A thing (for now)

So, it's been a while. Nothing has really happened. I graduated, got a job, left a job, started a PGCE, left a PGCE...it's actually that last thing which I want to talk about but I need to provide some context first. Yesterday, I got drunk. Very drunk. The most drunk I've been in a very, very long time. Frankly, I'm amazed I'm not dead this morning, or at least curled up in some form of alcohol induced catatonia. Mostly though, I'm amazed I'm not dead because in addition to drinking literally enough to kill, I am also very sick. Well, not very sick, just sick, I guess....I have two ongoing conditions, both relatively minor actually, an inner ear infection and also glandular fever. You know, conditions which are not end of the world or anything in their severity, they just require a month or two of rest for them to clear up....and that's where the talk about the PGCE comes in. Only two months in, I had to quit the course. I mean, I can barely stand up for five minutes without falling over or feeling extremely nauseous, I can't hold my concentration, I have a horrible amount of brain fog, I have recurrent fevers and tics and headaches and, well, it's not good. 

As I say, it's actually nothing serious, it should clear up in a month or two but....I had to leave the PGCE course. It was something I'd been working toward for over a year, the amount of time and energy I put into getting there, the hoops I had to jump through, the effort I'd put into getting the experience required...I've been invited back next year. The university was very understanding in that regard, I mean, it was a health issue, couldn't be avoided, get better and try again next year....I don't know if I can. I loved the brief amount that I spent teaching but I don't know....I wasn't doing too well at the course even before I became ill and the two weeks I've had off have given me a decent amount of time to reflect on life and everything. Too much time to think, I think, because it's been very depressing, assessing my life. I think the biggest problem I have is worrying what other people think of me. I want people to have the best view of me but then I fear I'll mess up or fall short of these imaginary expectations and so disappear or self sabotage because then at least the fuck up is my choice, right? I'm neurotic to a ridiculous level, is what I'm trying to say. I think that's the worst thing about having to leave the PGCE course, it wasn't my choice to do so, it was something forced on me. I'd been thinking about leaving but gritted my teeth, pulled my shit together, and said to the universe 'No, I'm doing this' and the universe said 'Oh, really now?' This has been a bit of a rambling mess but then, I am a rambling mess, so I'm going to go now and...I don't know...wallow in misery or something, yes, I think wallowing is the order of the day.   

Let's talk about regrets

It’s been just under a month since I handed in my final university assignment and I have been in a somewhat…pensive mood, to say the least, since then. There is, for me anyway, a sense of reflection needed in such circumstances and because I am who I am, I tend to focus on the negatives, that is, on the regrets. Things I would have done differently, and the reasons why, and so, let’s get on with it.

Number 1: Journalism

In my first year of university, I was studying Journalism. In some ways, I wish that I hadn’t dropped it. Though in other ways…Well, there were a few reasons why I did and I’ve not really gone into them before but…fuck it, there were four main reasons. 1) I wasn’t good at shorthand. Entirely my own fault, I never practiced it. The fact is this, I’m lazy…lazy but intelligent…and that’s been enough to get by in pretty much every other aspect of life thus far experienced, but in such a practical aspect? It was essentially learning a new language and that’s something a person simply can’t ‘fake’, or perform innately. Funnily enough, it was actually acknowledging my failure at shorthand that has made me into a decent student of Japanese, so, at least there’s that. 2) One of my tutors told a story about how they had, when being a newly hired journalist way back when, been forced to remove a story about the dangerous practices of a local business because said business had an advertising contract with the paper. A contract which would be terminated if the story came to light, and so taking with it the money they brought to the paper. I remember listening to this story and the tutor explaining it away as a necessary evil of the business, and you know, I could understand it…but it did dishearten me. Journalism was supposed to be about informing the public but this, this was just advertising, which leads me to 3) Stories are just advertisements. Not all of them, of course not, but the majority? I look back at the stories I submitted for my final module, tate gallery exhibits, beatles auctions, local council saying ‘we’re great us, ignore the mess’, it wasn’t informative in the sense of it being things people need to know, it was advertising. It was placating nonsense, adverts disguised as news. And as for reason number four….I thought someone else was going to be there. That she wasn’t was heartbreaking, at the time, but it worked out for her so I’m not too down on that point. I was crushed though, at the time I mean, but (plays the self loathing card) it probably worked out for the best. I hope, right? Anyway, it did make the whole year harder to get through.

