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Thursday, 19 October 2017

Him Though

Him Though

Alexander Gordon Jahans

The world is lighting up with the hashtag #MeToo as people all across the world come forward to talk about sexual assault and sexual harassment. And I’ve not been talking about it because I have nothing to say. I have not been sexually assaulted nor sexually harassed and I’m not a woman nor have I ever been particularly femme so I don’t have any stories of trying to avoid such an issue.

So why am I writing an article on this?

Because with the call comes the response and I have been there.

Do you know what happened when I really learned about feminism? Beyond the idea that women should be equal and into the ways that they weren’t, the ways that society keeps women unequal? I became an anti-feminist.

I was so outraged and so hurt because I lived in a bubble of ignorance where sexism was like homelessness in that it happens, it sucks, but there’s nothing anybody can really do so you don’t think about it. Terms like Patriarchy and Rape Culture sounded like Chem Trails and Anti-Vaxxing. They sounded like conspiracy theories and I am programmed by society to dismiss conspiracy theories.

The thing is that Radical Feminists and the Alt-Right have one thing in common, their communities are designed like traps to weed out the unworthy because outsiders can be so dangerous. I can understand why it happens. Cliqueification is natural when a community gets established, inside jokes get established, new terminology is coined. I mean look at the Bechdel Test the way you hear it described it sounds like it’s up there with the Skinner effect or the double slit experiment in Quantum Physics. It’s actually an idea taken from a lesbian comic.

I am not belittling feminism. I have passed through my phase of anti-feminism but I keep saying men I trust and like tripping up on the same hurdles. It’s all very well and good telling us to shut up and listen but that is not how men do anything. We practice, we experiment, we analyse and interrogate data. We call the teacher on bullshit when we see it and we want the answer explained in terms that we understand. Not all men clearly. And it is important to point out that we are not talking about all men.

The thing is feminism and the LGBTQA+ community has been immersed in this world and this war for fucking years. They are bloodied and scarred veterans and then we come up to them like guys who’ve just played five minutes of call of duty and we want all the answers. Heck I think about how frustrated and tired I feel explaining computers to my pensioner mother when I have used ubuntu, windows and macintosh. It’s like how do I explain the fundamental basics of this theory and metaphor to you when you think so differently to me and you are but a babe lost in the woods. Except oh yeah with Feminism this lost babe is telling you that the war you’ve been fighting your whole life isn’t real and you are just a bitter arsehole of an individual who is stupid, wrong and judgemental.

I have been stalked by fucking nazis and at this point I’m thinking feminists and trans people are the most patient and tolerant saints in the world because at this point my rage for those that harass me is such that death is too good for them. So I get the exasperation. I get the outrage and the bitterness and the “Oh for fuck’s sake look it up, you clearly have access to the internet” mentality.

The problem is that there comes a point when a movement stops being about hiding away in safe spaces for your own kin and starts being about creating wider change and in that wider change telling people to look it up for themselves isn’t enough. Especially because there are plenty of misogynistic shit heads looking to exploit the need for understanding and solidarity.

If your ego has been bruised you don’t want someone telling you it’s your fault, you want someone to agree with you and console you but offer suggestions as to how to improve.

So here is my advise to men freaking out in the wake of #MeToo and #HimThough

1. Don’t Panic - Yes, the problem is large, yes you are probably part of the problem but you can’t do anything to help anyone while your fight or flight reflex is in gear. Even if you are a problematic and dangerous individual the fact you know changes nothing to the outside world in a negative way.

2. Women and victims are going to talk about what it is like to be women and victims. That will be jarring. That will raise ugly questions. You don’t have to jump into the boiling hot depths of discourse in the beginning. It is okay to seek out feminist discourse from perspectives you understand first.

3. Feminism is a new language of cultural references and terminology. You can no more dip into an essay of deep feminist discourse as a beginner than you could dip into series 5 of a tv show and expect to understand everything. You are allowed to be confused and ease yourself in.

4. Yes feminism is calling you out and wants you to be better, no it is not calling you a monster. Feminism is about overturning a system of oppression so perfect that we are all a part of it even if we don’t realise it. Blame is not as important as changing your part in the system off oppression.  Recognition is important but feeling shitty is not wanted, ceasing to be part of the problem is.

5. Sexism is a spectrum. This is something I am only just now coming to understand. You can be a problematic man with issues and a past and still try to get better and you will get better if you allow yourself to learn in your own way. At the same time we aren’t going to build the perfect utopia overnight. Habits have been learned, biases ingrained, tastes and instincts established. You are not going to wake up from a long nightmare to find yourself feminist and not sexist and that is okay because the world is built on sexist arseholes who tried to be less sexist and make the world less sexist and they helped.

6. Yes feminism is annoying. Yes, feminism is frustrating. Yes, feminism reeks of double standards and yes some feminists are just dickheads because feminists are still humans and we can be stupid and cruel about anything for any damned reason. This point is important because Feminism is important and as a guy being critical of feminists and feminism puts you on the same spectrum as men who are in favour of raping women. To some people that sentence is going to be ridiculously mundane and tame, to some that is going to be ridiculously offensive. Feminism will offend you. Accept that.

7. Not everything about feminism is perfect and not all feminists are perfect but the majority of it is right enough that it is useful and should be championed and learned from despite its flaws.

8. I am a 6 foot guy with a loud voice who goies walking at night and has social anxiety. If you think I am not ridiculously anxious about whether I might offend, upset or creep out women you are wrong. Anxiety about whether you are being a problem is going to happen and sometimes it will suck.

9. Like it or not feminism is the brand of equality going forward and you will get steam rolled if you decide that you aren’t sexist but you do have enough legitimate problems with feminism to stand against it. Nazis have threatened me and hurt the people I cared about to get to be because they are obsessed with trying to destroy me for standing in opposition to them. The Feminists succeeded because the feminists are right and they are all around you and if they decide you are a danger I have the utmost of pity for you because there isn’t a force in the land that can defeat the juggernaut, not forever.

10. If you are scared or intimidated by women angrily expressing their opinions then for your own sake shut up and learn feminism.

Saturday, 14 October 2017

What is capitalism?


Destroyer Of Worlds
Alexander Gordon Jahans

What is capitalism?

I used to be an anti-feminist so I’ve been in the position of trying to explain a real problem with real arseholes only to be met with the incredibly patronising. “Well The Dictionary says...”

The fact is that we live in an age where people who call themselves feminists persecute and discriminate against other women who are born differently, an age where people who are nazis and love the nazis will stubbornly insist that they aren’t nazis while getting furiously angry at anyone who insults nazis or suggests they can be brutally killed or even simply punched. This is an age where All Lives Matter is a rebuttal to Black Lives Matter despite implicitly agreeing that Black Lives Matter.

This is age of post-truth, churnalism and fake news. An age where the words themselves are up for debate and people get very angry about definitions and the placements of commas.

So before begin to accept and take on the challenge of surviving in capitalism lets define what capitalism is in its basic form and then explain what it has become.

I will lost a content warning right now that this is a champion waffler trying to be concise about an idea that can be very very complicated. Economists may need to take their anti-anxiety meds or stare at some kittens for a few hours. If you are someone who disagrees with the idea that you should care about other people, that things should be regulated or that taxes should exist then you may need to see a therapist to deal with the trauma of being challenged. You may also feel the need to write me an indepth essay explaining how you intend to rape me, my family and then my cat because the very existence of an opinion different to yours is so deeply upsetting and traumatic. My utmost sympathies and I hope you get the help you need.


Capitalism is the belief and study of capital and its affects upon society. And capital is money. A unit of exchange.

A lot of people, myself included, get very mad at capitalism, as I shall try to explain. At its most basic however capitalism is the idea that a person can exchange their energy spent producing products or performing a service for other products or services of similar value.

Capitalism is measurement. Just measurement. It’s just “Hey, you did X that means you have created Y value to society with which to spend on goods and services.”

Getting mad at the idea of capitalism is like getting mad at the units we use to measure temperature because you don’t like global warming. Yeah, hurricanes are fucking bad but you don’t get mad at Celsius, Fahrenheit or Kelvin because the global temperatures are fucked up. Except that’s part of the magic trick the people who are causing the problems have pulled. It’s like how anytime there’s a mass shooting the gun lobby convinces everyone that now is not the time to talk about gun control because an angry American is not an American who cares about money or politics.

Capitalism is a unit of exchange and that is good because it defines the value of a worker. Once a worker knows their value they can get the numbers together to threaten a company and force them to provide better pay or conditions. Knowledge is power and capitalism gives the workers that power. Because at a certain point it doesn’t matter how many workers you mistreat, if they know their economic value to the company they know that they can hold a company hostage for better pay.

The problem however is that the powerful have a lot of incentive to minimise the power of knowledge and there are just times when there is not the economic capital to provide for what the workers want. Sometimes droughts happen. Sometimes famine happens. Sometimes disease happens. When we get more into how the global economy works later I’ll explain how calamities can happen there to. Sometimes workers have to be fired, sometimes workers have to work longer hours for less pay because so much value has been lost that it has to be made up for somehow. Selling off the family silver can only get you so much capital.

This is why we have the problems we do now. Because humans are still biologically the same species that lived in small tribes in the Serengeti (white people included you fucking racist morons). I don’t have the energy to shower everyday so I can’t really blame a coal miner or a factory worker or a shelf stacker for failing to understand that there are always a minority of powerful people looking to increase their power and pleasure at the expense of others.

It’s why people like Harvey Weinstein exist, why people like Donald Trump exist, because you are yourself. It is possible to conceptually imagine the lives and thoughts and feelings of other people but one of the most profound philosophical statements is the idea that at a fundamental level you can only be sure that you exist. Experience also biases us as to what is normal.

