He Was Twenty Three

He logged off from his PC.
He put on his jacket.
That was it. Done. The week. The piper had been paid, now he got to choose the tunes.

By the time he got to the wine bar everybody else was already there. He wouldn't be there long. Long enough to have a couple of pints, long enough for anybody needing pills for the evening to ask him, long enough for him to pass them under the table and receive the notes in return. Long enough to flirt shamelessly with the pretty Asian girls, long enough to flirt in another way with the management.

By the time he got back to his flat he'd already had two pints of bitter and one Mitsubishi.
He sat in the living room and put Heaven 17's 'Penthouse and Pavement' on the stereo. He rolled a joint and smoked it. It was eight o'clock. Plenty of time.



He got himself a quick microwave meal and then popped another Mitsubishi before jumping in the shower. He then returned to the living room in his dressing gown and smoked another joint, whilst his hair dried sufficiently for it to be the exact degree of wetness he wanted it before he styled it.

He dried himself and went to his bedroom, where he applied Lynx Atlantis heavily. He then put on a black T-shirt and tight black trousers which literally clasped his legs and his behind. He returned to the bathroom and started on his face.

He shaved, once for function, twice for perfection, then moisturised. He then flattened the back and sides of his hair and applied a slight layer of gel. He ruffed up the hair on top of the head and added curl boosting gel. He then spent ten minutes sculpting the curls. Once he was satisfied with the result, he sprayed it with L'oreal long lasting grip hairspray. Next he applied a hint of black eye shadow under his eyes.
He then returned to the living room, rolled another joint and cut a line of Cocaine. He left these to wait for him as he applied blue nail varnish to his nails.

He put Reactivate 15 on the stereo and returned to the coffee table where he inhaled the line of Cocaine and smoked the joint. Whilst he gathered up his keys and checked the messages on his phone the last track he listened to before he left was 'Duran Duran- This is Planet Earth'.

As he bounced out in to the street, he felt good. The night was going to be beautiful. It was Friday night. Friday night was what life was all about.

He got onto the number fifteen bus. As always, his heart was racing. It was partly the pills, but his heart always raced, he always had that nervous feeling of excitement. Friday night. This was what he lived for. He sat there on the bus, playing with his curls, feeling pretty, feeling content. Every day might be mundane and pointless, but not the immediate future. Not the time he was about to enter.

He did not have to queue. He had a ticket, as he always did. No queueing and more importantly no being searched.

As he passed through the doors he recognised people he knew. He clasped the hands of bouncers he recognised, ran his hands along the backs of girls he knew and strutted towards the bar, his shoulders swinging. He landed his elbows on the bar, a twenty pound note already in his hand 'Double vodka and red bull', he positively purred.

He went to sit down in one of the alcoves and checked his phone to see who else was coming out. He popped another Mitsubishi and added a little base to give him stamina for the night ahead.

Once he had finished his drink he approached the dance floor...

That was where he would be now for the next six hours. He would always be there, right in front of the DJ booth, like a worshipper, a devotee to the cult of Trance Music, taking periodical breaks every hour or so to rehydrate, pop another pill and- anything else that showed up.

This was paradise. If he could have lived every moment of his life in this world, he would have done.
Here he was free, here he was alive.



Dancing in front of the booth is an art. If you are to hold your spot, you have to be good. If you're not other males will try take your position. If you are, of course, no other male will dance near you unless you tacitly give permission, but you'll have the women surrounding you on every side.

Dancing in a dance club is about remembering the basic rules. Your feet must hardly move. They must essentially stay within a box a foot square. The better the dancer, the less their feet need to move. A good dancer can rotate totally on the ball of one foot at will. Dance music is all about use of the arms. But it's about more than 'Big fish, little fish, put it in a box'. It's about impassioned submersion into the rhythm, disappearing into the track and becoming part of the bassline, using your arms to express the sounds that weave round that bassline.

A really good dancer can leave the floor and know that when he returns, people will move to let him return to where he was dancing before.
He had acquired that right.

It was about half one when he noticed her. She was black, nice body, off her face. And that was all that mattered. He reached out to grab her hand and they danced in hand for ten minutes or so before he asked her if she wanted to join him for a bottle of water.
Ten minutes after that they were in the cubicles doing a line of Coke together. Two minutes after that they were fucking. Ten minutes later again they were back on the dancefloor. They parted.



He had asked her name, he'd forgotten it.

At various times he bumped into friends and shook their hands. It was understood on both sides that he was essentially incommunicado till the club shut. Friends time would be later.

Because now was that heavenly feeling of Euphoria, the rush of six or seven Ecstasy tablets, half a gramme of base and several lines of Cocaine, the heavenly sound that only Trance music can provide, the resonance it created in his very being, the psychedelic flashing of the strobe lighting, this, this was the true out of body experience he lived for.

Nothing else mattered.

He would shut his eyes and feel the wave rush through him, powered by the rhythm and the chemicals.

He was twenty three. He was at his prime. He was never as pretty as he was then, never so complete as he was in these moments, for all the synthetic designer hedonism, at once tainted and corrupt, yet also shining in innocent naivety, he was pretty, he was boyish, he had the figure of an elf child and the hair to match. And though his eyes had a sad tint in them, they yet sparkled with a desire to live, to love, to seek happiness and pleasure in defiance of the consequences. And he had not yet lost that game.



There was a tinge of sadness at six AM when he shuffled through the doors in to the morning sunlight, his leather jacket slung over his shoulder, a bottle of water in his hand, his face running with a mixture of sweat and hairgel.

