, like Demi-Sexuals, except instead of only feeling sexual attraction once close emotional bonds have been formed, Demi-Submissives only feel the biological incentives towards submissiveness and pet like behaviour once a strong emotional bond has been formed.
Except the Feminarchy were effectively the people who reacted to the sylph pill so strongly adversely that it made them aggressively dominant. I think it’s an interesting idea and I think it no doubt logically happens.
Don’t get me wrong I know it seems ridiculous to care about realism and consequences where the laws of physics can literally be rewritten and where so much of it is for rule of cool or rule of Fetish. I suppose for me the assumption is that while I am the window on this multiverse and I have the tropes I like and the perspectives I feel comfortable writing (particularly after my attempts to portray trans characters backfired so catastrophically badly) I feel it is only logical to assume that off-screen as it were there is all this stuff. I mean the Farsh-nuke has inherited my biases and so did the Logicios. Hence why all the white female sylphs. A mix of partial attraction preference and just feeling deeply uncomfortable as a white English guy portraying black people in collars. Particularly since the whole schtick of sylphs is that they are gladly submissive. I’m problematic and stupid, I am not THAT problematic and stupid.
Okay that derailed but the point is that you can assume that trans, non-binary and black characters did manage to rise through even the ranks of the Logicios at their most fascistic. If I don’t show it it’s because I’m not interested, it hasn’t occurred to me or I don’t feel capable of writing it. So I like this idea. I like that it’s out there unseen, off screen, to be written by better writers in fanfic or whatever.
Just the idea of it. Think of the kind of characters who would make use of the sylph pill. I mean yes there are the loving dom/sub relationships that would take advantage of the sylph pill (though this kind of reaction would be interesting here in its own way) but most of the time, canonically and societally, it’s going to be men and a certain kind of man preying on a certain kind of woman. The Logicios were monsters, they were like Viking raiders, only worse. The Logicios were super nerd super fans following this militiaristic code, worshipping this god emperor exactly like them (and not so far from Trump), with immense power and this horrendous noble duty that kind of gave them a martyr complex and moral authority to do whatever. It’s like if Gamergaters were given power armour and super steroids then joined God Emperor Trump gunning down monsters that came through a breach in space. Yeah they’re arseholes but they’re doing a dirty job to save the rest of us and that just makes them worse. So these Logicios would use this pill on vulnerable women, potentially after having drugged them or kidnapped them first and then suddenly this woman is super smart, super strong, has a regenerative factor and is dominant when the Logicios don’t expect them to be.
It’s a really interesting idea I think. All these women who suddenly got woke and how they come together to form a society and then try to increase their number and grab a universe from which to expand from. It’s an interesting set up to do some really dark stuff and with the characters of Richard Raspberry and Adam Godwinson there as effectively intelligent Trump and the mad god of racist fascism to provide conflict and deliver the messages. It’s a really interesting idea and you could tell such interesting, grim stuff with it. Except I can’t. At least not yet.
The thing you need to understand is that I have been an anti-feminist and I suppose because my internal doubts and internal conflict I identify with the misogynists and the white supremacists. Morally and politically I am a feminist, I mean I am bisexual, I am part of the LGBTQA+ movement, I am for multiculturalism but I am a white English man. More than that, because of what I write, I have alienated and been alienated by the progressive left. I call out bullshit where I see it. It’s who I am. Except to call out bullshit on the progressive left is just social death.
Yeah, the Alt-Right have stalked me and harassed me and they legitimately make me scared and angry. They are one of a very select group of people so determinedly stupid and aggressive that I actually think I might physically hurt them if they stopped hiding behind their keyboards. Yet they lack this mentality that the progressive left has. The Alt-Right are the snowflakes. They are individuals forming the blizzard that traps you inside. They are the individual droplets that collectively drown your world. They do not pretend to speak for the whole, they do not represent the whole, they are individuals behaving as part of this storm surge for their own reasons and so there is this sense that they can be redeemed. That people can rage about ethics in games journalism, harass people and advocate policies and politicians and parties that will objectively fuck so many people over, and still have their souls because they’re just fucking morons about some stuff.
The progressive left is like a herd. The individuals may graze peacefully but if you attack one, you attack all, so you have a stampede on your hands. I’ve been seeing posts about Joss Whedon that are fucking scary because this man was your fucking champion and now people want to end his career. The crazy thing is that the progressive left is not actually one herd. The reason the left keeps losing elections in Britain is that while right are pragmatic enough to compromise to win, us moral lefties each all have subtly different definitions on what’s right. I mean it really is ridiculous how the grand herd of the left seems to glom together to destroy people but within the left everybody has different labels for their identities communities and movements. It’s a hell of a complicated world to move in, compared to the Alt-Right where you are allowed to be an individual who disagrees with the collective if you can weather the shitholes.
All of which is to say the reason I wrote this story was because I identify with the anti-feminists who think the progressive left can be dicks but y’all fuckers need to get a sense of perspective. And then I screwed it up because I have a competence and reasonableness bias. Like Trump exists within the multiverse canonically but I chose not to write about him because I needed a villain smart enough to pose a challenge. I like competent characters, characters who think things through. Like I have my moral reasons against conservatism and discrimination but mostly it’s pragmatic reasons. I mean thanks to my personal experience at the hands of Nazis I think I’ve managed to keep the evil there but with the Feminarchy I just couldn’t resist caving to competency.
Like of course you aren’t just going to start killing white men. Even if you’ve got a eugenics breeding programme sylph pills exist and the whole reason this story exists is because the chances of them making people dominant are rare. Remove the power and wealth from white men then keep them for breeding purposes. The genocide would actually happen to the white women who became submissive under the effects of the sylph pill, which is the vast majority. Ironically if I’d made the sylph pill have more sexist workings, this story would have been more meats since the Feminarchy would have a reason to kill the majority of white men.
