Search This Blog

Thursday, 15 December 2016

Jobless Again

Jobless Again

A Bloggage
Alexander Gordon Jahans

I change. I change a lot. Circumstances break and remake me, interests and knowledge flows into me, displacing prior occupations to the back of my mind but nothing is ever truly forgotten. I do believe that capitalism is almost certainly beyond saving, that is cannot be again successfully reregulated to the point of being preserved. I do believe that a post scarcity society is inevitable, that a pseudo-socialist society is the best move for society until post-scarcity technologies are refined enough. But I am still a greedy bastard at heart.

I like earning money and I like working. Zarquon help me I actually genuinely like putting the effort in. I hate it about myself because I am well aware of how shit I am but I am competitive. I like being a hard worker. I don’t want to live on social security payments or even a UBI. I want to graft. I want to save. I want to sacrifice.

The Alt-Right has a concept they are obsessed with. The proverbial Red Pill. The idea that a moron like Keanu Reeves in the Matrix can choose to be enlightened and radicalised by knowledge forbidden by the system of normality. Only Neo-Nazis can look at a concept that appeals to conspiracy theorists and the lowest of misogynists and think “That will be our swaggering cry of impending victory.” They have been haunting me with that phrase for months but they’re wrong. I’m not close to being redpilled, I’ve been blue pilled.

I grew up obeying orders, dressing smartly, never lying, working hard and saving my money to buy tat from the Games Workshop. If I was born in the 80s I would have worshipped Thatcher. I bloody devised a plan to scrap taxes in favour of a shop then tried to become an entrepreneur. I am a cold hearted, sadistic, cruel, vengeful, greedy, jealous, lazy shit at heart. But there are surprisingly few stories about selfish pricks abusing power to become successful where the selfish pricks are painted as the good guys and allowed to win. So I got bluepilled by rationality, facts and a desire not to get my head kicked in.

I am heartbroken right now and I don’t mind saying that right now if I had a gun I would probably be dead. I did everything right. I went to the interview my Universal Credit advisor told me to. I said the truth at the interview, it went well enough that despite being told no I was asked back for a job. I turned up early, despite a wretched cold, an infamously crap sleeping pattern, and the fact the bosses weren’t in till the afternoon anyway. UI did everything right and I still lost the job because my boss was somehow able to hear the words I said say on multiple occasions that everything would be fine even if my fears were true and then be completely blindsided and unable to keep me on when after 4 days of work my fears were born out.

I had purpose. I had a reason to get up in the morning, I had a daily commute involving time without distractions and a fair walk by a pub and good shops. I had an office to myself a lot of the time and a job that I could do, provided interesting challenges and was relaxed enough I could have bad days. On my honour, morality and everything I hold dear, the Farsh-nuke could turn up on my doorstep with every woman I’ve ever written about, the keys to my own tardis and a high end gaming pc and I would still rather I had that shitty little minimum wage job.

I’m not meant to be a writer, I’m not meant to be some grand lothario or youtube superstar, I am destined to be sat at a desk working hard on things that don’t personally matter to me in a 9-5 job with a commute that takes me 30 minutes my strain and 30 minutes by foot. I don’t want holidays and sight seeing, don’t want orgies and dinner parties, I don’t even really want a convention panel on the philosophy of Doctor Who or the military effectiveness of the different game4 of thrones armies. I want to work. To be employed. To earn. To see the ebb and flow of money coming in and out of my bank account.

There is one thing that this pointless diversion of a job debacle has really given me and that is closure on the Asda situation. Because this is what I’m meant to be doing, sat at a desk on minimum wage, helping make somebody else’s dreams or success come true while I quietly support and improve myself. This one wasn’t my fault. I did everything right and I still lost and that hurts like hell but I know I will come out the stronger for it.

Melting Ice Caps, Greed And Stupidity Have Doomed Humanity

Sunday, 11 December 2016

Destiny Dawns

Destiny Dawns

A Bloggage
Alexander Gordon Jahans

In about 8 hours I begin my first proper job, and I feel fine. Nervous sure, comes with the territory, but I feel fine. I am reminded of how in World War Z the impending victory is when people would lose it. Like an elastic band round tighter and tighter until the slightest easing of the pressure causes it to snap. I have been expecting that madness, to be sent giddy or panicky with the prospect of a return to normality. Yet I feel fine.

Make no mistake I know that if this goes well not only does my short and medium term life look much better with the extra injection of cash but my whole life could change for the better. This is my first day of work and the last time I had a first day of work it broke me, utterly snapped me like a twig because I just couldn’t hack it. I am aware of the stakes but I feel fine.

Do you want to know why I feel so fine about this job? Because everything about this is screaming my name. I got the porter’s job because I did everything you’re supposed to do, I got this job because I did everything you’re not supposed to do. This was a job I applied to by chance because Universal Credit fucked up and told me to apply for a government programme I wasn’t eligible for but the interview went so well they decided to take me on anyway. My train was late, my heels were bleeding, I gave a lecture on the hell of youtube as a living and I didn’t send confirmation that I was going to hand in my application form until the minute before I left to do so, leaving me waiting in an empty office for hours. This was a clusterfuck of chance and regret and it paid off. That’s the way I do it.