He got into the car with his mates and they drove back to his flat, the music pounding. Once there they settled in the living room with cups of tea and joints as they listened once more to the exact sounds they had heard playing all night. And they talked and laughed and did the sort of spaced out things that people do after a hard days work and a hard nights drug taking and dancing. And at times he wondered if he shouldn't have brought a girl back.

After they'd gone he sat in the living room alone. He made a fresh cup of tea and put 'Violator' on. He always did this to end the evening, though it was now ten AM. He chain smoked joints till he felt the cannabis counteracting the chemicals.

Now he felt alone, truly alone. And he wondered if this really was all there was.
Because it was great it really was. But he was still sitting there at ten AM, alone. Truly alone. Was this it? Was this his sole purpose in life? Sitting at ten AM on a Saturday morning with a migraine coming on staring at an ashtray full to the brim with the ends of joints?

The phone began to ring. 'Riders on the Storm'. That meant his Mum. He ignored it. Once it stopped ringing, he switched it off and reached for the remote. Switching the stereo off he reflected that it may well be all there was, but it was still good.

He took the remainder of his joint and the ashtray with him into the bedroom. He threw off his clothes, just letting them fall to the floor. He was too physically exhausted and his limbs were starting to stiffen as the magical lubrication of the pills wore off. He clambered into the bed and lay there, his hand holding the joint over the ashtray on the bedside table.

In his head De Donatis played 'The Sound' whilst the gates of Mordor opened and the dark armies charged against the host of Gondor.
And he felt the limbs of the black girl from the club entwining round him and her breath against his face as her nails tore into the back of his neck.

He curled up in the foetal position. It was cold and he felt lonely. He wanted someone there and there wasn't.

He slowly passed into oblivion.

He was twenty three and this was his typical Friday night.

He was me.

Life On The Stars- Part One; Ruby Alpha Prima

This post commences the second mini-series, a series which should be seen as a sequel to the four part 'Life On Mars' series.

It is set on one of the mobile colonies described in the last post of that series.

This series takes place along way away from Sol. For those who don't know what or where Sol is, it's here. Sol is- as you might see as obvious if you think about- the astronomical name for THIS star, the one we orbit. But we rarely use it today. After all, it's different to all the others. It doesn't need a name. There is The Sun. And stars.
Of those other stars, a few have names. Names given them largely by Arabic astronomers and bearing names like 'Aldeboran' and 'Rigil'.
But in fact, most stars don't have names, not names recognised by the IAU anyway. Most of them simply have catalogue titles.

So in fact, few of our nearest neighbours in fact have a name at all.

However, there are numerous companies out there offering you the chance to pay a fee and have a star named after a loved one. Now as it stands, this counts for nothing in reality. These companies are not legal bodies. Indeed the naming of stars is, generally considered the prerogative of the IAU.

And the premise of this series, is that it describes the first mobile colony to reach the star we would now call Gliese 876. Gliese 876 is actually quite an important star- although not important in the night sky. It's important because it only 15 light years away and we know it has a planetary system like ours. We call it Gliese 876, because it is the 876th star listed in the Gliese catalogue of stars. There are a couple of thousand stars which are simply known by the designation 'Gliese' and then a number.

But I'm postulating that when the first mobile colony propelled in that direction is fired forth from Sol, those who go will not be calling their destination Gliese 876.

So, in this future launch date of 2250, all the stars that have been chosen as final destinations for the Mobile colonies, bear names. And I'm guessing that maybe those gullible people who paid money to name stars after loved ones in catalogues that had no technical standing might turn out not to be losers after all.

In this series, Gliese 876 carries the first name it was given by a human being, as humanity has now decided should be fair.
And in this series, that happened to be Ruby.

And every year, Sol sends out a mobile colony to Ruby. Every year it also sends one out to Elvis, Joanna, Nikki, Kylie Minogue and about fifty stars all bearing very typical twentieth and twenty first century names of celebrities and loved ones.

And each mobile colony is practically a self contained world within its own right.

Ruby Alpha Prima was the first to go, and will be the first to reach it's destination. At the time this series commences, 2546 AD, it is five years away from reaching its destination. It has the shortest journey of the mobile colonies. It will have taken just three centuries to reach it's final destination.

It was followed, a year behind by Ruby Alpha Seconda, then Ruby Alpha Tertia, Ruby Alpha Quaterna, and so on. Indeed, it is five years from it's destination, but even now a mobile colony leaves Earth in that direction. A line of mobile colonies on their way to Ruby, stretches across space between Sol and the star we today call Gliese 876.
And of course, for each of the other fifty chosen stars, the same is so. Only Joanna Alpha Prima is still a hundred and fifty years away, others further yet.



Not all mobile colonies have survived. Ruby Alpha Prima has radio contact with Sol still, but also with the other mobile colonies. Some mobile colonies have imploded, the pressures of two many people living so long in closed conditions has created unstable societies which have destroyed themselves. Gone is Ruby Alpha Tertia, and others too.

But as time has progressed, the wastage has decreased. The mobile colonies which have survived are those which have been able to work out a way for a hundred million people to live, feed and breed inside a mobile rock the diameter of Wales.

Because live has changed for the people of Ruby Alpha Prima.

The first generation knew they would never see the end of the road. They were a representative sample of the people of Sol, a cross section of belief systems, of tastes, of ideals, of skills. They knew that they could not mourn their home star, they'd never see it in the flesh again, nor would they in their lives EVER be in orbit round a star again. But they still relished the daily broadcast received from Sol, still sent recently enough for them to know when they received it that it was up to date. They still sent messages home to friends they knew, still looked at the holographic images of the worlds of Sol and saw a life they knew. And in their minds that was what they were taking with them to Ruby.

