Dream: I'm wresting Valerie Trierweiler in a paddling pool filled with blancmange. She gasps as she struggles to pin me. I keep saying 'you've met your match this time m'lady'. Not sure of meaning. Woke up hungry. Made rasher sandwiches.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
There's a feeling the majority of us have experienced but never talk about. It's a strange feeling. A slow motion feeling. It's that feeling you get as the roller coaster tips over the brink. It's that feeling you get when you've lost control of the car and a truck approaches. It's that feeling you get when the noose is around your neck and the trapdoor opens beneath your feet. It's that feeling you get when the guillotine drops and you've just beheaded the king. It's that feeling you get as a clenched fist approaches your face. It's that feeling you get when the beach falls silent and the tsunami looms. It's that feeling you get just as a mad dog sinks its teeth into your arse. It's that feeling you get when the firstborn's head is pushed through. It's that feeling you get the instant you realise you've 'followed through'. It's that feeling you get when the sophisticated and elegant love of your life unexpectedly enters a room just as you're doing your Macho Man Randy Savage impersonation.
You know that feeling?
It's a feeling. It's just a feeling, a sensation. You don't think during it. You just feel. If you did think something while you had this feeling it would probably be something like 'HOLY... JAYSUS... MAC... FUCK!' but you don't think while you have this feeling. You just accept. You just slip into a pocket slow motion dimension and await your fate.
Sometimes it happens to a lot of us at once. These times are considered historic. After the fact, everyone explains what they were thinking at the time ('well, when we opened Enola Gay's bomb bay doors and dropped Little Boy, I immediately thought...') but it's all bullshit because you don't think anything. You just get that feeling.
You never forget this feeling. It's the feeling that accompanies dramatic change. It's the feeling that accompanies the biggest turning points in your life. It's the feeling you get when the adrenal glands override the frontal lobe and tell it to 'shut the fuck up a second'.
This feeling is felt by us all and if you haven't felt it yet, well, you will. It's more probable that you already have felt this feeling though. Maybe you felt it recently. Maybe you felt it earlier in the week or just today. Maybe you remember it from long ago. We'll all get this feeling again. It's probably the last thing we'll ever feel. I'd be willing to bet a heap of cash that it's the last thing we ever feel but if I had proof I'd be in no position to collect my winnings.
I wonder when we'll get this feeling next. I wonder if it will be soon. I wonder will it be in an hour or less than hour or over the weekend. I wonder, could it be that Saturday feeling?
Sunday, September 23, 2012
(pictured: one man protest outside my gaff)
My mate Jimmy is pretty smart. He's read most of The God Delusion and posts regularly on politics.ie. He's a real thinker and cares about stuff and that. 'Let's do our bit for the principle of freedom of speech and draw Mohammad in risqué situations', he said and took out a load of paper and crayons. We set to work. Jimmy drew Mohammad doing all sorts. It was pretty outrageous stuff. I won't go into details in case I'm dragged from my flat and barbecued by a bunch of fanatics. I'm sure you understand. It would be pretty dumb of me.
After a while, Jimmy took a look at the pictures I had drawn. 'Is that meant to be Mohammad?' he asked.
'No' I answered.
“Who is it then?'
'It's your mam.'
'Really? And who's that with her?'
'That's your dad.'
'And... and what are they doing?'
'Well, your mam there is taking a dump in your dad's gob.'
Jimmy said nothing so I continued.
'And you see that thing there? Well that's a donkey and it's got a big micky and it's...'
I noticed the expression on Jimmy's face. He looked kind of bewildered at first and then he looked hurt. Then he looked angry and then he punched me in the face. I immediately called the gardai and had him arrested. Then I scanned the images of his parents and the donkey and all that and put them up on a site called jimmysmamanddaddofreedomofspeech.com. I continue to update the site with new drawings.
I find the exercise to be both constructive and worthwhile. I am exploring the principle of freedom of speech and how it should be exercised, i.e. wantonly and without regard for potential consequences. There should be no consequences. Ever! A principle is a principle and that is that. Where would we be without our principles? The fact that my drawings of Jimmy's mam and dad are neither amusing nor illuminating in any way is beside the point because the point is that I enjoy doing them. I enjoy drawing them, I enjoy seeing the expression on Jimmy's face when he sees them, and I enjoy seeing him spend a few hours in the cells after he punches me in the face. I will continue drawing Jimmy's mam and dad doing all sorts of mad things with donkeys, badgers, cats, and patio furniture etc. and I will continue putting these pictures online until Jimmy realises that I have a right to express myself.
The main appeal in upholding this principle is that it makes me feel superior and gives me something to talk about. What else is freedom of speech for? Why else would I bother with principles?