Number 2: Creative writing

I want to preface this, I really, really, really fucking enjoyed creative writing. Most of it anyway, there were a few parts I disliked, (I swear, if I have to hear how ‘great’ Chekhov’s short stories are ever again, it’ll be too soon) but overall, it was good.

Having said that, however, the marking system is ass. Subjective…subjects…..are always going to be difficult to assess, but the ‘system’ used in creative writing was ill-defined at best and deliberately obtuse at worst. I wrote a story which the other people in my class loved. They loved it so much they showed it to other students, ones not even on the writing course, and they loved it. It, apparently, was good enough to cause nightmares in one student and prevent them from sleeping after they’d read it and, despite that, they re-read it again and again. The story got a mark of 62. What I’m getting at here is not so much that 62 is a poor mark, or that my work was a masterpiece which terrified people, what I’m getting at is that if my work had been marked by the students….I’d have received a much, much higher mark. And not because they’re colleagues or peers or whatever, but because it was a story much more in tune with that audience. My regret, essentially, is that I didn’t drop Creative Writing and focus entirely on English because even though that subject is also quite subjective, it isn’t nearly so as much as Creative Writing is. I’m pretty much nailed on for a 2:1, had I dropped Creative Writing, I’m certain I would be looking at a comfortable First.

Number 3: Friends (or lack thereof)

A little over a year ago now, I stopped being friends with a group of people I’d known since school. It wasn’t that anything dramatic happened, there was no fight, no big fallout or argument or whatever…In fact, that was the issue, I was lowkey pissed off with how static the relationships were. Not every day has to be this huge deal, every day at Disneyland or whatever would turn sour pretty fast I would imagine, but by the same token, doing the same boring thing every meet up….sit around in a dirty house, barely talk, play videogames, watch movies, go home. Every weekend. The same thing. For over a decade. My regret here is twofold. On the one hand, I wish I could have actually got these people to do something. I tried, you know, to get them out to play sports, to go the cinema, restaurants, football matches, and it’d work for like three, maybe four weekends and then…back to routine. I should, perhaps have tried harder. On the other hand, maybe I shouldn’t have tried at all. The fact of it was that a few years back (actually, longer now….jeez, like, 7-8 years ago…), I actually had a group of friends who were basically all that and I slowly removed myself from that group to make the other group more like….them….Jesus, I knew I’d done something stupid, but actually spelling it out like this just makes it even more….and then there was another group who were also better…and I didn’t hang with them because of the first group I mentioned….Goddamn it all, I change this regret, this regret is now about how late I was in kicking them to the kerb. I should have done it years ago whilst I still had the other groups instead of tying myself to that rock.

Number 4: Japanese

This one is a faux regret. I don’t regret my ongoing lessons in Japanese, I don’t regret my goal to get work in Japan and hopefully live there for many years, what I regret is my trip to Tokyo last year. Not because it was a terrible trip, or that it didn’t live up to my expectations, no, it was the complete opposite. It was the best trip. It shattered expectations. My fear was that thing where, have you ever been really looking forward to something, maybe a holiday or an event, or hell, even something like Christmas, and you hype it up and hype it up and then it arrives and it’s good, yeah, but not as good as you’d hoped…and so you deflate a little bit, and you get increasingly miffed because it’s just not exactly what you expected? You know, spoilt brat syndrome (I kid, I jest, it’s not limited to just spoilt brats….petulant princesses get it as well). Japan wasn’t like that. I hyped it up and hyped it up and hyped it up and it met that hype. Met it and demolished it. My regret was ever having to leave. For a few month after the journey, I was just wandering around in what was essentially a fugue state. Not really doing anything. I legitimately thought, at one point, so apathetic and listless I was, that maybe I’d contracted some disease over there, maybe eaten something I shouldn’t have and was now at the mercy of a parasitic mind-worm with a penchant for gloomy moping, but it wasn’t the case at all. I was homesick for a place that wasn’t home. And, I still feel that way. I want to get back there, any way I can. So, I regret my trip to Tokyo because had I not gone, I would never have known just how brilliant a place it is and I wouldn’t be longing for it so much.   