So my attempt at making a story about how misogynists need to shut up because if women were actually going to oppress men it would be so horrific actually ended up skewing so competent and ‘nice’ that I don’t think I can publish it because it would be like George Orwell writing 1984 today to be like. “Don’t be silly guys this is what a real fascist dystopia looks like” and then everyone that goes “Hmmm...” Never mind Joss Whedon’s Wonder Woman script, I just tried to scare the misogynists out of criticising feminism only to end up writing a story that reinforces their fear because I agree with feminism too much.
So I went from that experience to writing a distraction fic, inspired by the original comic that started this all. I’ve done shrinking women in my fiction before but I wanted to capture what specifically about this female character made me fantasize about her so many times. The same way that the character of Amy Hurst is clearly inspired by the character of Amy Pond from Doctor Who but is also so very different because it’s the character as seen through the fetish gaze. I wanted to reframe this female character within a context that made more sense to me.
This story was purely selfish. Just for me and my enjoyment. So I reused a basic idea from earlier and actually got quite into the scifi world building. I blame that on the Kurt Vonneguys podcast with Alex Schmidt and Michael Swaim because damn if my lust for good scifi exposition hasn’t come back with a vengeance. Fuck mansplaining I want Nerdsposition to be a thing now in pop culture. I got into whole idea that this is like a colony in space at one of the Lagrange points, made to be like a Dyson Sphere with an artificial sun, made with the aid of logic technology. Like this world was one of these universes where they accepted the technology of the United Civilisations but not the culture. Except on Utopia, this pleasure colony in space, where there are two kinds of tickets, Prey Class and Predator Class. I mean it’s a different spacial entity so it has its own unique legal system. I’m going to resist nerding out further on the pseudo hard science of how it works but I loved writing this stuff.
So I had the setting, the excuse and I had the prey character, things which I think are best experienced in the story but I want to talk about the predator character in the story. He becomes something else later but basically he is almost explicitly modelled on John Simm’s Master from The Doctor Falls. I mean I’m bisexual but I tend to like kinda hunky nerd guys who are a little bit passive and submissive. John Crichton, from Farscape, Matt Smith’s Doctor and Grant Gustin’s Barry Allen from the Flash tv series sticking out particularly. The one difference being Mads Mikkelson in Hannibal but that’s a whole other thing and Hugh Dancy is just adorable in that.
I don’t know if it’s just that I feel more comfortable exploring that side of myself now. It certainly can’t have hurt that in the context of the fiction the character is up against one of my ultimate dream girls. (Phrases that get you hated by feminists:#456) You can’t get more ‘No Homo’ than a character existing within a story to facilitate the domination and adorableness of a female character you love. Or maybe it’s just the way John Simm plays the character as written by Steven Moffat because he is so cold, so calculating and so brutally, deliciously cruel and sadistic. I mean spending 10 years manipulating the Doctor’s friend so you can see her cyberconverted just in time for him to turn up and feel heartbroken. That is a level of sadism and cruelty that you almost have to applaud for sheer audacity and competency.
Actually competency and horrific cruelty and sadism combined with charisma and fantastic dress sense does exist in both Mads Mikkelson’s Hannibal and John Simm’s Master. Like the Farsh-nuke is my Tyler Durden and while character has softened that description could some him up as well. Maybe my attraction is to the kind of man I wish I had the confidence and smarts to be? Or maybe my ideal version of myself is going to take from the kind of characters I’m attracted because you are going to want your ideal self to be someone you consider attractive?
Whatever the point is this story was so fun to write for so many reasons it built on so many things I’ve written before and was inspired by so many things and it’s probably among the best written things I’ve written. It is also horrifically sexist. It’s not quite the most sexist fetish fic I’ve ever written, that one’s coming but is a discussion for another day. I’m unsure now if I should talk about my feelings on this now or in the wrap up but I think I’m going to wait for the wrap up.
So, the Farscape Friday Podcast...
Farscape is the best scifi TV show I have yet to see. I’ve seen Babylon 5, I’m watching through Blakes 7, I’ve watched Battlestar Galactica Reimagined, up to the Traveller episode of TNG, various episodes of Voyager and Deep Space Nine, I have seen whole swathes of Classic Who and obviously I’ve seen all of New Who. It has a diverse cast of characters who are defined by their pasts, biases, personalities and character arcs, not by their roles and abilities. Every episode explores and advances the characters who partake in it, there is no reset button. Now yeah that make it hard for new viewers to jump on board but in the age of the box set it’s fantastic.
Farscape has amazing special effects, great comedy, gut wrenching drama and tragedy and it has Ben Browder and Claudia Black. I mean Aeryn Sun was never exactly my type (Quelle surprise) but John Crichton is just so attractive like I want to be him and be with him and I am one hundred percent shipping his relationship weith Aeryn because I just want my dude to be happy. It has such great world building that weaves in mysticism, spirituality and magic to a scifi universe that works.
The other thing is that where other shows establish characters as powerful in a way that entitles them to be heroes. Even Blakes 7, the Babylon 5 to Farscape’s Deep Space Nine, has the main character be an established leader of the resistance with an advanced battleship deliberately taking on the evil federation. Farscape has a bunch of escaped prisoners on a weaponless living ship on the run from a massive federation, periodically having to find a way to take out the people pursuing it. Blakes 7 is revolution, Farscape is survival.
I suppose the difference comes from the cultural perspective of the production staff. Compare Star Trek, Babylon 5, Blakes 7 and Farscape. Star Trek is an American utopia so it’s about this massive military industrial complex boldly going to explore this brave new world. Babylon 5 is an American future that’s more cynical and realistic. So Earth are the peacekeeper traders who fucked up first contact after a period of overconfidence and face the threat of this piddly little power that once held a massive power trying to reclaim it while their own government slides towards fascism and yet another even grander war breaks out. Blakes 7 is a British, even dare I say an English, production. It is about your people’s empire subjugating people and how you can be a Robin hood stealing from the powerful rich to help the vulnerable poor. Farscape is an Australian Production. It has prisoners escaping from a massive empire that thinks it’s the good guys and trying to form a new life.