I am a shouty, sweary, insulting arsehole at times because having been bullied for so much of my life that kind of background toxicity is just normal for me.

I can’t speak for Americans but I know that in Britain we have basically practised voluntary eugenics to breed a tribe of supersmart psychopaths. The rich send their kids to the same schools and universities where they grow up reading the same papers, watching the same shows, interacting with the same people and in a world where everybody has the same jobs. It is normal for a conservative politician to be a complete and total sadistic greedy selfish shit because everyone they know is the same way. They use private healthcare, private transport, go to private schools, read books and newspapers written by people in the same bubble and then they wonder why they can’t understand people outside their bubble.

If you lived in a world where powerful people sexually assaulted women on a regular basis and the women never kicked up enough of a fuss to make a difference (because you will destroy that which threatens your idea of normality) then you would think it was perfectly normal to sexually assault women and if you are used to living in the twilight world of the media where the constructed fantasy sex object meets the starving artist then maybe the fakery of performed femininity might just delude you into thinking that this was what women wanted?

I said before that an angry American doesn’t care for money or politics. Well neither does an angry Brit. Workers fought hard to secure better pay and working conditions but hard times hit and the powerful minority inside the conservative bubble of London and the south east exploited that anger to achieve their victory over the unions.

I am not chiefly concerned with the plight of the worker. I am concerned with the success of the system. To judge that we need to explain how the concept of a unit of exchange became a tool for oppression. To do that we need to explain how those units of exchange are distributed.

There are people among the left and the right with a complete disregard for the concept of regulation. Which I can understand. I mean I’m a white man and there are times that a read about the evil white men do and I feel such despair like “Just kill us all off already, we are monstrous arseholes!” So I get that you can just get sick of the ways a system can be exploited and want to scrap it entirely but where you have cooperation you need regulation and oversight.

Enter the company. Again Economists may feel the need to lie down for a bit as I grossly simplify something that has become very legally complex.

A company is just a group of people working together to share risk and make capital for that company. Farmers are going to need tools to work the land, fertiliser and weed killer. Butchers need to procure carcasses to butcher. Bakers need ingredients. So these companies save up capital - that is the monetary units of their societal value - and they use it to invest in their companies. Hiring more workers, procuring more tools and ingredients. Somebody has to buy the paper for the staff toilets and that money has to come from somewhere.

And once you have a company pooling the resources of multiple individuals to make capital with which to procure goods and services necessary for the functioning of that company you get the idea of loans. A loan is just a unit of societal value given on the promise that the societal value will be generated. This service is itself a kind of societal value because bakers need ingredients and farmers need tools which they need to be able to avoid first. It is only right therefore that a company which provides loans receive an amount of monetary value in return for the risk and service of allowing those companies to start operating.

And so you get banks. Because now people need somewhere to store these artificial measurements of their own societal value whilst they decide what to do with this value. The banks can then use this stored monetary value to provide loans which create more value to society and so return some amount of monetary value to the banks. The bank then pays some amount of this created monetary value to the people who story their monetary value with them as a reward for accepting the risk of storing their monetary value with them.

Once you have workers and companies and banks you then get advertising.

Now on the one hand advertising is arguably a service. I know about Square Space because they have paid for so many different advertising spots. Advertising does connect workers with spare economic capital to the creators of goods and services. At the same time however Advertising is a parasitic industry. It destroys companies and creates monopolies because advertising is the warfare of empire companies.

You see once you have abstracted the concept of the value generated by a worker from that worker you no longer need that worker to create more capital. A company exists to allow workers to work but a company also allows an individual to manipulate the abstract nature of a worker’s economic value to generate capital without the worker.

This is where banks become dangerous, where advertising becomes warfare.

First a bank realises that it creates monetary value from giving out loans and having monetary value paid back for the loan, not from being paid back the loan itself. After all if a bank is loaning other people’s money it just needs to encourage them to not take their money out of a bank. If Mrs Bloggs puts 500 units in your bank and doesn’t take those units back for a year then what you want as a bank is to give that money to someone who will keep paying the interest on the loan but not pay back the loan itself because 5 units every month is worth more to a bank than someone who borrows that 500 units then pays iot back a week later having paid them less than 5 units for the trouble.

So we enter the consumer. A consumer is someone who expends economic units. Consumers are what capitalism runs upon. It is the foundation of the free market and why I love capitalism as a system despite hating its flaws and wanting to change them.

Once a company stops being about workers having capital to work and starts being about chasing that abstract monetary value for itself then it is not just the worker who has value but a consumer. The free market is the idea that demand can drive supply. That we don’t need to become film makers, we just need to incentivise the production of films we want to see.

The free market allows multiple ways to control the powerful and democratise that control amongst the people. The free market is the idea that brands matter. That companies are controlled by their consumers.

Do you think is a fucking coincidence that the LGBTQA+ movement has exploded with the rise of the consumer?

Power is based on power. Women are vulnerable when pregnant and different races are easy to identify. This is how the white men took power and capitalism, consumerism is what is changing those old power dynamics. I don’t wish to undermine the work and sacrifices of people who fought for liberty but there is no doubt that the rise of consumerism has empowered queer black girls to have more power over powerful white men than ever before.

With consumerism and capitalism workers and consumers understand their value to the people in power and they can exploit that for the greater good.

What’s more the right wing knows this. This is why fascists rage against Neoliberals. A neoliberal chases short term profit above all. A neoliberal white man is just as psychopathic as his fascist brother but his greed has moved beyond ideology.

The problem however is that what used to be democratically controlled regulatory body has become a tool of the powerful parasites upon capitalism. The corporate empires and parasitic gamblers of debt have infiltrated Westminster, Washington and Brussels. The poor are united in their lack of fucks to give. The rich are sheep who can be herded easily with the promise of more money, something the corporate empires and parasitic gamblers have in abundance.

You see somewhere along the way banks stopped needing to actually have money to loan out. The banks and corporate empires created the magic money tree and they called it fiat currency. In other words they print money on demand because all the banks care about is having the interest paid back and all the governments and corporations care about is that they have a way to get money to set up new franchises. That society keeps ticking over.

There have been instances where a massive shock to the system has happened and people have been unable to pay back loans. Times when the magic money tree was uprooted in a storm. So what do all the governments do? Well they use taxpayers money to plant that magic money tree back firmly in demand.

Lets be clear this is a whole system that exists because of the idea that the abstraction of value can be separated from the worker who created it. So much of the system we have now is built on convincing people that an abstract notion of value can be traded and exploited like a fundamental resource even as they proceed to create economic value out of thin air.

Yet we are now in a position where our countries are run in service to this abstract confidence trick. Where are our countries are actively fucking themselves over in service this abstract magic of legalese and confidence trickery.

When I began this article I wanted to explain the fundamental problem  of the economy at the moment like the water cycle. It makes intuitive sense at first. The economy functions on money. People need money to live. There are 7 billion people on Planet Earth and one percent of the people have most of the money. That is a problem. That is unarguably clearly ridiculous. The only way you can justify it is if you believe in a meritocracy and the idea that they deserve the money. Which whatever your reasoning is provably false.

Except as the one percent have printed money and created complex artificial mechanisms to juggle these abstract units and extract value for themselves the fundamental nature of that abstract value has utterly changed.

You see companies make more money if they can sell product or provide more service without paying more money. Now since we outlawed slavery and set up the minimum wage  the only way companies can make more profit is if they can increase the valuer of their workers to society so they don’t need as many of them.

So yes we created communication technology to allow us to only pay employees for eight hours a day but keep extracting value from them even at night. We created machines to multiply the output of a single worker, systems to allow the removal of workers at all.

We are in this odd position of having a completely bonkers economic system whereby the rich and the powerful are now actively reducing the amount of people able to add economic value to the system but there is so much economic value being generated by the system that governments can support so much of the population not having jobs, businesses can go bankrupt, banks can shut down and the one percent can still make money.

I wanted to have a logical conclusion to this. I wanted to have this make sense and figure out a way through the dark but I don’t think I can. The system is far too complex and far too insane. The obvious suggestion is to prune back the financial complexity in the system but maybe that madness is how the system can continue to function. Maybe the bubbles are why the elite powerful psychopaths haven’t decided to try and outright kill off those who cannot work. Because the bubbles and the financial complexity maybe convince the psychopaths that they can just invest in more research and development actually and they can just get rid of jobs but keep providing the same service to society.

We are in this twilight where jobs still need doing. Where we still need to bribe people to do terrible things for society to function. Where we still need to convince people that they have to work and those toilets need to be cleaned, that rubbish needs to be taken away. We still need people to believe in the necessity of work and the need to suffer for it. Someone has to clear the fatbergs from the sewers and they aren’t going to do it for the good of the people comrade. At the same time we don’t need most people to work on farms or in factories or supermarkets.

We are approaching a tipping point when there won’t be enough of a percentage of the population working to justify basing our society of the distribution of economic value but we aren’t there yet and that means we still need capitalism to function. It could be functioning a fuck of a lot better but at least it’s still functioning.

Friday, 13 October 2017

The March Of Progress

The March Of Progress

Alexander Gordon Jahans

There is a war in my mind and I think the good guys are winning.

I have been so self destructive, so toxic and vile. At least as far my morality will allow in such a weakened state.

Living is hard. Get back to even square one is hard. Never mind getting to victory and self sustainability.

To win this fight to come I need to be confident in my survival and abilities, I need to be confident enough in my own morality to be morally flexible. I can’t win this as a saint, even if I could achieve such a thing.

I am a cis gendered white man who really likes to write submissive women. In the 21st century that isn’t right.

Part of my struggle to survive has been that I am not sure I should. That I feared what might become if I did.

