Author Archives: zippypinhead1

Being Angry With Satan

Do you know that thing where you get angry at Satan for being so evil and you decide to teach him a lesson, but then you discover to your dismay that you actually are Satan and that you secretly enjoy being evil! Only in the deep-down core of your being it’s not so secret at all of course – in the deep-down core of your being you are exulting in your evil and you don’t care who sees it! That’s a bummer, isn’t it? That’s a real bad one for sure. That’s the real stinker my friends and I’m pretty sure you will agree with me on that one. Oh boy yes. Not a good one. Not a good one at all. For sure, for sure, for sure. Dear me no. That’s a real awkward moment – life’s so simple when you can be angry with Satan and not realize that Satan is you. If only life could stay that simple! And do you know, do you know that thing where you have been constantly validating yourself as a worthwhile and meaningful human being for years and years and years when all of a sudden you realise to your horror that all that ‘validation’ doesn’t mean a damn thing and that your whole life has been a cruddy second-hand fiction? Obviously you do know that feeling, I can tell by the way you’re nodding your head so knowledgeably. Oh yes, you’re saying, I certainly do know that one. By Jingo I do. Who doesn’t, after all? Who doesn’t? Isn’t that the falsification life has in store for us all, at some point or other? Isn’t that what it’s all about? The complete and utter falsification of all those self-serving illusions that we have about ourselves, the ‘acid bath’ as I like to call it. Every Tom, Dick and Harry is farting on about chasing their goals and fulfilling their dreams and all that sort of snivelling baloney but we know better, don’t we? You bet we know better. We know with supreme unexcelled clarity that what awaits us in life is the shocking negation of our precious dreams, not their smarmy fulfilment. What is the more glorious, after all – the supposed realisation of our tawdry dreams or their absolute falsification? Which is the more inspirational of these two options? The validation of a manky old illusion or its perfect annihilation, which is a blessed relief to all concerned? I can see from the roguish twinkle in your eyes that you know perfectly well what the correct answer to these questions is. Indeed you do, indeed you do… You know what side your bread is buttered on for sure and you have my respect for that. You have my total respect. You are no whining idiot, going on and on about your wretchedly dismal pointless goals – I can see that at a glance. I can see that from the fact that you are waving at me with such undisguised enthusiasm and vigorously giving me the old thumbs-up sign. It’s good to have you here my friend, it’s good to have you here. Only you’re not really here are you? That is the only thing about it – that is ‘the fly in the ointment’, as it were. A very big fat fly, a gargantuan fly you might say – an absolute record-breaker in fact – in an otherwise rather splendid ointment. It’s a pity you’re not there – I feel sad about that. It’s a great pity, but what can I do?

 

 

 

 

The Law Of Degradation

I’m afraid of the bad thing happening. We are all afraid of the bad thing happening here, needless to say – every one of us. We’re all afraid, we’re all so very afraid, but we don’t like to talk about it. We don’t even like to allude to it; we never allude to it – not even tangentially – because this would remind us of what we’re so afraid of and we’re trying to pretend that it isn’t there, which is of course what people do when they’re very afraid. We’re all trying to pretend that that the bad thing doesn’t exist and that it isn’t going to happen. That’s what we all do and who can blame us. It’s perfectly natural, after all. So very natural. So anyway, that’s the story, that’s how it is. That’s what’s going on. The story has to do with all of us being very afraid of the bad thing happening but being very careful never to mention it. Not even to ourselves do we mention it! Especially not to ourselves. Don’t name it – whatever you do don’t name it. Never name it. Because if you do then you’ll bring it to life – you’ll bring it to life in an instant. You’ll give it power. It doesn’t take very much, after all. Even an unwary glance will do it. You just have to stare ahead fixedly and pretend as hard as you possibly can that there’s nothing there to be scared of. My magical name in the magical world is Arturo but I’m not allowed to tell anyone that. If you tell anyone your magical name then all the magic is lost and you instantly become some kind of sad tosser. I can talk about it here, within the context of this monolog, but not in real life – not with the various people that I might actually meet and interact with in my everyday life. If I told them about my magical name they’d laugh at me. Some of them would probably try to beat me up out of pure disgust. If they were able that is, and I’d say most of them probably would be able. Only the very weak ones wouldn’t be. The weak or enfeebled ones. That wouldn’t happen in this world anyway – I’m talking here about one of the parallel pseudo-worlds, a particular extrapolated version of reality that I call World XX111. World XX111 is the apparently normal world that everyone apparently knows about. It’s not the real world though – the real world is the Fear World and that’s where we really are. We’re all trapped in the Fear World. The Fear World is where we have to pretend very hard all the time. We have to pretend so hard that it hurts and there’s never any let up from it. There’s no let up from the pain. The Fear World is a medium-sized room full of dusty filing cabinets on the fifth floor of a big office type-building and they are about 10 people in it, including me. We are the Eternals and we are all that remains of humanity. Ten wretchedly unworthy and pathetic people – including myself of course. Only I myself am not really there – I am one of the Exceptional Ones who have been granted immunity to the Law of Degradation. I live in a parallel world, an alternate reality. In my imagination, that is. Only I’m not allowed to tell anyone about this immunity, of course – if I do then everyone else in the room will immediately turn on me and beat the head off me out of pure jealousy and resentment. Then they’d throw me out of the window. That’s the type of people they are, you see…

