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Monday, 5 June 2017

Sweet Dreams Are Made Of These NSFW

Sweet Dreams Are Made Of These
NSFW

A Bloggage
By
Alexander Gordon Jahans


Alfred Hitchcock said once that a bomb under a table exploding as a couple having dinner isn’t scary. Scary is when you know there’s a bomb under the table and you see the couple having their conversation then it explodes.

To fear you don’t just need disaster destroying normality, you need time asnd frustrated hope that maybe disaster could be avoided.

I was not afraid about the conservatives winning the election when a landslide was likely because I had no hope to be destroyed. 3 days from the election and I am so fucking scared I’m shaking. Never have I wanted quite so much to just stop existing. Not to die but just to skip the waiting because the tension is intolerable.

I am not scared of death. I do not give a shit about my own life any more. I have spent two years waiting for the last straw to snap and my fragile oasis of relative calm to be destroyed. In the last two years I have gained a nazi hate cult, accidentally insulted and alienated people I regarded as good friends, been threatened with eviction at christmas, witnessed tirade after tirade and ultimatum after ultimatum from my parents and seen more of the police than I have of my own friends.

Hell is a relative term and I know with sick certainty that my life might be seen as comparative heaven for some poor souls. None the less it has knocked the shit out of me. I don’t do drugs but my body is a strung out perpetually sticky, sweaty and smelly thing held together by caffeine, mints and over the counter pain meds. Every day feels like a struggle just to get up and get moving. Creaky joints and aching bones as pain and tiredness pulls at me.

Dying is easy, I tell myself. Painful if executed poorly sure but once it’s over. It’s over. I tell myself it could end. I tell myself I have a parachute, an escape hatch I can leave through. I tell myself this because my life right now is like being stuck at a party you don’t want to be at. It’s not your place so you have no control. There’s nowhere great to sleep, nothing much good to eat and you’re hanging on using what’s available to maintain your interest because you just don’t quite want to leave yet and enter the cold dark of the night walk home.

Death does not scare me and frankly my social life is an immolated mess, my job prospects are shit and my every online activity is hounded by the muted screeching of the nazi hordes. I have nothing left to lose - and I swear for the love of fuck that is not a challenge nazi trolls, your penises are all very lovely - I don’t care about terrorism. I don’t care about the possibility that one of my stalkers might decide to come and kill me because my life is already over as far as I am concerned. I just haven’t stopped moving yet.

Which brings me to Donald Trump. His fans are obsessed with me and honestly here’s the terrible thing. I understand it. I understand him. Donald Trump is like a frustrated boy going through puberty decided to write an Ayn Rand Superhero. Donald Trump is the Farsh-nuke if I had never got into sci fi. He has a child’s petulance and insistence that the world work for him. He has a child’s insistence that he can fix all the world’s problems because he can be the brutal pragmatist who gets the job done. So of course all the children pretending to be adults find solace in this bold hero who says what they want and sees what they see.

It’s like in Doctor Who, Moffat’s done this cute thing of making the Doctor President of the Earth in emergencies. This has echoes of the Romans having a special dictator to oversee resources in tense conflicts or even like how at the end of the first world war the allied powers eventually got one single coordinator to oversee the distribution of troops in the final days of the conflict. It also practically makes sense that after fifty years of being on TV the authorities of Earth just quietly step aside to let the great hero do his job.

It is also incredibly fucking stupid. I mean maybe I’m just biased from my perspective as a fan of the Seventh Doctor and the Virgin New Adventures. Tennant’s Doctor could be trusted with the Presidency of Earth because he wouldn’t want it but seven? The Seventh Doctor was the monster who thought monsters. The chessmaster across a thousand chessboards. He manipulated his friend’s boyfriend into becoming a suicide bomber against mushroom invaders, he destroyed a universe where humans and Silurians made peace out of fear and made deals with the Eternals.

Power is toxic. Power is dangerous. Yet you can’t do anything if you don’t have power. The danger of the Doctor is that he is so powerful and dangerous even when he doesn’t technically have any official power. He doesn’t carry a gun or a knife, he generally isn’t physically imposing, he generally doesn’t fight. He has special abilities but they aren’t even defensive so much as about surviving once he is attacked. He has a time machine but he doesn’t use it as a weapon. All he has is knowledge, charisma, deductive reasoning and the ability to improvise. The Doctor is a hobo alien with no money, no weapons, no equipment save a screwdriver and the seventh doesn’t even have that. Yet he defeats army after army by just acutely understanding the consequences of actions and how to set events moving in just the right way to achieve the ends he wants.

