Magickal Melancholy Mondays: Are you a person that needs people?

This isn't quite Melancholy but it isn't quite Magickal either.

It's an old piece written by a previous self sometime in 2009. I wonder if that self would be pleased to find himself where I now am? I'd hope so, but I've found myself worrying about my past selves in a fatherly manner. Perhaps as some sort of practice for dealing with my own son and his future problems etc. More 'What Ifs' again.

Are you a person that needs people?

I certainly am.

For a long time I believed that the paradigmatic existence was one away from people, living like a Nietzschean hermit, standing above those that would 'destroy' me. I now see this as youthful cowardice, an attempt to deny what made me by distancing myself into a cold distant realm of dream-like thoughts.

An obvious fantasy of the sort of life that is very attractive to the quiet withdrawn boy I once was, but still its attraction is no mistake or flaw although I called it cowardice a moment ago. It might be seen as a necessary step for the type of person that I am.

I've come to the realisation now that what I desire is not the absence of all people, but the inclusion of the right people. I both want and need a small friendly community in which to live, a dedicated group of close friends with whom I can share, and, perhaps most of all, someone to love completely, to wake alongside, and with whom I can share everything, or perhaps this is simply my new fantasy.

The dream of the ideal partner and the ideal life. If it is (and it might be) it is still a greater more detailed and richer outlook than the dream of the hermit.

Of course, the last clause need not be realised. I think I could manage to live alone as long as I did not live alone. Aristotle once called friendship one of the most important aspects of human existence. Who am I to disagree?

Lascaux cave painting, an example of community co-operation

Melancholy Mondays: What If?

I often wonder of a film, "what if the writer or director had decided to go this way instead?" It's something that has been most prompted by the recent Star Wars sequel trilogy, a collection of films so disjointed and mismanaged that you can't help but think 'What if?' However, I'm not going to talk any more about Star Wars today (maybe another time), but instead the similar sort of thoughts that one directs toward their own life.

There's a sort of constant longing for the life one could be living and this anxiety is preyed upon by Capitalism, or at least those that want to keep power in the current Capitalistic system. Perhaps it would not be any better under another system, but again what we are doing here is speculating in an abstract and unchallengeable manner.

Perhaps it is an aspect of an anxious personality, combined with an over active imagination, and tied together with a (narcissistic) narritivising of one's own 'life story' that leads to this worry.

What do I mean that this is "preyed upon"? Well, it makes one more amenable to sustaining an unsustainable situation in the hope/belief that you are due a positive change of circumstances based on; hard work, what you are due, good fortune, or any other of the countless things we tell ourselves are 'coming our way'.

But this is just a general 'What if' my life was better than it was. Something that is based more in what might be, looking to the future with (unrealistic or naive) hope.

What I am thinking of is more of a 'what if I had decided to go this way instead?' That is, rewriting the past and imagining what could have been.

What if... I had had the piano lessons that I asked for when I was 10? Would I be a musician?

What if... I didn't go to University at the age of 27 to study philosophy? Where would I be now?

What if... instead of engineering, I tried to get into art school right after secondary? Would I be an artist?

Many thoughts like that.

Recently, I passed the anniversary of a dear friend's death, which meant that I have now lived eight years since he died having only known him for seven years (2005-2012). Now you might think this an unnecessary obsession with statistics that are otherwise meaningless and I would agree that you are probably right, except for the meaningless part because this passage of time-with and time-without is [I think] an important descriptor. I am not making this point in order to lessen or distance my relationship, but instead it shows to me the depth that can grow in a short time and that can last, outlast, even the passing of that relationship. As I've said before it is now a 'frozen moment' that I hold, one that I in my changing state (developing, be that evolving or devolving) also changes with me, but it is entirely one-sided and unfalsifiable. Memories without other witnesses cannot be checked for correctness after all.

What if... I had never met him, or we met differently? How different would I be? Would I now be in a long-term loving relationship and a father?

What if... My story were otherwise 'written' differently? Would I still be 'me'? If I met this other 'me' would they be recognisable to me as me?

However, we cannot live in the past or the future, but nor can we live totally in the moment. We have to be able to take the lessons of our past and apply them pragmatically and truthfully to our present in a way that will positively effect our future.

This said, there is still the desire to be free of pain. The pain of grief. So, we think about never being in the situation that gave us the grief in the first place. All of these are an attempt to run away from something that is hurting us. Pain cannot be imagined away, but it can be ignored. However, some injuries will not fade unless they are dealt with. This is not like distracting yourself from a paper cut.