 

 

 

 

Praising The Memeazoidal Universe

I was praising the Memeazoidal Universe. I was praising it and praising it and praising it. I was praising the crap out of it. I was my praising my damn head off. I had my best suit on and I was as smartly turned out as a brand new shiny pin. I was dressed up sharp and no mistake. I was dressed up real smart and I was praising my damn head off. Praising the Memeazoidal Universe – praising the memeazoidals for being so great. ‘Oh great Memazoidals, I shouted, ‘please hear me praising you and saying how great you are…’ The meme memes were swarming through my brain, filling me with fervour. The me me memes. I was so full of fervour that I was practically spitting. ‘The future is so damn bright I can hardly bear to look at it’, I enthused manically, ‘it’s chock-a-block full of prime quality Memeazoidal bullshit…’

 

I was meming the Meme World for being so Memetastic. I was wearing my special Sunday suit and I had my very best smile on, a great big shit-eating grin. You never saw the like of it before I’m telling you. It would frighten you if you saw it so it would. A great big old shit-eating grin that’d hurt your face if you kept it up too long. Even if you didn’t keep it up for any appreciable length of time it would hurt your face – that’s the kind of a smile it was. It was one hell of a smile. I was praising the memes like there was no tomorrow. ‘Praise be to the memes’, I bawled at the top of my voice, ‘praise be to the dirty old memes…’

 

Those were the glory days of course. The good old glory days. We can do nothing but lament their passing. Those were the days that were – the good old meme-praising days, when the world still seemed as if it had good stuff in it. We all have happy memories of that time, I know. Of course we do, of course we do – why wouldn’t we? But if you weren’t there then you’ll never understand that I’m afraid. You won’t have a clue as to what I’m on about, you just won’t get it. We were all so in love with the Memeazoidal Universe back then; we were so inspired by it, so enthused by it. People these days just don’t understand. They laugh at me when I try to explain how great it was but that’s something I need to learn to accept. I’m not doing so well learning to accept it admittedly, but I know I’ll have to. I’ve got to try to move on.

 

Life’s not so much fun these days – that’s what I’m trying to say. That’s what I’m getting at, basically. That’s what I’m trying to express. I’d like to have the verbal fluency to try and describe what life is like for me now but I just don’t. My words are flat, formulaic and mundane; they emerge painfully, reluctantly, slowly, and then they sit on the floor around me, doing nothing apart from looking stupid. They do nothing apart from looking back at me with dumb insolence. They refuse to transform into poetry. ‘What can I do with words like this?’ I rage. ‘How am I supposed to work with shit like this?’ Everything is working against me and I don’t know why. It’s as if the whole universe is trying to humiliate me.