For the second generation, it was different. Sol remained the largest star in the sky, it remained large in the stories they had grown up with, they knew it existed and they knew of it as a reality they had never experienced, but they learned heir life from those who had. And the news from Sol was still an important part of their lives.

But as the generations passed by, that changed. Eventually generations were reached who no longer asked Sol what to do when they encountered a problem. Why would they they were the sons of sons of sons of mobile colony dwellers. Who was likely to know the answer, them or Sol?

And why wait the years it would take to get an answer from Sol?
The broadcasts from Sol depicted a culture alien to them. A culture that made a certain sense to them from their knowledge of history, but still, Sol both past and present wasn't a culture they recognised. Not a culture they quite felt they'd belong in.
Their nearest neighbour was after all, another mobile colony.

And so each mobile colony essentially existed as a place in a thread, the culture diverging between Sol and Ruby Alpha Prima like a cultural game of Chinese Whispers.

These were the middle generations. These generations were the generations who never thought what it would be like to walk on a planet, not in reality. The mobile colony was their home.
And the final destination assumed a kind of religious significance. It was the goal, the point of life. Not your own life, but life generally.
And one day a generation was born which saw Ruby as the brightest star in the sky. Sol had to be pointed out to them, the distant origin world.

A generation which could not in reality conceive of vast open spaces. Of a natural light in the sky. Of steel craft thronging the atmosphere, of rivers, of hills, of the life their ancestors had left and which their descendants would enjoy.

And finally, a generation was born which looked towards Ruby and knew that, barring accidents, one day they'd be in orbit around it. In their lifetime.



That the three hundred years of cultural development that had been their history was going to change. A whole new life was in front of them. They were going to land on solid ground.
And a year after, they'd be joined by Ruby Alpha Seconda.

And their leaders were looking ahead in consternation. The final goal.

For their ancestors had been sent forth to recreate Sol.
It could not be Sol that was recreated.

Sol lived only in history and irregular broadcasts of information. Day to day life on Sol was something no one on Ruby Alpha Prima had an inkling of. Or life around a star system generally.

And it's this concept I want to look at next week, as the people of Ruby Alpha Prima look ahead to landing on the planets of Ruby, the star they have long looked forward to, their new home. How they tackle the huge culture shock, how they set about the task put on them long ago in their history and what decisions they make.

To be continued.

Is That Coffee I Smell?

It seems the American people are waking up to a bitter fact.
It's not there.

As in, the money.

As in, the banks are all going bust.
Whoops!

Now that's a problem. When banks aren't making a profit. When the balance sheet of a bank does NOT consist of a nice big column in the black.

Because if the banks don't have a huge reserve in the black WHO DOES?

As a general rule, no matter what situation emerges, war, recession, hurricane, alien invasion, one thing you can say for sure.
At the end of it all, the banks will be better off.

It stands to reason. The total share of all the money that is theoretically in existence that the banks can claim legal title to, must, simple mathematics tells you, rise. Year in, year out.

So if banks are going bust then what REALLY is the problem?

The problem is this.
Do you know how interest is really paid? Ever thought about it?
By increasing the total amount of money in the economy.

So,in 1800, let's say there are a million gold coins on the island of Britain. The banks charge 10% per annum rate of interest.

Now we can't all borrow from the bank and be able to pay it back. Not in this system. The value of the coins is fixed. Ultimately, if all the money ever lent is to be repaid, more must be got from somewhere else.

And it was.

The economy continually expanded. There was continual economic growth. What most of these supposedly really intelligent economists miss the point of, is they try mystify the term 'economic growth'. They kind of confuse themselves to forget the actual point that there must LITERALLY be more cash tokens in the system, year in, year out. Otherwise an economy based on interest and lending, will run out of steam.

Now this actually happened. It happened in 1929. What happened was banks started to go bust- they COULDN'T recall everything they were owed because not enough people could pay up.
The world really had reached it's limits. All the tokens in the world were in the same economy. No more anywhere to bring in.

But banks need paying in tokens.

Thing is, these were pretty dangerous times. And there were a lot of false messiahs wondering round. Rather than concede that Marx was right, and potentially hand the world over to his Pseudo-disciple who was busy slaughtering millions of Kulaks, or create tribal ethnic states based on quasi-medieval ideas predating Capitalism, as the Germans decided to do, a cunning plan was hatched.



Don't have a fixed value for the tokens. OK, the world can't provide any more. Just print the tokens out of paper AND KEEP ADDING TO THE TOTAL FUND ENOUGH TOKENS TO ENSURE THAT INTEREST CAN BE PAID.

Good solution, hey?

Thing is, this had been tried before in many places. And everyone knew that it was potentially a dangerous solution. You can't add indiscriminately. You really have to keep the amount of tokens you add in every year down. The money can't be devaluing so fast that people notice themselves getting poorer too quickly.

But they are going to be, in relative terms.

Because in spite our seeming affluence, we're not actually paid as well as we think. We are only able to enjoy such high standards of living due to a luxury our grandparents didn't have.

What they owned, they owned. They paid for it.

We don't. If we really had to pay in cash for everything we had or used, do you think the quality of life for the average citizen would be what it is?

And it's had to be like this. They really have HAD to keep REAL outgoings down. Wages, basically. The average earning. To keep down the amount of REAL tokens in the system.
And they've kept spending, that all important activity, sustained on fantasy tokens.