What if... the pain is greater than one can bear? Is emptiness an acceptable alternative?

"Cessation of suffering is possible by relinquishing attachment, not to deny but to be liberated from." Says the Buddhist.
"Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who tells you differently is selling something." Says Westley...

Magickal Melancholy Mondays: Try Again, Fail Again, Fail Better.

Note: This is labelled 'personal' because it is mostly an unmoderated rant without research or citations to back my thoughts up with. As such, it is to be taken with a pinch of salt, as it is mostly strong emotional reactions to things not thought through clearly enough beforehand.

I've been trying to write about several things presently and they keep coalescing into one mess. This might have more to do with my own state of mind as I wait for the birth of my son, rather than any definite connexion between the subjects. Although I think that there's something there, even if it's just my own narrative attempt at understanding.

First, I've been trying to write about our, what I call, 'Emerging Online Ochlocracy' that is to say, the way in which we are becoming like a mob when we 'connect' online into groups or societies or communities (whatever we call them). I think that perhaps this is due to the depersonalisation of the connexion, but also because some of the online communities are actually trying to raise their talking points across all media on the internet, which means that on any topic that is interacted with or discussed online you find their 'take' on these things creeping into the discussion and eventually simply replacing that supposed conversation with their own ideology.

It is at this point that I realise that I've moved from a generalised look at depersonalisation online causing groups to become close-minded and isolated into an actual analysis of the alt-right and their tactics online. This especially in wake of recent events and the very active effort by the alt-right and their allies to deflect any criticism, valid or not, from touching their base. And this starts to make me think about the connexion with right-wing politics and our digital lives in totality.

That, politically, we are also become distanced and 'held at arm's length' from the real work of the government. And this in turn brings up the subject of Brexit, which is very much on my mind presently as you might imagine. That people are becoming disgruntled with the lack of voice within politics, their lack of involvement in the sense of being paid any mind by the people in control. And this makes me think about what are we meant to do to change this? Being online, gives one the illusion of immediate access to things, it also gives us the opportunity to air those thoughts 'to the wider world' and makes us believe that our personal opinion is important (after all, it always seems that way to ourselves). So, we engage with the world online, perhaps we simply comment, or join chats or forums about subjects of interest, or perhaps we become a content creator ourselves.

We can make angry videos that are sad.

We can make sad videos that are angry.

But although one might be more theoretically stable and the other mostly just cathartic entertainment, in the end, our lack of agency means that all most of us can do is watch these videos on YouTube, adding money to Google, or we circulate other forums and air other views, again to the ultimate benefit of an internet corporation, or we can be one of five million (at time writing) people signing on online UK government petition to revoke article 50, or we can go outdoors and head to London and take part in a one million person march supporting revoking article 50, or support the opposite opinion, or one of many other ways in which we can make ourselves feel slightly better about our condition without actually effecting much of anything. It all feels like screaming into the wind.

Because without several fairly major global changes in attitude it's hard to see how we might move out of this, and this might be the ultimate failure of the internet. It brings people together as it isolates, it offers alternative views while indoctrinating users into a particular ideology, it offers the harmonious global village, but actually just creates aggressive mobs. Before the pervasiveness of the internet, one had to actively seek out extreme views and hostile opinions, they were never 'just there'. The connected networks of the Web also allowed the 24 hours news media to flourish and replace objective journalism with attention grabbing entertainment as ideology programming ("pick the channel/paper/website that best describes you!"). Of course, we move towards groups and opinions we agree with, but outside of the internet we are instead brought face-to-face with otherness, with those that mildly disagree with us, with opinions we can ignore or engage with. Online, the distinct differences drive us apart, not together, and people circulate with their own, out of fear of being publicly shamed, or criticised, or made a fool of, or called out, or doxxed.

And if we do meet with opinions we disagree with, or are directly challenged by another faceless accuser, our response is typically one of childish vitriol rather than a measured respect. As fake as that respect might be, still people in everyday life react to different opinions by at least hearing the other person out in most cases. But why are we like this? Is this just 'how it is'?

The thing I come back to in every case is the influence of global capitalism on all aspects of our lives, that post-crash 2008 we were betrayed by those we voted for to protect us, who chose instead to favour those that pay their wages. We are (some of us) convinced by a competitive individualism that exhorts this sorts behaviour as merely the rules of the game. The only rule that matters being, 'Winner takes all'.

Cosy liberal friends suggest going on marches and being 'politically active' as ways in which we can all help make a difference, but this is the world as they see it, a world where having the most logically pure argument will win out. The delusions of the philosopher, but in the face of a system that doesn't care or a person that hates, their arguments are meaningless.