Do you know why that porter’s job so destroyed me? Why there was no way in hell it was ever not going to destroy me? Because I had no back up plan, because I expected not to fail, because I was deliberately low-balling my work possibilities for an easy life. At University I learned to be confident in myself but only in a hollow fragile sense. I was faking it until I made it because the slow burning mind bomb of Kallman’s Syndrome had yet to be resolved and I was in deep denial. Everything will be fine because I am awesome. Just don’t question it. Then it wasn’t fine.

Do you know why this job won’t destroy me? Because I’m playing to my actual strengths, not society’s fucked up assumptions of my strengths. And because I know exactly what happens if it does go tits up. I sign back on to Universal Credit and put more time into my volunteering, which by the way, it also going awesomely.

I have prepared for this day, mentally, physically and emotionally. Yeah, it’s going to be boring for a while and then it’s going to get manic but this is what I am good at and there is going to be a nice lead in period. I can do this. Not in an laddish bragging sense but in a quiet calm understanding of the task at hand and my ability to meet it sense.

And finally, do you want to know why Weresylph Dawning is at 70,000 words and still not finished? Because I get nothing from finishing a story and I know how to waffle. My brain is fast and it will just keep chugging away at a task, I need problems the way a racing engine needs explosions. This is why the feminists haunted me so much, why the trolls infuriated me at all and why my fiction kept growing in length. Because my mind needed problems and I needed a purpose. On my honour I haven’t seriously written anything since I took up Universal Credit and I probably won’t seriously write anything once I start this job. Writing was a crutch to give my life meaning and I don’t need it any more.

I remember there was a time when I considered television my life, that I would pass exam after exam, suffer beating after beating and always television was there for me. Then I went to university and there was no aerial connection and I became choosier. I started watching letsplays instead but letsplays so often are just comedy and they lack the necessary drama to be really engaging and meaningful. With things like Netflix and Amazon Prime video television is alive to me again courtesy of choice and bingeing.

Writing will always be a part of me, the Farsh-nuke will always be a part of me but I don’t need to write anymore so I don’t think I will, I have work to do and television to watch. And all you sad pricks creaming your pants off at the notion that I watch a children’s show when Doctor Who was designed as a family show aimed at adults and children alike can now sod off as I am watching shows that are very much aimed at adults. Shows like Game of Thrones, Hannibal, House Of Cards, the Thick of It and The West Wing.

What was lost now is found

Sunday, 4 December 2016

Accepting The Shadow

Accepting The Shadow

Alexander Gordon Jahans

There was a time when the Farsh-nuke was supposed to be me or when to be more precise I was the Farsh-nuke but characters change and evolve with new experiences, just like people, as life changed me so plot changed the Farsh-nuke.

The Farsh-nuke as originally created is a relic of a me that has long since ceased to exist. What started out as a wish fulfilment hero with knowledge and power became a twisted shadow, an anti-hero driven by lust and rage, formed by an ego that had, after cresting, crashed inwards upon itself. The power fantasy became the monster because I no longer saw myself as the noble moral survivor but the lonely disgusting freak.

As I went to university and pumped myself up as a grand auteur the Farsh-nuke developed as his own thing, formed by experiences in stories that have not yet come to light. I tried to kill the Farsh-nuke more than once during this time, abandon it as a misogynistic monster. But this was a time when I was myself an anti-feminist. Ironic really. Most people experiment with liberalism and communism at university and here was I experimenting with bigotry while pretending I should abandon a misogynistic character because I wasn’t like that.

You can’t kill your shadow, no matter how hard you try, the shadow is part of you, it lives within you, feeds off your hypocrisy and negativity. And I was such a hypocrite. By the time Trump rolled around though I had lost most of my hypocrisy. There were no more dark corners left for the shadow to grow. Perhaps this is why the alt-right’s fake story hasn’t really troubled me, I know exactly how much of a cunt I am and I have made peace with that.

The Farsh-nuke in The Return then was back to being a hero, back to being a power fantasy, but sticking to the shadows. I had gone full circle, I didn’t need my shadow to represent the darkness in myself any more, I knew who I was, what I stood for and that I did not need to be ashamed of my shadow. But still he worked in the shadows. Still he wasn’t quite the truth. The Farsh-nuke may have been back to being hero but I wasn’t and I’m not sure I ever will be.

When Trump was elected my creativity was shattered, my world was shattered, my hope shattered. The prospect of Trump, the threat he posed, was to be the wake up call I wanted the political establishments of the world to receive. I never expected Trump to win. I never wanted him to win. I called his victory to galvanise opposition to him. I muddied the waters to throw shade on the establishment candidate. This was  supposed to scare the cocky into paying attention, to make the privileged uncomfortable. Hence The New Cold War Arc. Raspberry was to be the arch villain slowly working on the tension raised by Trump long after he had become insignificant. The new heroic Farsh-nuke would be playing chess against Raspberry from the shadows because that was how I saw the task of reforming American politics would be.

Except Trump won and that called for a new me and a new Farsh-nuke. When the Alt-Right pulled off that trick shot with the fiction right around the time I was openly speaking out against Trump and his supporters it made clear to me that I am not just some outsider Anglo pundit whose opinions are at best ripples in a millpond. By making such a personal attack, an attack against someone I care about, against their very identity, to attack my morality, and with my chosen medium of power, so close to Trump’s victory, the Alt-Right declared war on me. They bought me into their conflict. This isn’t about empathy or morality any more, this isn’t about the suffering of others. This is personal. They pricked the side of a mighty beast and entirely to run.