 

 

 

 

Trapped Spirits

I was in a whole different universe. It was called The Universe of Eternal Bullshit. Only it wasn’t. Not really. That was only what I called it. Other people might call it something different of course. I also – on occasion – call it the ‘Noodle House’, when I am in the humour for that type of talk. It’s a totally different universe but it’s also the only universe I know – or ever can know, probably. It’s the universe of my own stupid thoughts.

 

What a bloody awful universe, I say to myself, what a bloody awful shitty old hole of a universe. And the worst thing is that I made it myself, I reflected bitterly. What a colossal screw-up. Did you ever hear the like of it? Did you ever hear the like? If I could blame someone else for it then I would. If I could blame someone else for it then it wouldn’t be so bad.

 

All around us we see trapped spirits, we see trapped souls. Tell me it isn’t so! Go on, I dare you – tell me it isn’t so! I know you can’t…  ‘Quick – tell me what the vilest, most sordid form of existence is?’ I demand of you. ‘Quick, quick – tell me.’ ‘It’s the type of existence which you yourself gladly embrace every day.’ You tell me dutifully, just as you always do when I ask you this question. You always come out with the right answer and I appreciate this about you, painful though it is for me to hear it. It’s important that I hear it, all the same. It’s important that I hear it and take it on the chin, without complaint or quibble.

 

We human beings are dreadful quibblers aren’t we? Such dreadful quibblers. Truly dreadful. ‘Yes but, yes but…’ we keep saying. We’re full of lies and self-deceptions of course and that’s the reason. We go around under a heavy fog of lies and self-deceptions, never able to see out of it. The fog clings to us relentlessly, even on the sunniest day. Cold and clammy the fog is, and most injurious to one’s physical health. It acts as an incubator for evil at the same time of course – it’s the perfect incubator. Lies and self-deceptions always act so as to incubate evil. ‘What great evil will emerge today?’ we ask, agog with curiosity. What great evil, what great evil. The suspense is killing.

 

Some people say it’s not a good thing to breed monstrosities but never mind them – they’re only hypocrites. People who say that are even worst liars than the rest of us and God knows we are bad enough. We’re plenty bad but we can’t really help it. We don’t know what we’re doing, you see. We’re enacting the will of the Great Malignancy every day of our lives but we don’t know it. We’re innocent in a way because we haven’t the faintest idea as to what we doing, we really don’t. We’re still going to be punished however – and punished very harshly too – but that’s just the way things are. Things just are the way they are and what can any of us do about it?

 

The vilest and most sordid form of existence is – needless to say – that form of existence in which everything we say and think and do repulses us beyond measure, and yet we carry on with it regardless. We manage to turn a blind eye to the horror of it all and tell ourselves – in the most sanctimonious tones – that we are great and worthy human beings and that we have a place in heaven waiting for us. Can you believe that? Can you imagine anything more appallingly sordid into that? I’m willing to bet that you can’t. I’m willing to bet that you can’t but if you can then I’d be very interested in hearing from you on that subject. I’d be very interested indeed…

 

 

 

 

Listening To The Music

I was listening to the background music, waiting for my call to be put through, and then as I  (somewhat distractedly) listened I realised that this was music unlike any other I had ever heard before. Or perhaps I had simply never listened to music before, not properly, and – for some reason – I was now paying attention for the first time ever in my life. So this what was what music was like, I said to myself. I never knew. I never had a clue. I had gone through my life in an unobservant blur, obsessed with dumb nonsense, obsessed with empty fantasy. I had been such a fool, it occurred to me. Such a terrible fool. The music was telling me who I was – ‘Yes, yes, yes’, the music was telling me, ‘you are a real live proper person just like everyone else, an actual real person, and you have many interesting and valid interests which you have to attend to. Important things are always important and they are cool too and so that means you’re a cool person and everyone likes you and they also think that you’re great. They totally respect you. They respect you and they would never have a laugh at your expense.’ Then I realised that it wasn’t the music that was telling me all this but my stupid old thinking. It was my stupid old thinking telling me a whole bunch of lies as usual…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Prescient Paranoia