Anyway, I think this is a good place to start wrapping up, because, by the time I’m finished, this piece is going to be over 1500 words, could I do a number five? Sure. Of course I could, there are literally hundreds of things I regret, thousands even, and that’s just in the last year or so, let alone any time period before that, so, I think it’s best to keep it to just four. Actually, there is one last thing. Today, June 4^th, is my birthday. I got a card and a cake from my mother, and a card from my sister (both cards had a little money inside), but other than that, it’s just been a normal day. This is not a plea for remembrance, or a chastisement for forgetting/not knowing/caring, I’m vain but I’m not that vain and besides, I know that this bed is one I made myself. I guess there is a fifth regret in this piece. I regret not being able to talk to people. I just naturally assume that if people aren’t talking to me that they don’t want to be talking to me at all and so I don’t, generally, impose myself upon people.

Anyway, if you’ve read all that, thanks for reading. If not, well, doesn’t really matter what I type here then, does it. I hope you non-readers, the ones who saw it, sighed and moved on because hey, Terence is talking shite again, I hope you drown in your own snot. Not the readers though, you guys and gals are cool, may you all acquire cool hats that actually compliment your appearance. (This is actually a really thoughtful wish, have you seen it when people wear cool hats that don’t suit them? They look like right pillocks, don’t they. You won’t though, not anymore, thanks to my wishfulfilment. That’s right, I put those two words together, gaze upon it’s magnificence! GAZE UPON IT! Anyway….bye.)     

Sometimes, a title is just a title

I don't know what to say. It's an odd thing, being me. Now, you probably don't know what that is exactly like, (unless....could I be like John Malkovich in that movie, Being John Malkovich, with some kind of portal that allows people to experience the 'thrill' of being me....I put the word 'thrill' in quotation marks to assert some level of dubiousness....I have, after all, spent at least half an hour today just staring at the ceiling...not drunk, or on drugs, or anything like that, though, maybe i should be....but this aside is getting way ahead of itself, and is also running on way too long, so I'm going to close the parentheses now) so, let me give you a close approximation by giving you some ingredients. Cliché, I know, but that is the way of things. First, take a big ol' bag of....actually, I'm not going to do that, let me tell you something, two things, as a matter of fact.

Firstly, I couldn't leave the house the other day. Secondly, it was the first time that this has been the case in a good, seven, eight years. See, physically, I'm well and capable, I have no injuries, no physical maladies, no deformities, no injuries or the like. There was no physical obstruction, either. That is, there was nothing blocking the doors or windows, no bomb, or bomb warning, in the street, no barricades to stop the flesh eating zombie hordes from busting in and devouring me and mine and spreading the plague even further. No, it was a regular sunny day, the afternoon actually, a little after half six, and I wanted to go to the shops. I wanted some Pepsi. Pepsi Max to be specific (the 'X' makes it sound cool). I couldn't leave the house. I stood there, coat-jacket in hand, and I couldn't move. I was literally petrified. Panic attacks are not new to me, they're something I've dealt with my entire life. The constriction in the chest, the hollowness in the head, the rawness of the signals coming from the eyeballs, the feeling as though the room is suddenly much smaller than it was....I read somewhere that they're actually a flaw in the fight or flight response system, that it's the brain fucking up and recognising a source of discomfort, or an event, or whatever, as being eminently more dangerous than it is, and going full hog, jacking up the adrenal glands, cutting out all extraneous information but what's directly in front and surrounding areas, and just generally, you know, preparing for a fight, or a flight. Of course, the problem is, whilst we humans are animals, we're also so cognizant, so very, very self-aware, and so that primal response designed as a emergency button has us dumb chimps looking at the flashing buttons, listening to the wailing sirens, the klaxons, and asking 'why' and not moving.

