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What now?

Thu, 24 Sep 2009 11:31:46 GMT

A thunderous roar rumbled as a thread- like flash of light cracked and shredded the dark canvas of the sky. Rain plummeted from the heavens like razor-sharp rocks. And yet, within this shower of pitchforks I felt at ease, almost meditated, like a shell of solitude shielded me. Don’t get me wrong, given the choice of walking along the gutter of a spineless country road or being at home snug in front of the fireplace; the latter would be the preference. Alas the current outcome of the time was not optional but pleasantly, home was the destination. I remember all I could think of was her, or should that be ‘it’. The fiendish mischievous little parasite that left me empty like a husk! Unfortunately this inconsolable husk missed her; her smile that creased up her face and lit up her half-mast eyes, the way she stroked the side of her lip when deep in thought, the way she touched my arm when she laughed. I could understand her wanting more than me, but I could think of nothing more than her. I remember when I first met her in college when I was studying art. She was new like me but unlike all the other single girls there at the time, the other men didn’t harass her for attention. She was not your page three pin-up girl material so everyone just left her alone. I always thought it was the imperfections that made her perfect, she was real, and she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. No one else could see this; it was like she was my little secret. However now this nostalgic reminiscence is slaughtering me within, it’s like that inner quiver you feel just before you cry, your heart drowns in its own defeat as you wonder, you ponder, like a philosopher in a godless world asking, what now?

Elisabeth

Sun, 13 Sep 2009 10:30:42 GMT

Elisabeth is a short story wrote by Steven Mullaney that was this week published by First Edition magazine. The First Edition magazine is available now labelled as an October edition in all good WHSmiths stores nationwide. Alternatively you can purchase the said magazine online at firsteditionmagazine.com

I'm an Island

Sat, 29 Aug 2009 00:00:42 GMT

The mind is eternal, infinite, and spiritually potential. Unlike the encompassing body, it exists outside space and time. The body is not eternal and infinite, but instead decays and is webbed into the delusional reality matrix of now and here. My reflection incarcerates me, envelopes me in a nauseating consciousness. Why? It nauseates me because I’m no longer free; I’m no longer infinite. Infinite means having no limits, and having no limits means beginning and ending nowhere, encompassing everything everywhere always. Therefore, from the point of view of an infinite being, nothing exists but it; it is totally, absolutely, and unconditionally everything and all that there is. To an un-reflected me, there are no others, not even the concept 'others'. No 'me', no 'you', no 'we' no 'they' no 'this', no 'that', no 'these', no 'those'. There is only 'I'. In the entire Universe, there is only one identity, and it is 'I'. It is that, no matter how many things may seem to you to exist, from the point of view of an infinite me, there exists only one thing, in only one place, at only one time, and all of that is and always is wholly itself, I. By definition, I is mind and mind encompasses, or includes, or is, everything that there is, and therefore there exists -- there can exist -- no thing, no where, and no when, which it is not. Whatever is, it is. That is what being infinite is; living in the mind, means: Having no limits of any kind. No beginning and no end, no fixed centre and no circumference. No boundaries of any kind, neither in time nor in space, or in any other dimension; no specific form, either physical or conceptual, no name and no shape. In order to make proper use of a mirror, a viewer must be able to distinguish himself or herself from everything else reflected in the glass, not to mention from the glass itself, and the room in which it is located, and the time and the space in which the reflection is occurring. It’s this reality that troubles me, bounds and limits me to self. I become no longer infinite; I’m dying.

The Conclusion

Sun, 23 Aug 2009 00:00:42 GMT

In an orgy of self-pity a man can commit things he believes imperative. They succumb to the fabricated sensations of pleasure galore, conceived by the overindulgence of gluttony and self-physiological-gratification. Red plonk, cigarettes, and cake are all that is needed in this symphony of artistic contempt. Stimulating intoxication feeds on the self-pitying demoralized sloths, and so the wretched misery surges. Depression is the product of an epiphany, there is no paranoia about being alone in this godforsaken world, for you are alone. You see depression is not a mental illness, sometimes it’s just a light in a room best kept in the dark. Once that light is on, the only thing left to do is leave the room.