Perhaps this seems unfair, cruel even, to be thinking this (especially now!) and perhaps it is just harmfully cynical. I should say that I'm very proud of my friends that made it to London on Saturday for the march. I gives me joy that they still hope. I've pinned my hope elsewhere. Not to my child, you understand, but to myself as a father, my family, our future together. Albeit one that looks outwards and is not just an insular motivation.

But what to do about our present circumstances? I have no idea. I keep trying to make sense of it, give it a reason, but failing every time. "Try again, fail again, fail better." - Beckett.

London, March 23rd 2019 'People's Vote March' Image from Sky News Ⓒ

Filosophy on Friday: Learning to be Rational

This will be a wee bit more 'stream of consciousness' than my usual posts, so apologies for that. And additional apologies if you thought that's how I write normally, but I'm actually trying quite hard to sound reasonable in my posts, even when I'm in fierce opposition to something I will try to give it a 'fair shake'.

Talking with pdb on my recent 'sensitive' topic post made me think some more about how people are treated in society, but it also made me think about why I'm trying so hard to be rational about things. Especially when everyone about me is acting so... irrational. Some it seems are just too willing to be led by their emotions, others are led by a desire to control or dominate others, or at least, to exploit them for financial gain or for social power. Still others have equally ill-thought-out reasons for their behaviour, like why would you support a politician like it's a fitba team? Makes no sense to me.

It's fair to say that I've a bad temper, but this isn't to make me sound like a hard man. No, what I mean is, that once I lose my temper I'm utterly useless, mostly if I need to communicate something. I can remember this being a problem when I was little. Like my parents would think that I'd done something wrong and (if I hadn't) it would make me so cross that I'd been falsely accused I'd just go mental; crying, laughing hysterically etc. Which, of course, just made me look guilty as anything and I'd then get unfairly punished for it. Conversely, when I had done something bad, I was able to play it off really cool and they wouldn't suspect a thing. In this manner I was able to get away with all sorts. I think that this might sound like the beginning of the diary of a psycho, but I didn't do anything really bad. Not really.

Sadly, something like this has continued until adulthood and even now at the 'mature' age of 40 I still go 'dumb' with rage. This has been particularly harmful in relationships. However, the difference from being a lad is that now I can put a hold to my anger if I get there soon enough. In this manner I've been able to remain reasonable in the face of quite extreme provocation (like talking with a Tory).

I suppose then that this abstraction led me to appreciate philosophy's attempt at objectivity, flawed as that might be in actuality, still it's the attempt at something like neutrality that is appealing. Most likely it's just that I'm easily overwhelmed by my own emotions and that the lack of control is frightening to me, or something like that. Except, that can't be it, because I don't really worry about control. I'm well aware of how little actual control we have over our lives. Also, as someone who was extremely interested in art and the lives of artists, this led to various attempts to get 'out of my head' in one way of another. Hallucinogens were really helpful in this regard and not something that someone with an overly developed need for 'control' would experiment with, I would suggest. An attraction to surrealist dream and sub-conscious automatic works and the inter-relation with the mystical experience would be another example of my interests that I could cite as evidence of my lack of fear about being in control.

Know thyself, is really quite tricky when you start looking at it. Because there's nothing there, or because we're always making stories about it all? Both perhaps.

Something else that occurs to me is the type of masculinity I was exposed to as a child in 80's Scotland. It's a style of manliness that is rather old-fashioned nowadays, but still lingers about like a bad smell. I assume that this smell is tobacco, alcohol, and B.O. Anyway, the main thrust of 'being a man' when I was younger was not to show your emotions, and certainly don't get 'carried away' by anything, unless it's fitba of course. At that point screaming, crying, hugging strangers, fighting, everything was allowed. But, as a rule, men didn't get emotional, they got angry and when they were angry it was righteous male anger, not bawling and greeting about being treated badly. And they got their way, they got revenge, they were always in the right (somehow, this was always the case even when two men disagreed, normally you could tell who was right because he knocked the other guy out).

Perhaps I could tell that this was nonsense. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out after all. Perhaps because I wasn't willing to be that sort of man. There were plenty (well, several and not all of them 'real') of male role models who didn't fit into this archetype and I latched onto them. Still, it took me some time to figure out that I could be something other than whatever was expected of me, because those expectations weren't coming from my parents.