Don't worry, it only lasted ten, maybe fifteen minutes, and then I was able to move again and I got my pepsi (max), and there was much rejoicing throughout the land, huzzah! However, the panic attack is not the actually bad thing. See, those hit you over the head with their arrival. There's no subtleness to one, it's BAM! IN YOUR FUCKING FACE! The real problem is the other thing, the thing I mentioned in parentheses at the start. Staring at the ceiling. I've been doing a pretty indecent amount of that lately. Staring at the ceiling. Doing nothing, in other words. And it's not that I don't have things to do, I do. I've not yet technically finished university (I still have one assignment to go...and if I'm being honest, there's probably going to be a deferral on one module....I may go into the reasons, the whys and wherefores on that one, but it won't be here, save that for another day) and there is, of course, the issue of post-grad study/employment, and then there's other more frivolous stuff, like video games and books (and boy, oh boy, should you see my shrine to consumerism, it's fab!), let it never be said that I do not have activities to do. In fact, I would never say it. Still, I lay on my bed, and I stare at the ceiling, and I do nothing. Actually, that's a lie. I think. Of course I do. Horrible, spiteful thoughts. No, that's not quite the right word, spite is something one inflicts on others, I don't know what it is, what I do to myself. It's late as I write this, it's something I have to write though, even though I can't quite think of the right words, I need to get out something at least approximate to them. I think about people. I'm lonely. Really, really, fucking lonely. Yet, I can't do shit about it. All I can do is sit in my room, and look at the ceiling. It's a nice ceiling, off-white, not quite cream, though maybe that's just the lighting, and the cobwebs festooning the thing making it look that way. Talk to them. There's a few cracks in the paint too, where the stresses of time, or maybe water, gods, I hope it's not water, are edging their way in. Organise something, a day out maybe? Is that a spider crawling along there? I don't think it is, I think it's just a shadow or something, see, where the cobweb is moving, it's a shadow. They'll say no. Why do they call it a ceiling anyway? Like, where that word come from. I mean, France, obviously, with the way that sounds it can't be anything other than from the Romantic languages. Why didn't you ask her? I wonder why that bit of skirting is missing? It exists to demarcate the boundary between wall and ceiling, so without it, where, in that particular section does the wall begin and the ceiling end there?

Day in, day out. Punctuated by.....see, I don't know what's the interruption in my life anymore. Is it the feeling of drawn out, apathetic malaise that is the norm and the everyday activities, reading, exercising, video-games, etc. that are the interruptions, or is it vice versa. I...think I'm done for now. This isn't helping nearly as much as I thought it would, which was already a pretty low estimate, in fact, it just made me realise how bereft I am of....people....fuck it, I'm out.

In which I waffle on about language, part one: Random thoughts

はじめまして、テレンスと申します。２７さいです、リバプールに住んでいます。去年の十月から日本語を勉強しているから日本に住みたい、けど、良くならなくてはなりません。よろしくお願いします。

Heavily indebted to Jisho.org and YesJapan (website and book series) for this. I've officially been learning Japanese now for around 14 months, though in reality, it's been more like 11-12 because of one thing or another (like, I've not done any Japanese this week because of this whole crippled arm thing I've had, like a pinched nerve or a tendon strain or something, I don't know, whatever it is it's bloody painful), but I'm getting there. Slowly but surely, bit by bit, I'm clawing my way to something resembling basic proficiency. At least in written Japanese, speaking is much harder to do and not just because it requires a more instantaneous response/less thinking time, but mostly because I have very little practice at it. I don't know of any other Japanese speakers/learners (funny little sidestory, there was this one guy/acquaintance who I thought would be into learning it, he went to the same JET (this teaching English in Japan thing) seminar as me, so I went up to him after the fact and asked if he was learning/knew Japanese (my cunning plan being to use him, as a fellow student, to practice speech), but he said he wasn't planning on learning Japanese, any at all, prior to going to Japan on the JET program...was like 'whaaaa', now, he could've just been fobbing me off, which is cool, but I'm certain he was being sincere (he's a bit of a tit tbh), which just boggles my mind...anyway) but even there I'm making some headway by watching Japanese videos/dramas.

Not anime, btw, I mean, don't get me wrong, I love anime, but it's not great for learning Japanese. An example of what I watch, and f you've got the time watch this show, is http://www.dramagalaxy.tv/beautiful-rain it's bloody heartbreaking, about a single father who's diagnosed with alzheimers and it's just...all dem feelz....but also, I watch news programmes and Japanese documentaries, mostly without subtitles. I don't understand much, my vocabulary is...not great...but, and I don't know if this is just me, but foreign languages in general....have you ever paid attention to them? Actually, I think it's true of native language too, but if you aren't actively listening, words and conversations just sort of blend together? In the native language though, it's easier to unpack, we can spot the patterns, in a foreign language though, it's much harder and is initially far less defined. I think it's a universal thing (i mean, barbarians are called so because their language is just like the braying of sheep, right?....terry deary ruined history for me), but the more practised the ear becomes, the easier it is to distinguish. For me, like I say, my Japanese vocabulary isn't great, but my grammar is fairly decent, so I can use that to differentiate words and context between words...it's not foolproof, because native Japanese speakers tend to drop particles (which is perhaps the main reason anime is so bad for learning Japanese, the other reason being the language used is often terribly informal, which is something else we need to talk about later) and said particles (and conjunctions, etc.) also have multiple meanings (is that は simply marking the topic? the subject? indicating a contrast? or emphasising?), every language has this though, or something like this, especially when spoken, and that's even without getting into dialects....Anyway, yes, so, incredibly, the more you listen, the better you get at hearing. That's just...wow, I mean, who saw that coming, right? And who would write a lengthy, convoluted paragraph about it, probably some weirdo right? Pfft, imagine....