Sunday, September 16, 2012
After writing the previous post I got to thinking; we should rebel against the Observer Effect (explanation: once observed, a wave function transforms into teeny weeny particles that combine to make up our universe – Why? Who knows?). It’s high time the mystifying tyranny of quantum physics was resisted. For too long this subatomic dictator has kept us in the dark as to the workings of our reality. We are the ones who have to inhabit reality so I think it only fair that quantum physics give us some answers. All we know is that for something to exist it must be observed. Well, let’s use that paltry knowledge to strike back.
‘But how Mr Fugger’, I hear you whinge in a high-pitched and frankly pansy-like way. I’ll tell you how. If the principle is that things must be observed to exist then let’s start observing things that don’t exist. Example – say you don’t have a car. Well, tomorrow I want you to leave your home, pretend to open a car door, pretend to put a key in an ignition, put your hands on an imaginary steering wheel, make a car-like noise (like ‘nuuuurrrrr’ or something) and drive to work. Sure, you’ll look like a total fuckin’ eejit but it’ll be one in the eye for the quantum bastard. You’ll be breaking the only law of this befuddling reality that we can get a purchase on. Quantum physics has been confounding us since we first discovered it. Let’s have our revenge. Let’s drive imaginary cars. You might feel a fool but soon everyone will get in on it and we’ll all be nuuuurrrrring up and down the road in non-existent cars. We’ll even be nicking these cars from each other and reporting it to the police who’ll pursue the culprits in equally unreal automobiles (whilst roaring ‘mee maw, mee maw’). The subatomic world won’t know what to do with itself. We’ll show it that we can play silly buggers too. Maybe then it’ll start yielding some answers and show us the way out of the existential maze it has us all lost in. You’ll be able to have any type of car you like too and not just the banger you drive around in now.
It won’t stop there of course. We’ll be adding imaginary extensions to our houses. Dropping imaginary kids off to imaginary schools before going to an imaginary gym and then doing an imaginary day’s work. We’ll walk imaginary dogs. We’ll watch movies that were never made. We’ll read books that no one thought to write. We’ll sunbathe in the rain, swim on the sand, and build sandcastles in the sea.
‘Mmmm, this ice cream is delicious.’
‘Really, what flavour is it?’
‘Whatever damn flavour I want it to be.’
Just think of the liberation. We’ll all be Gods! Personally, I’m going to build a rocket out of nothing and head off to the outer reaches of nowhere. Fwoosh!
Now, some might argue that we already have the power to make the non-existent real. These people might say, for example, that if we get the idea that we want a nice car we can design one and build it or that we can save the money for it and, hey presto, there it is. These people might say that reality is made from ideas and that ideas come from nothing. These people might say the quantum deal is a pretty sweet one. These people might argue that my proposal lacks pragmatism and that you can’t treat people in imaginary hospitals or go to sea in an imaginary boat. But these people, (and by ‘these people’ I of course mean The Mother and her insufferably argumentative nature) are appeasers. These people are willing to hone the expertise and do the labour required to make something out of nothing but that is just willing slavery to my eyes. These people (a.k.a. The Mother) are willing to endlessly toil in the quantum mystery order as long as it awards them petty material compensations and a certain sense of stability but I say ‘No!’ I say: ‘No, The Mother, this is inequality and it will not stand.’ That’s what I said to The Mother yesterday as she made the Sunday dinner. Then she put an empty plate in front of me. ‘And what do you call this?’ I asked her, hungry as I was. ‘Whatever you like’, she said, all smart, and then she wandered off to the other room to watch an episode of Midsomer Murders that had actually been made - as opposed to 'made up'. Outraged, I stormed out of the house and drove off in my imaginary car. Nuuuurrrrr.
A funny thing happened though; I ran out of non-existent petrol and broke down on an imaginary motorway. I tried to ring the imaginary services on my make believe mobile but the bloody thing was out of pretend credit. I had to sleep the night in the imaginary car. No matter how many imaginary blankets I pulled over myself, it was bleedin’ freezing and I caught a non-existent cold. I should have known something like that would happen. I always did have a bad imagination. Brrrrr.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
When observed, quantum waves collapse and become the particles that make up reality. By being observed, things become real. The answer to the question - 'if a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it does it make a sound?' - is 'nope'. For something to exist, another existing thing has to know it exists. To exist you have to be observed. 'Esse est percipi.' Bishop Berkeley said it, the Australian Aborigines always knew it, and now the rest of us are beginning to understand it. I think it's all got something to do with this: (ψ = Σanψn).
OK, you got that? I've made it real simple for you because you're real simple. You understand? Good. Even if you don't understand, don't worry because I probably have it wrong anyway. If you do understand then don't worry if I have it wrong because either way you're none the wiser so it doesn't really matter.
