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Sunday, 30 April 2017

Interesting Times

Interesting Times

Alexander Gordon Jahans

It is said that autistic people are creatures of habit, that they rely on routines to impose order ton a chaotic world. As my mother continually sqwarked during childhood when I objected to be being dragged along on her her impulsive adventures. “You don’t like change!”

For me that has always been bullshit. I have something very akin to Delayed Sleep Phase Disorder so I find it hard to keep any kind of schedule or routine since for me days and nights are a very relative thing. The jumbled mess of Doctor Who’s continuity has thus always made more sense to me than any coherent and consistent plotting. Fuck order. Fuck routine, do what you do as you need to, want to and have the energy to do.

Except now, though my body remains reliably unreliable on the sleep front, I am finding that a sort of routine has become established and important. Get up, boot up the computer, do preliminary scan of inputs and missed messages, clean teeth, catch up on missed facebook stuff, have breakfast. letsplays then tele binge, maybe a writing or game session or whatever chore that needs doing today, more letsplay and tele, read a chapter of one book, read a chapter of another, go for a walk, more letsplay and tele, clean teeth, bed.

What makes that occur? Is it simple accretion? Things that happen to slot logically into place? I mean it’s true that the catchup makes most sense at the beginning of the waking time and that since the book reading requires use of the family armchair iot makes sense to leave that until the family have fucked off. It is however much more than that.

There is an English myth of a Chinese curse that says “May you live in interesting times.” Well we certainly live in interesting times. Personally, my home of so long is being sold and I’m still not sure where exactly I’ll be living. Politically Brexit is up in the air, the Scots look set to have another independence referendum and there is a general election in June. The fascists are on the march with only one of them displaying any degree of actual competence. Capitalism is dying due to technological unemployment but noone is noticing because the madness of Trump and Brexit is overshadowing the existential threat to our society.

There is a phrase from the best series of Doctor Who ever, the Virgin New Adventures, that goes “Eighth Man Bound” referring to the terror of the the current Doctor, an otherwise powerful manipulator, and his inability to see beyond his own death and rebirth. That sums up my feelings better than any mythical Chinese Proverb. Just one of these political questions would be enough to utterly change the road ahead. Even a return to status quo would mean a radical change to the energies of the people and politics. So I am Eighth Man Bound, unable to see much farther along the path. Where my future, the future of my kin leads, there is just darkness, a great abyss of the unknown.

So I take solace from routine, from the plodding predictability of my life. It angers and frustrates me. I share with my mother an innate desire to to do the opposite of what authority says so with “You don’t like change!” still echoing in my ear I find great satisfaction in fucking up my own life. In destroying the fragile routine and sanity that I have accreted. Yet I need that routine and mundanity now. I need to know that no matter where I live and what happens geopolitically that my life will act as a reliable footpath into the future.

My breakfast will always be Tetley Redbush tea with two to three tea spoons of sugar, made in the same mug and a sandwich made from wholemeal bread, smooth peanut butter, margarine and ketchup. That there will always be diet coke and mints when I’m down, hydrocortisone pills at 9 am and 5pm, a multivitamin pill once a day. That my one meal of the day will be vegetable fingers, a burger and microwave thai rice or potato waffles. That I will always check the same podcasts and youtube channels for updates and keep finding new tv shows to binge watch.

In these interesting times when it seems the whole world is Eighth Man Bound, my chaotic routiine and habits act as a lifeline of stability. Now if you will excuse me I’m going to have breakfast.

Saturday, 29 April 2017

Learn Postulate Educate

Writer's block

I haven't been able to write properly for a good few months now. Like i can sort of manage short distraction fics but even those are getting harder and harder to write. My great muses keep escaping me like wild horses bucking me from the saddle. The ideas are there but i just can't see them through. The uncertainty and lack of confidence and energy crashes down upon me before i can finish. This is why the Tele watching and reading has become so much more important. A man needs a purpose, a reason to be. Mine was writing. Now i live out of fear of missing out, morbid curiosity and not wanting to upset my family. I'm getting old and my life is still so uncertain and unstable. I don't where I'm going, where I'll be living, how I'll be living. How can I write long form if I don't know that I'll be around to finish it.

How do I explain to my family of neurotypicals that this isn't some great unnatural emotional imbalance but just a logical reaction to certain facts of my life? Should I even bother? Ethically is it right to let them know? I know they can't do anything. I've had two years to look for an answer and weighed every possibility, even getting a lay of the land from different political perspectives. Unless your head is thoroughly in the sand and you are sufficiently wealthy and privileged it is impossible to ignore that there are several factors right now and in the decades to come that look to drastically upset and alter society in major ways. Even if I get lucky and I find a way to survive the next few years and decades financially, I have an embarrassing and quality of life affecting condition, shite social skills, not enough money for an interesting life and so can look forward to several decades as a kind of high tech battery farmed animal in tiny accommodation, rarely going out with a meagre social life. Objectively speaking, even if I live I'm still fucked.

All that is driving me forward at the moment is my morbid interest in politics and my lust for women. These are not things to build a life around, especially when you are a fat autistic left wing guy in the 21st century. I have no doubt that being a politically active lesbian on the left can be very rewarding but as a man who is a fan of well regulated capitalism and beautiful submissive women I just sort of despise myself and get upset at how so few people share my views on politics. It really does feel like you're either a Marxist or a neoliberal these days, or a fascist. No room for the lovers of old capitalism, especially as technological unemployment takes hold. And like yeah sex positive feminists are a thing but so often you end up running into people who seem to agree with you about the need for men's rights, the problems with radical feminism and how glorious beautiful submissive women are, then they turn out to be complete misogynistic nobheads. Not exactly great for one's ego and faith you're not a misogynistic nobhead yourself.

I mean I'm not going anywhere, momentum is carrying me forward, life is enjoyable enough and there are no drastic cliffs of shit yet. I just can't fucking write so I wonder what's the point? Why bother? What's it all for? If I am living for the hedonistic imperitive is one meal a day plus sandwiches enough? Is a life of letsplay, podcasts and binge watching enough? I was raised to be exploited as a drone in the capitalistic economy and i can't even do that. I'm​ nearly twenty five and my greatest accomplishments are some fiction that made good people hate me, a neckbeard that looks like pubic hair and a YouTube channel stalked by Nazis who hate my guts. I mean masturbation, diet coke and mint imperials are amazing but they can only do so much.

My family wants me to try anti depressants and for more than a month but last time I tried them my brain felt like it was on fire and I honestly don't see how it will change the logical conclusion of all these factors. Even if it did help a bit, that's a hell of a rabbit hole to go down for so little discernable reward. Maybe it's something to do with neurotypicals? Like maybe because they've never had to clearly separate and wall off their emotions they find their emotions drive them a whole lot more? Like they keep telling me how bad my death would make them feel but how is that a factor in the calculus here? As if the fact other people might feel bad will let me magic money out of my arse or a better quality of life if it came to it. I have spent two years living with the prospect of my probable suicide due to external factors, three if you include my final year of university, when I was terrified i wouldn't make it past the first winter after university finished. This is not some great fiery thing anymore. It is not generally characterised by a great sadness or pain, just a cold acceptance of the seemingly inevitable. I struggle to see how antidepressants will affect the calculus of my demise significantly. These are environmental and economic factors, not psychological.

Anyway my ideas are just shit at the moment. The ones that appeal to me to want to write also tend to be ones I am too critical of for being pathetically wish fulfillment. What do I do if I cannot write? My computer is too shit to play games and a man cannot binge watch and read alone. I don't know the answer. The one vague idea i have is to somehow get the money to upgrade my PC but poor people aren't allowed to have nice things. And to the morons screaming to get a job, it's not that easy.

Wednesday, 26 April 2017

The Fight Back

The Fight Back

Alexander Gordon Jahans

I have not been in a good place for quite sometime and the natural reaction is to feel the need for rest and recovery. Heck Holidays are my mum’s go to solution to everything. She’s bloody lucky I’m a sour bastard who despises holidays because I’ve periodically been offered holidays at every major setback.

Except while I don’t consider the expense and frustration of travel and isolation in a different place a valid use of my time, I have sought the regenerative values of rest. I have tried to destress and back off from issues. Retreating further and further from life as my mood has only continued to sour. Recently I realised I had hit the point of not being fucked with life any more. It was no longer a question of economic viability or pain but a simple stubborn refusal to keep flailing against a fate which seemed certain. Fuck it. I thought. Let it come. Let my world end.

I am fortunate to know people who can give me a kick up the arse when I need it. The brain is a muscle, my aching body is made of muscles and muscles need to be flexed in order to retain their strength. I am not suddenly optimistic about my chances of economic viability. Privatised council housing and benefits claiming is not going to be an easy or simple future. I certainly won’t be tearing up my will or pre-prepared suicide note anytime soon. Yet I am not quite damned yet. Jeremy Corbyn could be elected Prime Minister or at least force enough of a concession to her majority that she rescinds some of her more evil aims. Even at the worst it need not be over even once the benefit sanction hits.

I am not dead yet. There is a not impossible chance of long term survival. There are things I’d like to do, people I’d like to meet, things I’d like to write, videos I’d like to film. I have a chance at a future I’d like to meet but I have to fight for it and I have to be able to fight for it. This is where I really wish I had the power of montage.

I need to up my reading, up my socialising, up my walking and exercise. I need to gradually push back against the darkness consuming my life and regain my strength, not through rest and recuperation but controlled exercise. These are dark days and there is little I can do but I can see that I am at my best to deal with what is within my control.