I love it though....I really wish I had started learning it sooner. When I was in school (going back about twelve years ago now), I bought this Lonely Planet Japanese phrasebook. I had a plan to learn Japanese from a phrasebook....I was a dumb kid (and now I'm a slightly less dumb, but still pretty dumb, adult, yay!) and not just because I spent like two weeks when I was fifteen or whatever, copying down phrases like 'わたしのなめえはTerenceです.' (which is sort of correct, but not really, it makes sense, but it's very touristy...iono, like going to Nice, France and calling it so it rhymes with ice, or something) and completely misunderstanding the sentence structure (what do you mean, わたしはたべてすし is wrong, everythings in there, 私は, I am, 食べて, eating, すし, sushi, I am eating sushi, it's perfectly fine!), and actually, this has all been a lie, because I didn't even use hiragana...I used romaji exclusively...I put it aside for the next ten years. I mean, literally. Every so often, I'd find that phrasebook and be like 'huh...guess I'll give this another go', last about two days at most and put it aside again. Curse you past Terence! It's said that Japanese takes six to twelve years (on average) to become truly fluent....we could've been fluent by now, you prick!

Anyway, I'm going to bring this to a close now because, originally, this was a post on facebook and was just going to be just that little introduction/basic facts thing which I did at the start, and then adding a plug for the actual blog thing which I'm going to be writing later today (or maybe now tomorrow) on languages (though it'll be more about languages in general than specifically to do with Japanese or English, how it shapes our perception of the world and such, you know, fun stuff :D)...things got out of hand pretty quickly, I just don't know what went wrong....I blame the fact I couldn't write for a week, so now, verbiage! verbiage everywhere! Good day to you!

Thinking about pain

I injured myself about a week ago. Actually, no, it was exactly a week ago, last Friday, the 27th of November, that's when it happened. That is the when, as to the how, I've no idea. That's the perplexing thing. I went to bed fine, and when I woke up my right arm felt a little dead, you know, that kind of feeling you get when you've slept on your arm? That's what it felt like. So, I thought nothing of it. I went about my day, I did normal, everyday Terence things (we are an industrious folk, us Terences, so long as that industry involves being lazy, watching cartoons, and playing video games we can go all day), all the while with that little twinge that should have had me worrying.

The next day, Saturday, it was really quite painful. The pain had bloomed during the night. I went around to a friend's house and did normal friend things, like being lazy, watching cartoons, and playing video games (for they are Terencian in those ways), and....I don't know....I never let on or complained about the pain. All day and night, I was surreptitiously moving my arm about, putting it behind my head or something (really weird thing, putting the arm up and behind the head gave some relief from the pain...I figure it must be something to do with the pressure on the muscle or something, but then, I don't know, because surely gravity would also be acting on it....or maybe angels were high fiving the pain away...I don't know! You come up with a theory then, looking at me like I'm crazy, pfft, it is not I who am crazy...it is I who am mad!), which made it okay for like a moment or two, then the pain would come back with it's bigger brother and kick my ass for chatting back. 

Then, Sunday morning. Oh boy, was that fun. I couldn't get out of bed. I couldn't move. When I was a kid, I was ran over by a car. I think i've talked about that before, I nearly lost a a foot, it had to be literally sewn back on....that didn't hurt half as much as Sunday morning. Well, maybe it did, I don't know, pain is weird in that sense. Like, you can imagine pain right, someone puts the visual in your mind of being stabbed in the eye or whatever, with a needle, you go 'ah, wtf, bleugh' and shiver, right? But remembering pain? That's much harder. At least it is for me, and I assume it's a universal thing because I've not met anyone who can actually remember physical pain. Mental pain, sure, but physical? Not so much. And I talk about this a lot with people, because I'm weird like that....anyway, it was pretty bad, I couldn't move for the pain. At least for a good half hour anyway, I just kind laid there and cried. Then I remembered my ninja turtle training, rolled off my back, and got a taxi to the A&E.