I think Farscape suits my political, moral and philosophical perspective best. Yes, things are horrible and people are stupid, greedy, lustful sadistic and proud. Horrible things will happen and you will suffer terribly but if you’re very clever, very lucky, very charismatic and just brave enough you’ll survive. Things are not black and white in the Farscape universe. The Peace Keepers are not just space nazis to be remorselessly gunned down. *glares at Doctor Who for how it treats the daleks* And in the end there is always love, sex and friendship even though those things are difficult and create pain in their own ways.
The Farscape Friday podcast is reminding me of all of this, except it’s missing all that juicy juicy meat. There is very little discussion on the world building that’s going on and how interesting the conflicts and types of stories that are going on are. Instead it’s about the characters and the feelings with an entire section on wardrobe. (it starts with an interesting bit of fridge logic so I can understand it but still...)
To be perfectly clear I do love the podcast, it just approaches it in a different way. It’s like what makes the School of Movies podcast so different from typical nerd discussion of movies and tv, except without that more typical analysis of plot. It’s not an invalid approach to reviewing, it’s just different from what I am used to but I am lapping it up so I’m not complaining.
Also there are a number of male podcasters whose voices are just music to my ears but these two hosts are each in their own way just utterly delightful to listen to. Like literally just the way they say things is cute and attractive, and when they fan girl about things I just die from happiness.
There is another component to where this is a podcast that like actively calls attention to the tumblr side of fandom and there are definitely moments when I’m cringing because it’s like your fave is problematic. Farscape is my greatest scifi and fantasy love and to hear it criticised, particularly The Flax which is such a great and funny episode of season one, it hurts. It’s not that the criticism is unjustified. It’s just like, don’t yuck my yum.
So to finally bring this all together and come to some sort of conclusion from what I’ve learned then...
I know that sex positive feminists exist. I know that it is theoretically possible to walk the line and be a dominant guy into submissive girls. Except I’m more than that, I am bisexual. I like writing heterosexual couples because I get to write the male fantasy and the female fantasy at the same time. I love writing and I’m not going to stop writing, if anything I think I’m going to explore more hard scifi because I love the exposition and I am never going to stop writing submissive women because I love it too much. I can’t write dominant and sadistic women the way I write guys, not without a base to start from anyway. And frankly dominant women scare me because dominant men are the crowd I get lumped in with and they’re losing. Despite all this I still fundamentally support the goals of feminism, tolerance and equality. I just can’t aspire to even the heights of Joss Whedon.
I am a problematic fuck but I am ally of Feminists when it comes to the crunch, even if my writing is arguably misogynistic, even if there is evidence that at least subconsciously I am not keen on the female perspective in writing and fandom.
Anyway I’m going to go get some food.
Friday, 30 June 2017
I Can Get Back Up Now
Alexander Gordon Jahans
For two years now I have been down for the count and waiting for the final blow. Everything had gone wrong at once and everything proceeded to get worse. If I wasn’t waiting for a literal death I was waiting for a spiritual death, a metaphysical rebirth as some different.
Two years on I am different. More jaded, more cynical, more aware of my own flaws and physically a very different man.
The world is a different place. There is tension yet hope. Pandora’s box has been opened and everything has changed. Neoliberalism is not dead but it is no longer an immortal behemoth. It is bleeding and we can kill it.
I am close to upgrading my machine. VR is legitimately a possibility to look forward to and not an impossible dream.
I have attained, I am in the process of attaining, closure for my past sins.
I am older wiser and in a very different place psychologically but I think what has finally let me regain my strength is that I have gone full circle and regained my lost faith. I am achieving closure with my favourite Doctor and the BBC Books await.
University was good for me. University was great for me but like a convention, the experience is so wonderful that reality is hard to adjust to. Doctor Who was there for me in my wilderness years and it helped me gain the direction and strength to make it to college and university. Going back to that well, revisiting that forsaken messiah has restored my confidence.
I have been so defensive, so angry, so scary because all I have been is reactive instinct. A dying creature lashing out in the only way it knows. My Doctor was the man who fought the monsters, the manipulator who made deals with death and stared long into the abyss. After staring into the abyss myself and hating what I have done revisiting that old mentor has been good for me.
Yeah, I fucked up, I fucked up bad, good people got hurt and good people hate me for it. I handled it poorly. I probably still am in the process of handling it poorly by some definitions. I fucked up and I’m sorry. That doesn’t make it better. That doesn’t make it right. That doesn’t excuse or explain it. I will have to live with that stain upon my character for the rest of my days but I will live with it because I have to continue because I have to go on.
But as my Doctor faces his regeneration into a more human traveller so I must put aside the arrogant assertion that I am the champion to fight the world’s monsters. I’m 25 and I have a life to start living. No more scraping buy, no more pretending like everything I’m doing is part of some higher purpose or angsting about the most optimal way to spend my time. I’ll still write, I’ll still read, I may still make videos but I’m going to take a break once this novel is out. I have people I want to talk to, books and comic books I want to read, films I want to watch. All the frivolous stuff I couldn’t allow myself otherwise.
So yeah, I can get back up now. It’s been hell and I’ve been an arse but I have learned a lot and you know what? That’s okay. It wasn’t all bad. There were some great great moments and I made some videos I’m proud of and some stories I’m still proud of. Things are okay and they’re going to be better.
Tuesday, 27 June 2017
Not So Chill
Alexander Gordon Jahans
It’s a funny old thing productivity, you can spend weeks, months even, at the top of your game. You can write and walk every day. You can diet and not feel it. Then one day it just... Stops. Your whole life just stalls.
I stalled today. I had to have a nap and then my brain just refused to kick into gear and I was overtaken by hunger. Hunger and lust. Oh... I have had so many fantasies today about Amy Hurst seducing then eating gorgeous women. My body is crying out for bacon and chicken. I feel like Withnail. I must have something’s flesh. I literally just ate some ham out of the packet because it was going off today and now I’m sat here, drinking diet coke, after managing to write a description of hell for a thing.
I am not good today. I am hunger and lust and utter fucking apathy. I just do not fucking care if I die. I just want the pain to end.
You know Theresa May just paid out a billion pounds to get the DUP to cooperate so she can stay in power? The conservative government just restarted the Troubles out of a desperate attempt to keep their party in power. Meanwhile old white men are commits of terrorism because they’re scared of Muslims.