A new Farsh-nuke was called for, a new shadow was needed once again. A cold war can be fought peacefully, can be fought heroically, but with Trump in the White House there could be no mere cold war any longer. A war is coming. A civil war in America and a world war against it and possibly Russia. War is not a time in which heroes can exist and that meant finally I could make peace with my shadow. Not by destroying it, nor by pretending I can reform it but by accepting my shadow for all its faults and acknowledging its worth.

William Dickson Wright, the first Farsh-nuke who was supposed to be a monster, orchestrated a global coup because he felt the ends justified the means, because his madness was to see threat where there was none. The new Farsh-nuke is also called William Dickson Wright and he is also going to orchestrate a coup because he feels the ends justifies the means, the difference is this time he’s right. Donald Trump can be impeached, might not even be voted into office by the electoral college votes assigned for him since the majority of votes lie with Clinton, even if he does remain in power he might not do so much damage before being voted out. But because I created Raspberry to be a much more competent and intelligent foe the new Farsh-nuke will have no choice but to wage war against him.

Saturday, 3 December 2016

Medically Inept

Looking Back On The Fall

Looking Back On The Fall

Some Bloggage
Alexander Gordon Jahans

The Best Doctor Who Christmass Special ever (By which I mean the only good Doctor Who Christmass special because it has flying sharks that can be tamed to give sleigh rides by singing.) has a line that christmass is this great big festival that we hold every year as if to say to each other “Well done everyone, we’re halfway out of the dark!” well it’s the third of December as I write this and the shops have been selling mince pies since August, I think it’s Christmass time now and I would say that I am halfway out of the dark.

You see I caught up with a dear friend who has been struggling with depression and self loathing for sometime now and I happened to mention that I was over mine. My friend asked how, when does it end?

When you’re depressed all that matters is survival, just getting through another day without ending it, at least that’s how it was for me but there comes a point when the problems that caused the depression are solved or in the course of being solved. At least if you are lucky enough to be in a position to do something about it. When the problem, the catalyst, is removed then the healing can begin.

I don’t do routines and I don’t do sleeping patterns or schedules. I just do what needs to be done. Which makes things difficult when nothing needs to be done or something needs to be done at a time when you can’t at the moment easily do it. This means I’m good when stuff needs to be done regularly but not so otherwise. So I end up creating things which “need to be done” to justify my existence to myself but which can be done at any time or shelved indefinitely on a whim.

I have thus created 3 separate meanings to describe my life and things in it. Safety, Different and Comfortable.

Safety is where I can be a mess, where no matter how bad I feel I know that I can recover. I have low growth hormone disorder which means if I don’t take pills I could get so tired I die and mild Asperger’s Syndrome, which means I can understand and perform in social situations but it takes energy, energy I don’t have much of. I take my pills to not die and I drink diet coke to function in public but there usually comes a point, particularly if I decide to walk home when the energy runs out and the mask slips. This is a time when I am drained and all I want is safety. Sometimes, to pick purely random and hypothetical examples, my feet might also be bleeding and I may be in dire need of a shit. My safety, my safe space, is not some mere salvation from mean words but rather a place I can feel safe tending to my problems. If I am hurt, if I am tired, angry or shit my pants. Safety is where I know I don’t have to worry, a beacon of hope and warmth to head for.

Different is different. Everything I do takes effort, a little mental will power, even things it occasionally takes more effort not to do like sleeping eating or masturbating but different is a anything so unusual It creates ripples before and after, screwing with my sleeping pattern in advance from, the stress of it and wrecking it afterwards from the effect of it. Different is a clusterfuck even if it’s a terrific success that goes off without a hitch. Different is not just a nerdy “They changed it, now it sucks” but rather a lovecraftian eldritch terror you know is ggoing to come that you can’t do anything about and you just hope to ride out half sane.

Comfort is my normal. Comfort is anything that is engaging, challenging but enjoyable, dependable and infinitely delayable. Comfort can only be comfort if it can be dropped at any moment because otherwise it’s a burden. This may be why skyrim, minecraft and now civ 5 are games I play consistently despite bitching about them and wanting to quit them and also why the surest sign that I will abandon a writing project is enthusiastically promising it, comfort isn’t comfort if you have to do it and there are standards to meet. Comfort has to be done purely for the sake of it but also because doing it for the sake of it brings meaning to me. Bollocks to the viewer, the reader or the listener, if I’m not enjoying it at that moment I’m just not going to bother. I only have so much energy why would I waste it on things I don’t enjoy doing. Something I hate for how cold it is but I know regrettably I can’t change because of how terribly finite my will is.

Of course then there is the fourth. Work. Work is not comfortable, nor safe nor different. Work is something that needs to be done, that I know I can do, that I will do, regardless of what it does to me but that won’t ever be what I choose to do for fun yet I know I would go mad without.

I got over my depression by repetition of these things. Safety isn’t safety until you’re coming back to it from somewhere different. Work isn’t work unless you’ve got comfort and different. Repetition gives you confidence in safety, confidence in safety lets you do more different things and different things are usually the most productive long terms. Confidence in safety and you’re ability to handle different lets you have the confidence to work. And once you have a routine of working and doing different things in the confidence of safety and comfort when you get home then the big long term problems can start to be addressed.