The main problem, as I see it, is that everyone thinks that they are rational and it's the other guy that's being unreasonable, if only they'd just agree with me... It's not so much that, although I certainly feel that that's one way of taking it, but that people won't give someone who starts as 'different' a fair hearing. The fact is, most people don't even try to understand the other person's perspective and some times you'd have to say that that's the best course of action. Why am I going to try and analyse why some random kid thought it was alright to shout abuse at me, a total stranger, let's not waste our life with considering that rubbish. Still, it bothers me, that we willingly blind ourselves to HOW they got to think the way they do, which is more insightful than WHAT they are thinking. Perhaps it's because we all feel this pressure of time, like I don't have the time to find out about why this person feels this way, it's easier to just write it off as something that X group of people think and move on.

Ah well, I'm rambling now. I'll just end this chat by trying to describe it once more in as simple a way as I can, the reason I try and treat people they way I do, is because it's how I'd like to be treated. I guess I took that Bible lesson to heart. Shame it isn't true then. Still, it's worth trying to be decent even if the world doesn't care.

Remedios Varo (1955) 'Transmudo'

Secular Sunday: Father's Day 2018

longer now without a dad
than i ever spent with one

M. C. Escher, 'Eye', 1946

I forgive my father and possibly, more importantly, I forgive myself for my own emotions on the matter of his death and his own failings as a parent (& my failings as a son).

Even if/when we accept that the parent is a fallible human 'just like us', something that is part of becoming an adult, as we do with the surrounding grown-up environs that we now inhabit, even if, we still have a greater idea to conquer/over-write/subsume/erase and that is the parent as a divine creator. The parent as literal god figure.

This might seem foolish to you, you might think that this description of a belief towards one's parents hardly fits for you or your relationship, but I would beg you to reconsider, because it is already built into how most of the world sees itself and how it prioritises the family. Each and every human society believes that their distinct experience of family is unique and hold more universal truth than any other cultures, and at the crux of this belief is typically the idolisation of the parent.

That our existence might not have been part of god's plan, that we might not have really been expected or truly wanted or were anything other than social pressure upon the incurious minds that birthed us, is not something we likely consider, but we should.

In either becoming or considering being a parent ourselves we should remember that our step into the unknown is what all other parents, including our own, have done before us. In accepting our weakness as one whose decision is guided more by hope than by anything certain, we should also welcome this chaotic mystery that life brings.

The desire to make the god's plan personal is the desire to narrativise our own existence as something ordained and with significance, whether this is by the idolisation of the parent or through actual religious fervour, both are a creation, a sham. Are we ready for what the rejection of this perspective might bring?

It involves our compassionate acceptance not only of our parents as flawed, but of our self, of our own choices as not being either truly individual or truly given. We are the paradox of consciousness and the result is not to deny this, or to seek a transfer to some other authority, but it is our responsibility to care.

I miss you dad. I love you. Happy father's day.

FMM 1944-1996

5

I've never written directly about my friend, who died on this day five years ago, but I have mentioned him on several posts, as he has inspired work and thoughts so regularly with me. This is because I am thinking about him and our conversations we shared on a fairly continual basis.

So, this is about Thomas, this is a remembrance of him.

I met Thomas in 2005 in Lampeter. Something that feels so very long ago, but also feels immediate and personal. If our connection with an event; our concerns, our care, our ongoing relationship with a time help keep it present and in a sense contemporary then a great deal about my time at Lampeter and especially time shared with Thomas is still current to me.

Thomas was a disarmingly friendly and honest person.

Now that it comes to it, I'm not sure I want to share everything about the history of my friendship with Thomas in detail. That's not really the point and, indeed, I'll end up only romanticising it. Making it into a story, rather than the truth and this must be about the truth.

So, let's start again. What made me write this?

I still feel sad for those who never met him, I don't mean the majority of the planet earth's population, but for my own friends, many who have known me for a long time, without ever knowing or meeting Thomas.

I think my original thought in writing this, was for them, to describe why this person, this stranger to them, has had such a huge impact upon my life. In many ways, his life and subsequent death have utterly altered me, but perhaps they cannot see this. After a while we see our friends in a perpetual image that we have shaped for them and it would take something drastic to change our minds about this perspective.

I mean, I'm not totally different, I still identify in much the same manner I did before. I'm still mostly sad, often angry, and always flippant. (You might think I'm a calm person, but if you do, you don't really know me very well.)

Perhaps I'd hoped people would be able to tell that I carried this trauma within me automatically and therefore treat me with all the appropriate solemnity and respect, but that's never the case, I've experienced this more times than I care to remember.

