Reexamining The Future
Alexander Gordon Jahans
So the Farsh-nuke is finally dead. Not just reset but dead. Sentenced to hell.
Although again, a hell I find more palatable than reality for me.
I have been shocked and inspired. Normally for me change is a long, slow subtle thing. Not for me the whizz bang off regeneration, instead the old me dies slowly as the new me is born over time. This was more than that, faster, harder, more painful.
I chose the name Gordon Jahans as an optimistic thing, the survivor and the normal mingler, an acknowledgement to myself that I was past the point of killing myself. I see that the reason I chose Alexander Gordon Jahans however still applies only more darker than even that dark intent. Instead of a promise that I would not kill myself it is now a promise that I will survive and I will try to reintegrate into society, to pass as normal.
The rot of paranoia is upon me but it is seasoned with experience. I will never be free of fools addicted to my demons. I will never be free of the well timed reminder. Of the charlatan hiding in the trees out for my blood. I’m not going to die, not going to give into any attempts to force me from life. I may be dogged and chased and they may feel satisfaction at that but their petty existence is not my concern.
I have no legacy and in all likelihood never well have. Kallman’s syndrome has left me a fetishistic fool with shite sperm and Asperger’s Syndrome only decreases the chances to things getting to the stage where those are an issue. I shall father no children and have nothing of meaning to pass on. Nor should I.
I can rattle off all the white male writers who have inspired me for hours and can count on less than a hand the female writers whose original work I have cared for. I am part of a long tradition of white men who may think they believe in equality yet whose actions and tastes suggest otherwise. The world doesn’t need people like me telling it what to think anymore. Now is the time for us to listen to the women, blacks, latinx and all other cultures that so rarely have gotten a voice.
I will most likely continue to write and Robert Gordon Banks will return in a series once I have finished writing enough parts of it but that is not legacy, that is past time. That is a young fool trapped in the middle of nowhere dreaming of better days and giving others the option of reading.
I am not important and I don’t matter and that’s okay. It’s okay. Because I have spent so long convinced I was someone, that I mattered, that I had something, that this stupid fucking brain was actually good for something but I have the wrong skin, the wrong genitals and the wrong mindset as a result of that wrong set of cultural expectations thrust upon me.
Maybe that’s why the alt-right stalk me like game hunters? Maybe they can see that I am wavering, that I have always been wavering. I want success so much, I want to be a fat cat so much. Women complain about sexual objectification and I get aroused at the thought of owning them. Because I was scum, the lowest of the low, shite on the bottom of a boot, below even dried up chewing gum. I craved and crave success, command and power so much because I have always been so far from it. Or as far as a white man who goes to a school with a tie as part of its uniform can be.
Except they think I am a dirty libtard on the verge of waking up and seizing the power of my birthright. Really I’m the socially awkward nerd, desperately compensating for problems I despise about myself by trying to be useful and powerful. I am the misogynist staring at a poison pill and wondering if I have the strength to be responsible with the power of my birthright and abdicate it to those more deserving.
Perhaps that’s the difference an Englishman and an American. An American has never known what it means to inherit power, only what it means to inherit money and reputation. To an American power is privilege because privilege is reputation and money so only a damned fool would see privilege as something to be relinquished. The English however mythologise men who came into power then lost it. We grow up among the reminders the rulers die and dynasties fall. Even if Elizabeth the second is not the last Queen or King of Britain she will die like all other before her way back to the king who went just a little too far and lost his head. To an Englishman only a fool would waste such fleeting power trying to hoard it when all shall fall.
See I’m lost. If I abdicate my power, If I cede my privilege and remain content to be a nobody writing just to get by, then I shall leave no mark and have no future. Just a moron gasbag in the ether that only a bunch of virginal nazis gave two shits about. I’m a capitalist, even as capitalism falls I crave purchasing power, I ejaculate to dreams of ownership. Pathetic. I am defined by faith and purpose doomed to fail.
Capitalism will fall. The age of white men is over. I shall be no entrepreneur, no lothario and no great philosopher scientist, nor even a forgettable scifi writer. A sexual assault boasting neo nazi moron is president. my own tiny ass insignificant little country decided a great way to “reclaim sovereign power” was to drive our economy off a cliff and cede what actually political power we did have. The establishment has fucked it up hard and it is only a matter of time before everybody realises just how many jobs have been taken away by technology.
I am not needed for my mind, instead I am a soldier on the barricades. A loud haler for wiser men and women who matter so much more to the world as I try to adjust to a world in which I am a passenger, not a participant. I was raised to believe I could be a hero but I know now that a hero is not a white man. Not anymore.
I listened to Hamilton today and I found myself experiencing something i haven’t done in such a long time. A spark of excitement, a bizarre sense of striding into somewhere completely alien and feeling utterly at home. It’s meeting Sam Vimes in Ankh-Morpork as he wakes up and starts smelling the duty, it’s reading about the Special Weapons Dalek and falling in love with Doctor Who, it’s the moment I first tuned into two grouchy old men Dissecting Worlds, it’s when I first borrowed into a mountainside in Minecraft. Get your bingo cards boys because this autistic tiny dicked hypocritical liberal microphiliac is getting into musical theatre.
I found something new to nerd about.