There is a definition of utilitarian morality that Star Trek embraces which is very ethical and loving. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few so the few will sacrifice to save the many. As my stalkers are at pains to point to me however (Ironically given where I learned about Utilitarian Morality) it also has a darker interpretation and can be taken to dangerous extremes. It’s fair enough to quote Utilitarian Morality as the reason to tax the rich or take out a suicide bomber about to detonate a bomb in a public place. the problem becomes where you stop that reasoning.

The Seventh Doctor was haunted by the realisation that one of the faces he could have had as the third Doctor was the same as the dictator in the alternate universe the third Doctor visited in Inferno. The Doctor knows he has the potential to destroy freedom in the name of ‘The Greater Good’. This is the danger of Donald Trump. This is the danger of fascism. The seductive temptation that if you just had a little more power you could solve all the world’s problems.

I think in the world of Doctor Who the reason the Doctor hasn’t deposed Trump is that he knows he would be worse because unlike Trump he would play the game, provide fair justifications and work behind the scenes to control politics without overtly doing much. Trump is a republican in charge of a republican dominated congress, senate and supreme court. If he was smart he could destroy freedom and oppress more thoroughly without seeming anything other than a standard neoliberal. He could milk that Caitlyn Jenner thing and be all “Let the trans people use bathrooms.” while enacting harsher vetting procedures for immigration and refugee status. If he was smart noone in the establishment would question him.

If you doubt that, remember that when Clinton ran against Obama her team spread racist propaganda to help her case yet now she is the darling we so nearly had because the sins are forgotten if you play the game. Trump’s madness stops him playing the game and it’s why his supporters are so rabid because to them he is a maverick hero playing against the system. Despite that this is why he’s so ineffectual.

As for me, I am powerless yet I feel such weight upon me. I have no ability to dictate where I live, no ability to increase the likelihood of it happenning. I am a passenger in the events deciding my own life. I have no say in what happens with Trump, Terrorism or really what happens to Britain after June the 8th. I cast my vote and hope, except I live in a Tory safe seat so I’m pissing into the wind.

All I can do is stay alive and hope I might be of some use later. I mean I do have this blog and youtube but again my stalkers are so insane I do more good not doing anything. If I tried to speak out against injustice maybe I might inspire some people or change some minds but one very real consequence is that my stalkers would get active again and very real harm risks being done to the people I care about. Heck, fuck me and my family, these nazi stalkers have taken up police time and we now know that the police are seriously underfunded and understaffed.

So I pull my punches, I withdraw from the world and I write in a desperate attempt to feel like I am doing something. Except that’s another problem. I have tried and tried but I just can’t not be influenced by my perspective as a white male English writer going through puberty in his twenties after I have been through phases of being feminist and anti-feminist. I am so driven by lust right now and I am very definitely aware that Wonder Woman has just come out, a woman is Prime Minister again (though hopefully not for long - Come on Corbyn) and we very nearly hade a woman President.

I am writing three series right now. One of them features the replacement for the Farsh-nuke Robert Gordon Banks taking on a nazi spacestation where a Trump expy aided by a Troll expy enlists the aid of the Bam-Kursh and the Farsh-nuke in developing a cure for trans people (and this time it is exactly as bad as that sounds and is meant to be. If not actually much worse in context. No journalists are harmed however.). The other was supposed to be a pseudo feminist tale of a woman setting up a multiversal media empire to hold the elder gods and various empires to account. It has since got bogged down by the female lead becoming addicted to seducing women and needing Tyler Durden to remind her of her submissive feminity so she doesn’t become the Farsh-nuke. The last is about the Bam-Kursh’s apprentice and it is just unapologetic wall to wall submissive women.

What I am saying is that if Hell exists I fully expect some lady demons to be waiting with red hot pokers and all kinds of penile torture instruments. This is why I’m also very much thinking up excuses not to finish any of the stories. Only pain awaits upon publishing. Only pain. Pain which frankly I deserve. Yet I can’t stop writing because I have all this time and I feel so powerless. My computer isn’t even that powerrful so it’s not like I can just play video games. And TV series are just so passive. I mean I walk while listening to podcasts but there are only so many podcasts and my body can only take so much.

So fuck it. Lets go one step further. Lets answer the one question I have never really done before. Fuck it, come June the 9th if Theresa May is still Prime Minister I may be dead. So lets answer why I find writing about submissive women so attractive.

The first thing you need to understand is that while there is a power to be kick to be gotten from simply imagining submissive women, it fades fast. It’s like playing your favourite video game on easy mode with all the cheats turned on. It gets very boring very quickly because it is so artificial and cheap. People say that if sex bots existed the human race would go extinct. That is bollocks because people get bored of sameness. I mean people get bored of long term relationships with real humans when humans are subject to change. Compared to the sex bots we are likely to see in the coming decades a human will always be infinitely more interesting and engaging. Heck in my multiverse toy girls primed for submissiveness and a desire to be dominated can be bought in shops. If all I cared about was cheap domination I could write story after story about different people buying toy girls and their lives being turned around.