We cannot read each other's minds, even those we care so much about. It's perhaps because we're all such good liars, and I'm a tremendous liar. It isn't a boast, indeed, I'm ashamed about it. This is why Thomas was so important to me. He was hopeless at concealing his emotions, mainly because he didn't really try to and I don't want you to think he was saintly in his behaviour. He had plenty to feel angry and depressed about and although he coped with that better than anyone I've ever met, still he got sad and angry about things. Mainly other people's inability to see reason.

Also, I cannot describe Thomas himself, only my impressions of what he meant to me, but then that's my point here and I think Thomas would laugh at me for describing him so, and one should laugh (you cannot curse the darkness away), but this is my melodrama and I can cry if I want to.

You would cry too if it happened to you... (with thanks to Leslie Gore)

Anyway, what else could I or should I tell? Ah, yes.

Perhaps it's unsurprising to hear that my first reaction to Thomas' death was anger.

Anger at the world, for being a world wherein this can happen, where the good do indeed die young and the corrupt live long ignorant lives, where the whole thing keeps on moving, when what I wanted was for everything to just stop, because for me, everything did stop at that moment when his wife, now widow, told me that he had died.

Then anger at myself for being overcome by paralyzing emotion, for not being able to help those that needed help... more than me. This has become something too, guilt at my continuing grief, guilt that I still feel this so strongly five years later, because I'm not the widow, I'm not the parent, I'm not the life-long friend. I'm just someone who knew him for a while and I know this self-destructive thought is just that. That, in actuality, I knew Thomas at a pivotal period in his life and that I helped play a part in that, but that doesn't stop my feelings of guilt, of being a fraud, because I've never managed to live as openly as he did. Although I try.

I've been told, by philosophers no less, that I take things too seriously. Although admittedly they were analytic philosophers. Obviously I consider this to be incorrect, but I have deliberated upon it and thought about what I would be like if I were less affected emotionally by things. Not me, is a simple enough answer, which is appealing in a sense.

Life, after all, goes on. For a time. It has a habit of doing so. There are plenty of minor things to occupy one's mind so that you'd never need think about this ever again, so why do you persist in doing so? Is it just a love of suffering?

It is because, although it does sometimes make me deeply upset, it is also something that gives me hope, makes me feel human, and quite often makes me feel incredibly happy and lucky to have known such people as Thomas.

So, I think I've said everything I can say presently and I'm aware I still really haven't said that much, perhaps there's nothing I can really say to fully convey what it meant to me to lose someone like Thomas. It seems to get harder as time passes because memories fade and isn't that really all I've got left of him now? In a sense perhaps, but I also feel the time we spent as friends influenced and changed me and I feel that I carry part of that with me, for as long as I remain me. That's the part that's hard to say, I can show it, because it's me, but the stories I could tell you are only that. They can't capture the 'what it was', they are only giving my romanticised perspective of events. So, I persevere carrying this frozen fragment of a friend, when what is always wanted is the existence that is no more. The time that has passed and can never be again.

21

Dear Dad,

You died twenty one years ago today, at about this time, although I wasn't there, I was on a bus coming to see you.

I was 17 then and not nearly a man. Perhaps that is why you withheld so much from me, you thought I wasn't old enough to have those talks with, but when were you going to do it? It's well past too fucking late now, isn't it?

So, yeah, I'm angry. I'm still fucking angry, 21 years later. Not that you died, but with you. I'm angry with you dad.

I never knew you. I'll never know you. I'll never know why you didn't talk to me. Not when I was a child, but when it mattered, when I was a teenager, when I was a young man.

It's that you didn't try that really bothers me, or perhaps you did but some internal conflict or doubt stopped you. For me, all I'm left with is; wasn't I good enough or worthwhile enough, wasn't I considered articulate or intelligent enough?

You've left an imprint of your personality upon me; the miserableness, the sarcasm, the love of solitude, respect for nature, but most of all, the short temper and the boiling pit of anger.

You were an angry man too, weren't you dad?

I remember you smashing things, or storming away and denying with delight the possibility of a calm resolution to whatever small thing had upset you.

What made you angry dad? Was it your father? The fact that he never fucking spoke to you? Imagine that. Imagine just being left, with no help, no advice, no kind words, fucking nothing. No wonder you were angry.

I was sick of being you. Trying to do the things I think you'd want for me. Indeed, I did stop. I stopped years ago, when I was 25. I remember realising that I had nothing to prove and no way to fucking prove it to you anyway. I started thinking for myself properly. I often think that you're the reason I decided to study philosophy. To consider the 'good death'.