The world is mad. The world is fucked. I know I must keep going. I want to keep going. I want to finish this book apart from anything else. And maybe, someday, perhaps, we might actually sell this fucking house and end the purgatory of my existence. I just - So tired, such pain and I just - I just find it hard to give a fuck today.
Sunday, 25 June 2017
On Fetish And Misogyny
Alexander Gordon Jahans
It is easy to write about the problems of the other. That doesn’t mean the consequences and the reception are easy, it’s just that the writing itself is easier when you stand distanced from the things you are commenting upon. The thing I have grappled with my whole life is that to the outside of observer the problems seem easily categorized. Maybe they categorize different things in different ways but the outside observer can look upon me and judge with relative clarity while I am still lost and figuring things out.
I am filled with self hatred for so many reasons but one of the big ones is that I have found it so hard to see with clarity where fetish ends and misogyny begins. In recent times however things have happened to present landmarks along the moral landscape and let me figure out where the fuck I am.
You see in my head I have always assumed on a basic fundamental level that I am just seeing in the world what I want or expect to see. Years of feminist discourse washing up against the shores of my reality and still I have to consciously remind myself that there aren’t also millions of superhero, scifi and fantasy films where the women get to be angsty badasses while the men get to look pretty and scream as they’re tortured or killed.
I am torn because my head can only function in a world where there is actual gender equality, yet instead the balance is so tipped in my gender’s favour that the things I think are harmless actually help to reinforce a status quo that is sexist and misogynistic. There are so many times where my brain just wants to say “Fuck it, kill me now.” because things are a confusing mess.
So, here’s my hypothesis. The world is misogynistic as fuck. generation after generation has created a culture and society where men can be shits but women have to conform to bullshit aesthetic standards and behaviours just to be accepted. Women have fought long and hard secure more rights and legal protection but now they face what is arguably the hardest challenge, reversing generations of cultural momentum that fetishises the portrayal of women as this unrealistic, oxymoronic, impossible, perfect fantasy.
At the same time political socio-cultural factors have coincided to create a vocal pushback by men who have been abandoned by society and aren’t being offered another way to be. As feminism seeks to tackle the fetishisation of women in popular culture, misogyny is making a strike back.
All of this is made so much more confusing because feminism is not some unified political body, rather billions of individuals fighting for women in their own, sometimes contradictory, ways. I mean there are trans exclusive radical feminists, feminists who want to help men as well, feminists who care only about women, feminists who think porn is evil and feminists who are sex positive. Equally sometimes the fetishisation happens out of genuine hatred of women and the misogyny sometimes happens out of fetishists who feel lost and abandoned by the world and are then preyed on by actual women haters.
I think I have at last gotten a handle on where I sit. I’m a fetishist. I am problematic because of my ignorance and occasionally misplaced confidence but I don’t actually hate women. I can be anti-feminist at times because I know there are times when a so called feminist is just a person corrupted by hate, clinging to bullshit rhetoric as a justification for their sadism. However 9 times out of 10 I will fight for feminists against the misogynists because the misogynists are just deluded and hateful. Even knowing how good men can be corrupted and that misogynists deserve to be bought round I will always oppose those who have crossed a certain line in the sand.
Where it gets complicated, where the self loathing kicks in, is that the sexism of society plays into the fetish. I am at my core someone who will never fail to see a woman as an equal and that’s why I fetishise their inequality. It’s the taboo I feel by engaging in pseudo traditional masculinity. It’s partly/mostly just that I think submissiveness is really fricking cute. That I can’t deny the appeal of someone who would make themselves vulnerable or beautiful for another. I mean boys are bought to think highly of those who sacrifice themselves for another so it’s not so irrational to think highly of someone who would make even small temporary sacrifices to bring another pleasure.
There is however certainly a darker undercurrent that I like to forbid myself, a sense in which the appeal of the submissive woman comes from a playful punishment. It is certainly evident in BDSM and microphilia fiction and even crops up at times in the playful flirting with my friends. There is a thrill at the idea of the naughty girl getting punished until she behaves herself. It is a fantasy that keeps its potency by being forbidden and because I would never forgive myself if it stopped being a playful fantasy.
All of this I think is probably actually fine if not for one thing. I write this stuff into my fiction. And there’s the rub. As we have seen with Joss Whedon, it doesn’t matter how much credit you earn amongst the feminist community, if you upset them, if you fall from grace, they will round on you and take pleasure in your agony. Personally I wanted to torch Joss Whedon’s cock off when I realised he’d romanticised an ancient blood sucking vampire falling in love with then stalking a teenage girl but the feminists were fine with romanticised paedophilia and then they decided to go nuclear when he wrote a crap wonder woman script that didn’t get picked up.
Now I have made mistakes, mistakes that I don’t expect will ever stop haunting me, but I have red lines in my fiction. Granted I think the new villain Richard Raspberry breaks every single one of them but that’s the point. My fiction is very fetishistic of a certain kind of woman, it features women being bought and sold, being shrunk and kept as pets, yes even being eaten alive. Yet apart from a couple of specific instances where the point is that certain men are massive shites every woman who has this stuff happen to her is under the impression that she is consenting and loves the experience. That doesn’t mean that villains are devoid of blame. Just that I don’t torture my women characters and I’m not sure that I have to date ever written a woman character as obnoxious just so their suffering and submissiveness is enjoyable. Things Joss Whedon has actually done.
I don’t know maybe I’m worse for trying to justify myself. I actually have nightmares about how twitter and facebook will react to the things I post online. (Sorry esoteric Jahanists, you never get a look in.) I find myself repeating this phrase like a mantra at times. “Crawl. Hole. Die.” expressing my desire at times to just hide away unnoticed and lie forgotten, no longer able to stress about what people think of my writing.