Different emotions differ in their ways, they differ in an emotional way, in a way that differs but which is nevertheless much the same. Mainly the same, but possibly differing just by a little. Or possibly differing not at all – that could well be it too, I concluded (or provisionally concluded, at least). Quite possibly not at all. That was a very strong possibility as well. I was writing an essay in my head, composing lines and arranging them in a way that seemed tasteful. Tasteful to me anyway. Tasteful but not too redundant, or at least only partially redundant. Or perhaps largely redundant. That could be it too of course. My thoughts were light, airy and expensive. They were ebullient in nature and yet the same time elegant. They were elegant but perverse. They stretched out delicate tendrils of propositional inquiry into featureless space and then doubled back on themselves in confusion. Today was a good day, I told myself. Good but at the same time rather poor. Not really living up to expectations, I wouldn’t say. Perhaps I was on drugs, I said to myself. That could be it too – I wouldn’t necessarily know about it. It could have happened without my knowledge. Or it could have happened with my knowledge too. That was always a possibility as well. Serious mind-altering drugs. Or perhaps not so serious. Today is a good day, I told myself, only questioningly this time. I didn’t have a body anyway, I remembered then. I didn’t have a body so I couldn’t be on any mind-altering drugs. That thought came as a relief to me – I had started to feel the first pangs of prescient paranoia. Just the very first pangs, nothing too dramatic, but it wasn’t a good sign all the same. It was one of the worst possible signs in fact – if not the worst. A terrible, terrible sign. I had just reached the point of seriously considering that I had been spiked with one of these long-acting deliriants we hear so much about these days. ALD-60 perhaps, or EA-3443, or the newer and more sinister mind-jacking drugs that we read so much about in the tabloid newspapers. Not that they are any tabloid newspapers anymore of course – or any other type of newspaper for that matter. My nerves were shot after all I had been through, I consoled myself. That’s all it was – bad nerves. Possibly trauma, too. What I had just been through was enough to make anyone paranoid. Never mind me, with my well-documented history of amphetamine addiction! I’ve been here before you see. My first thought was that I had been spiked with a K-class military deliriant and that – as a result – I had started to believe that I was becoming paranoid when in fact I wasn’t at all. It was probably a prank, nothing more than that. A prank on the part of my so-called ‘friends’ who seem to spend most of their time going around spiking people with big doses of military-grade deliriants of the long-lasting variety. My second thought was that I hadn’t been spiked but that I had for some reason turned paranoid anyway and started to suspect that I was on mind-altering drugs, without my knowledge or consent. My best guess was that I wasn’t paranoid but that I was – for some unexplained reason – hallucinating that I was paranoid. Possibly I was hallucinating that I was taking mind-altering drugs when nothing of the sort was true. Possibly I was hallucinating that I hadn’t got a body when actually I did have one. Or then again, I reasoned obliquely, it could equally well be the case that I was falsely hallucinating that I was hallucinating that I didn’t have a body, when all along it was actually true that I didn’t. That could be it too – in the confused space of ‘all possible thoughts’ the most unlikely and hard-to-believe proposition was very likely to be the Master Reality, the reality which no one wants us to know about. That is the corner stone which the builder rejected – that corner stone is the Master Reality which underlies and controls all the others.

 

 

 

 

 

Ego Paradise

There is a place called ‘Ego Paradise’, believe it or not, and that’s a place where all the egos can have all the cool stuff that they love. All that great great cool stuff. Can you imagine anything better? If you an ego that is, if you’re an ego… If you’re an ego you love all those great things – all those wonderful special things that make you feel so great…

 

All these great things put you immediately into a kind of dream, a kind of pleasurable delirium. They are singing a song to you, a song of fulfilment, a song of unbelievably sublime satisfaction. People come up to you and tell you that you’re the best, the best ever, the bestest of the best, and you can’t believe how good this is making you feel. You want to join in with a song of adulation and tell yourself that you’re the best too. You want to add your voice to the multitude. Yes, you really are great, you tell yourself. The great feeling that you’re having is very, very precious you realise. You know that it is extremely important that nothing should be permitted to come along and disturb that good feeling and so this means that you have to be constantly alert, constantly on guard, ready at any moment to take action to prevent anyone from devalidating your experience.