I’m in the market for a new mobile phone

Wed, 12 Aug 2009 00:20:42 GMT

I’m currently in exploration for a substitute portable cellular contraption after the novelty of possessing a touch screen phone has become less a joy and more an irritation. My present phone is the Sony Ericsson P1i, big, heavy, and has crashed more times than the American stock market. I’m at present with the O2 network so naturally I’m limited to what phones I can choose from. I can say after browsing though the latest publication of phone releases that there is not a single mobile phone listed within the eight shiny pages that I desire. I don’t want any of this, crap! I don’t want an 8.1MP camera with face-recognition and built in Wi-Fi, DVD recorder, walkman features, GPS, surround sound, disco lights, Facebook updater, and a touch screen finger print password reader. I miss my old phone, the one that had a feature to allow you to just ring someone. Now I can’t even telephone someone devoid of having to sit a degree in mathematics just to permit me to calculate the dialogues rate. It’s 10p a minute except after six pending the squandering of the first three minutes on a friend of the same network minus O2 bolt-ons. Then there’s the exasperating beep beep it blurts out followed by a depiction of an envelope. ‘You Have Mail’ Oh wonderful, “wi8 ur turn b4 u rply pls lol 2nite b gr8 Spk 2 u l8r coz i lyl cul LC x” and there’s me thinking the Scottish where bad. Anyway, to end this complaining, I’m going to cheer myself up, by sending an anonymous text to someone random saying “I hate you, please die!”

Madness

Sat, 01 Aug 2009 03:30:02 GMT

There are one hundred and twenty five billion galaxies in the universe, each containing over a hundred billion stars spiralling aimlessly. It is here on one of these stars the floating corpse of a planet labelled Earth is staged; infected with over six and a half billion bewildered glorified monkeys. Every orbit of the star this godforsaken rock completes the monkeys run! Vomiting incoherent dribble pointlessly into cellular phones and purchasing high definition televisions, so they can observe other monkeys perform this pointless ritual of socializing. Obtaining bigger, faster, louder vehicles and bigger greater houses in the hope of attracting a mate, so they can spawn additional monkeys like bacteria and infest further still! On and on like a never ending circus performing, always performing, meaninglessly. This irrational, illogical behaviour is madness! Yet despite this madness being apparent they chose to ignore. Their innate morals are inherited and their justice system dogmatic. They criticize law and complain unconstructively then follow regardless. They conceive concepts like evil to label sly motives and natural obstructionism. They put their faith in the penning of past and claim inconsistencies the work of a devil. They claim a dice throw justifies a saint. They claim to be righteous and virtuously good, despite an egotistic anticipation of contentment galore. Then they condemn a theorist and start a never-ending war.

Meaning of life

Sun, 26 Jul 2009 00:01:00 GMT

What is it all for; this labyrinth of delusional sentiment that incites irrational justifications? A flamboyant token of veracity is desired regardless of its contradiction. Is the reality as we know it imposed by nature? Was and is the very questioned existence conceived on a concept? There aren’t such things as music, harmony or colours in the physic world. Just traveling molecules: "There is not, external to us, hot or cold, but only different velocities of molecules; there aren’t sounds, callings, harmonies, but just variations in the pressure of the air; there aren’t colours, or light, just electro-magnetic waves" H. Von Foerster. Are we - and all living beings - just "survival machines, blindly programmed to preserve the selfish molecules known as genes", as Richard Dawkins stated? Are we incapable of knowing beyond the frames imposed to us by nature? Is there any significance for life in a Universe of billions of stars that ignore us? Is there any significance for life in a Universe whose dimensions and nature overcome our understanding? In the words of Pascal, from the seventeenth century: "When I consider the short duration of my life, swallowed up in the eternity that lies before and after it, when I consider the little space I fill and I see, engulfed in the infinite immensity of spaces of which I am ignorant, and which know me not, I rest frightened, and astonished, for there is no reason why I should be here rather than there. Why now rather than then? Who has put me here? By whose order and direction have this place and times have been ascribed to me?