The problem with being a writer and a fan of writing is that I get used to narrative resolutions, to the plot devices, chekov’s guns and deus ex machinas. This is why I’m so on edge right now. The rule of three says that after Brexit and Trump the shit must hit the fan again some other way. But life is not The Lord Of The Rings, Word War Z, A Game Of Thrones, Blackadder or Skyrim. Instead it’s all 5 at once. We don’t have a series of conveniently timed emblematic cinematic battles, there is no denouement, no one ring to rule them all, no taking back of the world from the shambling hordes of the undead, no witty jokes and sure as shit no dragons. What there is however is the end of one era as the establishment burns itself up to defeat the evil that now threatens global security while the environment quietly withers in the background, threatening to render all efforts for good or ill moot.

My friend who asked me that question earlier refuses to watch things he likes when he feels like shit lest he taint the awesome with the memory of feeling shit but for me I have learned that it is not about the individual things but the tapestry they weave in your head. Doctor Who doesn’t matter, Blackadder doesn’t matter, World War Z doesn’t matter, Game Of Thrones doesn’t matter, The Thick Of It doesn’t Matter, Hannibal doesn’t matter, Dan Carlin’s Hardcore History doesn’t matter and Skyrim sure as shit doesn’t matter. Yet they all matter combined. It matters not what I am obsessed with today but it matters a lot how I am changed by it tomorrow, how I become a different person with exposure to new ideas.

Fair and Great people across the grand spectrums of time and the multiverse, I believe there is now a distinct probability that within the next 8 years there will be a civil war in America and a world war against America and Russia. I may be wrong and I really really fucking hope I am but I the reason I mention this is that for some time now I have wondered what my point was, what my purpose was. I mean look at me? Fat, autistic, kallman’s syndrome, gynaecomastia, low growth hormone and I’ve got cataracts growing in my eyes requiring me to wear glasses. How can someone as low and morally hypocritical as me exist? Because a war is coming. A great big bad war and humanity needs every single chance it has, even the bad chances, sometimes even a critfail is better than no roll at all. And if after 8 years I’m not dead and neither is half the world then I guess I won’t be so glum anyway, 8 more years of VR development, gonna be a hell of a thing to see.

Friday, 25 November 2016

To Screw And Be Screwed

To Screw And Be Screwed

Alexander Gordon Jahans

Forgive the rather bowdlerised title won’t you? Titles show up in search results you know and I don’t want to offend people unduly by title alone. Suffice to say this particular article is not safe for work and you can consider this a trigger warning for sexual themes and feminist critique I know how the sensitive souls among my audience can be deeply affected by those things so look away now. This blog won’t make much ad revenue anyway.

There is this thing I learned in Film Studies, it’s sort of pretention bingo but there is merit to it. Textual analysis. The ability to look at a work objectively and analyse the meanings it is trying to convey and on occasion accidentally conveying. I actually failed the module on representation in film because I was going through my anti-feminist phase and in deep denial about myself and the things I enjoyed. I only scraped through with a D grade on that module when I took a superficial racial reading of Star Wars episode 4 A New Hope.. So my opinions here are not necessarily the most rigorously accurate. None the less I made the mistake when drunk of trying to perform a textual analysis of my short story The Shrinkening and the genre of shrunken women fic in general.

TL: DR I’m a misogynistic pig despite my best intentions and aspirations. Sorry.

There is this idea in feminist circles called Rape Culture. -
I must be careful here because 1.  As has already been stated I don’t really have the best relationship with, nor understanding of feminism. 2. Feminism is great vast spectrum in and of itself incorporating radicals who genuinely and perhaps justifiably in some cases hate men and wish violence upon us, radicals who think feminism should absolutely be a movement for men’s liberation from sexism as well and more moderate feminists in the middle some of which see trans people as a threat to women and many moderate feminists who absolutely incorporate trans people into the feminist banner and cause.  Finally 3. I’m not really sure what Rape Culture as a concept is myself.

None the less I shall attempt to explain. You see it is a fairly well accepted (at least across the feminist spectrum) idea that there is this oppressive regime known as the Patriarchy. Some might see the regime as just capitalism and indeed as a regulated capitalist myself, the description the Randian Anarcho-Capitalist Andrew Ryan gives of capitalism as this great chain of industry, is I think an apt metaphor for the Patriarchy. You see the Patriarchy is a system of oppression and I do mean system. We technically live in a post-feminist utopia of equality right now where women largely have all legal equality to men but the system of Patriarchy lives on, biases passing from father to sun, mother to daughter, employer to employee. Each generation may be a little less sexist, may tolerate sexism a little bit less but the gears turn and the stem remains functioning, keeping white men in a position of power and privilege. It’s positively feudal in its way, then even with such regulation cultural osmosis keeps men at the top and women in a subservient capacity.

If my easily triggered followers are raging at that idea of Patrarchy (as biased, ill informed and contentious as it may be) then they may wet their pants at what I understand Rape Culture to be.