Here's where I could go on a rant about the NHS. Because they didn't examine me. No scans, no poking, no prodding, nada. Just, 'you're in pain,' 'yessum,' 'is it really bad?' 'yessum,' 'cool, here's a prescription for some pain meds strong enough to kill a small elephant, go have fun.' 'aye sir!' Because....and I know that it must be awfully disheartening to be a doctor at times, especially in a shithole of a city like Liverpool, and it's hard to believe when there's a real case because of every arsehole scouser who comes into the clinic with their 'aw, but lad, i've got this like, real pain, giz us some meds like', but iono, it just seemed really unprofessional to sign off on something like that without an examination. But then, that's the NHS for you.

Since then, life's been shit. I had to actually stay off university because I couldn't get dressed (literally couldn't put my pants, shoes and socks on, because it hurt far too much, even with the meds, even with my left hand). I'd not missed any education or work thing since I was fourteen or so....at least, not for a legitimate reason....I mean, I've stayed off plenty of times because laziness or dropping out of college and whatever, but that was always my decision. It was somewhat galling to be forced to the sidelines. That a physical impairment kept me out of the action, as it were. I don't like being reminded of my own mortality, and that's happened a lot this past week. When I was in my late teens, early twenties, it used to keep me awake at night. Again, I think this is something I've talked about before, something that I'd mostly gotten over, but it's been back this week, because I've not been able to read books, play video games, go to university and what not, and also, the pain in the arm has been keeping me awake at night and that's when the thoughts creep in. When the shadows curl and twist around the silence...

It's still hurting now. The arm, I mean, it's still quite tender and the hand's numb. I tried writing before and well, my already messy handwriting is even messier because I can't hold the pen right....even typing this out has been kind of a chore because, and I don't know why this is the case, but my co-ordination is off....like, I keep hitting the keys above and/or to the side of the one I want to hit....I don't know if it's just because I've not typed anything in over a week (with the right hand anyway) or what, I don't know...that's kinda scary in itself though....that it's a skill that can be 'lost', as it were, in just a week....I'm hoping it's just the meds and the fact that the muscle's still kind of twinging. 

Anyway, that's all I have to say right now....and jesus, how many words did I have to use to not say not really much of anything at all...

Salt

Salt is weird. Like, thousands of years ago, salt was super important so much so it was basically currency but it came from the ocean. Specifically salt encrusted rocks...what happy accident was that then?! Some caveman family was at the seaside, one of them accidentally dropped their mammoth sandwich (in that it was big and also made from a mammoth) on one of the rocks and, being an unfussy eater, ate the sandwich then turned around to the others "Okay dudes, you're not going to believe me, but this rock, this one right here, this rock is delicious!" and so, sceptical at first, they all started wiping sandwiches on seaside rocks and found that they loved it.

Or the other explanation is that salty tasting meals exist naturally in...nature...so, ancient humans went on quests to find more accessible salts. Which would be fun to imagine. A caveman scientist, "Day 1, just invented numbers, very happy side effect of quest for salt. Tried licking a porcupine...porcupine seemed to enjoy it, but my tongue did not for varying reasons. Will update log again tomorrow." The next day, "Day 2. Just invented linear concept of time, very happy, though now also somewhat aware of own mortality which is rather uncomfortable. Mission for salt continues, got grandmother to try sucking eggs as per Jeff's suggestion, she said they could use some salt. Will update log again tomorrow." The third day, "Day 3, decided to take a break today with the family, went to the beach. A good time was had by all until Jeff dropped his sandwich on the floor. He caused a scene until I offered to give him my sandwich and I'd eat the one off the floor because it's the stone age and who really cares about germs, apart from Jeff. Found that the sandwich now had salt on it, rocks make salt, fellow salt hunters very happy with my discovery." "Day 4, Jeff suggested salt was actually in the water and that we could harvest it by boiling said water. Crazy Jeff, salt is a solid, not a liquid, he'll never be a scientist like me if he continues to think like that."