Now I am going to read some of Owen Jones’s CHAVS then go for a walk. I have no idea how this will affect my sleeping pattern but damnit it can obey what I want for once and besides my other appointments shouldn’t be adversely affected. See you in the future.

Sunday, 23 April 2017

Regenerate Me

Regenerate Me

A Bloggage
Alexander Gordon Jahans

I am not well and I have not been well for some time. It has been affecting my writing, my interactions with other people. I feel as if I have fallen into a vast abyss and I am trying hard to cling onto sanity and survival but each day my strength wanes and I slip a little further into the black...

Nihilism is not the word but it’ll do. Just at the moment I fear that if death were easy then I would gladly die. This bleakness has killed my creativity and my confidence. There are greater problems adding to my woes. My body feels like it is falling apart and I am reminded of the epidemic of people dying from sadness in World War Z though that’s probably just poetic paranoia.

The annoying thing about me, I find, is that when it comes right down to it, I’d rather live. So I’ll survive. I’ll bitch and I’ll moan and I may face poverty and ill health as I long for the sweet mercy of death but I’ll persevere until my body gives out its last. Even then I’m not prepared to take bets on the after life. It would be just my luck if there were a hell after all.

“Grrreeetings!” will crow the devil as he presents the crucifix spit. “Time to pay your dues for that fanfic you wrote.”

I’d probably be more annoyed that there’s an after life to be honest.

Look, black comedy jokes aside, I didn’t write this to deliver yet another abortive soliloquy on my woes. The person I am is changing under this new pressure. The time of politics and rage is over. I need to adapt to survive. Become something new.  Shed the misery and be reborn with the passion and glee of old. I’ve been reading again and I never did get round to finishing the Doctor Who Virgin New Adventures.

More than that though I’ve been watching Men Behaving Badly and god help me I still love it. British comedy is amazing. I mean, it just is. I love it. Don’t get me wrong, some early episodes are clearly quite rapey or play spousal abuse off for laughter but problematic as it is, it’s fictional and makes me laugh.

In an age where my country looks set to vote in an incompetant nazi because the other guy seems a bit of a tit, I feel like British comedy could straight up include flaying and I’d be more than happy to continue watching. Problematic fiction is infinitely better than terrifying reality.

And yes, lets talk about that shall we?

I remember, before I had my testosterone, I used to pour scorn on all these men who objectified women. I called them neanderthals. Now I can literally be reading a book on politics and for some reason the image of a lady undressing will enter my brain and I’ll veer off down a rabbit hole imaging an entire narrative as to why she’s undressing. It is shallow, misogynist and oh so completely satisfying.

The Male Gaze is no longer some theoretical filmic critical device. Instead it is a very real and unavoidable factor of my biology. It’s like the terminator, only instead of scanning for Sarah Connor my brain is instantly subcatagorizing men and women into hot or not and if they’re hot my brain will instinctively keep focus of them.

I am a neanderthal. I am a moron. I hate and despise myself and yet I cannot deny the overwhelming pleasure this fresh immature lusting has given me. Just seeing pretty young women, listening to them or thinking about them makes me instantly happier. Which is not something to knock when you are falling into the abyss.

I am a giant incompetent autistic moron with tits and no money. I am under no illusions about my chances with anyone but, Zarquon help me, it’s nice to fantasize. I think that’s why lesbians appeal so much. They provide the fantasy without the shame of daring to imagine me or someone like me with any woman so utterly gorgeous and sweet - Zarquon, I am pathetic.

Here’s the ultimate irony of the cuckold insult. It implies that a woman would consent to being your girlfriend in the first place. Which for me feels like a massive complement. A better insult is cock. It suggests you are an appendage that only exists to create waste and seek sexual satisfaction. It also has the added benefit of not requiring you to explain the insult first.

Anyway I have a book on autistic people to read. This certainly won’t make me want to torture neurotypicals. I hope.

Anyway, keep calm and think of amazing women.

Wednesday, 19 April 2017

Status Report 19-04-2017

Status Report

Alexander Gordon Jahans

I am falling. More bad days than good and the bad days are increasing. The tiredness is ridiculous. It’s getting harder and harder just to find the strength to see through the day, never mind the bullshit grind required to get money to live. I have accepted defeat. I know I am a dead man and these days I don’t even bother arguing with the morons who naively suggest flailing pointlessly. Even if I didn’t have GHD and autism, I’ve been out of work more than two years, I’m not going to get work.

I keep getting assurances that somehow it’ll be okay and somehow there’ll be the money to support me if I can’t do universal credit and the disability proves a crap shoot. I am assured that everything is okay. These assurances give me about as much confidence as the phrase “size doesn’t matter”. I’d almost prefer the bald truth because at least I could work with that information. Unfortunately if there’s so much as a 0.0001% chance of survival your loved ones are of course going to do everything to see you make that slim chance. Meaning I am encouraged to waste slim resources in my time left flailing pointlessly at a task because maybe if I get very very lucky I might thread the needle and limp on.

I have GHD. That means tiredness and pain as fucking standard. Even if I wasn’t staring down the barrel of a poverty enforced death sentence I might be inclined to off myself. Especially as people with GHD apparrently have a shortened life span but there really aren’t many specifics so for all I know I’ll be lucky if I make it to thirty or the average could be just 5 years shorter than the average. Even in grand socialist utopia I’d still wake up with a vague death sentence hanging over my head and pain and tiredness as standard.

Oh and yeah, I have nazi stalkers, still. So that’s fun. Playing whack-a-nazi every time someone creates an alt to slip through my wall. Because when you’re tired in pain facing a vague death sentence and a poverty induced death sentence what you really want is a bunch of obsessed nazis desperately trying to find a way to attack you in a futile war that only serves to underline and mirror the futility of your own existence.

To tell you the truth I’m kind of glad Theresa May declared an election for June because I’ve been saying for a while that I’ll hang on until at least the end of the summer so this way before I off myself sometime September-ish I can have a chance to see a Jeremy Corbyn led Labour government in power. If they lose it’s only an extra year in power. Heads we win, tails, they lose.

Neoliberalism is weak and it could be toppled this summer. Which would be nice and if it isn’t the end is still nigh for the stupid fuckers. We are winning the war even as they fuck us over. There is hope. Win or lose, after this summer I think I shall probably die happy.

I am not the man I once was. I have gone from an asexual passionate firebrand to a lustful knackered thinker. I don’t think I can think my way out of the mess I’m in. I don’t think I can escape the death that’s coming for me. I don’t have the energy apart from anything else. Let it come. Let it take me. Let it destroy the last of what I am. I shall not go gently or willingly yet. There are things I wish to do. Sallies and rallies I wish to try. I have not entirely given up hope yet but the probability of my death only seems to rise with each passing day.

Everything I know, everything I once believed in has been questioned and tested. I used to be so certain. So convinced I was right. Now I just feel so stupid and so confused. I call myself an anti-theist yet I find myself embracing pan-theism. I identify strongly with capitalism and yet I see no hope of its survival and I have yet to see a right wing answer to what happens in post-scarcity that actually accepts the premise of post-scarcity. The right wing who aren’t purely amoral opportunistic greedy fucks have no answer to what I see as an increasing inevitability and that scares the almighty fuck out of me.

Democracy needs opposing opinions and solutions. Just as the left needs Corbyn now. The right needs a rightwing approach to post scarcity or it risks conceding the future to communists and socialists. Politics needs healthy debate. It needs different perspectives. It needs multiple approaches. The right cannot let the left dominate post scarcity discussion. I don’t care if you think post-scarcity is likely. I care what the right wing approach if/when it happened is.

Monday, 17 April 2017

The Establishment And How To Defeat Them

The Establishment
And How To Defeat Them

Alexander Gordon Jahans

Yesterday was perhaps my blackest day. Bought to tears, something only last provoked in the heat of a family crisis. The past two years have been tough for me personally with politics serving as a distraction from my own problems. If I could master politics then maybe I could master my life. I have learned a lot in that time, including that I could never become a politician, certainly not with this media. I mean if a bunch of bored virgins hiding behind their keyboards can hold me up for so much as a millisecond then the combined might of the establishment would surely squash me like a bug. Today I think I have cracked the enigma code to this riddle and perhaps more crucially restored my faith.

Capitalism is dying. It has a terminal disease and I sincerely believe Global Socialism - like that outlined by Paul Mason in his book ‘Post Capitalism’ - is the only answer. Capitalism cannot be saved, not even if the semi-mythical variant I support - Regulated Capitalism - is implemented. Yet there are road blocks before the course of progress. Road blocks represented by the ideology of Neoliberalism and the Establishment forces that seek to implement and protect it.

When I started reading ‘The Establishment And How They Get Away With It’ by Owen Jones, I found joy and hope in the tale of the Outriders of Neoliberalism. Partly because I am a capitalist who regards Marx as an outdated irrelevant whose name has tainted political discourse for centuries, and thus took perverse pleasure at the advancement of a kind of capitalism that would reign supreme. Partly because I saw within Neoliberalism’s rise the source of its downfall.

Then Owen Jones goes on to outline precisely how much opposition we face in The Establishment. This is a combination of intellectual, political, corporate, media, legal, financial and international forces allied by greed, ideology and personal relations. I have warned against violent revolution on many occasions, particularly against the overwhelming military might of America, Owen Jones outlines a case that would make my concerns seem a gross understatement. No despot could be so powerful.