If Patriarchy is the great chain of industry then Rape Culture is where that subtle cultural system of oppression becomes malicious disregard for men and women alike. It is what separates the regulated capitalist from the anarcho-capitalist, the conservative from the fascist, the socialist from the communist. But that’s my bias again. I don’t as a rule like the term misogyny. Even the greatest sexist prick tends to love women in some capacity, indeed that is the chief form of oppression. The cultural value of the female form. Sexism is fine that’s sexual discrimination, an apt term, but woman hater? Yet that’s what Rape Culture is, misogynistic, a culture of hating women and wanting to see them hurt.

Now here the easily triggered will cry out about society never believing that men can be victimised by women and that’s true. Men who are beaten by women, men who are raped by women are so rarely believed, given due respect and sympathy and as a result so rarely come forward. Rape Culture is on one level overtly about the system that encourages, expects and minimizes rape and violence against women but it is also about the sociological reasons behind the rape and dismissal of it. And truth is, in my limited understanding, that we don’t believe men can be victims because we want women to be victims, because we expect women to be victims.

We are civilised folk. We wear trousers, drink tea and/or coffee, have tablet pcs and understand how social media works. We are not ape men howling about our cravings for a bonk, we want equality, of course we do. But we do also want violence perpetrated against women, for them to be vulnerable, fragile, compassionate darlings. Or at least enough of us do that happen to be in positions to influence are. Many of us probably don’t even recognise these tendencies within us. We make explanations and try to justify subtle discrimination and a predilection towards art or sexual material that degrades, dominates or breaks women.

I am mindful of my own prejudices here so let me take a cue from that great feminist voice Anita Sarkesian. She has criticised the idea of the violent female protagonist and admittedly that is something of a problem with videogames. Even my hybrid morality flies out of the window when I play videogames to the point where I basically play Civ 5 as the worst kind of militaristic dictator and end up resurrecting the dead just to kill them again for the experience in Skyrim.

Turning the criticism to wider narrative media however, like books, tv and film, and I very definitely think she has a point. When I think of my favourite characters in fiction, they aren’t the fighters but rather the thinkers who use words and manipulation to control from the shadows. A role even the misogynistic as fuck history books consider to be women’s forte. There is such scope for a female heroine under the trickster archetype, even in the most backwards of settings and I would absolutely love it. I want the Ms Trickster Mysteries to exist but I can’t write them.

I performed a textual analyses of my own fiction and I did not like what I found, I did not believe what I found. I wear pyjamas and suits, I drink tea, I own two tablet pcs and have a facebook fan page. I am a feminist. Or at least I think I am and would like to be. But then I stumbled upon the most curious thing. I’m in one of my research phases at the moment catching up on classic tv: The Thick of It, Yes Minister, Blackadder, House of Cards and Hannibal. It is a hell of a thing to see the powerful charismatic villain being positively dasstardly to some poor unfortunate chosen for seduction and manipulation then find yourself aroused. And in an oh so familiar way. Can’t really write it off as the thrill of creativity or writing when one is a passive voyeur and just as intoxicated. What’s scary is the realisation that my darkest of demons are a standard and accepted part of culture. I know now why I have been tearing myself to pieces all these years, I know it’s wrong and yet I also know by the standards of humans today aren’t so great or uncommon.

And that my friends is Rape Culture. That one can be a feminist, can aspire to be a feminist, yet take delight in the fictional domination and manipulation of women and there not be a contradiction nor especial rarity in that. We live in a culture that passively accepts and finds satisfaction in the victimisation of women. It is an unsettling and disturbing thing to consider. That our unconscious biases, impulses and culture are encouraging however passively the rape and victimisation of women. We cannot deal with this problem in society unless we each wake up to our own parts in the great machine of oppression.

A women with years of political experience who actually won the most votes lost the presidential election to a fat headed, reality tv star, compulsive liar and alleged rapist. Actually fuck alleged. Trump fucking bragged about sexually assaulting women. Even if he was joking that doesn’t excuse him but the fact that it did is part of Rape Culture. Not that all female leaders are necessarily progressive steps forward. *Glares at Theresa May and Margaret Thatcher* Just that here was a vote between Hitler the second and a woman and still the penis won because the woman used  email wrongly while he got off with fraud, rape, sexual assault, racism and even losing the cocking election to come out in charge of the country.

Anyway, sorry if I have upset anyone of the feminist persuasion. I am a flawed man but I shall try to be an asset not a burden to the cause despite my failings.

Churnalism, clickbait, filter bubbles and Trigger Warnings

Thursday, 24 November 2016

To The Future

To The Future

Alexander Gordon Jahans

Doctor Who is 53 years old, my parents are now divorced, I will soon have survived 10 years on youtube and I have just somehow successfully bought legal justice to bare upon a troll. The weight of history lies heavy upon my brow and also I’m quite drunk. Do you know how much cognac it takes to make Jagermeister taste mellow? I don’t because I wasn’t paying attention but I think I’m a lightweight.

The point is that I feel history weighing me down, perhaps watching Blackadder Goes Forth, Conspiracy and listening to Dissecting Worlds Alternate history series didn’t help but I feel certain now that we are at war with the Alt-Right. The stupid pricks think it’s all just jolly japes annoying the liberals for now but genocide is no laughing matter and the media are watching. The Alt-Right are cavorting like proud baboons showing off their ruby red behinds but the establishment are scared, the minorities are terrified  and soon there will be fighting I am sure of it. The natural reaction to fear after all is not “Why proud and mighty master furnish me with thy cock so I may polish it with my tongue and grant you all my lands and titles.”