Have been vile and bitter? Yes. Have I lashed out unfairly? Hell yes. Have I kicked down? Yes.

I do have to accept what I did. I do have to accept that even if I don’t fully understand why the pain I caused was legitimate. I also have to accept and do my best to mediate the consequences of the fact that I can’t stop writing submissive women, even when I’m trying super hard to be progressive.

I also have to accept that I have been a complete and utter fucking moron and I have attracted sadistic stalkers who will try to destroy me on a whim to satisfy their sick kicks.

I have to accept all this and then allow myself to continue on. Much easier said than done.

I then have to accept that I must trust enough in myself and my own morality to work within a capitalistic framework without freaking out.

I am different and I have been riding out one hell of a storm.

For all I know if it hadn’t been nazis and trans feminists haunting me it’d be something else. Maybe I’d be gripped by hatred of Peter Capaldi’s Doctor while my hormone’s raged and I tore at myself, I don’t know.

I also have to accept that I do think differently even at the best of times and I can’t perceieve of much of what annoys and upsets those around me. I have to be around people who understand this and can communicate effectively when I don’t understand, not just rage at me for sins I don’t even know I am doing.

I am however starting to want again, starting to plan.

The fact my latest story The Golden Girl has passed a hundred thousand words and is only keeping going as it builds towards the climax of the second act is a sign that the well of confidence, patience, determination and planning is no longer running dry. I will finish Alpha Warriors. I know that now. It will be shit and most people won’t even read one percent of it but I will get it done.

I am starting to plate spin again, starting to have long, medium and short term goals again.

I am still an arsehole for the moment. Going to be a while before I have the mental wherewitthall to look critically at myself and improve my behaviour but I have faith in my ability now to reach that point.

And here’s the thing I realised last night when the nazi twats tried to deprive me of my freedom to speak out on my hypocrisy. Short of a bullet in my brain pan I am not going to be beaten. That’s the dangerous thing with a game of escalation and trying to convince someone there is no hope and you will always come after them worse and worse. There comes a point where the prey realises that you are sincere and a cornered animal is forced to really examine what lies within in a world where there is no hope.

I will survive. That is not in question anymore. So long as I live. So long as I decide to live, I will persevere. I wrote a hundred thousand words off the back of some very basic concepts intersecting. If I have to start a new story, if I have to keep the story in my head, I will. I am hunted and I will be hunted until the day the last troll dies, so probably long after my life time. And there’s a campaign of escalation so it’s not hard to predict who the logical campaign of terror will be. It is going to suck. It is going to suck hard and I am going to do my damndest to avoid it but it won’t destroy me.

I don’t know yet where I will be able to cope with the schedules and responsibility of work but I’m not going to die if I can help it. I have things I want to do.

Thursday, 12 October 2017

To Adam Godwinson

To Adam Godwinson
Alexander Gordon Jahans

Yes, you have shown you will stalk me endlessly. Yes you have shown you will crush me if I am disobediant. No, I still don't care about you.

You provoked a reaction. You gave me one bad day and one bad night. That does not a relationship make.

I do not want your cock. I ain't interested in your clit. Your breasts are a mess and your butt hole is too much of a sludge hole. 

The reality is that I don't like you. I don't hate you. I don't even really believe that you exist. I am 95% certain you are a bunch of moron's on some anonymous internet message board who have so little going on in their lives that stalking with me is their idea of fun.

If you want to kill me. Kill me. 

Yes, you have shown you are dedicated, obsessed and I can never never stop you.

Do you know what that means though? 

That means you don't matter. That means you are like neoliberalism or climate change or poverty. You are a force of nature fucking over my life that it is not worth my time thinking about.

I am not your byfriend, girlfriend, hermaphoditic whore or noble eunuch of wisdom. I don't like you. I don't care about you and I will not remember you when you are dead.

You can cry and crow about how much you win and defeat me but so what? So fucking what? You crushed a bug, aren't you mighty? Fuck off and get psychological help, kid. 

Oh and Adam Godwinson is a fictional character I created for my fiction. All you do when you identify yourself as such is look like a little kid in a halloween costume. Except I'm writing Adam Godwinson and I know what his fate is. You are trying to sound big and powerful by choosing as your avatar a character I control the fate of. Kind of undercuts anything you were going for there.

Yeah, I created the Farsh-nuke and the Farsh-nuke was once a divergent version of me but I moved past that as a writer. Get over yourselves.

All Good

Wednesday, 11 October 2017

Okay, What’s next?

Okay, What’s next?

Alexander Gordon Jahans

“He’s not going to stop.” said the Farsh-nuke as he entered the safe space.

“Yep...” The writer, dealing out a game of black jack for two players.

“Godwinson is obsessed.” said the Farsh-nuke as he took a seat.

“Not there.” said the writer when the Farsh-nuke tried to set before the opposite hand.

“Well who are you playing against?” asked the Farsh-nuke as he pulled up a different chair.

The writer stared across at the image of Adam Godwinson. “Nobody. It doesn’t matter.”

The Farsh-nuke grimaced then he shrugged. “He’s going to try and rape you. Rape your whole family. Every ally and asset of his in the whole multiverse will be devoted towards tormenting you.”

“I know...” said the writer as he studied his hand.

“He’s going to accuse you of bestiality, rape. If he could paint you as the devil he would.” said the Farsh-nuke with careful calmness. “He is so determined to prove to you that he owns you.”

The writer looked up at the Farsh-nuke. “I know. In his head I am his bitch.”

“And in yours?” asked the Farsh-nuke.

The Ghost of Godwinson smiled a toothy grin at the writer.

“I have bad days. Worse nights.” said the writer.

“How can you be so calm?” asked the Farsh-nuke. “Damn it! How are you not insanely fucking angry?”

“Because I can’t beat him.” said the writer. “Because he knows it. Because the coward can crush me like a twig when I don’t even know his real name or gender. For all I know Godwinson is that self same trans woman who decided I was not welcome in the feminist safe space I helped found.”

“Find him.” said the Farsh-nuke. “Goad him into revealing himself!”

“And do what?” asked the writer. “Kill him? Try to get him arrested? On what fucking evidence? No. He’s won he’s fucking won. I am beaten entirely.”

“Then what the fuck are you going to do?” asked the Farsh-nuke.

The writer rose from the table and walked over to a window. “I want to die. Right now. I really fucking want to die.”

The Farsh-nuke shook his head and rose to meet him. “You’re not going to kill yourself Alex. You have not endured so much to give it all up now.”

“No, you’re right, I’m not.” said the writer. He looked out over the city. “This doesn’t actually change anything. It kills dead some meagre naiive hope. It ensures that there will be more dark days ahead when Godwinson realises that he can never hope to win when it comes to my mind. It ensures that I will be investigated on bullshit charges at some point when the desperation of the pathetic and obsessed gets too much. As for me, now. It doesn’t change a fucking thing.”

Godwinson laughed.

“He will die, Farsh-nuke.” said the writer. “He will die as all mortal men must. He’s fucked me good and hard and he will continue to fuck me but I am still a writer and I have work to do.”

“He’ll get you fired from any job you try to get.” said the Farsh-nuke.

“I know.” said the writer with a shrug. “This isn’t a game or a dance or fucking courtship. This is a pathetic worm deciding to ruin my life. The good thing is, he can’t actually claim most of the credit. My parents did most of that.”

The Farsh-nuke laid a hand on the writer’s back. “So you’re going to write then?”

The writer grinned and he stared at Godwinson. “That cunt used my words to9 torture someone I respect greatly. I shall enjoy tormenting him in the pages of my fiction.”

The Farsh-nuke laughed. “Fucker doesn’t stand a chance.”

“And anyway. Like any nazi he’ll slip up and doom himself.” said the writer.

Godwinson stared at the writer. “You are my bitch and I will always defeat you!”

But the writer wasn’t listening.

“I said -!”

Godwinson heard a coughing sound.

He turned before him stood a beautiful woman with ice blue hair.

“Who the fuck are you?” asked Godwinson

A man in tweed jacket and a red bowtie stepped out of the shadows. “Congratulations Adam Godwinson, you have successfully attained immortality inside the mind of the writer!” The strange man clapped then he frowned. “Unfortunately you aren’t alone in here and we don’t like nazis much.”

The writer sipped a glass of whiskey with the Farsh-nuke as Godwinson stared to scream.

The End

Tuesday, 10 October 2017



An Adam Godwinson Story
Alexander Gordon Jahans

Forty Five Days. That’s how long you’re allowed to hold a terrorist suspect without trial.

Adam Godwinson had been good. I mean thick as two short planks at tactics but he wasn’t in the Raspberry Reich’s high command because of his military tactics. He was an Alpha God. A soul reading omniscient manipulative bastard. He played the keystreams like a fiddle, granting Raspberry victory after victory when Narrative law dictated that Nazis fail conveniently in the third act.

Except he still lost. Because every nazi loses in the end. Genocide is the ultimate debuff. Everybody turns on the genocidal in the end.

Forty Five long days at the hands of the SLF and the empire of Mirth. 45 days with the Bam-Kursh telling him exactly what the Farsh-nuke would do to the man who saw that he was tortured and raped. Forty Five days under the scrutiny of the champions of light. You could almost pity the man. Almost.

At last on the day the man who had played the game so right was ready to suffer an accident on the way to his trial, he received a visitor. The name understandably sent the hairs standing up on his back.

The Farsh-nuke entered in an unusually black cloak.

“Leave us.” commanded the Farsh-nuke.

“But sir!” cried the more senior guard.

“I think I can handle myself don’t you? Wait outside.” said the Farsh-nuke.

The senior guard studied the Farsh-nuke for a long moment then ushered the other guards out of the room.

Adam Godwinson lay chained and bruised on the floor.