I know people who write for validation and to please others. I’d love to please others. I’d love to have a genuine discussion with someone who actually likes my fiction. (Though memories of the discord now make me want to torch anyone I don’t already know and trust who offers an opinion.) It’s just that I don’t write for others. I write for me and I have to. I need to write and I love to write but I have to write for me and so I have to write this fetish stuff about women. Hence “Crawl. Hole. Die.” because what’s the solution? I’ve gone my whole life and killed off the Farsh-nuke so many times thinking the character was the problem. It’s not and never was.
I don’t get to judge myself, that’s not how this works, but equally I don’t write to satisfy the judgement of others and so I just lurch onwards, uncertain for ever as I despise myself yet continue to write. Here’s the ultimate irony. The ultimate tragedy of my existence I suppose. The fiction has caused me so much problems and it makes me hate myself so much but writing the fiction provides me with so much joy and purpose, and gives me reason to keep thinking up such fetish scenes, that it keeps me going when the problems of the world would stop me dead. The fiction makes me want to die but writing it gives me the strength to live through the rest of life’s shit.
I don’t know what the answer is. I just know that this is who I am: A problematic sometimes anti-feminist dreamer and writer of submissive women who will fight alongside women against the misogynists of the world. There are people who should say I should be better and maybe they’re right but I haven’t yet found the strength to do so.
Saturday, 24 June 2017
Alexander Gordon Jahans
The last Farsh-nuke in existence was rotting in a prison cell belong to the Raspberry Reich. Elsewhere the Alpha God Adam Godwinson and Bigoted Billionaire Neoliberal Capitalist turned Fascist Dictator Richard Raspberry plotted an invasion of the multiverse.
The Farsh-nuke had lost completely and utterly but he refused to break and take up the offer of a life of luxury aiding Richard Raspberry. So he was tortured daily.
The man chosen to torture the Farsh-nuke was a tall, almost ghoulishly skinny, eminently charming, white man with short greying hair and a penchant for different suits. He was only known as Jake.
After one long hard day’s work Jake removed the plastic gloves he used and washed his hands, watching the Farsh-nuke with interest. The Elder God of Legend was bloody limbless mess one eyeball was missing and another was missing its eyelid. Still that ethereal emerald green glowed faintly from the remaining eye.
The Farsh-nuke let himself vent for a moment then took a few deep ragged breaths to compose himself before lying completely still on the metal butcher’s table that constituted his bed.
“How do you do it?” asked Jake. “We’ve been doing this for a month now, how can you keep your sanity everyday?”
Jake observed the ethereal green glow as the Elder God mentally hacked his local reality to speed up his natural wereshark regenerative abilities. As his eyes, mouth, throat and lungs reconstituted themselves, the Farsh-nuke answered. “I’ve been where you are now. I’ve tortured, I’ve killed and done so many terrible things. When you strip everything back from someone they revert to who they are at their core.”
Jake dried off his hands on a towel then pulled out a cigar and lit it from a box of matches he kept in his jacket pocket. “So what, you’re reverting to the elder god who doesn’t care about the mortal plane?”
The Farsh-nuke shook his head and flexed his newly regrown arms. “The thing that unites me and the Great Farsh-nuke is that our hosts each grew up in awe of a man called the Doctor.”
Jake stared at the Farsh-nuke and exhaled long and hard into his face. “I thought you hated that guy?”
“The man you know as the Doctor is just my old cohort the Bam-Kursh...” said the Farsh-nuke, sitting up as his legs were regrown.
“So who is this Doctor?” asked Jake
The Farsh-nuke thought for a long moment then said. “You can always judge a man by the quality of his keystream. I mean mine’s a developmentally stunted autistic loser so naturally I’m a brilliant but despicable arsehole. The Doctor however was formed from the tragedy of the first world war scarring socialism and hatred of injustice into the people, then by the second world war establishing that sometimes you are outnumbered and out gunned but you still have to take a stand for what is right and important because there are monsters in this world and they must be fought -”
“Monsters like you and I?” asked Jake with a smirk.
“Monsters like our esteemed leader and his mad prophet advisor.” said the Farsh-nuke. “The 1960s was the age of free love and that environmentalist, pagan faith in the spiritual and unknown, combined with the fascination and optimism of the space race absolutely would impact upon the history of the show but it was started from the mentalities left by the two world wars.
The Doctor wasn’t a revolutionary, he was no anarchist. He was just a concerned citizen travelling the universe for his own reasons who found himself compelled to step up and fight injustice wherever it found him. At the same time this was a Britain that was coming to terms with its own failings and the need to reject a legacy of empirical conquest and power. You can’t rewrite history, not one line, only learn from it and see that it does not happen again.”
Jake let out another exhale and grinned. “As I recall the sixties gave way to the seventies and then the eighties and the rise of Thatcher. How was your precious Doctor impacted by the defeat of socialism and the triumph of greed?”
“The Doctor is a symbol of the best of British Patriarchal Wisdom. He is an obnoxious douchebag who can be patronising, intolerant and discriminatory but he changes with the times as they bring about his end.” said the Farsh-nuke. “He became a passive beautiful thing after spending so long at his most powerful. That passivity curdled to anger, resentment and frustration at such a cruel world before finally Time’s Champion was born.
A man who could master being nice and funny. A silly little man who pulled off magic tricks and seemed utterly harmless yet enthrallingly charming at times. He combined the powerful charisma of his fourth incarnation, the seeming harmlessness of his fifth and the impish nature of his second but within him burned the anger of his sixth, the intolerance of injustice and authority of his third and the great wisdom his first.
This was Partriarchy as the great avenger, the silly little man who’d turn up one day and tear down your world because you forgot to care for the little people.”
Jake had been listening along mostly out of politeness as he smoked, but now he leaned forward. “So the enemy elects a woman who represents greed and injustice and the Doctor goes on the offensive.”
The Farsh-nuke grinned, fire in his eyes. “The actor who played the sixth Doctor had been sacked at the series nearly cancelled. When it came back with the seventh Doctor the intent was that they write a lighter Doctor. The meddling government did not like this symbol of socialist hope so they forced him to become a harmless fool. The writers, actors, the character, rebelled. This Doctor became the darkest of the lot, a great manipulator who was implied to be a mythical figure of power. And then, then the government did something really really stupid.”