While they sit there and think 'What the f**k are we going to when we just can't sustain this any more? Because one day, the fantasy money, the money that DOESN'T exist, the tokens we count as spent by someone somewhere, but not repaid, actually outnumbers the tokens that actually exist and are accounted for in World Finance?'

And whilst the cold war was going on, there were more pressing problems. There always are.
And anyway, do they care? Do you really think they care? No! They just hope, as they long have, it will happen in their children's lifetime instead. And if it comes now?

Their world. They will be sitting in their mansions, protected by their security guards, as the police gun you down for trying to get food from the supermarket which has been boarded up, food still in it, because there's no money at all to keep the wheels of the finance system going.

And now they're trying- and will do everywhere- to load this burden on to the taxpayer.
Ah.

Let's look at this for what it is.

They're asking you to do even more work for less.

And this is where you need to wise up and ask the important questions;

1. Have we run out of fuel?
2. Is food scarcer?
3. Have human transport systems broken down?
4. Are there less people to do the jobs?
5. Has any material point about the world changed?

No.

So why DO we need to repay any money at all?

WHO are we ACTUALLY repaying?

What has ACTUALLY changed?

Nothing. Not really. Just our finance system doesn't work any more. Everything else still does.

So, the banks are bust. The world has run out of money.

Do we need it any more?

No.
The sole real purpose of money, is it's a token. To exchange for goods or services. Basically, it's sole real purpose is to track entitlements. You've got a five pound note in your hand, you're entitled to five pounds worth of something.

It's obsolete. The concept is obsolete.

We are capable now, with modern technology of working out what we've got, who put in what and how much people are entitled to as a result of their efforts.

Without having an administering system charging us 10% per annum for the privilege of milking us.
Because really, that's all banks are.
We don't actually need them, because we don't need such a primitive token system any more.

The only thing you can do is scrap the banks and scrap the money.

All you ACTUALLY need is a system for relating the relative value of things and their relation to human energy put in. And for this to be traceable and held in a global database of some form. Hey, it already is. Just with an anachronistic accounting system and a great black hole to throw the interest in.



And why not have it a nice little simple system? Contribution points. Get rid of credit completely. So much work is worth so many contribution points. And these points entitle the possessor to material goods.

And if you took people's tax, bills and basic living costs at source- since you might as well, after all that's kind of kind of the logic behind direct debits- and paid people daily the surplus they accrued, there wouldn't actually be any need for credit either.

A simple system of contribution points.

Money really is an anachronism.

Because really, think about out, if we're sitting here thinking that because of money we're ALL of us going to have to work harder for less, then let's face it...

It's MONEY that is the problem. In itself.

The best solution is to scrap the whole banking system.

Wake up, smell the coffee!!!

Duplicity - Part Two: Me, My Priest, My Society

I've intended to use this opportunity at CRUSHED By INGSOC to present a series of related articles, not as an outlet for poetry. But my attention has been absorbed of late by somewhat of a family crisis. For the sake of expedience I present today's ideas in poetic form.

This Self

An idea lies in my head
It seems to always have been here.
And the same idea lies there on the lips
Of every tall creature I meet.

This idea is this:
That I am me.
That I am myself;
One singular entity.

But every day this idea erodes;
Chip by chip it crumbles.

Were I so simple
Were we each so consolidated
Then why are all in such internal conflict?
Why have none mastered their own head?
Why should that task prove impossible?

Every night the man in charge says
I will do such things in the morning
And every morning the man in charge
Says No, I will do this instead.
They sound not even like the same man
They speak not with the same voice.

Why should I not have the power
To whisk back the curtain
And see the man behind it
If indeed that man were myself?

Instead I hear whispers;
Agents and agencies,
Colonies of brain cells,
Cities of microbes,
High councils and committees,
Tides of shifting influence.

At times I can just about hear the voices,
Making deals behind my back.

So where did that idea stem from?
That idea of I?

Is it a fantasy preserving the illusion of sanity?
Perhaps no, it is not so diabolical.
Perhaps the society that is me
Would seem so homogenous
Because all the fuss below,
All the conferences behind the curtains
Fall upon my inner ear
Like distant highway drone,
Like static on a phone,
Just white noise,
Because I do not know their languages.

The Most Peculiar Meaning of Meaning

While the ideas serving most usefully,
While the deeds most noble; benign to do,
While the creditable purposes in our living,
And objectives most rewarding to pursue
Are in all honest reckoning the very same
Whether mankind may be the most influential
And intelligent beast in all hard or heavenly terrain
Or whether a god bears instead such credentials,
Whatever good purpose can lie in the debating
Over who is responsible for all this creating?

For victory resides beyond grasp of either side,
While the argument serves only to tragically divide
And run all astray from our miraculous destiny.

Still men before altars cease not their cry
In voices commanding; resonance essential,
That the existence of ultimate meaning lies
Not in the life of the most influential
And intelligent beast in all known terrains
But in that of its adoring house pet.

You can only deal with what’s before your face and the life you’re given is no use at all if you burn it up in hate. – Bruce Cockburn

Blindsight

Look back now, way back
At pliable minds and tribes of gods
And the worship of kings and queens and heroes,
At the burning of women marked witches,
At cultural pedagogical sodomy,
At boys sent away to kill or to die in equal horror
For the sake of a stretch of grass,
At heartless feudalistic slavery,
At the torture of innocents so to fill the gallows,
At Nazi genocide (never again!),
At cotton fields,
At a gender made the property of another.

What do you say?
Would you congratulate yourself for our superior humanity?
Would you wonder how they wouldn’t know better;
How they could be so stupid?