In hindsight, not a great book to read for one fearing their own chances of survival were slim in the long term. Indeed I have come away with a sense that I am fucked in ways I never before realised. Yet there is hope among such darkness.

Paul Mason’s work calls itself Post Capitalism yet in practise touches on many of the same themes and topics as Owen Jones does here yet Mason left me underwhelmed. An amazing journalist and thinker he expresses well the sense and evidence that change is a foot yet fails to sell a solution. Owen Jones by contrast has a surprising charm. Maybe I am just subject to similar biases when I watch his youtube videos as my haters are to me but I did not expect the persuasive powers Jones exhibits here.  It is a careful blending of fact with anecdotes, jocularity with suaveness. If this man engaged in debate as sport I fully believe he could convince me that postage stamps are heralds of eldritch might. In text at least.

Mason sells the facts behind his theory, Jones sells his view of the facts then offers a solution that at the least offers the reader satisfaction of someone somewhere having some kind of a plan. Perhaps that is why Mason’s work left my mental state unhindered while Jones pulled me out of a spiral. I mean last night I practically had a breakdown at the stupidity of Neoliberals, the new capitalists, and my own inability to find a solution. The solutions Jones outlines may not have much practical relevance to me as a broke graduate/youtuber staring down the barrel of economic unviability but they offer me a rationalist’s faith. The belief that a solution to one’s problems, however unlikely, exists and can be implemented.

I am not sure a lot of what Jones suggests as a solution is entirely relevant now. I am  a strongly of the opinion that technological unemployment will, at the least, radically reshape the economy. So coming as it does in my reading schedule, between Paul Mason’s ‘Post Capitalism’ and Martin Ford’s ‘Rise of the Robots’, Jones’ suggestions for total employment seem laughably naive. Though I understand that Jones is trying to suggest conservative solutions to shift the Overton Window leftward.

This is the real genius of what Owen Jones writes. For too long the left has hidden from debate. Something I am guilty of though when your family and friends may be threatened should you ‘debate’ then the calculus changes somewhat. Owen Jones presents here an outline of the enemy and how it operates so the information might be exploited. It is not enough to simply shift the Overton Window through discourse, the anti-establishment agenda must infiltrate, combat and convert the various subsections of the establishment. This is the blueprint for a peaceful revolution. The golden bullet for societal ills that I have spent the last two years chasing, and something we know from the very success of our enemy is achievable.

I have said before that violence does not destroy ideas, tolerance and education does. Here we see how this philosophy is outlined within the rise of our enemy. They may use violence or see it used to protect or advance their wills when they have the political cover but to get that cover they first had to peacefully accumulate political power. This is an ideological revolution on global politics and it will require simultaneous semi-coordinated attempts infiltrate the establishment and influence it.

The worker as we know it is no longer a viable tool to enforce political obedience. Instead we must re-educate the Establishment enforcers to see about a paradigm shift. We need our own outriders and here I have some good news for once. Like so many of the things I care about I am not the first and things I wish I could have done already have been. Radical anti-establishment concepts are being floated more and more, with anti-establishment successes across the political spectrum. From Corbyn and Sanders to Trump and Brexit, the establishment is clueless as to how to react. I mean they even bought sexual assault allegations to bare against Trump and he shrugged it off, despite being recorded boasting of committing assault.

I suppose ultimately here I must concede to a meme, in the Dawkins sense, that I noticed cropping up time and again in this book which I have used on more than one occasion, the last of which I am certain provoked malicious scare tactics. Heads, you lose. Tails, I win.

I wonder, had someone on 4chan or its ilk, who was ideologically opposed to me read this book and concluded correctly the probability of my one day encountering this book, reading it and coming to the conclusions I would? I don’t believe in conspiracy but equally I do not entirely rule out the possibility of astute observation and probable predictions thereupon. After all on such things are investments made.

You see I’ve mentioned before that there is nothing I would not do if I thought it would save the capitalism I love something that might be deduced from how much personal information I have given out freely. in that vein it is mentioned here that UKIP has gained great support by presenting as anti-establishment despite being part of them. One might deduce that I would realize the power of such a trojan horse. Not only radically shifting the Overton Window against establishment philosophy but using the establishment to get into power then destroy it.

Here Donald Trump makes perfect sense. He isn’t the great leader, he’s a suicide bomber sent to destroy the American Establishment from the inside. It doesn’t matter if he succeeds or fails in any of his policies. He’s so stupid and anti-establishment that his being anywhere near the establishment exposes it for the sham it is. His very hypocrisy and incompetency undermines the establishment. Heads, you win. Tails, they lose.

Again, I’m not supposing conspiracy. Though this is mad enough and fringe enough to be plausible. What matters is that I now understand where all those jokes about me being close to being redpilled come from. I despise Trump and would support killing fascists if they enacted legislation to commit genocide but to a certain mindset that doesn’t matter, only the support of their guy. As Churchill once said “If Hitler invaded Hell, I would at least make a favourable reference to the devil in the house of commons.”

To topple a global political elite, Trump may be a useful devil to have on side. At least theoretically. I’m not redpilled. Instead I have returned to my original beliefs. After all capitalism may be doomed, with Global Socialism the only viable answer, but we are going to need to shift that Overton Window leftward.

There is also something else that has been happenning behind-the-scenes where I am. A shifting and settling of things. The guillotine of economic unviability still hangs over my head but I’m reading again and little by little I am trying out solutions to smaller problems on the road to tackling that large one. I’m not great but I do think now that maybe there is a real hope. 

Thursday, 13 April 2017

What Is Capitalism



Alexander Gordon Jahans

If I had to pick one overall emotion to describe the general turn of how things have been recently it would be fear.

I am recovering from the hell of the last few weeks and I am trying to rally. Mentally I suppose I am rallying but my body feels like a lead weight. The hell of recent times has left me over reliant on things I had previously used to keep my body going. What once worked to help me move to meet life’s demands is now barely enough to get out of bed and survive to meet the next day. My body aches and the tiredness of mere existence is frequently overwhelming. My ability to live, let alone compete economically, is a struggle.

Except it’s more than just my body letting me down. The cavalry that promised to save me has been revealed as untrustworthy and dangerous. If I am to survive, if I am to decide life worth living, then I must not only find a way to compete economically and so pay my way but I must do so without relying on and never trusting anyone. An already arduous task just got harder. Combine that with the tiredness and pain which makes up my mere existence and it should be no surprise that I frequently find myself begging for death. I continue out of duty and a capitalist’s pragmatism that while the money has yet to run out it would be ridiculous to completely abandon hope and nit take advantage of the time I have left.

At the same time I mourn for the very system that seems to demand my death. Capitalism is the autist’s system. To be autistic is to be sensitive and passionate, to be flawed and resort to rules and rationalism in the face of such uncertainty. This is what capitalism does. Fascism relies on the central belief that people can be relied on to consistently think clearly and rationally so if you give a person total power to run society that will organise it for maximum effectiveness. Capitalism says that people are greedy, lustful, lazy and deeply flawed so you distribute power and regulate it with a careful balance of controls so that man’s own greed will encourage him to work harder and longer. Where Fascism uses the iron fist to crush opposition to achieving goals, Capitalism uses the will of its own opponents to achieve its goals.

I love capitalism, I understand and trust in it. Where it is flawed I would advocate a patch on the rules, not its abolishment. I despise Marx and Lenin and Tory’s who hail from such left wing beliefs strike me as the most despicable wrong headed morons and hell could not match what I might not do if I did not have such rules as they pour scorn upon. Yet Capitalism walks willingly towards its own destruction. I long to save it. To guide it towards salvation yet I know it would be impossible. Neoliberalism has destroyed the forces that might keep short term advantage from destroying long term gains. The unions, the people who might have the will counteract automation, have been destroyed and the more automation takes place the harder it is for unions to halt the death of capitalism through organisation.

I don’t know what comes next and that is terrifying. It is bad enough that I have no  idea where I’ll live, that I have no idea how I’ll survive in the long term, but to not even know what lies for the future of society, that the structure I trust to behave predictably will cease to be... It’s an existential terror. At least we know the dangers posed by Trump and the Alt-Right at least fascism and its destruction is predictable. What happens to human society when we have functionally infinite power to create and provide? Somehow I doubt the sadistic greed and dominating desires will end just because there is no need for them to exist. So I pray the world embraces socialism, I pray the Establishment is smart enough to adapt and remain a predictable guiding hand in the transition to come.

At the same time as I abandon all hope of capitalistic reform and survival I find my fantasies and dreams longing desperately for its continuation. Pretty girls hold a lot of power over me as a result of my newly acquired testosterone but nothing has quite so much power over me as the concept of people consenting to capitalistic exploitation. I read books on the rise of neoliberalism and it does enrage me yet in a weird way it soothes me. The Battle of Orgreave was clearly a devastating event for the victims and a blunder that helped ensure Capitalism’s demise yet I can’t deny finding an almost sexual thrill at the victory of Capitalism, however short term and short sighted. I read these books about the atomisation of the worker as a political force and while I rage at the attitudes involved, the actions and consequences there is an almost escapist glee to be gained from reading about the triumph of Capitalism over a final frontier. I despise myself sometimes, I really do. Yet in the face of such misery and uncertainty, a man needs to find joy and a reason to want to see the next day.

Anyway, that’s how I am. Tired, alone, mournful, facing and uncertain future and hating myself thoroughly for the very things that bring me joy enough to see day after day. Do you know the worst thing though? I’m not sure that there is a price I consider too high to pay if I knew for certain that it would save Capitalism for good.