“They’re going to kill you you know?” said the Farsh-nuke.

“So I keep hearing.” said Godwinson.

“I spoke with the writer by the way.” said the Farsh-nuke.

“Oh really?” asked Godwinson with half a chuckle. “I expect I am going to be made head of the Logicios and given a harem of submissive blondes.”

“Not really no.” said the Farsh-nuke dryly.

“No, I don’t suppose there would be.” said Godwinson.

“I believe his exact words were ‘Fuck that fucking fucker like the fucking tories fuck the fucking poor.’” said the Farsh-nuke.

“How marvellously eloquent? One wonders why he never got published?” said Godwinson.

“You convinced the world he had a fetish for fucking in baths of vomit then drove him to suicide in half a dozen universes.” said the Farsh-nuke.

Godwinson laughed. “I forgot about the vomit. You know the original plan was to use the recipe for the sylph cure. Really twist that knife.”

The Farsh-nuke stared at him. “You broke him.”

“Thank you, I did try...” said Godwinson magnanimously.

The Farsh-nuke was cold but he pulled out a quantum oscillator. “I came from Alex you know.  From that first pacifist...”

“The one with all the rules?” said Godwinson laughing. “What a pathetic cuck?”

“The Alex I know wouldn’t care how many worlds you burned, how many of his bones you broke.” said the Farsh-nuke activating the Quantum Oscillator.

Godwinson stopped laughing. “But I am his nemesis.”

“You are a plot device.” said the Farsh-nuke. “He wants me to kill you, to rape you, to turn you into a woman and brainwash you, because the revenge would make for a good story.”

“I told you he was a bad writer.” said Godwinson laughing again, but with hesitation in his voice.

“This is the command key to my ship.” said the Farsh-nuke, pulling a small septagonoid prism out of his pocket. “It’s fully automated. No sapient or sentient AI. Fly it. Disappear.”

“But what about the story?” asked Godwinson hysterically. “I matter to Alex. I have won. I reside in his consciousness forever -”

“You don’t matter.” said the Farsh-nuke dryly. “No body cares about you. Even if you came to his house, pulled out his his eyes, made him eat his tiny dick and raped him in the arse with a red hot poker, his thoughts would still be of how he failed the trans people. And no amount of horror on your part would change that.”

Godwinson stared. “But I crushed him! I defeated him!”

“And you still lose.” said the Farsh-nuke with a shrug. “So fuck off and fly into into a star for all I care. Or better yet. put the fucking bastard out of his misery. Kill the writer. You’ve still lost.”

“Burn the land and boil the sea, you can’t gain a victory!” crooned the Farsh-nuke as he walked away.

“But Alex cares about me.” said Godwinson as he stared at the command key. “I broke him. I am his master.”

Godwinson admitted everything at his trial. He was sentenced to death by gassing.

Raspberry Reich had lost as it was always meant to and the Freedom Collective reigned supreme. The Feminist utopia enveloping even the Logicio strongholds within their might. Soon the mname Godwinson was forgotten by all.

The End Of My Time On Youtube

The End Of My Time On Youtube

Alexander Gordon Jahans

I’m always amazed at how genial and amicable leaving notices are. Like you’ll see huge bust ups followed by a nice blog saying “So we decided to part ways...” and I never understood how the final break can be so quiet when it comes. Perhaps that ignorance and lack of publicity management is why I got to hear?

Except now I am hear, writing that message, and I’m not hot with rage. Perhaps it helps that I don’t have a face to focus my rage upon. You see I got annoyed at the American right crowing about freedom of speech and its importance when white nazis march in favour of genocide but disregarding that very same right when the government is preventing black men from peacefully protesting.

So I made a video where I tore up a print out of the American flag while parroting the American right slogans of “Freedom Of Speech Is Important.” “The left are special snowflakes.” I expected outrage. I expected American racists to rage importantly. Except instead someone decided that this was too far and he reported it as breaking community Guidelines. Now I found this ironic but I was willing to blame youtube for this so I made a video calling this out. That video was reported and I could not upload anymore.

Fine. I thought. Let it lie. Perhaps I went too far.

Except youtube operates a three strike system. Now the original video fair enough, I don’t like it but fair enough. The second video, really not cool but fair enough, literally the same subject matter. Then the third strike happened. On a vlog. A vlog about my many many problems and how I had been getting better. That was rather showing the hand of the person doing the reporting rather too much there.

I am angry. Except I’m also tired and defeated. I cannot be fucked to deal with this anymore. I already appealed the first two strikes so it’s possible that I could speak to a person and get the strikes removed but youtube has shown its own hand too.

Youtube has fucked over great creators many times and with the whole ad debacle thing and now this, I wasn’t making any money from them anyway and what good is a place to vent when obsessed nazis are desperate to see themselves as involved in a dialogue with you. For all I know this is just some sick fiuck’s idea of a joke. Lets fuck with a depressed autistic man. Such fun.  So no youtube isn’t worth it.

It’s kind of a cliche at this point to say that the moment has been prepared for but it really has. I even have a new name which the branding will go under. But no more videos, not unless I can share them to a very select group of vetted members. Heck there’s a good chance this blog itself might disappear.

The last three years have drained and broken me and I am done being stalked by fucking nazis. We need a viable alternative to youtube. We need an end to nazism and the Alt-Right but I am now just a consumer. My part in this is over. 

Freedom Of Speech Is Important

Saturday, 7 October 2017

Wrapping Up

Wrapping Up


Alexander Gordon Jahans

I haven’t had much to say because well much of what would go into a blog or a vlog is now going into my writing. The Golden Girl started off as a distraction fic inspired by a fetish story advertised on twitter and just one small part of the premise advertised at that. It has undergone a cerebus syndrome perhaps only matched by how the grand Scorpious arc of Farscape started off with an episode planned to be a clip show. The Farsh-nuke is coming back but he has psychological issues he needs to deal with and the great war between the Freedom Collective and the Raspberry Reich hangs in the balance and all focused on this one man, the person he focuses upon and the academy they choose to enrol at. Because what a story about the fetish of a man being turned into a woman really needs is an elder god angsting about upsetting trans people, lashings of cannibalism and a very weird take on the battle of Hogwarts with a Dumbledore who is most definitely not gay and most definitely evil as almighty sin.

Yeah... there’s a lot going on. I mean it’s 95,000 words and arc wise only a little way into act two. And since I know all that’s going to happen is people searching random terms and judging the whole from the snippets I’ll just say now that taken out of context this thing basically can be used to provide any kind of argument about whatever kind of evil you think I am. If you think I’m a white supremacist transphobic rapey cannabalistic misogynist then there are passages you can take out of context to “prove” that. If you think I’m a filthy virtue signalling guilt riddent white knight social justic warrior cuckold then you can argue that too. Hell I think you could even argue that I was both the devil and jesus and put whatever kind of spin on that you wanted.

A foot print does not look like a boot and if you are going to judge me and the work on one out of context scene in a story that is probably going to surpass a hundred thousand words, making it twice as long as almost anything else I have yet written, then I am not going to take that criticism seriously. All opinions are useful to somebody and I believe in death of the author but looking at scenes out of context as evidence of a while this large is like judging a work of art of a pixel, or a film of a few frames. You can tell some stuff sure. I admit I am a deeply flawed writer and perhaps when this is done I am really going to have to edit but judge the story as a story and me as a person, not me and the story off an essay calling me out, listing quotes taken out of context because there is always bias when you remove context and trust to the summary of a third party.

And perhaps that is why it is a hundred thousand words because holy fuck those are three long paragraphs to the effect of. “I’m not writing non-fiction because the fiction is taking up my energy”

Here’s the thing though. I am basically tying loose ends. Alpha Warriors is entirely one long first move in a literary game of chess and meant to be a new beginning but that is part of me tying up loose ends.

So tangent }~ The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy has a gag about the meaning of life being 42. Except I now find great meaning in that because this is a machine that spent millions of years thinking to come up with an answer that was not good enough and the only way that machine can think to fulfil that purpose is to help design an even greater and more complex machine which will take even longer to arrive at the answer to the same question.

I have been running from the answer to a question that has been obvious to me for at least two years now. I have failed. I don’t know the way out of this mess I am in and I need to die. This is an answer I was running from before I even knew the details. I was just like “The next year is going to be tough, I need a constant reminder that I have to keep living no matter how tough it gets, I need a reminder that I can get through this.” and that was just when I thought my parents were arseholes and I thought it might be a bit hard to get a job.

2013 looks like a freaking utopian period of my life now. Before the nazis, before the psychological blow of friends coming out of the wood work to call me a dangerously transphobic monster then vanishing without an explanation, before I knew I had a tiny dick, before I knew I couldn’t have kids, before the pain, the tiredness and the pills, before being mindfucked by so many different people in such quick succession, before brexit and trump, before the economy slided into a despair so deep that my hopes of getting even a shitty job at ada look positively utopian now.

I have run from the knowledge that I could not see a way out for so long because I had to, because I was fighting fires, because I was doing research and using up options. I couldn’t take stock and be philosophical when my wounds were so fresh that I might well have stabbed myself in the chest and been done with it. How do you realise that you have failed so utterly that you need to become a different person entirely when clinging to who you are is quite literally the only reason you have not killed yourself?

Deep Thought was a great thinking machine and it failed. I consider my mind a construct of a thinking machine and I failed. Deep Thought outlined the next step and I am now finally finding the strength to take that next step.

That’s why I think I’m writing Alpha Warriors. Why I’m revisiting the Virgin New Adventures and Babylon 5 and Hannibal and Farscape. That’s why I’m writing the origins of the Great Farsh-nuke, fanwanky as they are. That’s why I’m bringing the Farsh-nuke back and addressing the trauma of the Laura Queen of Mirth Fanfic within the fiction. That’s why the founding of the United Civilisations and the Paragon’s journey through the Hundred Million Universes deserves to be touched upon.