Anyway, this brings me to Alan. Alan was born to a reclusive single mother in a remote barren quarry where the two lived out their whole lives. Alan's mother survived by trekking daily to the nearest Lidl, which was ages away, and coming back with food and supplies for herself and her son. Don't bother asking why she chose to live like that because no one knows the answer, just like no one knows the answer to why you choose to live the way you do. You don't even know the answer to that one yourself.
So, Alan's mother never told anyone she had a son and she was the only thing that knew he existed. That was fine but one day she died leaving Alan with nothing remotely sentient to vouch for his presence in reality. The fact that he could observe himself wasn't enough to help him and he gradually faded away. His eyes faded away first so he didn't even get to see his hands and limbs and torso vanish. The last thing to go was his mouth. It issued a scream, a horrifying shriek of sheer fear, that no one and no thing ever heard because, in a way, it never happened.
You might consider it sad about Alan but don't. From what I hear from those who never knew he existed, he was a bit of a dick. I can't say the same for my Uncle Stan though. He was quite a nice fella but very boring. He'd just sit in the corner mumbling about some boring topic like rhubarb distribution in late nineteenth century Prussia or what he had for breakfast that morning and how long it took him to make it. Stan was so boring everyone stopped listening to him and gradually forgot he was there, including his wife and parents and even his kids. Stan faded away as if he never existed, just like Alan. No one was the wiser and no one shed a tear as he mumbled his disbelief and slowly faded from existence, just like a radio station vanishes as you turn the dial. One second the DJ is talking inane shite about this and that and the next second the fucker is gone as if he was never there at all.
The same will eventually happen to the rest of us. We live a while and then die but continue to exist as memories but then, over generations, we are forgotten and, over billions of years, any evidence left of us erodes and crumbles to less than atoms and then these less than atoms cease to be when the Universe finally pops out of existence. It'll be as if none of us were ever here because there won't even be a 'here'. Are you horrified? Do you feel like screaming as Alan did? I don't. I actually find the thought comforting. Especially when I consider the fool I made of myself in front of everyone when I got drunk the other night. The thought of those events being utterly erased from existence suits me fine.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
I preferred it back in the old days. You'd see some wonky lad and help him up a few steps, pretend you understood what he was saying and told him 'you're some character all together' and then you'd get the fuck out of there before he tried to make more conversation. You might raise some money for a Blue Peter appeal too, y'know, or buy a copy of Under the Eye of the Clock and put it on a prominent position on the bookshelf. You did your bit and that was all grand. I was comfortable with that but it's different now.
Have you seen the disabled recently? I was watching the Paralympics and they're all hydraulics and laser vision. They're like a bunch of superheroes. Terminators even. I think we've been helping this lot out a bit too much. I mean, why should we provide bus passes to people that can run faster than the bus? Enough is enough eh? Did you see Hawking at the opening ceremony? I was thinking, what if he teams up with the rest of the disabled and they invent a load of stuff that helps them teleport and communicate telepathically and shoot fireballs out their mouths and all that? Now, I'm not saying this is going to happen but just imagine if it did. Imagine if they used their powers to bully benefits out of the government. It's already started. Take that dodgy bunch that were parked outside the Dail during the week. It was like the Daleks. There'll be no money left for the rest of us if we let this continue.
As it is, the disabled are surpassing us. Soon it'll be them doling out the allowances and rounding us up and taking us to enjoy special activities. 'Oh you unfortunate creature, were you only born with normal fleshy boney legs and not bionic shiny chrome ones. Ah, here, get into the van and we'll take you to the zoo.' Soon it'll be us that'll be having trouble getting into the cinema and around the shops. They'll be leaping up and grabbing stuff off the top of super high shelves and we'll be left having to apply for special ladders.
Ayn Rand was right, it all started with the kneeling bus. Unlike in the good old days of 2000, the Sunday Independent was negligent in not having a pop at the disabled (a.k.a. the cyborgs of death) during the chilling display of power at the recent games. Whereas many look at the Paralympics and see humanity's triumph over adversity, what I see is a bunch of semi-human death-bots leaping high into the sky and zooming around tracks, saying, implicitly, by way of their actions, 'we're coming to get you norms!'
There is only one way to fight back against this impending subjugation and that is cutbacks. It's time for the government to stop capitulating. Let's cutback on the benefits awarded to these would be semi-prosthetic tyrants and put things back in our favour. If the disabled want something from us they can get it the old fashioned way, by getting on telly and making us feel awkward until we cough up whatever it is they need in the hopes they'll go away. That's the way it always was and the way it should be. Believe me, it's infinitely preferable to the threat of fireball blast from the gob.