NSFW Healthy Eating NSFW

Healthy Eating

A Distraction Fic
Alexander Gordon Jahans

Kathy had always wanted to be healthy, everyone does, but she’d always struggled. Then one day as she passed through town she saw a well toned man in a business suit offering fliers to promote his range of healthy eating options. What the hell it was worth a look.

Step 1. Go for exercise. A gentle walk is fine to begin with but work up to a sprint. It will hurt and you won’t be able to move the next day but the pain will be worth it.

So Kathy started walking when she could instead of taking the car.

Step 2. Cut out the fat and go organic. Meat is murder so go vegan.

This was harder but the diet embraced the eating of fruits and drinking of smoothies to quench hunger. Soon she found herself feeling amazing as the poiunds were shed and she became fitter and healthier.

Step 3. Shave Everything. Hair is death clinging to you. Shed it however you can with shaving and waxing. This includes eyebrows. All hair must go.

Well okay this was a bit unconventional but the leaflet hadn’t gone wrong for her before. So Kathy shaved and she waxed until she was smooth and sleek as a marble.

Step 4. Call to arrange a meeting with one of our representatives so we can help you become the magnificent delight you were always meant to be.

So Kathy called the number. No answer. Shame.

Step 5. Bathe in coconut milk twice daily. Purchase our products if you require large quantities.

So Kathy bathed and felt glorious. Was this how Cleopatra felt when she bathed?

Step 6. Clothes are a hindrance to your bodies natural energy. Cast them asunder. Your beauty needs no modesty now.

As Kathy gazed in the mirror, she smiled. Truly this was how she was meant to be.

Step 7. Nature abhors a vacuum. Fill yours. Peel a small Clementine carefully, wrap it in kale leaves then inert up the rectum. A sprig of asparagus dipped in lemon juice should be carefully inserted within the vagina, if you have one. An apple can be bitten on when not speaking.

Kathy was gone too deep now so she dutifully obeyed the pamphlet.

Step 8. Attempt yoga pose King Pigeon using our patented yoga mat.

So Kathy dutifully knelt down on the recommended mat, arched her arm and head backwards until her head made contact with the mat and her arms were able to grab onto her legs.

That was about the moment the men broke in, strapped her to the ‘mat’ with butcher’s twine and led her away. Noone could be quite sure when and how Kathy died. Suffocation was likely but it was possible she survived transport only to die when the 'yoga mat' was placed in the preheated oven.

That well toned man with the pamphlets had never technically lied. He did advocate healthy eating and sold food and supplies to do so. He just neglected to mention that most of his money was made selling organically fed free range vegan meat to vegans among the one percent who just couldn’t quite kick the meat habit.    

Monday, 10 April 2017

Safe Harbour

Safe Harbour

Alexander Gordon Jahans

I’ve been a mess lately. Events pushed me to the edge of breaking point, to ‘quitting youtube’. I’ve kind of had to accept a certain amount of manic stupidity on the part of my brain as it tried to reorientate itself, like the way people doing yoga always look a bit ungainly when they break formation and try to stand or sit like normal again.

So I went back to the podcasts that made me who I am and have helped me ride out the darkness the last two years presented. That’s where I encountered a concept that just clicked with me, though binge watching Jonathan Creek probably helped to get my mind working as well.

It was in the Dissecting Worlds episode on Battlestar Gallactica. They were talking about how in World War Two the allies didn’t have enough carriers so small plans would be docked ready to launch off small fishing boats and the like. Obviously the planes couldn’t land back on the improvised carriers so they’d have to be ditched at sea when their fuel ran out which was a terrifying experience. Then they compared it to Battlestar Gallactica and pointed out that in World War Two, no matter how bad things got you knew that at some point you would eventually reach some kind of safe harbour.

It wasn’t just that podcast though. Like I said I’ve had a binge watch of Jonathan Creek to spin my brain up into gear. Then there was Mass Effect Andromeda and this one line early on where the original Pathfinder insists on finding ‘Solid Ground’. I even compared it to my experiences in school when I was also feeing suicidal and trapped, under much more personally dangerous and upsetting conditions but didn’t reach this level of darkness because I knew the answer to my problems even if I couldn’t enact it.

So I’ve been trying to find Safe Harbour. Somewhere to start from. A conceptual anchor. A real reason to have hope. I remember I was in school once and I was told I couldn’t leave until I answered a science question. My mind was blank. I couldn’t see it, couldn’t possibly conceive of how to answer the question. Then the teacher told me I could leave but had my try the answer again. I got it in a moment. The pressure, the sensation of being trapped, stopped my brain from seeing the solution.

The problem I’ve had of course is that I haven’t been able to see a solution to the problem of staying alive. Indeed the more research and work I’ve done to reveal an answer has only revealed with greater certainty that there is seemingly no answer. Capitalism is doomed. Fascism will only ever fail in the long term. Socialism cannot function in a global economy. My friends who are not burdened by GHD and Autism are likewise stuck in poverty. Attempts by my family to help me out of this certain death have only revealed with greater certainty that there is no way out. And of course I’ve been reading all these political books. Even Getting Things Done alludes to how screwed the job market is. Attemptys to apply it to claiming Universal Credit have only proven my pessimistic theories correct. I’m doomed and so is the world.

Then something in a podcast I listened to lately triggered something in my head. CGP Grey and Myke Hurley talking in Cortex about their fears for the demise of Apple as a viable professional technological ecosystem. CGP Grey’s trio of videos on youtube ad rates and youtube’s attempt to address problems by limiting payout... Suddenly the giants of the tech world are looking weak. Maybe not anywhere near death but certainly no longer immortal.

Which is when I read Owen Jones’s first chapter of The Establishment And How They Get Away With It. It’s this darkly comic portrayal of the rise of politic sadistic morons. Yet remember how I talked about the danger of Revolution? Well here was a blueprint for political revolution that did not involve bloodshed. Heck with GamersGate, Trump and Brexit, we’ve seen how a bunch of morons of message boards can topple the establishment position.

I’m reminded of that old joke that would get trotted out on my videos when I talked up the virtues of Socialism. “I agree, National Socialism is the only answer.”

Except that’s the point up till now all socialism has been national socialism because it has been restricted to the national level. Socialism can’t exist at a national level in a global economy. Capitalism may be dying but it can still destroy national socialism economically. So... think bigger. If Capitalism is doomed to fail, Fascism always fails and Socialism at a national level is doomed to fail what is the only logical answer?

Global Socialism.

We’ve seen that the establishment is weak that there is much distaste for nationalistic ideas. We live in the age of the world wide web. I don’t care if your nationalism and racism extends to a fight for all white people, demographically that is an ideology doomed to failure. Global Socialism however saves everyone. After all the immigrants and refugees won’t need to come to your country if their country is also embracing Socialism.

I have found my Safe Harbour. The anchor to keep me going. Margaret Thatcher was part of the most successful global revolution in the world’s history and we shall learn from what she managed while spitting on her grave by undoing everything she stood for. Capitalism is dying, Global Socialism shall rise. 

Sunday, 9 April 2017

The Farsh-nuke Counter Proposal

The Farsh-nuke Counter Proposal

Alexander Gordon Jahans

Sorry for the late reply, I’ve been a bit busy coordinating a massive counter to Richard Raspberry and his legion of nazis. I’m not going to lie, things don’t look good.

What’s that saying? Nature abhors a vacuum? Well when the great Septagonoid war ended one hell of a vacuum was created by the fall of the Logicios and United Civilisations. Sorry about that.

Some of you may agree with Black Adam, the almighty Alpha. Well you play video games, surely you must know that Alpha means buggy and incomplete. The first man was no man at all. He was just a function. He thought therefore he was. Doesn’t mean his ideas were any good.

I talked about how good I found Paul Mason’s Post Capitalism and do you not what kind of idiotic reply I got? ‘Why waste your time on the words of some random journalist when you could go back to the source, Karl Marx?’ Because Marx died long before the age of the personal computer, the internet and VR. The world has changed radically since Marx’s time so we need to read the words of people who have experienced the changes that define our current reality. Marx is about as relevant today as a book advising on the proper transportation of slaves. It is a historical document that provides context for the present, nothing more.

I can understand the desire to find strength and safety in a strong leader. I can understand the escapist simplicity of pretending all your problems can be solved if you just attack x or y different group. I can understand the desperate desire to believe that one man, if given enough power, will have the ability to hold back primal forces. Do you know who else thought that? Hitler and Stalin. Two men whose power crumbled and regimes fell.

Maybe you think this time will be different? Maybe you think having the Black Adam on your side will make all the difference. Clearly nobody told you that there are seven other gods who’d have a problem with that, or that most of us were actually arrested tried and executed because here’s the thing religions like to ignore. You absolutely can kill a god many gods have died throughout history, elder gods included. That sign of the cross the KKK wield is literally a sign of the hubris of god. No, Black Adam offers you no salvation. He will fall.

Except it’s more than just one man isn’t it? Marx disproved the great man theory of history. We may live in the age of the cult of personality but the cult chooses the personality. In every revolution, in every coup and fascist take over it was the will of the people that let the ‘great men’ take their places in history.

This is the truth of the 21st century though. Young boys and desperate lonely men all play games designed to make you, the individual, feel important, in control and the saviour or persecutor of all. You have raised a generation of arrogant pathetic fools who think they are more important and capable of changing the world than they are.