There will be blood if the daft fuckwits don’t gather some common sense about them soon. Trump walks a tightrope to remain in power, relevant and not shafted by the radical left or radical right but there are no such restrictions forcing fools to sieg heil and paint targets on their faces. Only one fool need be punished for the moment and Trump could get off with an indictment or getting kicked from office but if the rest of the daft rabble insist on being openly nazis the left will kill them.

I don’t like the trolls, they are fuckwits of the highest order but they don’t deserve to die, not if they stop before this Alt-Right thing gets out of hand. Save yourselves you fools. If esoteric jahanism ever meant anything, if rare jahans ever meant anything, if the hatebase ever meant anything, don’t get yourselves killed just to be mildly annoying to some lefties. This is fucking war, or it will be at any rate. Abandon the true bigots and save yourselves. Dying to hurt lefty feelings won’t achieve anything except the end of your lives because you were all too fucking thick to abandon a daft idea of a joke. Leave the true nazis to get themselves killed for their bullshit but save yourselves. You don’t deserve to die just because you have the intellectual capacity of a tube of toothpaste.

Anyway, I can’t believe I managed to tangent in a blog, I wanted to talk about the future. I see now that I walk within it now, or at least as I will when I do. Gone is my fragile oasis and my transitory existence. I will live and I will have a half decent existence. I will upgrade my pc, already I have bought the most ram my computer can support and soon I shall track down a graphics card upgrade and in the long term I shall save for a proper gaming PC.  I am not as naive as I used to be and I am more confident in my ability to enjoy myself without fucking my life up.

For some time now I have faced existential dread because I’m nearly twenty five and I have no job and no purpose but I see now that I was lucky to make what progress and accomplishments I have done and I am content merely to survive, witness and try to be personally content in the history to come. And I am content, more or less. I am actually fucking happy. After 2 years of the worst shit I have come out the other side in a  stable and comfortable position. I have no doubt the war and economic clusterfucks will bring about hardships but I also have no doubt that I am privileged enough to weather them without much issue and if I do die well fuck it I did my best. Blimey, I really must be drunk, I'm being optimistic.

Listen whatever happens in the next year to come, no matter how bad it gets, I am content in my life and I hope you are too, at least until it ends.  I have been Alexander Gordon Jahans. Good luck.

Friday, 18 November 2016

Welcome To The New Age

Welcome To The New Age

Alexander Gordon Jahans

The first me was naive but honourable, the second me was flawed but tried to be normal, the third was broken but survived and me? I’m harder, tougher and more accepting of my flaws. For years I lived in fear of my darkness because I did not understand it, did not trust it. That is no longer the case. I know who and what I am now. The first me became the second by being broken then trying to forge himself anew. The second became the third by expecting a break and hardening in response, not knowing just how broken he would become. I came about because the one before me hardened around his flaws. Like geothermal pressure turning carbon to diamond, the slings and arrows of life have hardened me from the survivor to the thriver.

A war is coming, I am dreadfully sure of it now. My stalkers and trolls have started a movement which will bring about persecution and bloodshed so there will be war and people will die. I should be scared. I should be terrified, I should be panicking, it’s the normal reaction, the moral reaction. I’m not though, not really. Partly it’s disbelief and being at the thin end of the wedge but it’s also because I know now that I will survive. I’m not talking about survival in a purely biological sense, wars are dangerous things, I’m talking about survival of the soul. Of the ethics and unique perspective that makes me up.

I am not a nice man. I am stubborn, greedy, sadistic, vengeful, prone to jealousy and I have such a sordid mind but I know where my limits are. Where the fantasies stop and where they will always stop. I also know that if the forces of the left decided to disembowel me and feed me to myself that I would not abandon  them. I may be a misogynist and I may need to leave the trans community well alone and for these reasons I may suffer great misfortune but that will never stop me believing fundamentally in the equality of women and trans people and the importance of their proper representation in the media, even if I myself prove incapable of creating such representation.

The alt-right are running high right now what with Trump and Brexit and they have already shown a fascination with trying to make me squirm. I know now that no matter how much they damage me I will always oppose them, look down on them and advocate their ideological destruction. I am ready for the propaganda war, if not necessarily the real war to come.

Make no mistake the world has changed. Welcome to the new age. The establishment has shown itself to be weak, the old media is not as powerful as it once was and the age of filter bubbles has well and truly begun. A war is coming and the climate apocalypse approaches, we will never be ready but we can try to prepare ourselves. I have made peace with the possibility that my future may be very bleak indeed but I will do all I can to push back the darkness and fill the days with good cheer.

I have been educating myself about the holes in my popular culture knowledge and I have found new ways to exercise my mind that don’t involve writing smut. For now I am happy and hopefully these things I am doing will leave me better prepared for the dark days to come. Yet there is hope and joy amid the tidal wave of shit. 3d printing, VR, AR and automation improve every year, even if the limit to Moore’s law approaches we have not reached the limit of mankind’s ability to utilize currently available tech in new and better ways. You can’t programme on a machine that does not exist yet after all and you certainly can’t fine tune the programming

The age of post-scarcity approaches but first we must survive the age of the Alt-Right and I very much plan to. I have been Alexander Gordon Jahans and you have been very welcome. Now if you don’t mind I’m going to watch a letsplay.

