Search This Blog

Tuesday, 1 August 2017

Survival bloggage nsfw

Survival

By
Alexander Gordon Jahans

So there’s people looking round the house as Universal Credit happens and Nine Worlds Geek Fest happens not long after. I am knackered. Held together by mints, diet coke and fantasies of submissive girls.

Kallman’s Syndrome, Growth Hormone Deficiency, Sleep Apoenia, Autism, Piles, Cataracts, Millenial Angst and now I’m on a diet while dealing with the stress of a house move, my abusive father and those loyal to him and Universal Credit. Oh and because I am currently writing a story featuring a Non-Binary Elder God and their Trans Woman companion my brain is just torturing me.

Nazis are fine. They are dangerous and scary and I feel such disgusting hatred but they don’t get you in the head. If a monster who is clearly drenched in darkness says horrible things about you it’s like so what? The evil shit thinks I’m evil. Who cares.

Feminists and trans people thought. They are right and strong and they deserve protection, support and victory but what they say burns. It motherfucking burns and corrodes away at your psyche. Though maybe that’s just me raging at myself and using that as an excuse. Like I can’t tear into myself over what the nazis say because if the nazis said water is wet I’d have to double check that. They’re fucking nazis but with a feminist, with a trans person the opposite is also true.

“God is real and he hates you. Also Lucifer knows you’re coming and he’s preparing a buttplug razor blades, lemon juice and disease iunfested fish guts. You are the secret aborted insane sun of Donald Trump and actually an evil being made of hate and shit. Your pathetic excuse for a cock is actually a cancerous growth and your consciousness is actually a virulent parasite developed by the men in black to take care the truly evil. You are a too with no agency built to suffer and die.”

“Well okay then I guess I bewetter consider that as valid criticism.

Don’t get me wrong no feminist has ever been as shitty as my own self destructive and self loathing instincts but the point is they don’t need to.

One phrase that someone said once still burns with me though because I never got to hear them specifically clarify it “... It’s not just the writing...” Understand that nothing  they actually said could ever be as bad as planting that seed and never clarifying. No truthful bitter account that burns, not eful sadistic rant I disagreed with, nothing could ever fuck me up as bad as such profound hatred over my writing but then ‘Oh, not just that...’

It’s like in my mind that they have become elevated to some great seer ‘And lo in the year 2049 you shall do the bad thing and for that you will be satan’s personal plaything for all eternity’

And here I am ranting about being criticised. Because if one thing encourages people to actually explain their criticisms it’s when a crazy guy on the internet rants about criticism that was given.

I’m sorry.

I’m just tired. Perpetually tired and now hangry as well.

Except I’ve now reached this weird almost religious revelation. The universe will never actually let me die because death would be a mercy so instead it gives me just enough hope, escapism and support to keep me clinging on in the darkest moments and then it tortures me for pleasure. As much pain and annoyance as it’s possible to get without sending me over the edge.

Bizarrely, I feel like this explains why things are actually maybe starting to look up. Nine Worlds Geek Fest, beginning to sell the house, universal credit maybe not being a complete trash fire, even the coming impeachment of Trump and the approaching Corbyn government. All these things feel like the universe compensating for the fact that I am physically so much weaker and psychologically so much more ready to chuck everything in. It’s the torturer letting you have a nice bath and a good meal because you nearly died during the last session and they need you scared and in pain, not a gibbering wreck.

I mean I don’t actually consider it to be true but I know sod’s law is a load of horseshit, doesn’t stop me believing in it and acting like it’s real on the basis of anecdotal evidence. There are reasons I don’t believe in summer or winter clothing, why I always dress the same no matter the weather.

I do have hope. I do think that with time the house might be sold and this particular purgatory might be at an end. That I might have a lock between me and dad which he won’t have a key to. That sooner or later the conservatives have to go. That Trump has to go. Apart from anything else, even as my magnum opus, as a collection of short stories I keep adding to, I am slowly finishing this beast I am calling Alpha Warriors.

I am tired, I am in pain but I will not die, the universe won’t allow that mercy. I will get my writing finished. I will proofread it. I will publish it. Absolutely noone will care but it will be done.

Before I go I leave you on this thought.

The tardis can’t go back to New York but Clara has a different Tardis. It is my personal headcanon that Amy and Clara went travelling together (and totally had an affair, maybe Rory was aware and involved)

Oh and I have nearly finished watching Blakes 7. It’s a great, if at times wildly problematic, series. And when the guy who writes vore, and tears himself to pieces wondering what feminists think of him, considers a series to be problematic that is a serious thing to consider. That said Avon is a badass and I love him. I now want to imagine him travelling with Amy, Clara and Mad Mikkelson’s Hannibal for reasons. (they are all insanely attractive and charismatic actors and characters)