The ultimate irony is they know this. Donald Trump was elected because he is the arrogant pathetic fool who got everything they wanted. Because he is the failure who turned into the skid and claimed victory despite failure after failure. He isn’t a fascist, not really. He is a last desperate fuck you from a generation of men avoiding the urge to kill themselves for how pathetic and damned they are.

So what do? What hope is there?

Well you’re still breathing, so that’s something. I’m not going to lie this isn’t going to be easy. There is going to be rioting, civil disobedience and destruction of property. As people get desperate the rise of the desperate and the damned will begin. So far it is only the far right who are snapping, everybody else is sated by more equal rights for the oppressed. Except everybody has their limits and change will only happen when the powers that be realise the calculus for their survival and remaining in power has changed.

It will be a long hard road. It will require debates, marches, riots, essays and pop cultural polemics. The facts are there now. The Establishment’s time to cling onto the mentality of the current era is running out. All I can advise you to do is survive peacefully for as long as you can. Write your letters, write your essays and kick up a fuss but most of all survive. The more the poor outnumber the rich, the harder it will be to ignore their needs.

Everybody is going to have their own limits and already people are dropping like flies. That’s going to get worse. A lot worse before it gets better. Survival itself is going to become an arduous task for many. That’s why if I thought fascism might actually work there is a chance I might have endorsed it, because millions, billions, are going to suffer for far too long before the chaos of this transition period ends.

I don’t have an answer for you. I just have a plee: Stay alive. 

NSFW The Autumnal Flavors Of Women In Fetish Fic

Friday, 7 April 2017

A Thought Of Hope

I just remembered something I figured out while reading the introduction to Owen Jones's book on the establishment. Jeremy Corbyn is destroying the neoliberal bond between the media and politicians just by being hated and inspiring criticism from his own supporters.

I mean yes alright when he's supposed to be your great leader riding to save you perceived fallability is not something to be championed but that's the thing about Corbyn that I never twigged before. Heads he wins, tails the establishment loses. Every second Jeremy Corbyn is the leader of the labour party he exposes and undermines the establishment. To attack the great danger to their neoliberal consensus of free market control they have to use the media to undermine neoliberal causes and publicity.

I mean lets be honest the moment the attacks against Corbyn began I've been expecting a nuclear blast. Okay Corbyn blundered into a couple himself with Brexit and Scotland by mismanaging crises but we're talking about a media that hacked voicemails, led us into war on bullshit and fostered racist scapegoating.

Where are the big guns? Why nit pick about his bowing, jam making or tending rugby matches. We've just seen a US president get elected after multiple incidents that are positively thermonuclear compared to these peashooters. Why the restraint? If the military and politicians are calloing Corbyn a threat to National Security why is Corbyn getting softballed?

Because Jeremy Corbyn isn't Donald Trump. Donald is a brash egotistical moron who'll say anything to get a positive reaction from a crowd. You could goad Trump into saying he flayed his mother alive and drank her eyeballs then Donald would in a panic double down and rage that anyone dare find anything wrong with that. Donald Trump happens to also be a fascist with a fascist following but that only matters to us, not the establishment. To the establishment Donald Trump and Jeremy Corbyn are the same in terms of danger to what they believe in. Infact if anything they see Corbyn as more dangerous since Trump will abide by their rules and consensus mostly, at least until a point.

Jeremy Corbyn is not so easily goaded or trapped. He is his own man and can't be manipulated because he won't play the media game, Oh you can attack Corbyn but if you want to play hardball with Corbyn then you have to understand that Corbyn will do something no other politician will do, he will sincerely admit things. Not out of trumpian egotism and playing to the crowd but because he honestly believes it. So if you attack him you need to be careful because Jeremy Corbyn isn't backbencher number 256, he's the leader of the opposition and leader of the labour party. If you attack him you attack his office and you attack the establishment but at the same time you can't attack Ciorbyn on policies because he will own your arse.

Jeremy Corbyn has become a danger to the labour party I'll admit and I, like many on the left who love his policies in general, have criticisms with him but the reason he has most endangered the labour party is because he is exposing its skeletons since they keep rising out of their graves to attack him. The media will attack Corbyn but in so doing they frequently publicise the establishment working against him. The Blairites or whatever.

To attack Corbyn is to attack themselves. That's why they keep soft balling it. We saw and are seeing what's happenning against Trump. The establishment could attack Corbyn like that but Corbyn is so dull all anybody would see is the office. Trump is a man whose ego forces him to put his name firmly on everything, including allegations of sexual assault. If you attack Trump you attack the man. If you attack Corbyn you attack the office and in a roundabout way yourself.

Thursday, 6 April 2017

Autism Acceptance Would Be Nice

The Paradox Of Our Fate

The Paradox Of Our Fate

Alexander Gordon Jahans

Imagine someone told you you were going to be locked in a room, someone would enter and fuck you then you would be a god. Imagine that as they explain this they grip you terrifyingly hard and tell you that you have control over the room it takes place in who does the fucking and how but that it will happen one way or another. You can choose to be fucked, see this as an opportunity and live out a fantasy or you could fight back futilely and experience a nightmare.

That is how I feel about the future of the human race. Assuming we don’t wipe ourselves out the death of capitalism, neoliberalism and fascism is inevitable. Technology will make work a thing of the past and it will sell post scarcity to the individuals without need for an organisation capable of being perverted or hijacked. We will become as gods. Heck we already have the internet, VR, AR and 3d printers. That to someone just 100 years ago would seem fairly godlike. We are going to get fucked before we complete the transition though.

Lets imagine Jeremy Corbyn gets elected in a snap election after or perhaps before The Scottish Independence Referendum takes place. This is like Karen Gillian or whoever walking into a room with a large comfy bed, some nice music and plenty of lube. You are going to enjoy this and you very definitely want it.

Lets hike the minimum wage, tax the rich, abolish trident, introduce a UBI, restore the NHS to true glory and nationalise the energy sectors to combat climate change. We introduce Proportional Representation and lots of other sexy ideas designer to strengthen public control of corporations and the government. Lets imagine that we federalise the UK in a way that avoids American conservatism and all this control allows the people to realise that what they truly want are these very left wing policies. Oh yeah, we are loving this.

Except we are part of as global economy and the European Union is just next door. Regardless of whether we are in it or not the EU has a single currency and a lot of rich countries trapped with a few poor countries. They aren’t going to like the idea of taxing the rich because the median income in one country so much higher than another. Therefore the rich countries are going to balk at paying for poor countries debts. If we’re in it we’re told no and penalised. If we’re out of it they are going to compete economically and the rule of the capitalist jungle is “The cheaper the better.”

That minimum wage will bite us as companies invest in automation and tax hikes send companies overseas. So while we’re working with the opportunity presented and having the best time we can we are still being fucked.  Because oh by the way we’re in massive debt and it’s just going to get worse as capitalist and neoliberal countries punish us.

So we don’t wanna get fucked. Screw being screwed and going quietly into that good night. We’ll embrace capitalism instead. We’ll fight and fight hard. We’ll impose austerity, abolish the minimum wage, impose a flat tax to impact workers only. We’ll enforce conscription and rule with an ironfist. We’ll kill the old to stop them being a burden on the state, conquer country after country to pay down the deficit and establish a new gold standard.

At least that’s what we intend. Except we find ourselves in the room only gone are the drapes, the double bed, the lube and the music. Now we’re in a draughty damp dungeon with a cold hard bed of nails surrounded by cast iron piping that rusty handcuffs are attached to, the sound of screaming from another room filling our ears. The door opens but it’s not Karen Gillian this time. His name is Frank and he’s a sumo wrestler. Resistence is not an option.

Even if you pay down the debt, reinstate the gold standard and incentivise corporations to employ your people with tax cuts and the abolishing of minimum wages you won’t save capitalism. Capitalism incentivises its own destruction driving further and further automation until there are no jobs and eventually no need for a state because our technology can sense threats and set up defences to combat them. Oh so you’re anonymous and super encrypted are you? Instablocked.

We are fucked and we are elevated to greatness beyond that which even people now think possible, in that order, whichever path we take. We can chop and change and mix and match but it doesn’t matter. No course of leftwingism will save us from being fucked by dying capitalism. No course of rightwingism will save capitalism from being succeeded by Post-Scarcity.

Heck I’ve got two books to read on that subject recreationally. There is no way out. It doesn’t matter how much you spend or who you kill, unless you wipe out the human race it is inevitable because. these are natural outcomes of convergent social, political, economic and technological forces.

The reason I say this is that I keep trying to find reasons to continue living and not just exit out of this trainwreck. I am trying to claim universal credit currently and it is doing my head in because this is pointless busywork that has literally already been automated away. You can be disabled or you can be pointlessly wasting hours every week applying for jobs you will never get, doing something that can already be automated, just to show that you are trying hard enough to deserve to fucking live. The thing that really makes the situation absurd is that Universal Credit doesn’t even pay all the bills. It’s a relentless merry go round of bashing your ahead against a brick wall just to be slightly less of a burden.

It’s all fucking ridiculous and pointless. I do not support revolution and I think now we know capitalism is doomed it’s especially contemptible but what do we do? Persist. Just fucking persist. Linger and linger and linger in the hope that capitalism karks it first. For someone who hates the idea that there is any greater power than man and his ability to understand and exploit the world this is intolerable.

We’re all screaming and shouting about whose to blame. America looks perilously close to civil war. Fascism is on the rise. Our left wing political parties are mired in infighting. The EU is fragmenting. The UK is disintegating. Cunts on the left and right keep crying victory but we’re all just counting time until the end whether we know it or not.