But could none of them have known better?
Or perhaps, did many?
Oh, but were they just trapped?
And were they just confused?
Ever pushed to action and not to thought
By the forces of their societies
And the forces of their critical instincts,
So treacherously linked?

Blind acceptance in the name of learning,
Testimony in the name of truth,
Cheap tricks in the name of wisdom,
Lame excuses in the name of logic,
Drivel of village idiots in the name of art,
Endless distraction in the name of culture.

A prison in the name of community,
A constant assault laying beautiful brains to waste.

So when they look back, way back
At pliable minds and solitary gods
And the worship of silver-tongued statesmen
And Hollywood clowns,
At blind hatred of skin pigment or un-chosen loving affections,
At endless layers of tribal insanities,
At boys sent away to kill or to die in equal horror
For the sake of imaginary demons,
At the torture of innocents so to fill our bellies,
At third-world genocide (never again?),
At heartless corporate slavery,
At the endless proliferation of lies! Lies! Lies!
At families lined up, glossy eyed,
Three generations deep,
Sucking, ever sucking on glass tubes,
At all the grand dirty machines
Sucking, ever sucking on oil
In this Age of Oil; this Age of the Sucker,
At the systematic raping of our granddaughters
By mortgaging the lifeblood of their Earth,
At you, yes YOU!
At ME!

At that time, my tears long dried
Will they congratulate themselves for their humanity
Or wonder how we did not know better;
How we could have been so stupid?

And how could we?

Oh, but are we just…?
And are we just…?
Ever pushed…

Born of it.
Fed to it.
A matrix omnipresent;
Too overwhelming even to glimpse.
Quick! Don’t do the math.

Just turn the page.

True Freedom- The Libertine

I think one the films I have to say made the biggest impression of any film I have ever seen was the the Johnny Depp film of 2004, The Libertine.
Amazing film.
The film is about that alluring debauchee, the Earl of Rochester, poet and philanderer of the time of Charles II. Now my mother has always called me a debauchee and my father always refers to me as a libertine, but it wasn't till I saw this film that I kind of smiled at the use of those terms.



Oh what a statement!
I knew I was going to love the film straight away! A character I could feel for!

Because all through the film, I'm thinking, this is a guy you have to admire. I guess I do relate to him quite a bit, certainly the person I first saw the film with thought that the Earl of Rochester was a kind of seventeenth century version of me. Nice compliment, but I'm not that good. Depp in this film plays a man who lives every hour of every day as I am in a few brief fleeting moments and the rest of my life I guess it's what I try to aim for.

This whole section here I very much related to. It could have been me, over and over again. The little talk he has with his wife, that could have been me.



There were so many times in this film I emoted to the character. Because he isn't an evil man. Quite the reverse. He is free. The title is ambiguous, it questions what libertine is. And at the end you want to embrace that word and say 'Yeah, I'm a libertine, so what? I'm proud of it. My life, my rules. Libert-ine. That's me. And proud. Because you only got one shot and you really have to make the most of it.'

Being a libertine isn't just about having a good time. But in a sense it's about just that. Because it's YOUR life. No one else's. It's about reminding everyone of 'Let each man be the best judge of the path to his own happiness'. And you shouldn't just blindly 'do the right thing'. It may not BE the right thing. A libertine makes his own choices on that. The libertine creates his own morality and does not live by the standards of the herd. But does that not in fact make the libertine the more moral creature? Because he tends his own conscience, he nourishes it, he lives by it. He lives by what HE believes is right. He doesn't anaesthetise his conscience and allow a herd morality to dictate for him.

And Samantha Morton is perfect as Elizabeth Barry. We can see why he loves her, or I can anyway. Many of you probably look at the clip above and probably think his wife is quite a stunning woman. But I can see what Rochester sees in Elizabeth Barry, because in personality she's pretty much the type I tend to become enamoured of. Which got me to pondering, certainly. I think I empathise strongly with Rochester's personality type as portrayed here, even down to the manner of speaking, the way he treats people (yes, that is EXACTLY how I am in real life), maybe even a few of the mannerisms. And I thought it was interesting that the film character that to date I've most felt to be LIKE myself, should have as the love of his life a character type that fits so closely to the type of females I am most drawn to.

Interesting.



I must admit to have had tears in my eyes during his goodbye to the audience here. Yes, Rochester, I was thinking, I LIKE YOU! I LOVE YOU MATE!

I'm not going to tell you any more. Get the film out. If you like this blog, you'll LOVE the film.

Libertines are the defenders of true Liberty. Libertines are needed. Because whilst Puritans rule, the man in the street will only fight for the liberties he immediately needs. If you really want to fight tyranny, if you really want to fight power structures and controlling systems of imposed morality, you need libertines to be perpetually going over the line, raising two fingers and saying 'I don't care how you judge me, I'm going to do what I want and enjoy it'.

Because it acts as a balance to these Moralists, it pulls the carpet from underneath their little edifice of book morality, family values, fidelity, temperance, being a 'decent 'person in a nose in your air looking down at everyone else kind of way.

You need libertines to say 'Fuck clean living! Let's get down AND DIIIRRRRTTTTYY while we still can!

Before these fucking Puritans get their way and ban it!

So, yes, the libertine really is a TRUE defender of liberty.

He's perpetually demonstrating the outer limits of freedom, just so the rest of humanity see just how far they lie from the book-moralist and just how MUCH freedom there is to be had and just how LITTLE most people are having.

So, I leave you with...

Liberte! Egalite! Debauchere!

I have a Woman's Brain- Apparently.

Apparently, according to this test here, I think like a woman. Bizarre.