Insufferable Heat

Sun, 5 Jul 2009 00:01:00 GMT

I would pen some reminisce or philosophical observation to compensate for the lack in content being submitted here lately. Alas I’m lazy and very hot. The temperatures leaping off the charts, my mind has been melting slowly. When I am under severe heat whatever concentration I retain is basically focused on important issues like “How can it be so hot?” and “I think I am going to faint” or “I need to get somewhere cold”. I can not sleep due to this insufferable heat. Every night I just sweat buckets like a scouser watching Crimewatch. I’m continuously turning the pillow over in exploration for a dry patch. I do in fact recall posting once on this site about not being able to escape the perpetual cold. Funny this English weather, like a reoccurring novelty; shocked I am loading on the coats then flabbergasted further still when I’m ripping them off again. All in all one is not amused.

Dear God

Fri, 12 Jun 2009 00:01:00 GMT

Look here upon this society of thespians, cultivated by reciprocal delusion, matured by observational amendment. My adolescence pillaged recklessly to state void of compassion. What is love, if love be irrevocably blind? This catharsis; this adulterated liberation, manifestly not blind nor gratifying neither. Alas love a deficient concept. What is this perpetual adoring; why this pestilent parasite? A mutual quintessence presents not. My sterile disposition inept; how can one adore whilst not adored? What motive is spent upon this desolate stage? I loathe beauty, I detest company; I despise what I grasp not. This self-solidarity of solitude is my narcotic ecstasy in this theatre of belligerent bastards; this congregation of arrogant pretentious cretins. What be love but a delusional comfort. What be life but a dawdling demise. What be thou, the god; recipient of my vomited discourse? A nonentity you be but a fictitious token.

Origin of life

Tue, 09 Jun 2009 00:01:00 GMT

When a Christian named Kirk Cameron was asked to give his best shot at proving the existence of God, this is what he came up with: "the fact that a painting proves there is a painter, the human body proves there must be a designer" The problem with said argument is it can be too easily defeated. To begin, why can't paintings paint themselves? Paintings can not paint themselves because they are made of chemicals that can't replicate themselves. Living matter on the other hand does contain a chemical that can replicate itself. Even if god made DNA he isn’t required to intervene every time animals mate, the DNA does the job on its own. So the real question is how did DNA appear; how did living matter come from none living sludge? Here again people need to drop a common argument based on complete ignorance of scientific theory which is this: "Scientists believe life just popped out of nowhere" of cause that's not what scientists believe. Life popping out of nowhere is no better a theory than life popping out of the hand of a deity. So what do scientists believe about the origin of life? Lets take this step by step, The first step involves looking at the primordial earth about 4.7 billion years ago, mostly wet, very warm and with an atmosphere composed of allsorts of gases, Hydrogen, Hydrogen Cyanide, Methane and Ammonia among them. DNA is just a long chain molecule made up of just four different types of nucleotide, so the first question is: where did the nucleotides come from? And no there is no need to imagine that God sprinkled them on the Earth. They can form quite happily on there own. In 1961, Joan Oró found that amino acids could be made from hydrogen cyanide (HCN) and ammonia in a water solution. He also found that his experiment produced a large amount of the nucleotide base adenine. Experiments conducted later showed that the other RNA and DNA bases could be obtained through simulated prebiotic chemistry with a reducing atmosphere. Conclusion: live can quite happily form in the conditions that were around at that time. How can we know this if we weren't there? I suppose you could say the same for any field of science from the explosion of stars to the existence dinosaurs, to the eruption of an ancient volcano. The fact is we don't need to see events to understand what happened as long as the evidence is there, I can't prove that a bolt of lighting is the result of an electrical discharge even if I am looking at it, what I can say is that the origin of life has a natural explanation and in all cases of science we go with the natural explanation because if there is an natural explanation that fits all the evidence it makes more sense than an supernatural one with no evidence that relies on the intervention of unseeing and undetectable beings.