You know I mentioned in a video once that I was putting off Farscape the Peace Keeper Wars because it was something I’d promised I’d get myself when I graduated and I didn’t want to tie that part of my life up. Some pathetic little prick in the comments laughed at the idea, at that weakness. How can these things be so important? Some men take great pride in being cruel sadistic callous pricks with uncomplicated psychologies. Such men may be thankful that I have rules against perpetrating cruelty and revenge.

Except it did matter to me. When a podcast finishes, or a tv show ends, that is huge for me. That is a great big. “Well what the fuck do I do with my life now.” The difference between then and now is that I am ready to bring things to an end.

I mean I am somewhat at a loss now I’ve caught up with the Audio Guide To Babylon 5 but that’s a different. It’s the difference between the finishing the last book from an author you love and finishing the last book from an author whose work defined your life when you were happy. I’m a gamer. I like to keep some really good stuff in reserve for a rainy day.

This is basically psychological media consuming equivalent of someone who can see war coming and decides that now is the time to crack out the best wine. I know that one way or another, preferably in the way that lets me keep living, Alexander Gordon Jahans, as an identity, has to die. The promise is no longer relevant. All Alexander Gordon Jahans is now is a target for nazis.

I have to change and adapt. I have to think differently, try new things and become a different person. I have to cut people out of my life who would keep pulling me back to that failed and broken identity. I have been so focused on survival that I accepted the excuses, that I accepted the differences of opinion. Here’s the thing. If you have been a cunt to me and you are likely to continue being a cunt to me I don’t need you in my life and I am not going to have you in my life. I have stared death in the face for so long and I’m not afraid anymore. I don’t care. I will cut ties to that dead part of me and no amount of societal obligation will change that.

I am trapped. I have an incredibly tiny amount of options available to me. I don’t need morons who know nothing of the shit I have been through in the last three years expressing empty gestures of advice. You know nothing so don’t condescend to me. Yes, I am trapped. No, I am not going to blindly do what I must to survive. We are beyond that now. I have no cards left to play. I have nothing left up my sleeve. I am out of options and all I have is time. I don’t know how much time but I have it and I am using it.

If your all powerful thinking machine can’t come up with a uself answer, build a better one. So that’s what I’m doing. Already, ideas that I would have instantly nitpicked to death are being more seriously considered. Because I have changed. I have had three years of testosterone now. Three years of walking miles first weekly then almost daily. Three years of learning politics and pop culture. I have been caught between divorcing parents. I have been stalked by nazis and psychologically destroyed by trans people who dropped a drama bomb then fucked off.

I am not the same man I used to be. This really is a kind of regeneration. This is physical, psychological, intellectual and experiential change.

I failed and I am a monster. There is no ambiguity here anymore. No imposter syndrome. I am, by my own standards, bad at writing and deeply problematic. I would hate me if I was a different person. I would consider myself a creepy misogynist. I mean I tried to write a piece about a non-binary elder god and her trans woman companion encountering the origin story of scifi wonder woman and the return of the literal devil and still I kept qwriting submissive white women into the story. My progressiveness is “Look there are black women being kept as pets now and black men owning white women.” Though there is a scene in Golden Girl where a man’s dick gets removed fried and eaten all while it is explicitly stated that due to scifi weirdness the man can feel everything. Almost equal opportunity character cruelty, that’s the peak of my in fiction shown social progressiveness.

And yes, I am very much reminded now of just how much suffering I am capable of wishing upon another, of how incredibly petty I can be. If I could set youtube to allow all comments but personally block everyone who tries to do so, I would, in a heartbeat. The raci9st moronic hypocrites have crowed about freedom of speech for so long that I would want to actually stop such commenters from ever being able to speak or type anything to anyone ever again. You used the word cuck so you get to enjoy a living hell of eternal silence.

And yeah, it does not end well for Adam Godwinson. Basically if you are a Nazi/Trump supporter you get to enjoy a strawman representation of you getting done to it what the trans people thought I did to the person they love and support.

It is kind of funny though, my dad said that I shouldn’t wait until the house is sold to do anything. As though I had anything I could do. I have no money. My online reputation is worse than destroyed. The economy is destroyed everywhere and at the moment I have actually fuck all to live for. I was keeping myself alive to at least get the people I cared about through the worst of the storm we’re in the midst of but morons who don’t understand my psychology successfully argued that my death could never happen at a good time or less terrible time and so... Well I’m not dying if I don’t have to and right now I have enough things I like but the only thing I have left is making myself a new. Is finding a reason worth slogging through the shit. Finding an ability to slog through the shit.

So I’m writing and I’m walking and currently I’m playing skyrim again and that is it.

Okay, that ended darker than I meant it to because this feels like a far more positive place for me mentally, I am starting to fumble my way through the confusion and become a different person who might yet survive this. I am just aware that everything is still shit despite that.

Saturday, 30 September 2017

Something To Fight For

Something To Fight For


Alexander Gordon Jahans

I lost. Everything. I failed on so many fronts in so short a time and those scars are going to take a long time to heal.

It is so tempting to remain in my war time mentality. To keep seeing shadows at my door. To focus on the rage and the betrayal. To be the man caught between radical trans feminists and nazi trolls. As if a man so broken and so low is anything but a trivial distraction. Even at my worst, when my bile boils over and I write a take that, the queens of the safe space can take one look at my name on the top and cast it aside without a second’s consideration.

What I have to do is hard. I have to trust people, trust in my ability to read them and play to them. I have to lie. I have to plan. I have to wield the darkness of my soul like a weapon so I might survive, so I might live, so I might be of use to those radical trans feminists.

Because no matter how much I hurt, no matter how much my hatred burns I would never not stand in defence of those people. They may not need me, they may not need me, they may despise me as much as the darkest parts of my soul now despise them but I will always be the man fighting for the genuinely persecuted, even if they then decide to stab me in the back afterwards.

Except that sentence right there is part of what’s plaguing me. My mind is a rational construct. I am as clockwork as the capitalism I dream of restoring. I know people who aren’t. Who believe in True Love and are driven by their emotions. My emotions are powerful. My hatred, my rage, my lust, these are fierce-some things but I keep them separate for that reason. I will not allow myself to be self destructive if I do not rationally believe I should die but if I can tell myself a story of why this self destructive behaviour is allowed then it can be done.

It’s like I used to think as a kid that if you are going to commit suicide there are worse things to do than death by smoking because it gives you plenty of time to change your mind. Now I find reasons to justify gorging myself on food, missing universal credit meetings and drive the people close to me away. I never believe I am being self destructive and maybe sometimes I’m not. Sometimes a sandwich is just a sandwich and not a loaded gun being desperately fired but I can see the patterns and some things are not subtle.

I must record a video on autims and nazis and get blind drunk doing so. I must have the Farsh-nuke torture then forcibly change the gender of a trans person. I must rewrite the wretched fanfic despite the fact I’ve now incorporated the events of the original into the wider lore. I must  There’s always a logical explanation but even I cannot ignore so many red flags I am sending out.

I am so scared because I failed so much and while I have many many friends there are none I trust to call me on my bullshit. The people I might have were so busy getting involved in forum politics that we had to part ways. I don’t have anybody to stop me. Not before it got too far.

Yes I’m scared of failing again, of upsetting people with broken dreams and shattered hopes, scared of going back to square one but at this point I am far more scared of the possibility that I might succeed, that I might win and I might turn out to be a villain. I mean when someone you regard as a friend leaves your life crying that you aren’t safe to be around then yeah that gives one pause for thought but it has been three years now and I don’t want to die anymore.

I have bad days and I will have bad days for a long time to come because I live with someone who is an anxiety machine and another who is a rage beast. There will be bad days and they will suck but they will pass.

The brain is a muscle and muscles heal. I will get better, I am a lot better. I am starting to get back up off the matt and I am starting to plan again. I have a goal to lurch towards beyond survival, beyond capitalistic dreams.

The pain in my feet does not bother me so much anymore. I am getting used to it. I am getting fitter. The terror of Neoliberals is being fought against in Britain. Jeremy Corbyn is changing the Labour party and restoring democracy to Britain. I am shaving every day now and I am starting to shower more regularly again. I just completed the Thieves Guild quest line  of Skyrim including No Stone Unturned. I’m still writing. The Farsh-nuke is back but I have other characters to tell more socially progressive stories as well.

You know when I first discovered Doctor Who I was drawn to the seventh Doctor, to the angsty manipulator, a chess master on a thousand boards. I am not that. I am a lurcher stumbling in the dark but now I know what I want to lurch towards and as I’m learning I am dodging bullets and spinning plates. The truth is that I have already achieved my victory over the nazis plaguing my life. I played the long game and while some of them still think they are relevant they are the level one draugr and bandits pestering you in daedric gear if you play Skyrim. I have defeated the bullies once again and now I am ready to turn my attrention toewards long term objectives.

I have something to fight for now. My best has always been typified by this. And yeah once I get what I want I am invariably dissappointed but that’s not important, not really. What is is that I now I have a macguffin to turn my attention towards. And I have been playing so many more games, watching so many more shows. I am so much wiser.

I am not as strong as I used to be. Not mentally, not yet. And I know that such an admission of weakness will have impotent foes slamming their hardest against what they percieve as my weakness but I don’t care. There are monsters in the world, it is true but I no longer walk in fear of them because I trust that when the shit hits the fan I will survive.

To the fight to come. To the victory. To the shattered and dissappointing dreams when I do.