Oh well. Now you know. Anyone else the wrong sex and totally unaware of it?

Part 1

Angles
This task tested your ability to identify the angle of a line by matching it with its twin. This is a spatial task, which looks at how you picture space.

Your score: 18 out of 20
Average score for men: 15.1 out of 20
Average score for women: 13.3 out of 20


What does your result suggest?

If you scored 0 - 12: You have more of a female brain. Scientists believe that people with a female brain find it more difficult to judge the slope of a line because they're not wired for spatial tasks. In past studies, 65 per cent of people who scored in this range were women.

If you scored 13 - 17: You found this test neither hard nor easy. This suggests your brain has male and female traits when it comes to spatial ability.

If you scored 18 - 20: You have more of a male brain. On average, men outperform women in this task and those with more mathematical knowledge tend to score quite high as well. In past studies, 60 per cent of the people in this range were men.

Interestingly, men's testosterone levels fluctuate through the seasons and studies have shown that men's scores are lower in the spring, when their testosterone levels are at their lowest.

Do our cave dwelling ancestors offer us any clues about why men and women score differently on this task? Find out more.


Spot the difference
This task tested your ability to identify which objects changed position. You lost points, if you incorrectly identified objects.

Your score: 86%
Average score for men: 39%
Average score for women: 46%


What does your score suggest?

If you scored between 0 - 33%: You may have more of a male brain. Scientists say men tend to under perform in this task. The corpus callosum, the part of the brain that links the right and left hemispheres, is a fifth larger in women. This means women can process visual and other signals at the same time more easily than men. There is also a theory that oestrogen levels in women give them an added advantage in spatial memory.

If you scored between 34 - 66%: You may have a balanced female-male brain.

If you scored between 67 - 100%: Those with a female-type brain generally score in this range. Your ability to remember where objects are may serve as an advantage to you when you're trying to find your way around places. You're more capable of recalling landmarks to get from one place to another.

Find out more about our spatial abilities.


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Part 2

Hands


You said your right thumb was on top when you clasped your hands together.

Right thumb on top: This suggests the left half of your brain is dominant. Many studies have tried to establish whether there is a relationship between handedness and brain dominance. Some scientists believe that if you are left brain dominant, you would be more verbal and analytical.

Left thumb on top: This suggests the right half of your brain is dominant. Some studies theorise that as a right brain dominant person, you may excel in visual, spatial and intuitive processes.

However, these theories are debatable and leave much to be said about the small percentage of people who are ambidextrous.

Find out why right-brained people may be better fighters and artists.


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Part 3

Emotions and Systems
This task looked at whether you prefer to empathise or systemise.

Empathising

Your empathy score is: 3 out of 20
Average score for men: 7.9 out of 20
Average score for women: 10.6 out of 20


What does your result suggest?

Empathisers are better at accurately judging other people's emotions and responding appropriately. If you scored 15 and above, you are very empathic and would be an ideal person to comfort people in a time of crisis. Women in general are better at empathising.


Systemising

Your systemising score is: 14 out of 20
Average score for men: 12.5 out of 20
Average score for women: 8.0 out of 20

What does your result suggest?

Systemisers prefer to investigate how systems work. A system can be a road map, flat pack furniture, or a mathematical equation – anything that follows a set of rules. A score of 15 and above suggests you're good at analysing or building systems. Men in general are better at systemising.

Scientists are keen to learn more about people who score high or low on both tests. They want to find out whether or not empathising and systemising are linked. Is a possible to make yourself more empathic?

Some scientists claim that our empathy and systemising abilities can be traced all the way back to prehistoric times. Find out more.


Eyes
This task tested your ability to judge people's emotions.

Your score: 8 out of 10
Average score for men: 6.6 out of 10
Average score for women: 6.6 out of 10

What does your result suggest?

If you scored 0 - 3: Do you think you're good at judging how another person is feeling? Your score suggests this doesn't come to you quite so naturally.

If you scored 4 - 6: Your result suggests you have a balanced female-male brain and find it neither easy nor difficult to judge people's emotions.

If you scored 7 - 10: Your result suggests you are a good empathiser, sensitive to other people's emotions. Women generally fall into this category.

Professor Baron-Cohen at the University of Cambridge says that people usually perform better than they expect to on this test.

Men often think a person's eyes are sending signals of desire when that's not the case at all. Find out more.


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Part 4

Fingers
We asked you to measure your ring and index fingers. Your ratios came to:

Right Hand: 1.02
Left Hand: 1.02

Average ratio for men: 0.982
Average ratio for women: 0.991
It's thought that your ratio is governed by the amount of testosterone you were exposed to in your mother's womb. The ratio of the length of your index finger to the length of your ring finger is set for life by as early as three months after conception. Even during puberty, when we experience intensive hormonal changes, the ratio stays the same.

Men generally have a ring finger that is longer than their index finger, which gives them a lower ratio than women, whose ring and index fingers are usually of equal length.

Studies have found that men and women with lots of brothers generally have more masculine finger ratios. Find out what other things scientists think our ratios may tell us.


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Part 5

Faces
This task looked at how you rate the attractiveness of a series of faces. The images you looked at were digitally altered to create slight differences in masculinity.

Your choices suggest you prefer more feminine faces.

Highly masculinised male faces possess more extreme testosterone markers such as a long, broad and lower jaw, as well as more pronounced brow ridges and cheekbones.

Interestingly, women's preferences are said to vary across the menstrual phase. A more masculine face is preferred during the 9 days prior to ovulation, when conception is most likely.