“What?” asked Jake, after he’d exhaled a plume of smoke.
“They cancelled the TV show and sold off the license to Virgin.” explained the Farsh-nuke. “Time’s Champion was no longer hampered by political pressure, executive meddling and a need to appeal to the kids or even by limited budgets for effects. In the Virgin New Adventures of Doctor Who I found a hero I could believe in, a hero I wanted to emulate, except of course I never could get the hang of chess.”
Jake nodded. “The god of chaos never would be good at a game of logic.”
The Farsh-nuke smirked then bit his lip. He shook his head then said. “The Doctor has a mantra he tells himself, it’s often used to describe him. Never cruel or cowardly. It’s bullshit. The Doctor, my Doctor, is a manipulative bastard. He picks fights he knows he can win and sets up events to ensure he will. This is a man who regularly ponders Nietzche and how he who fights monsters should be careful lest he become one. He doesn’t carry a gun but he absolutely uses weapons, sometimes you wonder if it’d be less cruel and cowardly of the Doctor to just cap a bitch every once in a while.”
Jake stared at the Farsh-nuke for a long moment. “So what happened after seventh Doctor?”
“Time War.” said the Farsh-nuke. “The Great Manipulator died by chance and stupidity. His Eighth Incarnation was an incarnation was a far more human lover, as I’ll explain later. The new Doctor was beautiful and vulnerable, not passive like the fifth but often amnesiac but defined by love and pleasure in the transient moment. To this angsting emotive vulnerable Doctor two different time wars happened. First in the BBC Books and then before the revived TV series.”
“Doctor Who was bought back?” asked Jake.
“You don’t know?” asked the Farsh-nuke. “Where have you been?”
Jake shrugged. “You’re not the only one with a past.”
The Farsh-nuke dismissed the subject. “With a new Labour government in power Doctor Who was bought back. This Doctor was also a product off two great wars, only they were wars he had personally experienced. He was a survivor burdened with guilt, still dealing with the trauma of how it ended. That remained a theme throughout the revival as old foes and themes were reintroduced.
The shell shocked veteran regenerated into a rehabilitated all too human charismatic hero until the Time War’s temporary resurgence bought about a resurgence of Time’s Champion within the Doctor. Coincidentally about the time the Labour government was replaced by a Tory led coalition. He was still a pretty boy who could play the dashing hero but the manipulator was back. He died of old age on the planet Trenzalore and came back, old, bitter, angry and closer to cruelty and evil.
The Conservatives held a majority and the Doctor became an angry fighter against injustice even as character development rubbed off his rougher edges. Now the path seems set for a true socialist rule of Britain and the end of Patriarchal lineage for the Doctor’s incarnations.”
Jake took a long hard drag on his cigar and let out the smoke slowly in the Farsh-nuke’s face. “You mentioned the Doctor became human after the seventh Doctor, this Time’s Champion.”
“Well you see Doctor Who accumulates lore and mythology, sometimes this contradicts itself.” said the Farsh-nuke. “The Doctor was introduced with a granddaughter yet when we meet his people this whole different lore is established. His people are called the Time Lords of the planet Gallifrey. They have the ability to see the web of time, two hearts and things called ‘Symbiotic Nuclei’ that let them control tardises, they have a default set of 12 regenerations - ways of cheating death by replacing the actor - available to them. The Time Lords are dull, studious, bureaucratic, non-interventionists. At least until the two Time Wars. They are not byronic lovers.”
“So...?” asked Jake.
“So the books revealed that the Time Lords had been created by these three wise men known as Rassillon, Omega and the Other. They uplifted their people through technology, granting their people control of time but in so doing they upset the paganistic Matriarchal rule of the Pythias, wise women who gained understanding of time through ritual observance.” explained the Farsh-nuke. “The Pythias cursed the Gallifreyans so they would not be able to have kids so the three wise men came up with great genetic looms to weave people whole instead. The loom woven children would then grow up in great houses where they would study until they were ready to join the adult world.”
“And what does this have to do with the seventh and eighth Doctors?” asked Jake.
“We learn all this during an adventure in the books called Lungbarrow that happens right before the events of the TV movie where he regenerates into the eighth Doctor.” explains the Farsh-nuke. “Specifically we and the Doctor learn that the Doctor is the Other. That he was the mythical figure of Gallifreyan legend and had several different incarnations before events conspired to encourage him to seek survival through rebirth in the looming machine.
Immediately after learning that he isn’t fully Time Lord it is stated that he’s half human on his mother’s side and suddenly he’s this romantic very human like person. Even as the new series seems to contradict this it is stated that the first Doctor left Gallifrey because it was prophesised that a hybrid would destroy Gallifrey and the Doctor is such a hybrid.
And why might the Time Lords have such a prophecy? Because that is precisely what the Other set out to do before being forced to seek survival through being Loomed. He took on the name of Doctor as a promise to himself that he would not become the destroyer of worlds, that he would run from his fate and help people. That’s why, despite it being shown that he could have great power there, despite having destroyed Gallifrey twice in the Time Wars, the Doctor always saves it and runs from it. Because if he gets involved in its affairs he stops being the Doctor and starts being the Other, the Hybrid, again. The Time Lord Victorious.”
Jake offered the Farsh-nuke the rest of his cigar. “Wanna smoke?”
The Farsh-nuke took the cigar greedily. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a hit.”
“Big smoke then?” asked Jake.
The Farsh-nuke shook his head then exhaled smoke. “I’m a collar addict, there’s just something about strong young woman bending to your will you know?”
Jake stared at the Farsh-nuke. “How can you talk about this man who has such adventures and stand opposed to injustice yet be addicted to seducing women?”
The Farsh-nuke shrugged.
Jake thought for a long moment then said. “Do you mind if I make some calls?”
The Farsh-nuke shook his head and sat, silently smoking the cigar, naked before his torturer as he worked.