The History of Autism

Wednesday, 27 September 2017

The Fall

The Fall

Alexander Gordon Jahans

I say I’m an anti-theist. I say I believe in science. I say all this and I mean it but when it comes to matters of identity I get rather more philosophical. I have climbed out of the pit, or at least the singularity, I am not free of its pull yet but I am not lost. I see what must be done, what can be done.

In The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy the super computer Deep Thought is asked with finding the ultimate answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything and succeeds but to understand the answer Deep Thought must lay the ground work for an even great and more complex computer. That’s what I feel like I’m doing, on a much smaller scale but with far more practical stakes.

I’m too tired and in too much pain, I’m too bored and too sick of company despite being a hermit. My biology has changed and I am not able to deal with my life the way I used to. And still the question of financial viability plagues me. I can stick my fingers in my ears all I like but someday I need an answer that is not to just shrug and die.

I don’t care anymore. Or to be precise, I aggressively, actively, do not want anything to do with the bullshit anyone wants me to care about. I am no use to anyone dead and right now I do not have the fucks to give. I hate the insanity of neoliberalism, I am disgusted and repulsed by the absurdity that I must jump through all these hoops for the priviolege of being exploited by an employer. I feel a sadistic anger and desire for “justice” towards certain definitions of shitehole. The kind that still so desperately tries to dig its claws into me. The kind that defends those.

More that that though I am scarred. I defined myself as a pacifist, as a good mean, a moral man. What the fuck am I now? How can I call myself a good man when I feel such bile, bitterness and hatred to peoples actively oppressed in law today? How can I call myself a good man when the gleeful submissiveness of women in my fantasies is all that keeps me going through god awful days? How can I possible feel such outrage and think myself a victim when my bitterness has curdled into a toxic anger and desire for sadistic revenge. There was a time when all I wanted was an explanation, now I feel a desire to hurt.

I can’t be Alexander Gordon Jahans anymore. I can’t let myself be tied to reminders of that toxic dump. So as of this moment I am officially ceasing all membership of those fandoms and groups that have defined me during this toxic period. It’s practically a relief that this period was in part defined by a cooling of the Doctor Who love, I won’t have to let that piece of me go. But I’m not a politics guy anymore and I think I will be cutting back on youtube as well.

The urge to travel pulls at me again and as much as I know I can’t afford it, as much as I know I will miss a proper computer and I am not giving up on the dream of a vr capable pc, I can’t stay here, I can’t stand this toxic reminder of the pain.

And I am different. I have walked so far, gotten used to tiredness and pain of my feet, I have started spending more and more time listening on a tablet instead of the computer and my diet clearly needs changing. Walking past all these shops, living such a sedentary lifestyle, it’s not good for me.

More than that though, it’s a plan, a drive, something I want more than greed, sexual, gratification, materialism or survival. I know that practically speaking it’s dull and expensive and uncomfortable, this is why I don’t want to discuss it with anyone. Separating reason from emotion has its downsides. Being able to logically tear apart the things you want to do as to why they are shit ideas is not helpful.

Yes, the holiday I had recently was maddening but it was maddening because of the company I had because my every coping mechanism was thwarted by neurotypicals who fail to understand and accept, only judge.

Travel is shit. It is painful and boring and expensive and uncomfortable and there are people and you are away from the safety of home. Except my hundred pound tablet has accompanied me on many a walk and left me feeling entertained and comfortably alone in a crowd. bottles of premixed squash and painkillers ensure that I can walk without  pain or much uncomfortableness. I can do this now. Maybe not financially but physically, psychologically I can do this. And yes, it’s underwhelming. Yes it’s a lot of faff for not much point but fuck it so is doing the quests in skyrim.

Okay leaving aside the fact I now half seriously think I might actually want to do some kind of walking holiday by myself, I have spent so long just surviving because I don’t want to upset people, behaving because I don’t want to upset people. It’s where this bitterness has come from, why it’s gotten toxic.

I don’t trust anyone, that’s why I keep no secrets, it’s why I don’t trust psychological aid through drugs. I don’t have anyone I trust to hold me in check. My nightmare scenario is not death. Dying is just like falling asleep only you never wake up. Sometimes the experience is incredibly painful but if you’re dead you can’t experience pain or remember having experienced it. So no I don’t really fear death beyond a primal desire to preserve my existence. What I fear is being in a position where I would want to be dead but continuing to live. The drugged up stupour of everything is fine while internally I’m screaming.

I know that drugs are genuinely very helpful for many people my own family included so I am absolutely not speaking for anyone but myself but I don’t have anyone I trust to understand how I think and remind me of how I would think. If something went wrong with the drugs and I couldn’t notice or explain what are the chances anyone would notice?

This is actually why I need to cut myself off from the people that I used to know, they are like distorted funhouse mirrors of who I used to be. “Oh yeah you’re the guy who always goes on about Doctor who aren’t you?” Yeah I’m also regularly speaking the words of Shakespeare, William of Normandy and Latin because it’s part of my language as an Englishman but no one would ever rage at me for being a latin buff. Doctor Who is an important part of who I am you either accept the reality of that or you fuck off and accept that you are dead to me because if my expressing myself makes you angry we can’t be friends. Where the fuck is my freedom to casually reference Doctor Who in every third sentence without it defining me?

So yeah, this is the fall. The autumn. The time where the old word dies the crops are harvested, the livestock bought in and we prepare of the darkness to come in the knowledge of the new beginnings next spring. I am cutting ties, closing bridges and retreating into my coccoon so I might become something and someone better able to cope with the madness of existence.

This process is not going to be easy and it is not going to be quick. This is the ship of theseus deciding to remodel itself into a different type of ship mid sail, not merely repair and replace. The flawed personality has to design a better one as it becomes that new personality and this is all while existence itself is hard enough.

But yeah I am changing and things are happenning and I have more answers than I did before, they may not be good ones but they are different.

Saturday, 23 September 2017

Sir Gavin And The Green Dragon

Sir Gavin And The Green Dragon

A post Alpha Warriors Story

Alexander Gordon Jahans

At a quiet backwater bar somewhere near Miami, Viola Hitchcock was sat at a table drinking lager with her colleagues. She was dressed in the same formal style of suit as the mostly white men round the table but her youth and long blonde hair marked her out from her colleagues.

A man in a three piece green suit entered the bar. “Diet coke and whiskey. Pepsi, not coca cola.”

Viola went to the bar to order her round.

The man at the bar sniffed the air then turned to her with a smile. “Peppermint and Fosters? I approve of your taste.

Viola snorted. “Are trying to chat me up by complementing my choice of lager?”

He looked to her and smiled. “It was not my intention but I would not be upset if it succeeded in such a manner.”

Viola looked him up and down. “Interesting choice of dress.”

“We all have uniforms detective.” said the strange man with a smile.

Viola smirked and bit her lip. “Am I that obvious?”

“You call me the Farsh-nuke.” said the strange man reaching out an open palm.

Viola laughed and shook his hand. “Viola Hitchcock, you know I’m going to run a full background check on you.”

“I would expect no less.” said the Farsh-nuke with a slight smile. “Shall we stick with the foreplay or jump straight to the handcuffs?”

Viola grinned. “You are impossible.”

“So I’m told.” said the Farsh-nuke.

“Get me a diet coke, no alcohol.” said Viola. “You can join me and my colleagues. If they’re certain you’re not a serial killer then who knows.”

The Farsh-nuke laughed.


The next morning the Farsh-nuke was lying naked between silk sheets and Viola was approaching his bed and handed him a couple of slices of buttered toast and a strong mug of coffee.

“Hey...” said the Farsh-nuke with a grin.

“Hey...” said Viola, smiling back.

“You are a very lovely woman you know?” said the Farsh-nuke cheerfully, his brain still booting.

“So I’m told.” said Viola with a smile. “Curious thing I noticed when I went to check your records, you don’t have any.”

“So, handcuffs after all?” asked the Farsh-nuke with a put upon frown.

“No.” said Viola, backing off to stand by the doorway, looking shapely and feminine, even as her training kicked in. “I didn’t exactly expect to find anything for the name Farsh-nuke and obviously access to dna and fingerprints is somewhat limited without probable cause. I’d just like to know the truth if I may? I can understand if you don’t trust the FBI and I’m not in a hurry to turn you into the ICE if you are an illegal immigrant.”

The Farsh-nuke smiled then he said. “Get your gun, make sure it’s loaded and take whatever other precautions with me to ensure you are safe.”

“Do I need to?” asked Viola, the shrewd professional breaking through the veneer of casual intimacy.

The Farsh-nuke chuckled but controlled his movements carefully. “That’s not for me to say. I will tell you the truth, as much as matters to you. I’m not sure how much you’ll believe but that’s your problem. I do feel however that I do not want you to feel any more distressed than you absolutely have to be by my presence in your life.”

Viola nodded, kept watching the Farsh-nuke and walked over to a wall safe behind a painting and after a moment was armed with a pistol. “Okay then, talk.”

“Okay, I am going to tell you some things that may be distressing but it’s probably important that you listen to everything I have to say before you react. I don’t want you getting in trouble because you wouldn’t let me finish explaining.” said the Farsh-nuke.

“Noted.” said Viola coldly.

“Point 1. Yes, I was a serial killer, a cannibal specifically, gets a bit messy on the details but yes I am arguably a threat.” said the Farsh-nuke.

“I’m taking the safety off now.” said Viola calmly.

“Understandable.” said the Farsh-nuke genially. “Point 2. I am an illegal immigrant but I am an illegal immigrant to your universe. You won’t believe me and that’s fine but you won’t find any record of me because I don’t exist within this universe.”

“Great, you’re mad.” said Viola flatly.

“Point 3. I care about you because I sort of have a thing for seducing blondes. I’m trying to quit but I still can’t help feeling affection for you and a desire to protect you.” said the Farsh-nuke.