 

That’s the secondary aspect of ego paradise, which is something that cuts in after a while. It’s that kind of paranoid awareness where you start to be alert to the fact that there might be plans afoot to sabotage that precious good feeling that you’re having. Sometimes this can make you feel very, very angry and at other times it can make you appallingly fearful. This isn’t so much fun of course but it’s all part of the ride. Paranoia and paradise go hand in hand, even though this is something they don’t generally tell you in Sunday school! I like to think of paradise as a hotel that egos can check into whenever they like – sounds appealing doesn’t it? Welcome to the Hotel Paradiso my friends. We trust that you will be delightfully happy here, revelling unreservedly in the glory that is rightfully yours. Receiving the homage that none can deny you…

 

You’re famous here you see. You’re automatically famous and you are revered accordingly. You are receiving all this adulation graciously because you are in your element. It’s what you expect, after all. You’re doing all the super-cool stuff; you’re doing all the great things. It doesn’t mean anything of course – it’s random, pointless, preposterous bullshit but you carry it off with style! It’s all about creating a mystique – creating a mystique is the name of the game. Everything you do is golden, everything you do has a secret, indefinable meaning to your millions of devoted followers. They wish they could be you, partaking in the ultimate ego fantasy. They are lesser egos you see – they’re not like you. They are worthless ten-a-penny egos whilst you – you are the supreme Master of Illusion, captivating the world with your every gesture. You’re famous for being so great you see and this is your very own private fantasy. You’re famous for being famous. You’re doing all the super-cool stuff and you know that you’re very cool indeed. You’re in awe of your own greatness.

 

So this is ‘Ego Paradise’ then and a very splendid place it is too! This is somewhere we would surely all like to visit if we could. And it actually is a real place too – it’s a perfectly real and valid place and not a tall tale despite what you might think. Okay, so there is a downside to Paradise but then there’s a downside to everything really – you can’t have anything that doesn’t have a downside somewhere and I think that’s a fact we’re all going to have to face at some time or other! If we were to be mature about it that is, which of course we must be. There are two main downsides. Firstly, there is the paranoia that strikes us like a sudden bolt of lightning  when we realise to our horror that someone might be plotting against our precious happiness and trying to take it away from us, and then secondly there is the crushing, utterly indigestible disappointment that comes when you discover that this Ego Paradise you checked into is just a tawdry fantasy. A fantasy in the very worst taste. There’s no denying that that this is a bit of a bummer alright. You’ve got to take the rough with the smooth in this life though – there’s no sense in being a wimp about it and crying every time you discover that your precious illusion is only an illusion! The smooth is the smooth and the rough is the rough and that’s all there is to it…

 

 

 

 

Eating The Lion

He had all the answers and none of the answers, he was a walking enigma and yet at the same time everything he said was a total cliche. He was a total original and yet came across as being sickeningly bland. He wasn’t a human being, not as we ordinarily understand the term, and yet at the same time he was just another Joe Soap. I only met him once and in the course of that meeting he only spoke to me once. He only spoke to me once and that was to warn me. ‘Before very long’, he told me, ‘you will meet a lion, and the result of that encounter will either be that the lion will eat you or that you will eat the lion. It will either be the one way or the other and I need hardly tell you that only one of these outcomes will be to your benefit.’

 

Well, just as he had had said, a large, fierce lion soon appeared on the scene and before I knew what had happened it had devoured me whole. It was all over in a flash – one moment I was continuing on my way, puzzling over what has just been said to me, the next moment the lion appeared and promptly ate me. I was pretty resentful about that, as you might imagine – ‘What chance did I have anyway?’ I asked myself. ‘How is anyone supposed to eat a lion?’ Lions after all are big and strong and fierce, and most humans, if the truth were to be known, are small, weak and fearful. I know it’s not ‘the done thing’ to admit that we are weak and fearful, even to ourselves, but that’s how it is all the same. That’s just the way of it – lions are strong and fierce (as everyone knows) and humans are small and weak and fearful.