‘He asks how I do this? How I put up with such shit and misery?’ Mused the Farsh-nuke silently to himself. ‘The truth is I have faith. Faith in a silly little man in an ancient, stolen blue box. The silly little man who’ll turn up one day and turn day and tear down your world and nothing can ever stop him or hold him. I hear the sound of empires toppling Raspberry and your time is running out because we live in a multiverse where everything fictional is real somewhere. That means he’s out there, that means the Champion of Time who ended two time wars and defeats genocidal xenophobes on a regular basis will come for you in the end. Your Reich will end, your life will be over and as he knocks four times you’ll ask the question that haunts his existence.’
The Farsh-nuke took a long drag on the cigar then smiled. “The Doctor. Doctor Who?”
Friday, 23 June 2017
Alexander Gordon Jahans
You are wrong. Everything you are. Everything you think. Everything you stand for. Everything that defines you is a subjective debatable sham of madness. Everything about me. Everything about everyone. It is all an inconsistent provably false lie.
We exist in a world of strongly held beliefs and I am perhaps one of the more strongly vocal in the defense of my positions. I believe in free will. I believe in Regulated Capitalism as a viable ethical form of societal resource management and distribution. I believe in violence against the genocidal and that free speech and representation in the media is a vital and important thing. I believe that human are cruel, greedy, sadistic and selfish yet I also believe human are caring, generous, kind and selfless. I love humanity and I despise it. Do you start to see how it all falls apart?
In the age of the non-binary gender spectrum we have become increasingly polarised between the good guys who deserve to live and the monsters who deserve a good kicking because they are dirty amoral things unworthy of life. We are seeing extremists among the left and the right committing acts of terror. Our world is making people sick with pain and rage and it is failing to care for them.
Now I know whose side I’m on. I shall preach and preach against revolution but if the balloon goes up I am fighting for the underdogs, the women, the Trans and Non-Binary, for the People of Colour and every kind of safe, sane and consensual sexual orientation. If the moment comes I know whose side I’m on but I am never on the side of war. NEVER.
Adolf Hitler was a shitebag my words feel entirely ill suited to encapsulating the evil of but I feel no shame in admitting that if there was a way, some mad brilliant way to peacefully, diplomatically, convince Hitler and the Nazi regime to change their ways I would have took it.
Yes, we settled the argument of whether it was okay to punch Nazis long ago but if we could avert genocide, war and hostilities with a little kindness and understanding? If we could preach, listen, debate and persuade our fellow sapients out of discrimination and sadism? If we could end the threat of the Alt-Right by recognising that the vast majority of Trumpists are the scared and exploited mentally ill offered brotherhood and answers they understand to fears that have been drummed into them by propaganda? If we could end the next war before it began by offering our enemy a cup of tea and a custard cream instead of a molotov cocktail and a bullet to the brain? We could talk our enemies into being our friends? Would that not be better?
Capitalism is doomed. The economy cannot continue to make sense when machines do the vast majority of jobs that need doing. Anarchism is a fundamental functional oxymoron, there is order in everything. Feminism without consideration to morality and economic factors is just establishment fuckery by another name. Everything I believe in, everything you believe in, everything they believe in, is flawed. Lets stop pretending otherwise. Lets stop pretending that our beliefs are anything other than flawed compromises based on our best guesses from the evidences availiable to us from our narrow perspectives.
I mean I know that my utopias is an absurd mess of contradictions. A feminist utopia with equal representation for all races, genders, nationalities and demographics that feel like it. A world free from the need to work where techno magic provides the infinite capacity to fulfill any need or desire. A world where we don’t have to debate where someone gets the right to exist, be and get reated respectfully. Where we don’t need to justify demographics. Sure, you can realise you were secretly a great oak all along and never realised it. Other times someone might turn into a fish for the fuck of it and it’s just respected.
At the same time this utopia would be a place where capitalists could still engage in the pageantry and emotion of big business and old school politics. There could be the nazi district with emergency displacement fields out for anybody who wanders in by accident. There’d be the republican district, the conservative district and the blairite district. A utopia that accommodated the dystopian idealists by letting them engage in the fantasy of being powerful at the expense of others without anyone else actually getting hurt. We could have Romans and Aztecs and French Revolutionaries if people felt like it. You want to live in a cave and eat dirt then by golly we’ll find a way to let you do that safely without affecting your feelings of authenticity. Perhaps using a fake cave packed with insulation that deposited fake dirt which was actually nutrient packed and edible food.
And of course in my utopia I would somehow have a harem of pretty young submissive white girls. Well maybe not. Some things are just too insane to even naively hope for in the ideal scenario.
I have been doing so much writing lately as I rush to finish this novel and I confess, that as a flawed and rather nasty individual, I have found it rather exciting in a grim way. I’ve actually stopped talking about politics with my family because it’s filled with the anxious and I am now quietly certain that we are approaching (within months) global civil war through out everywhere at once, from multiple different perspectives, as the desperate and the damned reach breaking point and lash out, intent to kill whoever they think the enemy is.
Neoliberalism has failed yet it still weakly clings to life and it does so it kills us all, like a dying parasite draining the last energy reserves of a patient as a disease attacks. The arrogance of Neoliberalism has been to forget the one thing capitalism has always been about, motivating the greedy, instead Neoliberalism rewards the greedy at the expense of the many and the privileged morons spread disinformation and propaganda to cover their arses as they continue to drag us further towards World War 3.
The Neoliberals have enraged the populace, made them desperate and mentally unwell, now it strips back the police force and care for the mentally ill while wondering how terrorist attack after terrorist attack keeps happening.
The politicians have failed us. Mass media have failed us. If humanity is to survive we must do the seemingly impossible, make peace with those that enrage us and provoke us to anger and depression. We do not have the liberty of united and sane leaders to rescue us. We must end this civil war, this global war, before it begins by making peace with our enemies.
I know this is hard. I know this is ridiculously impossible. Yet if we don’t then who will save us from those nobody is bothering to help?