To be perfectly honest, I wouldn't really mind all that much but have you noticed how some of them are a bit on the sexy side these days? That just makes me feel uncomfortable. I don't like being made uncomfortable. That's just wrong. Let's see how sexy they are after a few austere cutbacks eh? That'll show them. Fuckin Robo-rides.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
I’m going to give a lecture. I hope you’re seated comfortably because I am going to give a lecture right now. A lecture that will change the way you think. A lecture that will be of tremendous benefit, life changing benefit, to you and everyone else on this planet. It is fair to say that the lecture you are about to hear will bring about a new paradigm in human experience. Excited? You should be. Now, to begin… ahem.
Since the dawn of humanity… hold on, sorry the power point has gone a bit wonky. Now, let’s see. OK, OK, I think that’s it. Right. We’re set. I’ll start again. Since the daw… No, that’s not it. It shouldn’t be showing that. Just bear with me a moment and… now let’s see what’s happening here. Hmm. OK. OK, that’s not the solution. Perhaps if I …no. This always happens. Sorry about this. I usually sort it out. If I can just remember …hmm. Hmmmm. Does anyone know where Clive went? He’s very good with these contraptions. Clive? Clive, are you still here? No. No, he seems to have gone. Well, I’ll just soldier on and see if I can fix it myself eh? Heh heh. Yes. Soldier on. Now, let’s see. Hmm. Oh no. Oh damn it. Damn it to Hell. Why does this always happen with these things? What was the matter with the overhead projector or slides, blackboards even? Who thought these power point things were a good idea? Clive? CLIVE! CLIVE! For God’s sake, they invite me out and… look forget it. We’ll do the lecture without the visuals. Right. Right so, let’s get started. Ahem, since the daw… damn. I can’t do this. I’ve prepared the whole talk around the bloody pictures. CLIVE! CLIVE! For God’s sake why did he wander off like that? I swear to God that man is the most… I mean really. I mean bloody hell, I’m trying to change the world for the better here, you’d think fate or God or whatever it is would cut me some slack. Oh forget it. Forget the bloody power point. Look, I take it everyone is familiar with my work so we’ll do a Q and A instead. How about that? Is everyone familiar with my work to date? No? None of you? None of you are familiar with my work? Really? Seriously? Well, what are you… I mean, why are you here? Is this some kind of joke? Christ. This is worse than that Bioenergetics Conference at the University of Freiburg. At least the power point worked for a few minutes at that. Clive wasn’t around to help me then either. Too busy shagging some empty headed postgrad behind his wife’s back I’d expect. Have you met Clive’s wife? Annabel. Lovely woman. Don’t know how she puts up with him. Anyway, I think we’ll forget about this talk. We’ll just call it quits will we? I badly need a drink at this stage and, to be perfectly honest, I really couldn’t give a damn if your lives change for the better or not. I really couldn’t give a shit. I’ll keep my knowledge for those who could be bothered to read my books or at least check out my ideas online. I mean, it doesn’t require a monstrous amount of curiosity to Google a man’s name does it? No. No it fuckin doesn’t. So, I’ll keep my paradigm shifting revelations to myself and you lot can remain unenlightened and sit here waiting for fucking Clive to come back so you can watch me stick this power point piece of crap right up his fucking hole. How does that sound? How’s that for a new paradigm in human experience?
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Do you hear the salty briney bastard grinding its teeth? All day and all through the night. For as long as there has been a world. Churning and fooshing. Splashing. Spurting. Squirting. Loads of it. Massive amounts of it. Imagine lying at the bottom of it. Imagine it sitting on your chest. Crushing your ribs and denying you breath. A soundless death in the soundless depths.You wouldn't fuck with it. The scrotumtightening assassin. The snotgreen murderer. It'll kill ya! It was once a friend of mine. It played with me when I was a child. Lifting me in its swells and gently putting me back down again. But then I found the dog, drowned, circled by flies, wrapped in seaweed like ribbons and bows on a parcel. A sick gift. Spat up and left on the wet sand with a gurgling snigger. Why would the sea do such a thing? 'What are you going to do about it?' said the sea to me and I shrugged. The sea does what it likes. The sea is proper gangsta. The sea kicks the shit out the land and exhausted shelves collapse into it. Pwned! The sea is a tough nut, a hard chaw, a total knacker. The sea is hungry and never stops eating. It'll clean the plate - the continental plates, licked clean. Sometimes you can hear the fucker belch. Humanity crawled out from the sea on its pitiful belly and humanity will get eaten by the sea and left belly up. We'll all be soaking again soon, floated and bloated, drifting dead amongst the remains of our world. A big human stew stirred by the currents and pecked by gulls. And it won't be revenge for our folly, it will just be. The sea will decide that our time is up and we'll see it standing up, on the horizon, and rushing forward, silent at first, then hissing like static, then roaring like a monster army, charging onto the earth. It'll put this planet in its great wet blue grey green belly. It used provide us with fish suppers but soon it'll have us all for dinner.
'Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, so do our minutes hasten to their end.'
'Claimed by the sea and it was always going to be.'