I am no sinner

Sat, 30 May 2009 00:01:00 GMT

Alone I am perched upon my rigid chair within my frigid chamber. It’s dark and gloomy, deeply obscured by inky shadows devouring the warmth, devouring the very soul, devouring the very existence of the room. Only the echoing pulsation of a clock drumming its piecing rhythm remains. This is my chamber, this is my life. I find myself lost in a pointless void, with neither reason nor benefit to persevere life. What be the purpose in such a life I am burdened with, hampered, trapped in the restraining chain of anxiety that be the very existence of I? I’m a talent-less fool with nothing but a dream I can not translate, nothing but a concept of life I can not understand, like an inkless pen I stand here inanimate, in the shadow of my own dream, a nonentity. With all my sins and foil judgements, I am not disorientated, adrift, or astray, I am lost. Everyday this tormenting reminiscence tickles my throat, a sort of displacing and desiccated feel that submits me to sensations of sickness. I can’t even look myself in the mirror anymore without diverse feelings of defeatism and loathing as my mind becomes segregated from me. I seem to have washed my hands of myself in an attempt to rid myself of hurt and hate, I am not me, and I will never want to be. I welcome the utopia of death, I desire the worlds end. I hate the human species, no compassion; I have no sympathy for them at all. They have overstayed their welcome. They are corrupted with greed like lust and gluttony. The mentality of Hitler, the self-discipline of Roscoe Arbuckle, and about as useful to the world as Graham Norton, This is not madness, this is simply observation. An epiphany has dawned, forgive my previous haste towards the aforementioned sin, I am no sinner, how can I be? It’s fictional like evil be just opinion. I feel a self disrepute, but how can I be shameful of particular reminiscences when only I have knowledge of them. Who is judging me? However, innate personality also nonexistent therefore said memories is me, I am the product of my upbringing. One should then embrace these sin labelled memories as token. Life is no test! As contradictory as the following statement may sound I insure you it is not. You must realize that there is no rabbit hole. The meaning of life is the desire of life. Emotional obstructionism is the human sphere, a nucleus manipulating the pulses of the self renders our one desire into a multifaceted intricate imagination of aspiration however utterly insignificant, and all the splendour is this bio-contraption simply desires life, nothing more. I am no sinner.

Television

Sat, 23 May 2009 00:01:00 GMT

Until recently I entertained myself with the charming witticisms offered to me via Radio Four. However I was then tempted and consequently folded by the offer of a petite flat screen television that can be suspended on a partition such as my bedroom wall. This will be great, I foolishly predicted. Freeview appears to be all the quality that was once offered by the old five channel analogue system, only now is divided over forty plus channels. Most of which present nothing but back to back ‘Cash In The Attic’, a show that I have observed before but never witnessed anybody ever actually go in an attic, should really be called ‘Cash In The Shed’. Britain's Got Talent! The names incorrect for a start, and not only does it make me cringe but is also suspiciously much like Fame Academy and Pop Idol. Freeview also has a lot of channels that don’t even start till six o’clock and even then it’s not long before they show cheap game shows. Presenters I’ve never heard of drugged up on Prozac ripping off Family Fortunes, and using surveys taken in Cardiff, so the top answer on famous cities in England is Ryan Giggs. Graham Norton is given his own show because they literately can not find anywhere to dump him. The channel Dave just has five episodes of TopGear on a loop. A gay, a lesbian, and a drag queen walk into a room, no this isn’t a joke, it’s called Big Brother, and it’s accompanied by even more mind numbing shows like Big Brother’s Little Brother, Big Brother’s Big Mouth, Big Brother’s Little Sister, Big Brother’s Second Cousin Twice Removed, well I’m making them up now. So many adverts are vomited out; an episode of QI can last up to two hours. The News is presented by twelve different people playing musical chairs, and the weather man’s background map has been replaced by what looks like Space Invaders. Entertainment, Informative? Just looks like crap to me.