You didn't die well did you? If we're given the time to 'put our house in order' before we die, and many people don't get that chance, you should take it. I don't think you did, but perhaps I just wasn't included. Were you protecting me? Or were you just protecting yourself from having to actually talk about your own death to a young man? Or was it talking about your life that was the problem?

Will I do any better, could I be a different father? Hopefully, I'll get to answer those questions, but the potential of failure fills me with fear. Is that what stopped you, dad? Fear?


Dear reader,
Perhaps this all sounds unfair to you. After all he was there; he wasn't earlier deceased, or in prison, or runaway, or on drugs, or abusive, or violent. He did teach me to respect nature and naturalness, to appreciate art and music, to regard working hard at something you value, and probably many other things too. Perhaps it is unfair, perhaps this is just based in my anger, perhaps someday soon I'll learn to live with it or work past it.

New Year - New Direction (sort of)

Firstly, a very happy new year to you all. I hope it is a happy, creative, and fulfilling year.

So, I'm not announcing a major change in my blog, there will still be most of the same things, but I also want to focus on one area and draw away from another.

Moving towards: As I've mentioned previously, I have been creating a fantasy world inspired by the work of a dear departed friend and others. This has not stopped, although I have not blogged about it. Whether this is merely a personal project, or serves as the basis for a game (a co-operative story) with friends, or the basis for a story or series of stories (the unlikeliest chance I would start and finish a novel, even one based in my own flights of fancy), remains to be seen. I would like, however, to 'finalise' some of my thoughts and ideas about the 'world' and its history, the occupants and their histories as species, the description of the societies, the mythos of the world, and so on. Some of these are, just like the previous list, descriptive historical fiction (as it were) but some of my other ideas are specific to how it would work as a game. I often think about game creation, when I was little I would invent card games that only I would play and I wish I'd written down some of the rules. You get bored of solitaire as an only child...

Anyway, expect many more posts about this un-named world and the un-named game in a project that I've loosely titled "LeCraft" after Ursula Le Guin and H.P. Lovecraft, the two biggest influences on my creation after my friend. I'm pleased to say that this temporary working title has already been described as "shit" by JJ. So, it stays. Ha!

Moving away-from: I spent a great deal of time, if not completing posts concerning politics, society, and the myriad of problems related, then just worrying about them. Last year was and, I have no doubt, will prove to have been a turning point in World history. I can perceive a great many problems arising; here in the UK, in Europe, in the USA, and elsewhere across the globe. Therefore, I could spend this year as I ended the last trying to remain a voice of reason, to argue against injustice, to hold untruth to account and various other self-inflating bombastic nonsense descriptions. All this thinking accomplished for me was a very deep depression, which (I believe) led to a very real and very unpleasant illness that lasted the entirety of December and bloody ruined Christmas and Hogmanay.

At one point last year, I began taking to answering people's comments on public posts on Facebook. Although sometimes I felt this accomplished something, mostly it did not. I even started 'helping' friends by telling them what to do with their lives. I started correcting blog-colleagues in their personal essays. Now, perhaps sometimes it was a 'correct' argument that I made, but was it necessary, what it helpful or worthwhile? For me, ultimately the answer was a definite NO. It made my concerns grow, not shrink, it made my interfering attitude more strident, basically it made me more of a person that I would never want to be.

Therefore, expect a great deal less of personal political essays. Some perhaps in response to the ongoing disaster that is UK society or World relations or the belief in truth. However, I'd really like to keep sane, so this will NOT be a focus for me this year!

I’m not going to bury my head under the sand and witter on about my fantasy creations to the exclusion of reality. This is not my point in creating such a world. All good fantasy, and it’ll be a bloody miracle if mine is any good, should highlight the flaws and strengths of the writer’s contemporary society and if not directly then through a hope for something better. Something positive that we could be. A thought experiment for a society that had power thrust upon them and they still chose to be good.

Well, let’s see how it goes.

All the best to you all
C

Silly sATURDAY: It's all relative

Geologically - within a fraction
Individually - mortifying
Cosmically - nada
Interpersonally - "perhaps it's the tie?" - JJ

What I said, but funnier

Many moons ago I attempted to explain my mostly tongue-in-cheek 'handle' by way of the page "Why Godfreemorals?"

British news satire site The Daily Mash has recently forwarded a similar argument in a more amusing fashion.