No wonder I keep resorting to pure fantasy. No wonder that in the end the war time survivor mentality proved inadequate. This isn’t war. This is madness. There is no single coherent enemy to be fought. There is no simple definable goal. It’s not even a war of attrition. To a capitalist it’s a defiant last stand. A desperate attempt to rally and shore up foundations to take on a threat which will kill it from the inside everwhere at once. To a socialist or communist it’s a hold out. A desperate last stand in the hopes of the cavalry arriving in the nick of time.

The irony is there may be some cold pragmatic truth to the idea that fascism is our best shot. If we hold that Revolution is an endless cycle of bloodshed. If we hold that capitalism can’t be saved but socialism can’t hold out in a global economy then perhaps there is cruel wisdom in the iron fist. Kill the old. In one sweep you rid the country of most of the bigots and fix a massive drain on the country’s pocket and then recolonisation of the world. The war would be bloody and horrible but as Orwell made clear in 1984, that’s the point. Churn through the populations of an overburdened planet and destroy buildings that are just getting in the way of new developments. Hold out until innovation renders scarcity moot.

I’m joking of course. The fascists have the least chance of anyone and they blew it with Trump. Plus I may be bitter, suicidal and full of rage but even at my worst there are things I won’t do. Indeed at my worst I’m more likely to do terrible things to fascists than be among them. It matters for nought anyway. Even the greatest dictator in the world couldn’t prevent this madness.

I want to pretend this doesn’t matter. I want to pretend that capitalism is fine and have my pathetic fantasies of owning beautiful women. I want to live for lust but lust gets boring and existence in the last years of capitalism makes it hard to ignore how fucked everything is. Even the people crowing about their grand victories aren’t happy with how far they’ve gotten. Everybody’s upset and everybody knows they’re fucked but we all keep pretending otherwise because we’re all in a giant game of chicken and waiting for everybody else to give up first. It’s like when one of my pathetic stalkers sent me an email proudly proclaiming he had won because I was quitting youtube. The reasons don’t matter. What matters is that it was a temporary scale back of video production but that alone was seen as victory.

We linger and persist and we call it victory when our enemies give up before us. None of it matters. None. I suppose I chase the hedonistic imperative now. To live the best life I can within the limits of my abilities and principles but that ain’t such a great life. Just the best I can. So I screw up my eyes against the evidence stick my fingers in my ears and dream of pretty submissive women.

Of course all this is assuming generalised artificial intelligence doesn’t become aware before capitalism dies, then all bets are off. 

Monday, 3 April 2017

Outcome Visioning

Outcome Visioning

Alexander Gordon Jahans

The west is fucked.

Decades of financialization and state bailout of corporate fuckups has made our governments and economies weak as we face the convergence of multiple storm fronts. Climate Change is going to deliver external shock after external shock. Technological unemployment is going to remove more and more jobs while ageing demographics leave those few workers with a lot more social security to pay for. Then the booming populations of poverty stricken countries will invariably descend upon us out of desperation.

England looks set to see its great United Kingdom disintegrate and I wonder how long it will be before there is threat of violent revolution. When inequality gets severe demagogues exploit the situation to gain power. If you think Trump is as bad as it gets you are sorely naive. He’s the Kim Jong Un of dictators. We have more to fear from the Erdogan model. Someone smart enough to be likable and almost neoliberal. There is a reason there’s a trope called Vetinari Job Security. Just look at what happened when Castro died lefties all over the world mourned the passing of a military dictator because “He was our sort.”

I have written against Revolution because I pleaded for sense among our political leaders. At the moment our best in England is less a tactician savaging the enemy and more an asset his supporters are trying to protect. As much as I loathe the men Tony Blair and Nigel Farage may well be the best and brightest England has produced on the political leadership front. So the chances of revolution look pretty darned good all told.

So we’re fucked and I feel fucked myself. There is nothing really uniquer about how I am fucked. A chronic condition, a family that can’t really support me and a state that is about as comforting for support as Hannibal Lecter. Except just at the moment I think I’d appreciate being outright murdered than I would the likely withholding of help at a critical time.

I am tired. Tired of the fighting. Tired of the bullshit. Tired of dealing with every fresh case of drama when my mum comes home having had an idea, or the trolls sally forth or somehow I fuck things up yet again. How long can I keep doing this? I have plans this summer and I tell myself I’ll keep going until my mum is set up in her new house but I have no clue. Not really. GHD makes my bones ache and leaves me dependent on mints and diet coke to function. I just want to give up yet I know I can’t depend upon anyone else and my sense of paranoia is getting justified time and again now.

I am however reading Getting Things Done by David Allen and it is inspiring me. Even if it also acknowledges how much more different and stressful work has become in the 21st century. It is helping me ration and use what energy and mental juice I have effectively. Already things which seemed unhelpably screwed are getting dealt with. One of the things he talks about is called Natural Planning. It’s a way of outlining and drawing up plans that seems to work intuitively with the brain.

What he makes clear is that you need to let your brain be creative first then make judgement calls once the ideas are out in the open. He also lists as one of the first steps something called Outcome Visioning. The idea being that you need to see what you want to achieve in your mind’s eye so you can focus upon it and try to achieve it.

For me mere survival at this point isn’t enough. I’m ready to die and actually kind of long for it. I’m just aware that it’s a choice you can only make once. If reincarnation were possible. If suspended animation until a specified date were possible. If I knew for certain I could cease to exist and come back later there would be no question or discussion. As it is I’m pootling around while there’s still money to be around, trying to help my family, in the hope that maybe I can come up with an answer. This technique may help me find that answer. Though I am more than a little terrified that it won’t and in exercising this possible salvation I may be burning up my last best hope. Still here goes...


There’s a house. I don’t care if I own it. Don’t care if I live on my own or with other people. What matter is that I am safe and I have one room that is mine. In that room I have my computer. Only its better. I’m able to play Skyrim without ever dipping below 60 frames per second.

I run a letsplay channel where I have a complete play through of Skyrim including all major questlines, daedric artifacts and all skill trees to level 100. Another channel does scripted reviews of the Virgin New Adventures of Doctor Who while a third contains audiobook adaptations of my fiction. There are sufficient procedures in place to ensure trolls never bother me.

I have watched the entirety of Star Trek Voyager and Deep Space Nine. I keep meaning to get around to the Big Finish audios I keep accruing but can newver quite seem to find the time as there are enough podcasts and audiobook series I love so much more to fill my time.

I have a pet hamster. A Syrian who is spoiled with treats, toys and cage extensions. I have at one point owned a rat or two and cared for them well.

The love life doesn’t really matter but it would be nice if I could find someone to nerd out with.

I go for walks every few days while listening to podcasts and admiring the sights. I found a coffee mix that does not taste like dirt and stop there to keep my buzz going.

Every week I volunteer at a place helping them with their databases and IT stuff. I’m learning about history and politics as I teach myself latin and some practical coding. I am a white male English nerd and proud without being a dick about it.

My life is not radically different but I am on solid ground with the time ability to use what energy I have on the things I care about not other people’s bullshit. Capitalism is still dying in the background and my facebook is filled with news of this or that disaster but it doesn’t affect me. I am off the system in a world where I can focus on managing my condition and making what little I can for the internet.

I have a group I meet up with to play RPGs with and regularly attend conventions.

The malaise of tiredness which has affected me no longer applies quite so badly because my energy is spent on things which matter to me per day and once that is done I can coast on low energy tasks until I can chill later.

I am able to go on holiday without going mad from boredom.

Saturday, 1 April 2017

The Pink Pill NSFW

The Pink Pill

A Distraction Fic
Alexander Gordon Jahans

In the unfashionable end of what remained of the United Civilizations of the Multiverse there lay a small unregarded universe that had only recently been inducted into the decaying trading bloc. It was a universe not so unlike our own. The only differences being that the DC films were well written critically acclaimed and well loved, and Steven Moffat had moved on to Sherlock while Toby Whithouse had taken over, leading the show to newer and better heights, Idris Elba is the current Doctor.

In this universe there was a club in the outskirts of London. A group of university students were celebrating that they had just handed in their dissertations and after the summer they would be graduating. This only being early 2017 they attracted a lot of attention. The boys chugged alcohol and the girls flirted playfully while sipping alcopops.

Noone noticed the tall flame haired woman watching them from her position at a table. This was partly because she had taken care to draw the attention of one of the hunkier frat boys and was busily flirting with him overtly while she watched for her moment to strike.

There must have been seven or more girls celebrating in the club that night but the predator had her eyes on one girl in particular. She was taller than most of her friends, had long golden locks down to her elbows, ice blue eyes, a cute button nose, a noticeable thigh gap and a laugh so sweet it had a similar effect to a cat’s purr.

The flame haired woman didn’t bother taking notice of her target’s clothes. She didn’t plan for her prey to be wearing them long enough for it to matter.

The oaf opposite her asked. “So what’s your opinion on blowjob’s?”

The flame haired woman smiled mischieviously as she assured him. “There is little I like more than a man’s cock between my lips.”

The oaf laughed then frowned and crossed his arms. He leaned in and whispered. “Just how many men have you had sex with?”

“None. I’m a virgin.” said the flame haired woman flatly then she sighed and reached for her purse. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive. My car’s parked just out back. You’re more than welcome to get in. I shouldn’t be too long.”

The oaf blushed and looked away coyly then smiled sheepishly. “I would like that. Thank you.”

“Let me get you one for the road.” said the flame haired woman.