 

So there I was in the belly of the lion, which in its greed had swallowed me whole, and it was clear that I had the worst end of the deal. I was trying to imagine how different it would be if I had been able to swallow the lion instead, and if it had been me walking around with a lion in my belly instead of the other way around. I often used to try to imagine how strong and powerful I would feel if it had been me with a lion in my belly; I visualized how it would be if the encounter had gone the other way, if the boot was on the other foot, so to speak. This was very nearly beyond me to imagine, but if I tried hard enough I could just get the tiniest taste of how it would feel and boy was it good! There is no doubt about it at all – swallowing the lion would have been the better thing to do.

 

As it was now it was all working against me. The disadvantage was all mine because the lion had triumphed – triumphed almost without noticing, I would say – and there was I all helpless and pathetic, stuck in its grossly distended belly, powerless to do anything at all apart from watching on in entirely impotent and feeble way. Waves of resentment and bitterness flooded my system – ‘What’s the point in warning me like that, mere seconds before the lion pounced, and not giving me the slightest hint as to how I could go about turning the tables on that bloody lion?’ The enigmatic but normal dude with a completely forgettable face could at least have given me a few tips regarding how to go about eating the lion before it ate me. Obviously there had to be some sort of trick to it.

 

So I carried on thinking like this and the more I kept up with this self-pitying thinking the more bitter and twisted I got and the more bitter and twisted I got the more enfeebled and impotent and self-condemnatory I got. This spiral was clearly not taking me to a good place. I knew this perfectly well of course but I was powerless to do anything about it. I could only watch on. I was the helpless prey to whatever negative emotion came along to bully the life out of me next.

 

 

 

I Was Named Faeces By My Parents

I was named Faeces by my parents. Evidently they gave no thought to the mockery and contempt that was to come my way as a result of this baleful choice of theirs. That’s how I started off in life – as a target for jibes and unrelenting ridicule. Everyone has to start out some way and that’s how it was for me. If I only got beaten up three times a day I counted myself lucky. All of that made for a very unhappy childhood it is true, but it was good training for what was to come. Perhaps my parents knew that it would, I don’t know. I suspect that they simply wished to give me a hard time – that would have been more in keeping with what I knew of them, in all honesty. So anyway, this toughening up process proved to be very useful to me in the years to come. Earth – proud, proud Earth – had fallen in the War to end all Wars, the so-called War of the Divided Self. Each and every human being became part of that war – whether they wanted to or not. The concept of a ‘non-combatant’ simply didn’t apply! There was no way humanity could ever have won this conflict. That’s not what I want you to talk about however. What I wanted to talk about was my life before I became famous, before I became mankind’s greatest helper and friend. It’s easy to go on about one’s successes and great achievements, after all. Any fool can do that. And in any event, who cares? Who wants to spend their time reading about someone else’s achievements, someone else’s great successes? I surely don’t – for me, what is interesting is reading about failure and defeat and hopelessness and misery. That’s where the real meat lies. All success stories are ultimately hollow, after all, whilst failure has a beating heart. ‘At the Heart of Failure’ is the title of a book I never wrote, funnily enough. I never got around to it; I didn’t have the energy or the motivation to follow through on it. That’s my problem, you see – laziness. I’m alright once I get started but I never do get started so that’s no good. Proud, proud earth – why do we always think we are so great? The evidence is always pointing in the opposite direction, after all. We’re specialists in fantasy – we are burrowing ever deeper into our custom-made fantasy worlds and we think we are heroes on this account. That’s the inverted mind for you. We’re burrowers and we’re burrowing for all we’re worth. Pure frantic we are and somehow we are expecting to be given some kind of prize or personal commendation at the end of it all. They’ll be some majestic angelic figure standing there waiting to pin a medal to our chest. ‘You did well’, he will tell us. ‘Against all the odds you burrowed deep into unreality. You have spent a lifetime burrowing and now it is time for you to receive your just reward.’ Isn’t that what religious folk believe? They believe that if they spend their lives burrowing deeper and deeper into egocentric fantasy then it’ll all come right because of this. Somehow, we’ll come out smelling of roses. What’s the name of the Dragon who lives at the bottom of the deepest pit of the Abyss? Is he the Redeemer or the Defiler? There’s a question to conjure with! The Law of Deterioration is nothing other than a disguised version of the Law of Expansion, if the truth were to be known. Which it never is! If the truth were to be known, if the truth were to be known. Success never brings anything but misery, if the truth were to be known. It brings about misery that we cannot acknowledge as such: ‘What – I can’t be miserable!’ I say disbelievingly, ‘not with my level of achievement…’ Failure is the only sure and certain route to knowledge, as a man once said. It is our kindest and surest teacher. We would resist the Law of Deterioration if we could; we would fight against it. We would reinstate the Glories of the Past, but we cannot. We can never reinstate the Glories of the Past – no one can ever do that. If we tried to do this we would only perpetrate undreamt of horrors…