“And a creep, marvellous.” said Viola with the same flat delivery.

“Point 4. I wouldn’t have advised you get armed if I didn’t know it would do almost nothing to me.” said the Farsh-nuke. “I like you and I want you to be calm and happy but I don’t actually have a death wish.”

“So what are you then?” asked Viola.

“You might want to put to gun down or at least put the safety back on, these are awful nice sheets and I wouldn’t want you to ruin them unduly.” said the Farsh-nuke. “But I can show you what I am.”

Viola stared. “Then show me.”

The Farsh-nuke grinned and as he smiled his skin colour changed, his bone structure altered and his teeth grew. His changed into a green dragon.

“What did you drug me with?” asked Viola.

The Farsh-nuke chuckled. “I gave that up. You’re looking at the truth.”

“I’ve read too much Thomas Harris.” said Viola.

“Bah, Hannibal’s an amateur.” said the Farsh-nuke with a grin.

Viola’s phone bleeped.

“That’s my alarm for work. I gotta go.” said Viola, still looking down her pistol at the Farsh-nuke.

“I could help?” suggested the Farsh-nuke.

“Yeah, because that’s going to happen.” said Viola.

“Well your options are 1. Shoot me. Which won’t work and might get you in trouble. 2. Arrest me which won’t work because I don’t exist in your universe and your evidence is a confession combined with things nobody will believe. 3. Release me when I have confessed.” said the Farsh-nuke.

“Can you transform for my boss?” asked Viola.

“Of course.” said the Farsh-nuke with a genial smile. “I have nothing to fear from the FBI.”

“Can you turn back now then?” asked Viola.

“Just so.” said the Farsh-nuke, changing back to an impression of relative humanity.

“Well it’s certainly impressive, whatever you’re doing.” said Viola.

“Telling the truth.” said the Farsh-nuke. “Just telling the truth.”

“Then get dressed.” said Viola.


“What is he doing here?” asked Bert Ingram, a tall thick set latino man in a black suit.

“You wouldn’t believe me.” said Viola. “I’ll explain later but he says he might be able to help.”

The Farsh-nuke stood in his green suit looking at where an old white man had being strung up by a noose from a lamp post, his cock and balls cut off and rammed into his mouth. A confederate flag was tattooed into the man’s chest.

The Farsh-nuke was grinning like a kid in a candy store. “We’re dealing with a vigilante.”

“Oh, truly, what an amazing intellect you have bought to help here.” said Bert.

The Farsh-nuke chuckled and turned back to Bert. “Oh I’ll catch him for you but I’m not actually here for that. Is there somewhere we can talk.”

Bert looked to Viola.

Viola nodded.

“Alright...” said Bert and he led the Farsh-nuke over to a trailer where the forensics team changed into their clean suits.

Bert opened the door and glowered at the people inside and they hurried out. Bert looked to the Farsh-nuke.

The Farsh-nuke graciously entered followed by Viola then Bert.

“So what is it you need to tell me?” asked Bert.

“I’m a former serial killer from a different universe who has no records in this one, bullets can’t stop me and I mean you no harm. Also I’m a dragon. A green one.” said the Farsh-nuke.

“Is this some kind of joke?” asked Bert.

Viola shrugged. “I thought he must have just been fucking with me but he did do do something that might be proof if you can see it too.”

“See what?” asked Bert.

So the Farsh-nuke transformed.

“Well fuck.” said Bert.

“At your service.” said the Farsh-nuke, bowing.

“Can you like fly?” asked Bert.

“I can do a lot more than just fly.” said the Farsh-nuke and he blew out a small puff of green fire.

“And you say you’re bullet proof.” said Bert.

“Well, strong healing ability.” said the Farsh-nuke.

“And you’re on our side?” asked Bert.

“I like Viola.” said the Farsh-nuke with a smile. “She’s cute and funny.”

Bert nodded then he looked to Viola. “Do you have a problem with this man?”

“Well he said he was a serial killer.” said Viola.

“I know.” said Bert with a shrug. “But aside from what he’s told me, how do you feel about him?”

Viola shrugged. “We spent the night together and he’s nice enough but I’m not going to argue for him if that’s what you’re thinking?”

“But he’s alright?” asked Bert. “You have no reason beyond what he’s said to suggest we treat him with contempt or care?”

“Not really no. He’s just a strange man who can seemingly become a dragon.” said Viola.

Bert looked to the Farsh-nuke. “Are you prepared to be interviewed and processed to see if we can find anything on you? If we can prove your story one way or another?”

“Sure.” said the Farsh-nuke with a genial grin.


3 hours later the Farsh-nuke sat in an interview room as Viola reentered the room.

“Well, they can’t find anything on you.” said Viola. “Looks like your story checks out. You are an alien to our records. Are prepared to be listed as an American citizen?”

“I prefer Britain but I have no great problem with being American.” said the Farsh-nuke. “Though my writer may struggle to keep up. Bit parochial that boy.”

Viola smirked. “Right, the keystream, you said. He finds me hot?”

“Probably, I mean I do. We’re similar but different.” said the Farsh-nuke.

“You are so bizarre.” said Viola with a smile then she looked at the Farsh-nuke with interest. “Why did you come here? Why did you tell us the truth? I mean you’ve done nothing wrong inside our universe, if your story is true, why go through all this?”

“Well why not?” asked the Farsh-nuke. “I’m on holiday, rest leave from my part in the great multiverse war. I went to bar, I saw a hot chick and old habits die hard.”

“And yet I remain collar free and fully aware of my sensibilities.” said Viola. “If all this was you falling off the wagon why aren’t I wrapped around your little finger?”

“Character development?” suggested the Farsh-nuke.

“Bullshit.” said Viola cheerfully. “You want me, I can see it in your eyes.”

The Farsh-nuke nodded then he sighed, looking away. “Things happened while I was away, bad things, complicated things. I want to begin again, I need to begin again but I’m not the same.”

“And these things are why I get to remain Miss Independent?” asked Viola.

“You say that as though you have no say in things?” said the Farsh-nuke compassionately.

Viola blushed and forced herself to look the Farsh-nuke in his emerald green eyes. “I really don’t think I do. I felt it last night too, this pull like gravity. I feel like I want to please you, like just looking at you I want to kneel before you and bow my head.”

“Then go.” said the Farsh-nuke. “Get away from me while you still can. I didn’t intend for this.”

“No, I like it.” said Viola smiling. “I’m not stupid, I would kill you if I had to but if I don’t then I think I like being with you.”

The Farsh-nuke chuckled and he shook his head. “You don’t want to be with me, you want the calm of defeat. The serenity of submitting before a powerful being. I’m not that.”

“But you want to be.” said Viola with a grin.

“I want a great many things.” said the Farsh-nuke. “I’m not playing this game.”

Viola sighed and leaned back. “So what do you want?”

The Farsh-nuke shrugged. “A world free from Elder Gods and Sylphs. A world where women are badass, men aren’t total dicks and politics is just a choice between two bland alternatives of Meh.”

Viola nodded. “I think Bert wants to weaponise you. Lots of uses for a man with no name.”

The Farsh-nuke smiled. “So long as he aims me well I have no problem with that. Serial killers are a quiet reprieve from multiversal politics.”

“Anything you need?” asked Viola. “Beyond Diet Coke, Whiskey and access the best and brightest young women Miami has to offer.”

“I did not ask for that last one.” said the Farsh-nuke irritably.

Viola smirked. “Tough.”

The Farsh-nuke sighed then he leaned back. “Well there is one thing?”

Viola nodded. “Anything?”

“I need the number of a good leftwing psychotherapist, preferably a white man. Feminists scare me.” said the Farsh-nuke.

Viola nodded. “Got some issues then?”

“A few...” said the Farsh-nuke.

“Well I’ll see what I can find out. I might be able to find someone who can suit your particular sensibilities.” said Viola.

The next day the Farsh-nuke was shaking hands with a tall skinny white man with a scruffy beard, a brown cardigan and jeans.

“Sir Gavin Burr, at your service.” said the young man.

The Farsh-nuke shook Gavin’s hand and smiled, looking into his sapphire blue eyes.


The racist ran through the concrete jungle. “Fucking cuck! Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“Stop running and I will be merciful, Adam.” said Gavin as he bought the lasso up from his waist, striding calmly after the white man.

“You’re insane!” cried the racist, throwing back a look.

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few and you are a nazi aren’t you Adam?” said Gavin, striding after his prey calmly.

“Yeah, I’m a member of the Alt-Right, what of it? Freedom of speech, man! Freedom of speech!” cried the racist.

“The Genocidal surrender all rights.” said Gavin as he readied his lasso. “You would pose an existential threat to the human race. You are a cancer and there is only one cure for for cancer.”

The racist came to the end of a cul de sac and looked back to Gavin in panic as the predator approached calmly.

“Hush now...” said Gavin as threw the lasso.

The lasso fell about the racist’s neck then it was pulled taught, suffocating the racist and pulling him to the ground.

“Now are you going to be a good little boy worthy of mercy or do I need to humiliate you as you die?” asked Gavin.

The racist spat in Gavin’s face.

“So be it.” said Gavin, pulling out a knife.


Gavin broke off the handshake and asked. “What are you thinking about?”

“That you may be of more help to me than I first realised.” said the Farsh-nuke with a grin.

“Shall we begin then?” asked Gavin.

“Well why not?” said the Farsh-nuke gleefully as he took a seat.

The Appeal Of The Chess Player

The Appeal Of The Chess Player

Alexander Gordon Jahans

So I have been through the Long Dark Tea Time of the Soul and I think I have come to understand and make peace with the shadow inside myself and so I return that first love, geeking out about bullshit.