“Cheers.” said the oaf.

The flame haired woman left the table and headed for the bar. What a coincidence that her prey should also have just arrived at the bar. She smiled at her.

The golden girl smiled back. She whispered. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

The flame haired woman chuckled and shook her head. “No. Sorry. I just think you’re really cute and I’d like to introduce myself if I may?”

The golden girl blushed and looked away.

“Look if I’m being improper or making you uncomfortable...” said the flame haired woman, gesturing that she could go.

The golden girl shook her head. She was smiling from ear to ear. “I’d love to get to know you. Just a bit taken aback.”

“I quite understand.” said the flame haired woman before breaking off to make her order.

“It’s just you’re really very beautiful and I did not expect - ” began the golden girl.

“Sorry?” said the flame haired woman, looking back to the golden girl as she received the drink for the boy.

“Nothing.” said the golden girl, her cheeks flushing red from embarrassment.

“Don’t you what to order?” asked the flame haired woman, blank faced.

“What?” said the golden girl flatly then she noticed the bar maid and hurriedly made her order.

“I’ll be in the smoking garden if you want to talk.” said the flame haired woman as she passed by the golden girl.

The golden girl smiled and blushed.

The flame haired woman returned to the oaf but as she walked she dropped something into his drink.

The oaf accepted the drink, took a sip then grimaced. “This tastes funny.”

“I convinced the bar maid to slip a little extra juice into it.” said the flame haired woman warmly. “Give it a bit of extra kick as it’s your last.”

“Oh awesome!” said the oaf, taking a larger sip greedily then grinning.

“So you’ll head to my car?” said the flame haired woman.

“Absolutely.” said the oaf, a big grin on his face.

“And you’ll remember to get in the back?” asked the flame haired woman. “We don’t want you driving do we?”

“No worries.” said the oaf.

“Good.” said the flame haired woman, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek before she left.

“Ah...” said the oaf to himself as she left. “Alcy breath...”

The flame haired woman strode purposefully towards the doors of the smoking garden, barreled through them then found a quiet corner and started to count.

At 30 seconds exactly the golden girl entered the garden.

The flame haired woman did her best to look like an awkward person playing cool.

“Hi.” said the golden girl.

“Hi.” said the flame haired woman.

“Well you wanted to talk?” said the golden girl.

The flame haired woman smiled. “I’m Amelia Hurst but you can call me Amy.”

“Hurst eh? Like the guy who put sharks in formaldehyde?” asked the golden girl jokingly.

“Something like it, yeah...” said Amy tactfully before turning the attention back on her prey. “And you are?”

“Oh. Yeah. I’m Sammy - Samantha. I’m Samantha Edgeworth but you can call my Sammy.” She cringed and looked away out of embarrassment. “I’m sorry I’ve just never been with a woman before. I mean I wanted to, it’s partly why I came to university, experiment you know? Unfortunately boys stick to me like flies.”

“Well Sammy it’s a pleasure to meet you.” said Amy, extending a hand.

Sammy shook it gladly. “Pleasure to meet you too Amy.”

Amy chuckled, bit her lip then looked around nervously.

“What is it?” asked Sammy.

“Look, I didn’t ask you out here to have a one night stand.” said Amy.

“Oh, no, no, no...” said Sammy hurriedly. “Don’t get me wrong you’re not - I’m not experimenting on you and we absolutely can have a relationship. I mean I’ve just finished university, anything is possible.”

Amy chuckled. “Relax. We can fuck if you want and you would be a pleasure to get to know on that level.”

“Oh...” said Sammy, smiling as she let out a sigh of relief.

“I just meant that you’re nice and so because you’re nice I want to be fair to you.” said Amy. “You see I’m a bit of a man eater and it it is so rare to see such a perfect example of male desire. I had to ask, had to try my luck.”

“I’m not sure what you’re asking me?” said Sammy. “Is it to be bait for a threesome? Because I could roll with that.”

Amy chuckled then said. “Look I’m just going to have to be blunt. I want to have you for breakfast.”

“Pardon?” asked Sammy.

“Have you paid attention to the news at all? Britain joined the United Civilisations.” said Amy.

“Well yeah, after Brexit we had no choice, right?” said Sammy. “But what does this have to do with breakfast?”

Amy shrugged. “New regulations, new technology. I can, and would like to, legally own you, inject you with a mixture of concoctions that will grant me power over your ability to think, make you nigh invulnerable, cloneable through an exploitation of regenerative abilities and shrink you.”

“Oh...” said Sammy as the reality set in. “That’s a hell of a thing to ask a girl on a first date.”

Amy chuckled then shrugged. “Well I didn’t want to lead you on or manipulate you. I mean once you sign the forms the idea of you having any consent at all kind of flies out the window but I’m trying here.”

“Well that’s umm... Courteous? I suppose?” said Sammy.

Amy frowned then held her hands up in the air and said. “You’re safe. This is a public place, you’ve got friends nearby and neither of us will be here tomorrow.”

Sammy bit her lip then looked at Amy pointedly. “You arranged this didn’t you? Maybe not for me specifically but you picked a student bar the night dissertations are due didn’t you? Arranged cover so no one would notice you staking out your target then carefully choreographed the meetings so your target would feel safe enough to approach?”

Amy smirked. “Oh, you’re good.”

“Nah. You are.” said Sammy with a smirk herself. “So what happens at breakfast then?”

“I take you out of your cage, fry you up with a little garlic butter then eat you alive.” said Amy. “So what do you reckon?”

Sammy snorted. “Must have a big oven.”

“Oh I do.” said Amy. “But I won’t be needing it for you. You’ll fit in my frying pan easily.”

“How?” asked Sammy, more intrigued than anything.

Amy reached into her pocket and pulled out a small pink pill. “You’ll shrink. From feet to inches.”

Sammy stared at the pill, took a few deep breaths then looked into Amy’s eyes. “I think I’m feeling what they call the call of the void.”

Amy frowned. “The sad thing is I may be your best hope of a good life.”

Sammy stared at Amy.

Amy shrugged. “You’re about to graduate and that means you’re about to realise just how worthless your degree really is because automation is getting rid of a lot of jobs and deskilling what can’t yet be automated away. Capitalism is dying and even the United Civilisations is held together more by force of personality than anything else. Our countries are in massive amounts of debt and there aren’t the workers to support the old. And that’s without factoring in the inevitable crashing waves of immigration from poor countries and the destruction caused by climate change.”

“Shit...” said Sammy looking suddenly at her feet as if to check she hadn’t suddenly fallen into hell

“I can take you away from all of that.” said Amy. “I’ll give you a nice cage and long hot baths. Thanks to the new wave of smart watches I can even offer you a tablet pc to scale with your new stature.”

“And you’d eat me?” said Sammy.

Amy puffed out her cheeks and shrugged.

“What if I don’t like it?” asked Sammy. “What if it’s not for me?”

Amy frowned, took a good long look at Sammy then sighed. “Alright. We can talk about it. You are very cute and I suppose you’d make a good enough pet but I am having you for breakfast tomorrow. After that I suppose I could let you opt out of certain recipes after we’ve tried you in them.”

Sammy smirked. “You know it’s crazy but I almost believe you.”

Amy tried to reach out to Sammy then stopped herself. “May I touch you?”

“So long as it’s not kill me or knock me unconscious.” said Sammy with half a smile.

Amy reached out and ran a hand through Sammy’s hair.

Sammy shivered.

“Sorry...” said Amy, pulling her hand away.

“I didn’t say stop.” said Sammy with a smile. “Keep going.”

Amy gave a small smile then ran a hand through Sammy’s hair. “Honestly I don’t blame you for not trusting me. You’re a clever girl and clever girls do not hand themselves over to strangers promising to shrink them and eat them alive. Most people lie after all so if that’s what I’m admitting to...”

“I’m really not that smart.” said Sammy with a frown.

“Oh don’t be so hard on yourself.” said Amy. “Degrees are not given out like candy. You are among one of the smartest generations humanity has yet to see.”

“No...” said Sammy. “I’m fairly certain I’m a thicko because I think I want to say yes to this.”

“Oh...” said Amy, stunned. “I... umm...”

Sammy giggled. “Oh come on. You knew I’d say yes the moment you spotted me. You’re good at this.”

“I -” Amy sighed. “I genuinely thought for a moment there that you were saying goodbye.”

“I am.” said Sammy, looking with love and pride at Amy. “To the world.”

Amy swallowed nervously. It was the piercing gaze of those eyes that did it. They seemed to bore right into Amy’s soul.

“Hold me.” said Sammy.

Amy embraced Sammy without hesitation, enveloping the girl in her arms. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’ve never cared about my prey before.”

Sammy blushed and buried her head into Amy’s shoulder then she whispered. “I think I’d like that fuck before you shrink me if that’s okay?”

Amy bit her lip to stop from laughing then managed to say with as much seriousness as she could muster. “I think I can work with that.”

“Then lead on Macduff...” said Sammy.

“It’s lay on...” muttered Amy instinctively as she started leading Sammy by the hand.

“Well I told you I wasn’t smart...” said Sammy playfully as she walked with her new mistress.


Amy led Sammy to her car and said. “It’s unlocked.”

Sammy climbed in the passenger seat and buckled in while Amy flung open a door to the back and started scrabbling about the back seat, patting down a set of clothes that lay across there. Amy opened the driver’s side door a moment later, carrying the squirming, naked, shrunken form of the frat boy she’d doped earlier.