Thursday, 10 November 2016

Not My Fault This Time

The Way Forward In A Trump World

Prepare For War

Prepare For War

Alexander Gordon Jahans

For some small time on Trump day, I was ecstatic. My cookie clicker machine finally had wifi, facebook had decided to make my fanpage/quarrantine the default on the share drop down menu and someone I care about very deeply didn't quit their job.

When something bad happens, anger, rage and despondency is only natural. We want to lash out and act rashly, Which is why I was sitting myself about the apparent likelihood of a Clinton victory, because the side with the most blatant racism, bigotry and love of guns could feel cheated enough to start a civil war and make terror in America. Perhaps the narrative is what made this lefty writer so captivated by it. But they won, they don't need to go to war because this is their chance to have their promises broken and become dismayed at the failure of the system. Instead it's the Clintonites in a position to desire lashing out, I know I was filled with a mighty rage when the news broke, but there won't be a civil war started by the left. Those who sold their souls for the lesser of two evils aren't about to start a war in their own country but like that person I care so deeply about, they may be able to bite their tongue for the moment but now is the time to prepare.

Panic is a natural reaction and make no mistake a tsunami of shit is going to crash down upon the American people because Trump was elected but I think our fears of fascism and actual nazi jackbootism were exaggerated. If only out of our own desperate desire to ensure the victory of the one woman whose horridness could possibly compare to Trump. The vast majority of Trump Supporters aren't molesters, bigots and reactionary men-children, any more than Clinton supporters are flip-flopping, establishment, warmonger corporate puppets. Make no mistake each side ignored glaring faults about their own, sometimes very reluctantly supported, candidates and each side demonised the opposition in attempt to win. The left played a campaign of hate and otherisation against the historic masters and they lost, everyone lost. Yet there is hope.

The Brexit referendum has shown to be an incredibly stupid endeavour, economically and politically but thanks *retch* to the conservative party it was not just a referendum on immigration but an actual open vote able to be campaigned on by the left and the right. It was a fucking disaster and the nazi scum were emboldened by it but that can of worms was opened in such a way as our soul remained intact and the establishment were given a bloody nose. An establishment that included the conservatives and gave us our second female Prime Minister, admittedly she may be an unelected Thatcher 2.0 but there was and is leftist hope to be gained in such a nazi emboldening move as Brexit.

The Trump Campaign looks a whole lot less of a grey area. Where is the hope to be found in America electing (by way of a broken electoral system) a bigot who brags about perpetrating sexual assault, can't handle twitter, let alone the nuclear codes and is openly accused of paedophilia over a woman who apparently just used the wrong email set up? The hope is that such a clearly incompetent buffoon  won against the establishment. If Brexit gave the establishment a bloody nose, Trump has been a long slow battering. the era of neoliberal spin and PR control is over. Now the establishment has a whole fuck of a lot less power and they are have been made nice and fat, just in time for Christmass. Which as Jeremy Corbyn, Bernie Sanders and Podemos show, the left can take advantage of.

The world looks a mighty scary and depressing place right now. I feel as though my childhood bullies are now running the majority of the western world or close to it. The tory's turn to the far right, Le Pen in France, Trump in America, Hungary, Denmark and other European countries electing far right parties. It's positively nightmarish. Or I suppose a great beautiful dream if you are one of my hate base. We on the left have been caught on the hoof. The Alt-Right may like to think they are some bold new millennial initiative with their trolling and memes buut their fathers the Far Right have been around in politics a long time just waiting for a chance to stroke while the enemy is weak. And we have been weak.

Tony Blair torpedoed us more effectively than any conservative politician. He gave us hope and then his actions made us feel complicit by association in war crimes before taking all that away when his enemies adapted to his new style of politics enough to sweep in without being totally loathed. Did we pile on the tories? No. We piled on the traitorous lefties that propped them up. Our guilt and resentment has made us weak while the far right has thought as it always has, with uncaring, calculating belligerence. This mix of attitudes then mapped over onto Obama, the great change candidate, who achieved a whole lot less than was hoped.

I didn't start out being interested in politics because of the politics, I entered for the policies and specifically the issue of climate change. I wanted to save the world from destruction at the hands of man. That attitude then transferred over to the threat of technological unemployment, saving humanity from destruction at its own unprecedented success. I entered politics then as scifi fan and writer caring about such issues. But politics has found me and it has tried so very hard to drag me in to its world: The Alt-Right.

I have only seen the Alt-Right as barbarians at the gates of my safe spaces, I have seen their worst aspects. Like meeting a person at their most cuntish, or me in the last two years. I have been stalked, harrassed and had my own words taken out of context then used against me. And now these pricks have got a president into power, or at least they are dining out on that idea. I want to see them destroyed and I want to be a part of that destruction because these are the nazis and the very worst aspects of tumblr egotism and antagonism included. They want a race war. Well I don't intend to let that happen.