Here: Atheist able to make moral decisions

Magickal Mondays: My Tarot Reading

My tarot cards in 'Celtic Cross' formation

Yesterday, JJ gave me a tarot card reading. She used her giant-sized Rider-Waite tarot deck. The Knight of Cups card was chosen to be the card that represented me. Before I go into the reading and how it might be interpreted, I'll say some things about interpretation in general, tarot divination in specific, and how it has been used by certain people, such as the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn (Pamela Colman Smith and A.E. Waite, the artist and designer of the tarot deck used, both being members).

Thinking about the future, one's own immediate future in particular, can be a difficult task as one needs to have a fairly complete understanding of the contextual factors that are affecting one's environment. Indeed, once one believes they have an idea (that is, they 'know') about what will happen in the future, this can easily become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

What do we mean by, knowledge of one's environmental context? Well, it can mean being self-aware of the factors that have and will cause certain behaviour in yourself. Psychological context then. This can only be available after much self-examination and detached observation (treating oneself as an other).

Of divination itself. It can hardly come as a surprise when I tell you that I think that tarot readings are neither 'real' nor an instance of magick. Rather, I believe that a reading such as this can help prompt a certain type of introspective thought about one's circumstances and general psychological behaviour and the effect these actions have on oneself, others and the world about.

I used to know much more than I adequately remember about Hermeticism now. Indeed, like many other spiritual paths I once investigated, it is something I am now done with. Once it was part of my art works, used to invest extra meaning, and this is how I believe people like Colman Smith and W.B. Yeats used their membership of the group. 

Now, the reading itself and my interpretation thereof.

Although the illustration above is pretty accurate to the order we drew the cards. What is before and behind swapped places based on the direction the significator card was facing (he looks right). Thus, before is ahead of him. 

The Knight of Cups. The Significator. JJ chose this card to represent me. As it's described as sensitive, imaginative, introspective, but with legendary melodramatic moods, too temperamental and prone to take offence easily, I thought it an excellent match (although I was offended and sulked).
1. Page of Cups. What covers him. Younger scholars are all around me, so is the atmosphere of academia. This represents my current condition, it is the lack of this studying myself that is of greatest concern to myself. In some systems of interpretation two similar cards after each other represents a reinforcement. 
2. 2 of Cups. What crosses him. As the 2 of Cups represents union and as this card is the problematic in my life, I'd say that this represents the lack of union, that is, working and writing that is my challenge presently. 
3. 9 of Wands. What crowns him. This represents what I believe to be my best outcome of my present circumstances and here the 9 of Wands could be thought to show readiness. Whatever happens, I'll be prepared and ready. 
4. The Chariot. What lies below. This card represents what resources I have to draw upon to help my situation and here the Chariot could stand for self-control. The Chariot is an odd card, but I understand it as representing an assertion of control and other positive aspects of the ego. For myself, I see it as my ability to drawn confidence, in myself, from my friends and using this confidence to control my destiny.
5. 2 of Wands. What lies behind. All cards have negative as well as positive aspects, certainly in A.E. Waite's method of description. The 2 of Wands in its negative aspect can represent sadness, the figure stands upon a battlement and has the world in his hands, but yet still gazes forlornly into space. This is the aspect I take from this, of course it also depends on how one define's 'recent past' and I chose to measure this in years rather than weeks or days.
6. The Empress. What lies before. This is a pretty exciting card to draw here, as it represents fertility, now whether this is creative or actual (children!) I don't suppose I can really comment. It is the future after all. It could also represent a closeness and connection with nature, which is also something I'd welcome.
7. 7 of Pentacles. Himself. This can represent my current activity, i.e. self assessment. Otherwise, the 7 of Pentacles can depict security or achievement, neither of which I'd consider apply to my current situation. Another reading would simply be that I'm working hard and putting in plenty of effort, which rings a little truer in my mind.
8. 8 of Pentacles. Environment. A busy workplace, this seems straight forward, the library is a busy place with some determined people.
9. 5 of Swords (inverted). Hopes and Fears. I'm still not sure why one's hopes and fears might be so closely related, but this is a recurring theme in tarot. At any rate, as the 5 of Swords strongly represents self-interest and conflict, the reversal of this might suggest it is not being expressed normally, be that inappropriate, incomplete or denied in some manner. I suppose one reading would be my fear of being too selfish, or simply it shows my fear of failure, which is something that is an ever present.
10. Temperance (inverted). Outcome. Lack of harmony. A not too happy outcome as it shows that my current imbalance will only worsen, or else perhaps the outcome is to accept this discord. At any rate, although I might have great fertility in my future it apparently won't lead to anything stable in my life. 