A typical 'attractive' female face possesses features such as a shorter, narrower, lower jaw, fuller lips and larger eyes than an average face.

Are you surprised at what researchers think they can learn from your answers? Find out more.


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Part 6

3D shapes
This task tested your ability to mentally rotate 3D shapes.

Your score: 10 out of 12
Average score for men: 8.2 out of 12
Average score for women: 7.1 out of 12

What does your result suggest?

If you scored 0 - 6: Do you find yourself having to physically rotate a map to point in the direction in which you're travelling? This might explain why you scored in the lower range in the 3D shapes test. Twice as many women as men score in this category. Previous studies suggest that those with a female-type brain or with an arts background fall into this range.

If you scored 7 - 9: In past studies, 50 per cent of the people who scored in this range were women and 50 per cent were men.

If you scored 10 - 12: Are you an engineer or do you have a science background? People with these skills tend to score in this range. Past studies have concluded that people in this range have a more male brain.

Nearly a third of men who took this test got full marks, whereas less than 10 per cent of women managed the same. Find out why.


Words
This task looked at your verbal fluency.

Your score: you associated 11 word(s) with grey and you named 8 word(s) that mean happy. We are assuming that all the words you entered are correct.

Average score for men: 11.4 words total
Average score for women: 12.4 words total

What does your result suggest?

If you produced 1 - 5 words: You are more of the strong, silent type with a male brain. You probably find it easier to express yourself in non-verbal ways, preferring action rather than words.

If you produced 6 - 10 words: Most people in this range have a female-type brain.

Women are said to use both sides of the brain when doing verbal tasks while men mainly use their left side. Studies have shown that girls develop vocabulary faster than boys. This difference in brain power is caused by levels of pre-natal testosterone. Find out more .


Ultimatum
This task asked you how you would divide money.

If you had to split £50 with someone, you said you would demand £25

So far on the Sex ID test, men have demanded 51.6% (£25.80) of the pot and women have demanded 51.0% (£25.50), on average.

What does your response suggest?

Sex differences are small in this task. Demanding less than 60% of the pot (ie £30) is more typically female. Demanding more than 65% of the pot (ie £32.50) is more typically male.

Scientists believe that people with lower testosterone levels tend to take fewer risks so they are probably more willing to keep less for themselves. Those with higher testosterone levels tend to drive a harder bargain and are less compromising.

Men's testosterone levels fluctuate over the seasons and are at their lowest levels during the springtime. This is said to influence their bargaining power. Find out more about the role of testosterone.

Well, that aside, I'm sticking with being a man. I've kind of got used to it.

Although actually, looking at the actual results when they're broken down, I'm more thinking;

What bollocks all this gender crap is.

Though if I HAVE to be a woman....

Can I be Rihanna????

Stats, Blogging- A Bit of Objective Reflection

We passed five hundred posts a long time back and never noticed. In fact, we're fast approaching six hundred.

When I started this blog I'll be honest, I had no clear sense of what I was doing with it.
To be honest, I still don't always.

But I suppose the best way to put it- I think- is this.

There is a lot in my life that will almost certainly never happen now. You could say I kind of wrote it off. I ain't never gonna be respectable.

I'm not disreputable particularly, but I am what I am now, a drifting salesman with a reputation for fast living and a shady past.

All there is perhaps, is to settle for a life of mediocrity, aspiring to one day own a semi-detached house, settle down with someone for the sake of it and lead a normal, tedious, suburban life.
And lie there on your deathbed thinking 'I wasted it. I gave nothing. There is nothing of me, nothing, passed on to survive in the world I am leaving'.

And I guess after I'd passed through the trials and tribulations of my early twenties, that series of misfortunes that were at least in part of my own making, that was the hard fact I had to face, that that MIGHT be the case.

That you'd be lieing there on your deathbed thinking 'I changed nothing. I leave nothing to the world'.

Because yes, I'm vain. Yes, I'm arrogant. And I'm going to prove it simply by saying I firmly believe I have every right to be.

Because I do not believe I have nothing to give the world. It's about contribution. It's about the fact that I do not believe the thoughts in my head and the theories I develop are valueless- quite the reverse. I DO believe I have something to give the world, and that is the main reason I blog.

Because I believe firmly that through this blog and perhaps ONLY through this blog I can ensure that my mother didn't go through nine months of labour for nothing.

The child she produced was never going to be a pillar of respectable society. Never going to quite achieve solvency. Never really going to make 'someone a very happy woman one day'. Never going to one day make their parents proud. And probably never really be content and happy themselves.

But.

It is that in itself which fuels my dedication.
It is in myself that I see the most poignant failing of the current order.

For me, it's personal.

It's war.

And it's very simple. Who's my side? The people.
Who's the enemy? The system.

But not just the system. This is a matrix world. And like in the matrix, most people just aren't ready to be told they're in the matrix.

It's not just the easily identifiable supporters of the worst elements of the power structure; Racism, Sexism and Homophobia.
It's the honey fed docile acceptors of the matrix, supporting its more acceptable pillars. Defenders of the 'free market', monarchists, conservative Christians, campaigners for the family, the anti-drugs lobby, the enemies of change, the enemies of true freedom, the covert defenders of keeping something in place because it suits them Ok...



So they don't want to wake up and see Sion...

I like getting to the bottom of things, I like trying to get closer to ultimate reality. I believe the whole point of life is experience and gaining further understanding.

So I guess in part, this blog is almost a Will and Testament in some ways. It's me. I'm putting my mind and soul somewhere. I'm putting it in a place that every thought I've ever had that I believe worth having is there, in the public domain. I'm donating it.
That is how I've come to see it.