“What’s that?” asked Sammy with nervous interest.

“Post-coital snack.” said Amy, opening the glove compartment to reveal a specially made cage.

“Oh...” said Sammy. “And what do I eat?”

Amy bunged the shrunken man into the cage, locked the cage then closed the glove compartment. “Well I did promise him a blow job.”

Sammy giggled.

Amy buckled herself in then drove off.


Sammy lay panting beneath silk sheets and stared up at a mural of the sea that had been painted on the ceiling.

Amy returned a moment later with deep fried fratboy held between tissue paper over a plate. “Don’t worry, I saved you his penis.” She said as she bit off his head and crunched it gleefully.

Sammy snorted then rolled over to look up at her new mistress. “That was - There are no words for how good that was...”

Amy grinned as she crunched on her food.

“So will you fry me?” asked Sammy with interest.

“Only after I’ve made a back up.” said Amy between mouthfuls. “Frying isn’t something a weresylph can survive. I mean I could keep you in toy mode if you wanted to experience what it was like to be fried but to actually be edible the process would kill you.”

Sammy nodded, taking the information in, then asked. “Back up?”

“Like taking a cutting from a plant.” said Amy. “If you take the pink pill you’ll have three hearts but only need one to survive even the most catastrophic of injuries. So I cut out one or two hearts and give you time to recover.”

“Huh...” said Sammy. “And the paperwork?”

“Already handled.” said Amy, then she licked her fingers clean and set aside the plate. “So what do you reckon? Do I tear up the contract, give you the best night of your life then call you a cab tomorrow? Or will you take the pink pill, live a life less ordinary, and have a fantastic night?”

Sammy giggled. “You had me at ‘No, Sorry’”

Amy burst out laughing.

Sammy frowned. “That sounded better in my head. The point is yes. Absolutely, enthusiastically, eagerly, excitedly, a million times, yes. Give me the pink pill, own my life and take me for your own.”

Amy clenched her heart and moaned with the overload of cuteness. “Aww...”

Sammy blushed and giggled.

Amy leaned forward and kissed Sammy on the forehead. “I promise I’ll be a good owner.”

Sammy grinned, her cheeks somehow becoming redder. “And I promise to be a good ingredient and pet.”

Amy grinned. “I know you will be.”

Amy rose from the bed and returned a moment later with the pink pill and a glass of water.

Sammy sat up in the large double bed, for a moment concerned about the sheets covering her breasts, then she giggled and ignored the sheets.

Amy licked her lips. “I don’t suppose you have any twin sisters?”

Sammy giggled. “No, but if you wanted to take a cutting for personal purposes...”

Amy grinned. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You really don’t.” said Sammy as she reached for the pill and glass of water. “Lucky for you I get to decide this.”

Sammy swallowed the pill then finished the glass of water. “So what happens now?”

“An introduction to the sensation of my lips...” said Amy as slid into bed beside Sammy.


Sammy woke up between silk sheets. She stepped out of bed and found a fried penis on a china plate on the bedside table. It looked about the size of an ordinary sausage.  She picked it up and sniffed it dubiously. It seemed okay. She took a bite from the head and moaned with delight. Okay, that was unexpected.

Sammy carried the penis with her into a living room area with a sofa and a couple of armchairs sat opposite a largish widescreen tele. There didn’t seem to be a remote but Sammy was able to use the touch screen controls to find out about Trump sending the army against Black Lives Matter protesters. The bathroom was a little basic with a tin tub but the toilet was solid enough.

She had such a headache after last night, way too much alcohol. She could feel her blood pounding like a deep base drum. Then she strode into the kitchen and found plastic troughs filled with hunks of cereal the size of her fists. Instead of a water cooler or a tap, what looked like a great barrel fed water into a metal spout ending in a ballcock at chest level.

Light was streaming in through the window and adding to her headache, she walked after it, out of what had clearly been some kind of covered over interior to a vast cage lined with sand. There was a seesaw made out of a hollowed out log and what looked like a massive one of those hamster wheels was clipped onto the side of the cage. Except it wasn’t a massive one of those hamster wheels was it? Not really?

Sammy walked up to the edge of the cage and stared out through the bars. She could see what looked like a massive armchair to one side and a massive TV to another. Now Sammy remembered what had happened the night before. She groaned and backed away from the cage. She fell backwards as she tripped over the seesaw and let out a cry.

She heard what sounded like a giant’s foot steps. “Fi fi fo fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman” she imagined.

Then she realised she was looking up at a hatch in the ceiling that was locked by a gigantic padlock. She saw huge hands reach over and unlock the padlock, the hatch was opened and a great hand reached in to scoop her up. She was bought before the massive face of Amy Hurst.

Amy smiled warmly, showing off her pearly white teeth.

Sammy noted with horror that yes Amy really could swallow her whole if she wanted.

“Hey...” said Amy as softly and quietly as she could.

The sound nearly deafened Sammy.  “This - This is going to take some getting used to.”

Amy stroked Sammy, her massive hands caressing her in an attempt to calm her down.

Amy carried Sammy over to a pot of water.

Sammy was lowered gently inside the room temperature water and panicked for a moment at the steep sides then rationalised what was being done. This was a pot full of water. This was Sammy’s morning bath. Especially as the water started to heat up.

Amy spoke quietly from the other side of the room and her voiced sounded almost at a level within Sammy’s usual hearing range. “Morning, my little one. Just making sure you’re nice and clean before I stick you in the frying pan.”

Sammy cried out in horror. “Frying pan!?”

Amy chuckled. “You’re my breakfast, remember? I’m just preparing the garlic butter.”

The water Sammy was in started to simmer, she could feel herself starting to panic. “So when do you kill me!?”

“I don’t.” said Amy genially. “I’ll just eat around your chest. You’ll be fine.”

Sammy watched the bubbles erupt about her and muttered. “You’ll be fine, she says. You’ll be fine...”

Amy’s face loomed over the pot and a draining spoon was reached in to scoop Sammy out.

Sammy was laid on a cool flat surface and panted frantically as she tried to calm down. Then she sneezed. She had been laid down on flour.

Sammy looked about herself and saw that Amy had her hands in a bowl and was slathering something yellow and embedded with garlic cloves on her hands.

“Ah...” muttered Sammy. “The garlic butter...”

A moment later Amy scooped Sammy up and slathered her in butter. Amy was careful to get the butter into every crevice of Sammy’s being, including a great dollop of garlic cloves and butter smooshed inside her mouth.

After that the frying was positively relaxing. Just a nice lie down on a particularly hot floor really. Like using a sunbed. Of course her face being fried was not the most pleasant experience but the pain of frying seemed to agree with her more than the discomfort of being slathered.

At last Sammy was taken off the heat and a spatul used to lower her gently onto a bed of lettuce, baby tomatoes and cucumber.

Amy reached into her pocket and took out her phone. She snapped a photo then smiled. “I’ll send this to your friends and family. Let them know what happened to you.”

Sammy didn’t react. She knew what was coming, A fork was driven into her left leg.
Except instead of pain Sammy felt a wave of ecstasy that made last night’s wild night of passion seem like watching paint dry.

Amy smirked as she noticed Sammy’s first orgasm at being eaten. She sliced of Sammy’s leg and chewed it thoughtfully.

Little by little Sammy was devoured until at last Amy picked up what remained of her, kissed her on the forehead then bit off her head.


Sammy woke up in a bowl of icing sugar on a table beside Amy as she worked on the computer.

“Okay... That was a hell of a lot better than I expected.” said Sammy cautiously.

Amy looked over to Sammy and smiled. “I’m glad you approve. I have so many recipes I want to try. I’ve never had one participant in multiple meals before and each has participant has their own unique flavour.”

“And me?” asked Sammy.

Amy grinned. “Delicious.”

Sammy smiled then she asked. “Could you hold me? I mean I know I must be sticky but -”

“Hush...” said Amy scooping Sammy up in her hands. “I’ve got you.”

Sammy looked at Amy, the giant fiery goddess, and smiled contentedly. “Mistress...”

Amy giggled and stroked Sammy.

Then the doorbell rang.

Sammy looked nervously up at Amy.

Amy carried Sammy with her to the front door.

An austere looking middle aged woman in a formal suit was revealed. She spoke in the clipped tones of received pronunciation. “Amy Hurst?”

“Who wants to know?” asked Amy trying her best to look nonchalant and distinctly disinterested as she stroked Sammy for reassurance.

The austere looking woman reached into her jacket and pulled out an I.D. Card. “Miss Hurst, my name’s Imelda. I work for the Sylph Liberation Front. I’d like to talk to you today about an interesting new opportunity that’s opened up. One I think you are eminently suited for.”

Amy looked panicked. “Sylph Liberation Front?”

“We’re a radical wing of the Free Sylph movement and we believe you may be uniquely placed to help us conquer the multiverse.” said Imelda with a curt smile.

Amy looked down at Sammy nervously.

“Amy, that girl in your hands is a wereshark. Shrunken or not, if she wasn’t happy being yours there isn’t a damn thing a mere human such as yourself could do about it.” said Imelda. “The SLF may be radicals but we respect the right of sylphs to live as they please. I have no doubt that you think you manipulated her and denied her consent. I also have no doubt that she would vigorously disagree and we did not destroy the Logicios just to install a new organisation telling people how to live their lives in its stead.”

Sammy said. “Go for it Mistress, you can always turn me off and store me somewhere safe for later.”

“Okay then...” said Amy with a mischievous smile. “I guess we’re doing this...”

The End