Anyway, these are all my own interpretations of the cards in respect to my own future and present circumstances. As I said, I find it an interesting guide or starting point for some self-reflection and as it comes from 'outside' it allows us a detached perspective upon our own life and situation. Something we should probably all do more often, however, there is a danger for over-analysing one's status.

Melancholy Mornings: this crappy time of year

So, it's not a Monday and I'm beginning this year in blogging with a complaint. Hardly a sign of any great emotional growth. Still, you should know your limits I suppose.

There has been a reason for my dropping off the blogging habit recently and it's the same reason as before, "the same procedure as every year."

Many people have good reasons for disliking winter and the 'holiday season' in particular, for myself, that whole period and especially January are times that seemingly take so much effort to live through that I find very little time for anything other than basic work functions and generally surviving.  Basically put, I'm not great company at this time of year.

Still, it's well into February now and I'm feeling much better about myself, so I don't feel the need to go on about these problems of mine, which is partially the reason they never get solved. Firstly, because I'm not sure there is such a thing as a solution, but mainly it's because when I'm suffering under them I don't want to talk about it and once I'm feeling better I feel like such a different person there seems no need to revisit it.

I suppose that emotionally hibernating or shutting down over this darker colder time of year might be explained quite simply by the physical causes, but it's also a time of year tied to stressful family meetings, remembrances, and other things that bring on bad thoughts.

I'd like to say, the sun is in the blue sky and all this right with the world, but it isn't. It is, however, now something I can actively deal with again and have enough energy left over to waste on little projects like this one.

So, hello again, happy new year, happy year of the snake, happy 2013.

Not a stellar year for fiction, it really doesn't have the ring of a 2012 or 2020. Indeed, I can only think of one film set in this year and it ain't good...

Let's hope it's better than this.

Sudden flurry of activity and then silence...

OOPS

Update!

The Who I am page has been much updated, now including What I do, which is a summary of the new layout or schedule for this blog.
Let's see if I can manage to stick to it.

Anyway, here's a funny picture of a Tapir

Thoughts at 5am

Originally written on the 13th of May at 5am

"Our thoughts drive round upon themselves, eddying into depression and anger against the world, a dark deep swirling mass of contradictory feelings arise..."

Closeness to someone drives me to retreat, to seek individual isolation. I love her, but her touch pains me this morning. So I sit in another room and feel awful instead. And when I hear her sigh I feel doubly so. That my upset might upset her also, makes me feel much worse. My pain, my failure to connect, my fear to connect, is not something I can easily master or control. It is the black dog that is beyond my current powers.

This is death. It destroys me and through me, all I touch. It is the part of me that knows death. It desires it. The strong dark part of my soul. It fights for control, seeks to make this feeling my only feeling. To drive me mad and kill me. Not so very long ago it was winning, but not any longer, although the residue remains and burns in its contact. Like a poisonous film of black sludge it has stained the air, got into my lungs and my blood, darkened my eyes and filled my ears and throat. It coats me like an oiled seabird.

It is a feeling of choking. I feel a painful desire to run, to scream, to rend flesh from my bones, to not be. In this spirit being close or intimate or restrained feels like agony. What do I want to do? To walk away, to keep walking, to curl up somewhere cold and dark on my own, to have nothing to do with the world of people, with the world of pain and potential failure and of dying.
To be totally free.
However, I know this desire to be madness, it is an animal reaction of one driven mad by pain and fear. No, it is not animal, worse than that. It is the illusion of reason, the lies of the mystic, "transcend the world of pain for peace in the holy realm of pure reason." All the lies of reason that will free us from what? The fear of loss.

The fear of being alone drives one to be alone. The fear of death drives one to embrace death. To want it. Our thoughts drive round upon themselves, eddying into depression and anger against the world, a dark deep swirling mass of contradictory feelings arise around this convoluted system of thought. Pure thought seems to offer clarity, to make the situation understandable and remove it, to distance the pain, but these thoughts have arisen from fear and cannot be made pure by more of the same. All this will eventually do is block the system, causing an overload that manifests in a variety of ways. I am currently suffering from one of these.

The slate can be wiped clean by some isolated activity, something world denying, at least, this has always been my method, but what if there is another way?

I love her. I trust her.

And yet fear this. Fear the loss of it.

I must stop trying to run away. Learn to trust myself. Embrace her.
But what if she ultimately rejects me? Wouldn't all this have been for nothing?
If this is your fear and you run from it, if you push her away, then it will come to pass. You fear death so much you had begun to embrace it. Don't do the same thing again. This time something is different. You have someone who cares for you as you care for them. Reason can't help this fear, only love can.

Go back and hold her.