It's already undoubtedly got more words in it than many books. And no doubt by the time I die, it will contain more words than the Encyclopedia Britannica. Posterity will know the innermost workings of my mind and be able to judge the value of what was in it.
And I guess that is actually how I want to be judged.



Because it won't matter then whether some deranged stalker got her knickers in a twist over a public rejection she brought on herself, it won't matter what proportion of these posts were conceived under the influence of stimulants of one form or another, it won't matter who I was, or what I did.
And it won't matter much that I died of liver failure a week shy of fifty, passed out on the sofa next to a half eaten kebab.

What matters is already happening.
What matters is, even now, this blog is doing the most important thing a blog can do.

And I suppose this brings me to a few observations on stats.

When I started, as I said I had a few ideas on blogging I've now revised. I think I just saw it much as anyone else does.
I guess part of that was wishful thinking. I guess if you write some of the stuff I do, you're bound to find people who find you to be the devil incarnate. And there are a fair few who think that and whisper it furtively behind the scenes in e-mails too. Good on you. Glad you find me so fascinating.

And I guess it was naive of me to think that negative facts about myself wouldn't come out. I suppose it was wildly unlikely I was going to blog for what will probably be at least twenty years- perhaps more- without all my sordid little secrets coming out.
They have. But at least the average person googling this site can't identify me and the lives and careers of my friends and family are still secure.

As am I. I am aware one day that could change. And though I don't relish it, I'm kind of prepared for it. That one day my entire life really could be totally ruined as a result of this blog. It has already come close and one day, I have a feeling it will. But that's the price you have to pay sometimes. I don't want to have to pay it, but I'm aware the worst really could happen. I don't entirely know what I CAN do when it does, but the odds against that day NOT coming aren't good, I realise that.

Anyway. Where we've come. We came 174th in Iain Dale's little political guide last year which was good. We didn't make it in the top 200 after this little annus horribilis, but let's face it I'm surprised we survived the barrage of crap thrown this way at all. Fact is, we're still in the guide, though quite why Iain Dale thinks this is a Labour supporting blog, I'm not sure.

Anyway. Stats.

What stats matter?

Profile views? I know one blogger got really excited about hitting 10,000 profile views. I'm not sure why. Getting a lot of profile views simple shows a lot of people go THROUGH your profile to see who this person is commenting on THEIR blog. It doesn't prove that much. You don't need to have a blog at all to get profile views. Indeed, generally after your first few months blogging, you profile views probably won't creep up overmuch, because most of the blogs you comment at get to your blog via the-er-blogroll on their site.

Same with bloglog and other such things. They give me at a quick glance an idea of people who've read, but I tend to see it as the blogging equivalent of leaving a visiting card. It's a bloggers thing, it doesn't mean much.

Comments, comments are good. They at least suggest the post has been read. Yes, I do treat comments as a valuable insight into how well a post has been received. I do genuinely value comments.

But I've started also to write posts I know will receive few comments. I know damn well that they're too involved and too complex for most readers, expecting short, snappy posts to read.
In a way, the number of posts which are written to a view beyond the blogosphere is something I'm increasing.

Because the stats that really matter, the only ones perhaps that matter, are the actual site hits.
And oddly, as I realised recently, THE EXACT ONES NO ONE SEEMS TO CARE ABOUT.
Apart, perhaps, from me.

The 26,000 hits registered by sitemeter in just over a year aren't perhaps, the most impressive in the world of blogging.
But the page views, that's enheartening.
75,000.

The fact is, the average reader doesn't just come and go. Even if they did come by accident, the average reader here had read three posts before they go. It fluctuates- today I notice it's down to 2.6, but that's still good going bearing in mind I only post once a day.
And it's the point of entry as well that interests me. An increasing number of readers, several on a daily basis who do not come from links elsewhere. They come from googling this site. They come from putting 'Crushed by Ingsoc' into the search box on Google.

And long term...Isn't that the whole POINT?

Those are the ones who matter. I don't care who they are, or where they come from. I don't much care they don't comment. They don't comment because they probably aren't bloggers, but I'm starting to recognise some of them.

And I know that many of them are coming here due to the ONLY stats that really matter.
The ones that prove that even if you were killed tomorrow, your blog would continue getting hits, day in, day out, for eternity.

Are you conquering the search engines?

Because that's the only stat that matters.

And I smile when I look at the following first page rankings. Because really, that's all that REALLY matters.



Inner Reptile- We're number one. Not Inner Monkey though. We're a way behind on that.
Nietzcheist- Yes, we win that one too. This really is the internet's first choice for 'Nietzscheist'.
United People of Earth- Third. Not bad though. That post, one of my best I feel, still gets at least one hit a day.
Ingsoc- Fourth. But we'd expect Wikipedia to beat us on that.
Life Scientific definition- Definitely the one I'm proudest of. Holding fourth slot on Google for that really is an achievement I'm damn proud of.

I know these ones because they come up every day, so I notice them. But I'm aware there are probably numerous other fairly significant and important concepts where ALREADY this blog gets a first page ranking.

And it's that that matters. That this blog is able to do that, to be in a position where someone who goes on what is now the most commonly used tool in the world for finding answers to things, is increasingly coming across this little blog. And in a small way, my thoughts are entering the collective consciousness.

And I guess that's what really matters.

Maybe I am being vain but do I think this blog is already on it's way to being something that will live on, long after I've gone?

I do, yes.

I am literally archiving my entire mind and soul and handing it to posterity to do what it will with them.

And so far, I think that's worth the effort.