I did originally have an ending for this, but I forgot it...so, erm, lets talk about dinosaurs instead. Now dinosaur means "terrible lizards" which is a fantastically inaccurate name as they were neither at all terrible nor lizards. But that is a story for another day, smoke bomb! *flees in confusion*

Zeus, am I right?

Zeus was doing his usual Zeus thing, chatting up a mortal priestess (ancient greek devouts were so much open to seduction) named Io, when Hera came along and was all like "Zeus, you better not be hitting on some human again?!"  and so Zeus, being that he was the king of the gods, was crafty and quick enough to change Io into a cow before his wife could catch them together. 

Hera though, being that she was the Queen of the gods and also, you know, knowing what Zeus was like, was suspicious when she found her husband with his arms wrapped around a cow and so, using her wit, proclaimed "Oh, what a fabulous gift you've got for me there, I've always wanted a cow!" and Zeus was forced to give over poor Io to Hera.

However, thinking quickly, Zeus burst out "Ah, but we live on Mount Olympus, can't take cows up a mountain, they're very terrestrial, scared of heights, don't you know."

Hera conceded the point but insisted that the cow be kept in her sacred olive grove (somehow not a euphemism) and watched over by her friend, Argos, who was a giant with like, so many eyes, just, freaking, so many, it was weird. Hera knew that loyal Argos would keep an eye (or two, or fifty, or a hundred) on Io at all times because he never closed them all at once.

However, she had not banked on Hermes, who Zeus sent to kill Argos because that's the logical reaction to being cockblocked by your wife. Send your son to kill her friend. Anyway, Hermes went there and tried to get Argos to leave the cow unattended, but no matter what he did he couldn't get the giant to close all his eyes at the same time. He tried spells and hexes, he tried playing soothing lullabies on his lyre, nothing would work until he started spouting on about the history of musical instruments ("Hey, did I ever tell you how I made the first lyre? First, I got this turtle right...." and on he goes, oy) which knocked the giant out. Then, Hermes lopped Argos' head off with a sickle because fucker was hardcore.

As it turns out, Zeus had kind of moved on by this point and didn't really care anymore. He went off to do Zeus things. Argos' eyes got put on peacock tails because they were Hera's favourite bird. Hermes got no comeuppance. And as for Io, well, she eventually got turned back into a human, after being cursed by Hera to madness by gadfly (just one, that couldn't be gotten rid of, just stinging her, all the time, to induce insanity you see), meeting the titan Prometheus and swimming across a whole fucking ocean (as a human that's tough, as a cow...yeah). But it was all worth it because in the end Zeus had his way and she ended up giving birth to some of Zeus' kids (sure, he had given up on her, but Zeus is Zeus), who then had kids of their own, who then had kids with other Zeus babies because looking at the family tree of ancient greeks myths is a lot like reading a rednecks family tree (oh my mother is my brother, is my fathers aunties uncle, is my grandpa, is my nephew is my son! and so on, seriously, zeus hit up his own grandchildren multiple times, who then procreated with each other, and don't even get me started on Herakles and the Danaids, 1 Zeus male descendant, 50 Zeus female descendants, and all 50 were impregnated, and then started marrying each other, and all the ancient greek rulers pointed at shit like this and was like "we is descended from this union, this is why we're more specialler than you!" and you know, they weren't wrong)....

....anyway, where was I...oh yes, the moral. I guess the moral of this story is don't trust Zeus. If you're a woman, he'll probably turn you into some kind of animal...and then fuck you....or turn himself into an animal...and fuck you...either way, he's going to fuck you. If you're a male, don't get in the way or he will have you killed...and then probably fuck you.  

Voices

When I was a kid I used to do these voice imitation things. Like, I'd put on different accents, imitate celebrity voices or whatever. One time, I went about a week or so changing my voice every day. I'd spend one day speaking in a cockney accent all day, the next, an Arnold Schwarzenegger imitation, the next I'd do a hoarse Glaswegian voice. Anyway, it got to the point where I forgot what my actual voice sounded like. Have you ever had that? It's a surreal moment of depersonalisation. It was kind of like that thing people get when they hear themselves on a recording, the "do I really sound like that?" moment where they're not entirely certain it's them because they're hearing their own voices without the differing timbre and such created by their own skulls. It was like that but taken to the extreme. "Do I really sound like that? Hang on, what do I actually sound like?" 