When I first discovered the chessplayer archetype I was finding what made sense and seem comforting to me. Emos and Goths were far too cool and fashionable for what I was. I was a pathetic small, fat ugly thing that everybody ignored as too weird or strange. I know now that this was Autism, Kallman’s Syndrome Growth Hormone Deficiency and familial background that would make anyone out of step with conventional society. At the time however I was just weird but I felt noble. I was the pacifist who survived hell. I aspired to a great morality. I had the kind of unwavering faith in goodness that only the very young and very ignorant have. At the same time I was filled with anger and bitterness. Why can’t they see the fire they play with? It was an arrogant assertion of my own intelligence that combined with the other factors to in retrospect make me quite the prick.

So when I read the Virgin New Adventures and saw Time’s Champion angsting about the morality of using his great power or watched Matt Smith’s Oncoming Storm struggle with whether he was a good man, I saw myself. I saw these broken pillars of hubris as powerful empowering mirrors. No wonder my closest friends say (in far nicer and more polite terms) that I was a prick back then.

I discovered Doctor Who, the chessplayer Archetype and started writing about the Farsh-nuke in 2009 when I was seventeen so I had long since discovered my fetish for shrunken women, which would broaden out into a general appeal for submissive women over time. 2013 was when the course I was on at university outright covered feminist interpretation of media and about the time I was first trying out tumblr and so recoiling in knee jerk horror at all these nasty people who werre calling themselves feminists.

Looking back this seems like the most dreadful foreshadowing. If the keystream exists I bet my author in another dimension is a real pretentious arsehole. I mean fuck I know the human brain likes to explain after the fact but the parallels are there. The alien with a secret genetics he doesn’t know about associating himself with humans and angsting about being a good guy while being a thundering cunt, and all the while casually misogynistic at variant times.

Except now I am older, wiser, considerably more aware of myself and my faults. I believe in greed, stupidity, selfishness and sadism. I believe that humans are predators by nature who work together out of survival and because it is objectively better and science is like the ultimate in trying to convince stupid selfish greedy apes to agree and accept things. I am also experienced more in the ways of creation, critique, feminism and politics. I doubt there are many who would not find some problem with my conclusions but at least I have a much greater awareness of when I might be fucking up.

So I’m now aware that the characters I identified with were meant to be problematic. It’s meant to be debatable, it’s meant to be difficult, to be nasty. You can argue that the Doctor did what he had to do, that there was no way, that he did it brilliantly but even the Doctor wishes there was another way.

Now I see the Chess Player not just in Doctor Who but in Tyrion Lannister, Hannibal Lecter, Kerr Avon, Scorpious, Malcolm Tucker, Josh Lyman (People might object to that one.), Sherlock, Francis Urquhart, Loki... The list goes on and on and includes Jon the letsplayer Many A True Nerd when he is playing the Total War Games or Stellaris and you get to see a much more literal version of the chessplayer archetype as a letsplayer plays a marvellous manipulation game against a game’s AI.

And holy fuckballs looking at that list do I have a type or what? Err yes can I get an older white male with an accent, a scary intensity and several degrees in badassery and manipulativeness, preferably with some good looking long haired intelligent female friends/pawns to manipulate. And you thought the repetitiveness of the skinny white blonde women in my fiction was obnoxious. I literally realized that the new show I’m watching is basically a less gory gender flipped Hannibal in terms of its older psychotherapist lead seducing younger person who shows interesting promise of matching the badass manipulativeness of the psychotherapist.

And that’s the thing my position has changed. I’m not the Doctor, I’m not the Farsh-nuke, I’m certainly not Hannibal Lecter, heck I watch Sorkin era West Wing and wince at how Bartlet is too rightwing, warhawk, corrupt and dishonest for me. I mean I know Theresa May looks good compared to America’s current President at the time of writing but that’s who I am.

There’s this arc in the watch books that is capped off amazingly in Thud! and Snuff with the character of Sam Vimes. Sam Vimes is an alcoholic in a dead end job in a city gone to hell. He is a man who routinely struggles with his anger and visualises it as a great beast pulling at its leash. I am reminded of how Neil Gaiman once said that Terry Pratchett wrote from anger because the portrayal of that struggle Vimes has with anger is well written and so true of what I’ve felt. It’s capped off by his genuinely violent butler pointing out that though Vimes fears his anger he would bring the sadistic murderer of his wife and child to justice before the courts even if it killed him emotionally because Vimes has his own inner watchman and he will never let the beast win.

I am not Sam Vimes, I am not worthy of it but I take solace in that declaration and assertion. These years have pushed me close, so close, I mean I was stripped of everything, doubting myself, facing familial and societal pressure and I had nazi stalkers. But I didn’t break and I don’t think I’ve ever really believed that I would. Heck I’ve been nearly catatonic at times over these three years at the fear and offense I caused to my father and strangers I don’t know who may just have been twats.

I keep telling myself I’m like the Doctor, that I could do terrible things for the greater good if the need arised. Perhaps it’s arguable that if I had enough proof that it would make a difference objectively, that the reason might overwhelm my natural revulsion but I doubt that. I have a feeling that I am far more likely to die myself before doing anything to anyone else.

Except that’s what I needed after school. I needed confidence, I needed reason to live without fear. I know have a strange confidence born of experience, an absense of fucks born of living with such great risks for so long. Being a 6 foot tall broad chested cisgendered bisexual white Englishman in the south of England also helps. I may fear feminists but privilege has its upsides and when I go walking at 4am I am far more concerned about not creeping people out than I am worried about bumping into someone who means illwill towards me.

My relationship with the chessmaster’s has changed then. I definitely aspire to that level of skill and intellect. I’ve told myself that my autism makes me powerful because my social skills are put on and so I could affect them to manipulate people if I wanted. Yeah, that is no longer true. I can barely be in the same room as a person without the anxiety being such a drain on my resources.

Equally, while this hormone rollercoaster has been fun, it is not now enough to me for women to be submissive to be exhilarating. The game has become important. In fantasies and fiction I take far more delight in a well rounded and strong character being bought to heel by another.

It’s kinda like how I have this autistic friend who only plays games where the odd are so highly stacked in his favour. Yeah, it’s fun to be god but it gets boring fast for me. I want to win and I want my victory to be near certain but I want it to be a challenge.

However I have found that I no longer just identify with the chessmaster having the power over their pawns, I also find in my fantasies and enjoyment of fiction that I take great pleasure in seeing myself as the pawn. In being the game to be dominated and bought to heel by a worthy mind.

Not sending a tiredness induced invite to any would be nazi stalkers by the way. You are not worthy so don’t bother. Not even actual eldritch Adam Godwinson would be worthy.

This is purely fantasy and fiction related.

For me the enjoyment of the Doctor, Avon, Hannibal, Tyrion or Francis Urquhart comes from this idea that I have a competency bias and humans are stupid.

Donald Trump boasted about committing sexual assault while representing a political party that was justifying the persecution of trans people with spurious fear mongering over the possibility of sexual assault. Then the fucker got elected president and we are all looking wistfully at a neoliberal warhawk because at least she was competent at being a neoliberal warhawk.

See at this point I am so jaded and so cynical and so aware that I can do so little that the idea of a manipulative bastard is deeply arousing. It’s competency porn. I mean fuck it the world is so fucking awful why wouldn’t you stick around someone that competent even if they were going to kill and eat you eventually. Hannibal Lecter the hot date is fascism personified. Sure he’s going to kill you but at least the trains will run on time while you’re getting there.

I mean I’m kind of torn on Hannibal because on the one hand he does kill and eat people just because they’re kind of a dick but on the other hand almost every other chessplayer has caused much more collateral damage in the aid of their nobler causes and obviously in a multiverse I can handwave that as safe sane and consensual under the right circumstances because healing factors exist. I mean Jack Harkness and Mads Mikkelson’s Hannibal anyone?

Although obviously for me it’s far more the Tyrions, the Doctors and the Avons of the world that have the appeal. They combine sadism, immorality and manipulativeness with the objective utilitarian greater good. Doesn’t hurt that they usually surround themselves with beautiful young women either.

I’m English so I celebrate status quo. Great men come and great men go. Empires rise and empires fall. Arthur and Merlin fall at Camlann, Robin Hood looses his final arrow, even the Doctor regenerates and James Bond gets recast. It’s why Hamilton struck such a chord with me I think. It is an American story of American Revolution and compromise but it follows a very British structure of rise and fall. Particularly in light of who the current President is. So the great manipulators should one day die.

The Doctor gets away with their death and rebirth every few years but on the whole most of the chessplayers do die. Urquhart meets his end. Avon finally catalyses his tension with Blake. Sherlock has the Reichenbach Fall then retiring to keep bees. The only manipulative bastard who has so far gotten away with it entirely is Hannibal Lecter and I think that’s only because Hannibal is the horror monster so his victory is a downer ending and everybody has been so physically repulsed by the ending that they daren’t see any more, even though it will inevitably entail unpicking that “happy ending” a bit. Heck even I, with a character who was once many moons ago, explicitly based on me, keep killing the Farsh-nuke off and bringing him back.

The manipulative bastard is the fantasy of competence, of the one smart guy who knows exactly how you think and feel, who wants you and will turn his immeasurable talents to your end because you matter so much to him. It is the fantasy of escape combined with the fantastical freeing from the consequences of escape. The idea that you had no choice to accept this incredibly good looking and charismatic stranger with impeccable taste and amazing abilities, he’s just that good so it’s not your fault. At the same time the illusion of control because you are so important.

Also from a creative standpoint such a team up allows for great stories because you have someone to do the smart explaining and perform the heroic violence or illegality while having someone else to connect emotionally to people and get in danger.

Also, I love it when a plan comes together, it’s like watching dominoes fall.