 

 

Rubbish Heads

The world is full of egos posing and posturing. I know that as well as you do – I wasn’t born yesterday, after all. The world is full, the world is full. When I was young and gauche I was a member of an illegal youth cult known as the Rubbish Heads. We made a point of filling our heads full of hideously nonsensical garbage decades before the Internet was invented. Some would say that we were ahead of our time. I was rehabilitated in Feltham Young Offenders Institute where I was re-engineered as a friendly Cyborg. Vast numbers of Microbead© data processors were injected willy-nilly into my brain but the procedure wasn’t successful. Angry and resentful, I stalked the streets of an alternative London, shouting at normal, decent folk and generally making a nuisance of myself. Warrants were issued for my arrest but I was too wily for them – I disguised myself as a battalion of battle-weary war droids, returning from a tour of duty in the Coalsack Nebula. I was awarded a medal for gallantry and allowed to retire with a small pension, but my story wasn’t over.

 

We all make mistakes and life and I’d be the first to admit to it. We all make mistakes and I’ve made more than most – there’s no denying that. In the past I wasn’t always entirely honest about these mistakes of mine however and this sometimes used to land me in trouble. I’m not proud of those days, but then again, I don’t feel guilty either. The part of my brain responsible for inducing the feeling of guilt has been taken out and replaced by nano-processors. I can no longer feel human emotions but one compensation for this deficit is the fact that I can now perform all sorts of edgy calculations regarding the state vectors of certain imaginary subatomic particles, the imaginary subatomic particles which go to make up the Reality Flux itself. These calculations don’t tell me anything useful but I find it interesting to keep abreast of them all the same. I’m kind of obsessive that way. One of these days I might be able to anticipate an anomalous pseudo-event microseconds before it occurs and that will allow me to jump from one version of parallel Earth to another. Anomalous pseudo-events can be exploited you see, but only if your wits are quick enough to allow you to do so. Ordinary humans with their colloidal brains could never pull this off – manipulating the Reality Flux is something that only an Omega Class Android can do.

 

All of that is pure fantasy, of course. My nano-processors are all shot and I can’t even perform this simplest calculations with them. I’m pretty much defunct at this stage and the world has no more use for me. It never did have any use for me, come to think of it, nor I for it. We all make mistakes during the course of our lives as I have already said and some mistakes are more easily mended than others. Some can’t be mended at all. Some go on to create entire universes that are founded upon irredeemable wrongness and it was a mistake like that which I was personally responsible for making. It was a biggy, in other words, although ordinary humans with their jelly-like brains find it impossible to comprehend what I’m talking about. It’s all to do with anomalous events that take place in imaginary universes anyway. I created an anomaly that should never have been created and I must take the blame for that. No one told me that it would be a good idea, no one put the suggestion in my head – I just went ahead and did it, off my own bat, so to speak. ‘Live well’, say all the ads. Live well. Make sure that you live well. Because if you don’t then that’s not good, is it? Not when all the ads are telling you how important it is. They’re reinforcing the point – they’re reminding you in case you had forgotten. The implication is there, hanging soundlessly in the air. Because if you don’t, because if you don’t, then you’re letting yourself down and that’s not good. Whoops! You’ve ballsed it up you silly fecker. You made a shit of it so you did. You’ve made a pig’s ear of it. If it’s wrong then it can’t be right, after all. You’ve made a mistake and what are you going to do about it? You’ve made a poor life-choice and so now you’re just going to have to live with it…