I had no clue what I was going to write when I sat down today, perhaps it shows, I just knew I needed to write. That there was something bubbling beneath the surface that I had failed to acknowledge and needed to be vented. I know this is hard because I know that there is a part of my mind that would dearly love the opportunity to inflict pain and suffering upon my stalkers. Yet I also know that we are only going to survive this insanity if we learn to look past the provocative attempts at manipulation and see a way through to the scared vulnerable adults beneath. These are the desperate and the damned, they need us to save and redeem them from the destructive paths they are now on.
Wednesday, 21 June 2017
Alexander Gordon Jahans
I feel old. More than that I feel pathetic. I feel like a failure. I’m 25 and look what I’ve done? No job, no house of my own, barely scraping by on the dole and perpetually waiting for the reaper to claim me because my luck just seems that shit.
Except look what I’ve been through in the last two years. I annoyed the nazis enough with my videos that I got my own hate cult, I got diagnosed with Kallman’s Syndrome and Growth Hormone Deficiency and now I may have sleep apnoea. My parents separated, got divorced and the house is in the process of being sold. Shit got so bad with dad that I ended up scaring him enough that he stopped being such a massive dick. And oh yeah, my writing...
It is amazing how much I would genuinely rather a bullet to the brain than another round of the people I try to champion and defend attacking me. One mistake enough to tip the balance, one moment of bravery amid chaos, then two years of internal devastation after the tip of the iceberg of how big an evil shit I seemingly am breaks the surface.
I don’t even know if that makes sense but the point is that ever since that moment of enlightenment I have not trusted myself to write. Not properly. Not seriously. Ironically calling me out on being a misogynist drove my writing back in that direction. I already had conflicts about my fiction with regards to sexism. I could write the most sexist wish fulfillment shit under the sun and it didn’t matter because I knew it was shit and I knew I was writing it for me. It’s like my videos. I can churn out the shit without shame because I know it’s shit so I am not going to regret or feel shame about it.
The thing with Joss Whedon struck a chord because I am so problematic as a writer regardless of that fucking fanfic but I was trying to be better. The entire arc of the United Civilisations and the Paragon of Virtue was about trying to be better at representation. One of the examples bought up for how transphobic I am was a pair of characters that I included to try and gain confidence at writing characters of a demographic other than my own.
I’m not going to replay that bullshit again but that’s what has held me back. At least Joss Whedon had a period of being a ‘good’ writer that he can look back to for guidance when hatred erupts that he can’t understand. I can barely understand the neurotypical cisgendered mind and perspective never mind the trans experience. Which I suppose is how I got it so wrong but I honestly just wanted to provide better representation in my fiction and then friends who had fallen silent seemed to suddenly turn up scream “You’re a transphobic evil arsehole!”, nuke my social life then fuck off.
I didn’t know what I had done wrong and unless they turn up one day and decide to walk me through it I doubt I ever fully will. I know some of it but I also know that it wasn’t just that. Which to someone who has to consciously know and enact social skills is maddening. Then again one of the examples given was something I stand by, namely that apparently it is transphobic to suggest provocative shits are blocked and kicked without a fetishistic dogpile of the interloper. The ambiguity kills me. It rots at who I am as I try to guess at the iceberg.
If these paragraphs sicken and bore you imagine how it has felt to have my brain constantly arguing the issue. I have a fucking nazi hater cult and bless them they try so fucking hard. Even going so far as to fake a transphobic piece of fanfic as through it were written by me. It’s not the reputation that kills me. I get over shit like that quickly. To really rot me, you have to present me with an ambiguous accusation with just enough given evidence on either side as to suggest that you are just a shite hole or I really have done something I think is morally abhorrent but you don’t give enough knowledge to avoid me continuing to be horrible. Suffice to say I am never letting that situation happen again.
So writing for me has either had to be something that happens so fast I don’t have time to reflect on it or something I’m not going to publish, that is just for my enjoyment as a writer. Essentially it has to be a fetishistic fantasy. Except fetishistic fantasies bore me and the longer they go on the more the plot stops it being fun and collapses it into something serious that I then give up on because I think it’s awful. A mind as self loathing as mine can only believe a fantasy for so long and why write a horror for yourself?
This novel I have been working on had to do a few things.
1. It had to follow on from the myth arc I had already laid out while establishing a new paradigm to go forward telling stories with while also serving as service able and satisfying ending in case I no longer wrote anything again.
2. It had to provide closure for me on those past events. I could not make another major release and just ignore that the series was problematic as fuck. I am going to feel a need to grieve and seek redemption so the Farsh-nuke has to have a reason to grieve and seek redemption.
3. It had to provide opportunities to tell nazi stories from different perspectives since I have a pro-nazi audience so ‘genocide and bigotry is bad’ won’t cut it.
4. I needed more representation.
At first this was just going to be accomplished by telling a series but series are predictable. They are tropes within tropes. Boring. Just then boring was lethal so it couldn’t be that and anyway if the whole plot is about a replacement for the farsh-nuke it’s going to fail at the first hurdle. So I tried out different stories and gradually the idea of interconnected series developed. So new things were added.
4. A. A non-binary elder god and a Trans character having pulp scifi adventures.
4. B. A new Toy Maker series that pushes the idea that women society dismisses can be mighty powerful and seductive.
4. C. A story addressing the distressing lack of black representation and exploring the consequences of stuff alluded to in other stories.
5. There should really be mass media service in the multiverse.
6. I owe Skyrim that dragon Superhero
I have also added some stuff just because I thought they made interesting stories but the point is that this long difficult process is almost over. I genuinely think I could have the rest of it written up and formatted within a month and that’s a safe estimate. Could be done a fuck of a lot sooner than that.
And once that’s done, well we shall see what happens fiction wise.
Aside from that, my life is okay.
I mean it’s still not something I trust, I feel like I’m one bad day from it all falling apart still. Not very strong and stable at all right now personally. Yet I’m getting by and hopefully maybe we might actually be able to begin selling the house soon.
Even if that doesn’t happen I have enough birthday money to get a power supply upgrade for my pc and I’m going on a diet now so I should be able to start saving money for a decent graphics card, though obviously I’ll settle for something cheap enough to get skyrim to a steady 30 fps first.
I’m alright. I’m getting the writing done and slowly my life is sorting itself out.