I have been wrestling with something about myself for the last two years, more than usually anyway. Increasingly morality is feeling like a straightjacket. The old struggle between my feminist ideals and desire to write dark surreal smart, which usually only fueled my creativity, has become catalysed into a real war of ideals internally and I have felt corrupted by my creations, struggling to escape the seductive power of the Farsh-nuke. You see the Farsh-nuke is me with confidence and no fucks to give, a monster who has stopped caring about his faults and focuses on achieving objectives for the greater good. I am not the Farsh-nuke and I never will be, I'm an Autist with Kallman's Syndrome, I will never have the charisma or confidence to be even a pale imitation. Except what he symbolises, a monster on the side of good, is something I can be because I am a monster. I try not to be but events this last year have seen that it is painted upon my soul regardless. So what does this have to do with Trump and the Alt-Right?

A war is coming, or at least there is a non-zero chance that it could come and even if it doesn't there is an enemy to be fought politically. My soul is lost, so I feel anyway, and the Alt-Right are already stalking me and my family. I'm not some master spin doctor and I'm never going to be a politician. I may not be Donald Trump but all the same I think my writing bars me from politics. All I have is that I have already been targeted by the enemy and I know enough about them to begin researching them for those that can use that information. Plus, think of the views. So it is time to prepare. No more pyjamas, no more mister nice Aspie, time to done my suits once more and head to battle against the enemy, ideologically speaking.

Prepare for war my friends. Buy a gun if its legal and learn to fire it well then stockpile an arsenal and hope never to need it. Get friendly with the local police and get chummy with your governmental representative, make peace with Trump supporters and try to ensure that civil unrest doesn't escalate into civil war. Then, like me and many others, you need to join in the fight where it really matters, in the battlefield for the hearts and minds of the populace. The establishments time is over and we need every last citizen working to enlighten the others if we are to defeat them. If the Far Right and the Alt-Right are stupid enough to ever start a war then it is the left's moral duty to finish it but equally we must do our best to ensure they never get to start such a war.

These are dark days my friends but there is hope and we need you so hang on and remember that is too shall pass, perhaps like gall stone with long slow excruciating pain, but it will pass. Peace and love be with you all.

Tuesday, 1 November 2016

Skyrim Special Edition Review

Hope In Dark Times

Hope In Dark Times

Alexander Gordon Jahans

When I was a child, back when  the Farsh-nuke was just a name and a brand, my mother cautioned me against false hope, against the damage it could do when reality comes crushing down. It is tempting to heed such advice now, for we do live in such dark times. The racists are on the rise, the economy is in the shits and only looks set to get worse and all the while the twin countdowns to Armageddon of a new cold war and climate change tick down in the background. Putin, Trump, a hard Brexit, hurricanes, earthquakes and flooding, Justin Beiber releasing a good song, truly the end times are upon us.

I am scared, of course I’m scared. It is truly a terrifying thing to realise one might like Justin Beiber - And you know all that other stuff. Even if Trump doesn’t become President his supporters aren’t going anywhere. Heck if my channel is anything to go by Trump supporters have more patience than Ivanka Trump, and all they’re achieving by stalking me is burying a man who had long since dug his own grave. So things are scary, really scary. It’s like someone flipped the difficulty from Cookie Clicker to Dark Souls and I am probably irredeemably fucked but fear is not irreconcilable with hope.

We do face dark times, very dark times but we have as a society weathered far far worse. I have been relistening to Dan Carlin’s Blueprint For Armageddon and I am amazed at how so many people coped under the hell of trench warfare in the first world war. When I was in school I almost pictured trench warfare as like life in underground railway stations, proper underground complexes with toilets and canteens. Instead it was a ditch carved into a heavily bombarded landscape covered in shit and bits of the dead. A clusterfuck of a war caused by political allegiances. This was a war of attrition where each side could only win by grinding the other’s society into paste. Yet humanity survived. I mean okay it left such scars that a few years later a second world war was needed to properly bring closure to the insanity but despite how very fucking bleak the first world war was humanity survived.

So yes we do face dark times, very dark times but we will survive. My generation may be burdened with ridiculous debts and left struggling to survive and be economically viable in a world with fewer jobs and those that exist being sent overseas or given over to automation, we may have to address the fascist in the corner spouting pepe memes and bullshit propaganda, we may have to deal with a new nuclear crisis and we will have to weather the damage of climate change but we can survive. I’m not sure how but we can survive and we will survive. I have hope in that, I have faith in that.

Humans are an indomitable species and we will overcome the problems we face, I honestly believe that. I may be a doomed man but I can live and die happy with the hope and knowledge that we can and will overcome the problems that we now face.

Tuesday, 25 October 2016

I'm Not Sick But I'm Not Well

I’m Not Sick But I’m Not Well

I’m Not Sick But I’m Not Well

A Bloggage
Alexander Gordon Jahans

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.

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.

Reappraissing A World Without Work

Thursday, 20 October 2016

On Dishonoured, Civ 5 and my mad sleeping pattern

The End Is Nigh

The End Is Nigh

Alexander Gordon Jahans

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.

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

The Wormhole An Autoexposiprose

The Wormhole

An Autoexposiprose
Alexander Gordon Jahans

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.

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.

Thursday, 13 October 2016

Better Every Day

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. 

Alex Vents about Adblock, climate change, a new cold war and the rise of...

Game of Thrones series 6 review

Tuesday, 11 October 2016

Talking about the writing of Weresylph Dawning

Star Trek Beyond Review

An Explanation

An Explanation
Alexander Gordon Jahans
I 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 An Autoexposiprose

In The Shit

An Autoexposiprose
Alexander Gordon Jahans

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.

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, 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.