It is cute when pretty girls want to be dominated and behave in passive stereotypically feminine ways. There is a certain amount of glee to be taken from the taboo of the white male nerd dominating a beautiful intelligent powerful young woman. The very guilt that makes me hate myself drives the eroticism of the fetish for me. Microphilia works as a fetish for me because it takes the powerful and turns them into a powerless pet or plaything. It’s nice to be on top. It’s nice to win. This much is obvious. It is sick, shameful and boringly predictable. Man takes pleasure in women suffering in news shocker. Well in fictional portrayals anyway.

Except it’s more complicated than that. I am fascinated with the idea of submissiveness as outsider driven by a central core of thought that states I must always have agency in my own life. I don’t want to just write the male’s perspective, I want to explore the female perspective. I am man. There are certasin things I just can’t do, I’m just not allowed to experiment with or admit to. Even in fiction. I have written many terrible things and if this nazi story ever sees the light of day you will see just how dark and fucked up I can go in my writing. Yet there are some things I am morally in favour of that my brain just won’t let me write, like a limiter chip preventing me expressing myself.

When I write a woman being submissive its like I can trick my brain around the limiter. I mean it’s still me as a man writing these things, exploring what it is to be a person in these situations, thinking these things, yet because I am a male writer presenting a woman through the male gaze my brain lets it go. No, it’s okay you can say this because your masculinity and sense of identity is secure. You’re just being a sexist prick but hey you’re a white male writer in the 21st century, you were that anyway so no harm, no foul.

I am a capitalist and I am a man. Masculinity is defined by doing stuff. The woman might be the trophy at the end of the adventure but the man has to save the day before he is worthy of her. Poor Aragon has to save middle earth from the dark lord before he can get married. Even when men are objectified we have to work so fucking hard to do so. We have to lift heavy shit, regulate our diets and go for run. Even when we are passive it is only because we are otherwise active. And of course capitalism puts a literal price on a man’s life and a man has to work justify his continuing existence.

I well you it is easier for me to fantasize about seducing a woman and taking her as my plaything as go on to build a harem than it is to imagine that someone might actually find me attractive and want to seduce me for me. I’d love to be a proper scifi writer focusing on my bullshit science, the tech, the character arcs and plot. I’d love to study popular science for the fun of it and I’d love to do all of this because I wasn’t held prisoner by fear, lust and the need to survive.

I want female empowerment and objectified men because I want to someday let myself fantasize about  -struggling with the limiter chip here - somebody deciding they like me for me and that they want to support me and help me while I get myself together because they - gag- love me. *retch*

Everything I write the submissive women in my fiction having are things I myself want. Immortality. Youth. Not minding, even enjoying pain. The ability to be useful. To be cute. To be sexually attractive. To not be a burden but a sound financial investment. To be happy. To have someone to take care of you, to make the decisions for you, to enjoy you. And yes even that off-switch. Perhaps especially that off switch. I mean bikinis aren’t my style but you get my point.

I have spent my whole life having to figure shit out for myself because my dad was a terrifying emotionally stunted provider of money (he’s gotten better lately) and my mother was an arrogant clueless drain on my time and energy (no comment). I so always have to do anything that after I was bleakly honest in a facebook post and my family freaked out I had to invent bullshit jobs for my family to do so they’d feel like they were helping and quit adding unnecessary and unhelpful stress.

The worst thing is the shite hole I am in now is one I can’t see a way to escape. Maybe if Corbyn gets elected I can move out into council housing and live a good life but honestly I’ve spent the last two years thinking up solutions and I don’t think logistically there is one. I need a hero. I need a knight in shining armour to rescue me from this precarious and dangerous situation. Except I don’t believe in heroes, just selfish greedy people doing good things for their own reasons. So if my hero is going to save me it is going to be because I offer them something, because I add value which exceeds the financial, emotional and time burden I put upon them. I don’t honestly see that I have anything capable of providing said value. I mean I’m an ugly rude fucker with a shite reputation, no job prospects and a hate cult on my arse.

So I write about pretty girls getting plucked off the street like an apple from a tree because at least I can understand why someone would want to take the pretty girl home and financially support them. Heck even being shrunken cage sylph like in The Shrinkening feels like a step up. At least then there’d be stability and security.

I am free yet I am vulnerable and powerless. I am scared, tired and in pain with no stability or security just an insistence that I somehow survive and keep on as civilisation seems to fall about my ears.

Now If you’ll excuse me I’m going to watch Bakes 7 series 2. I really love the character of Avon. Ascerbic, cynical, selfish, greedy, smart yet loyal enough and brave. Also a genius with computers. I do love a man that has me wondering whether I want to be him or be with him.