May 16

Sat, 16 May 2009 00:01:00 GMT

Imagine I ask, as a incoherent writer to a moronic reader, imagine if you will the hurt and horror I've seen today , It is and now was May the 16th and as I witnessed the intrepid ball of fire haughtily throw itself into the presence of my sky thus impertinently inhibiting my sleep and leaving me some what in a fractious set mood on what was a day I could furtively announce as my insular birthday. I say could as I won't for the less said about such a infamy ever insatiable day the better. But more to the point this day, this evil day of petering hopes and impudent reflections enveloped in life's token of fear, must be the worst day of ones indolent life, as if not being the innate renaissance man one always dreamt wasn't bad enough, I now have to continual on in this feeble uncongenial body with the education of a 'special' pre-school 'window licking' [sic] dunce and wealth of a feral peasant. Ordered around by flatulent egotistic monkeys and looked down upon as nothing more than a cretin one was lucky not to find clinging on to the soles of ones shoes. And then the Birthday drink with them rehearse witticisms in pubs of ear-splitting noise that makes the chairs next to me bleed. This should be a day of furtive gluttony instead replaced by emotion suicide detached from inner mood swings and the dreaded "Happy Birthday" with an automated half smile as the little man in the head bangs his clenched fists on the walls shouting "Rot in hell you Bastard!". "Oh is it your Birthday?" enters another unwanted guest to your circle, "Yes it is his birthday" replies the first on your behalf as if you were unable to answer the monkey yourself and how dare you refer to me with a pronoun in my presence... Blasphemy! But anyway, on with the story, the shocking story that will make your blood curdle and make the pulsation of your heart multiply uncontrollably for it was a cut of card, the custom practice of receiving the truculent gash wound onslaughts on defenceless index fingers and thumbs from hazardous untamed and unwanted meaningless empty Birthday cards consequencing in acute pain and discomfort in the misleading form of paper cuts now clogged with a pound of glitter, "Yea thanks" what effort it must have caused you. Can people not see that all I want is a normal day, I like my normal days and often ponder on my unhealthy life style as I lay there in my pit using every effort just to continue breathing as I gulp down my Bottle of Rioja's Marques Del Norte Reserva red wine (my favourite) with a burning silk cut cigarette clinging to the outer side of my lips and eating nothing but a balanced diet of chocolate, I like my life, the only day of my life I don't like is the horrid annual birthday that I'm forced to participate in to celebrate my life.

Monday

Mon, 11 May 2009 00:01:00 GMT

Blasting clatter in a bang of despair, nothing can match the aggravation inflicted by the exasperatingly high pitched screaming of the alarm clock, and at the blink of my wakening it was most unwelcome. Another day awaited me. Even as I pen this dribbling nostalgic confetti of reminiscence, my mind pierces in antagonism. But, like every show that is one’s life, the show must go on. Ascend; I then performed, as I escaped the place of my slumbering rest. The deserted bed felt damp and flat, as the bed sheet adhered to my skin. Clinging like fate, I knew then at that very moment that it was all down hill from there.

Chav

Sat, 09 May 2009 00:01:00 GMT

Commonly thought to be of inferior intellect, the Chavette surprises us with its cunning plan to avoid taking up a professional career and provide itself with free accommodation supplied by tax payers by spawning multi coloured mini chavs at a early stage in life, usually mid teens. Clearly recognisable by their distinctive tribal Burberry they congregate in town centres and on street corners, Chavs have a reputation of being creative with public property and motor vehicles, building themselves Chaviots out of mechcano sets and strip lighting, and providing us with humorous banta written on toilet walls like 'Shit' and 'Matt woz ere' in an attempt to relieve our boredom while urinating. Their language is a basic form of English thus avoiding any words they cannot spell or pronounce, even to the extent of creating new words only they know the meaning of. Hunting in large groups Chavs will single out the weakest, smallest prey and attack it without mercy avoiding any personal injury and insuring victory. Chavs unfortunately don't yet fall into the category of rodent and in effect cannot be bludgeoned to death under the guise of pest control. Darn!- I think I speak for everyone when I say thank you Chavs for the great contribution you've made to this country, you've made it what it what it is today, a shit hole.

Time

Sat, 02 May 2009 00:01:00 GMT

Time is the variation in the momentum of observed change. How foolish was I to have conceived this feeble idea. Time is not an element but a concept. Ones own grasp of time is always different from another’s as is the interpretation of one’s own time. It is perhaps best understood as awareness of psychological time; psychological time passes swiftly for us while enjoying reading a book but slows dramatically when waiting the boiling of water on a stove. The writer’s age here may be different from that of the readers’ but who has lived longer is not simple to answer. Age is often erroneously measured by the clocks perception but not our own. Einstein proved that the time you are in can be distorted by your position and speed, Einstein even opened the gates to the plausibility of time travel. However time travel as depicted in the science fiction moving pictures presented in theatres is a little exaggerated. Only to the observer do you travel time. Technically time exists but only because of the variations in energies. If the universe truly consisted of nothing then time would be non-existent.