It was genuinely terrifying, like losing a piece of the self, or rather, not knowing it at all. Never told anyone about it either, never wrote it down anywhere, but people (randomers as well as family and friends of) would always say that I don't sound like I'm from Liverpool (sadly, I do sound more Scouse now, which is a shame as I cannot stand that fucking accent...thinking on it, probably some psychosomatic thing that caused the change in voice in the first place...hmm) and of course, that just fueled the fear that I had done something to my voice. That it wasn't *my* voice, if that makes sense.

Lucky Chloe

http://i.ytimg.com/vi/4O0UphHT6uE/maxresdefault.jpg

This is Lucky Chloe. She is a new character in the fighting series Tekken, joining the roster when Tekken 7 releases. Except maybe not (at least in America) because of the fans outraged at the idea of a cute character in their grimdark serious fighting game series (the same series that has characters such as:  http://img2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20120821020820/tekken/en/images/7/7d/Alisa_Bosconovitch_TTT2.png a literal robotic schoolgirl, http://img1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20110830171938/tekken/en/images/c/c4/Gon_-_Full-body_CG_Art_Image_-_Tekken_3.png a tie in promotion chibi dinosaur, and many more...I've also got to include this scene http://s1.dmcdn.net/UyHV.jpg because it's the badass main character of the series being made to wear a thong...serious bidness!).

Reading through the comment sections on various sites (listed at the end of this missive)the outrage runs the gamut from the aforementioned "you can't put this in my fighting game!" to "screw them for appealing to the popular vocaloid crowd" to "this character is oppressive to females and only reinforces stereotypes!" to which I say...fucking shut up! The arguments seem different but they all boil down to the same basic point, "I feel undue privilege, give me what I want or I will scream." 

Your fighting game? No sir/madam, it's the makers (Harada's) game. He could make the game's roster consist of nothing but Lucky Chloe reskins and it would be perfectly fine because it is "his" (well, his teams, but he's the boss so) game. 

'It's just to appeal to Vocaloid fans', yes, and? Vocaloids fairly big in Japan but, hmm, lets think about this, a Japanese game trying to appeal to a Japanese audience...there might actually be something in this one...except the outrage is justified because...what? It's not targeted at you? Get the fuck out.  

And lastly, my favourite, the "this character is oppressive to females" blather. This one I love most of all because it's so utterly hypocritical, basically "you can't tell women how to act or dress, only I (and people like me) can!". Add in some casual racism (as tends to be the case with these people commenting) along the lines of "Japan needs to start acting more like us civilised people in the West" and you have to laugh if only to curb the murderous rage now burning within.

Anyway, to end this (not really focussed tirade), here's a picture based on the Tekken character designer Harada's tweet saying he'd make a big, burly man character to appease the offended inclusionary folk.

https://pbs.twimg.com/media/B4d63E6IAAARLeb.png:large

Bless that man.

- Outraged points of view were taken from Gamespot, Polygon, Ign and Eurogamer website comment sections. (The reports themselves were about the outrage)   

Gamergate

http://i.ytimg.com/vi/WEDdCMgxnn8/maxresdefault.jpg

https://farm6.staticflickr.com/5573/15053630528_f4bdbb4438.jpg

I've pretty much stayed out of this whole gamergate thing, I think I've talked about it with maybe two other people and it was like a five minute "yeah, it's pretty bullshit, can understand both sides, blah blah blah" thing but yeah, my ire has slowly been rising...the first photo linked is from the xoxo festival of last year, the second is of this year. We'll get back to that in just a tick.

Brief notes for those who don't know anything about gamergate, it started when the ex-boyfriend of a female indie game developer accused her of sleeping with a games journalist to get her product a better rating. This might not be entirely true (or at the least is unprovable, though it is a fact that the two accused started dating the day after the review came out which is fairly suspicious in itself though not at all any indication of guilt).This accusation of (note well) of falsifying journalistic endeavour led to a massive backlash against gamers by a group of people who said that such wild claims were examples of the rampant misogyny and lack of diversity in gaming as a whole, the general view being that the male gamer was upset that his hobby was being usurped by emergent female gamers, whilst female gamers in support of such males were falling victim to institutional gender bias (somehow).

Gamers argue it's not about misogyny or being upset about more/less diversity in games (which is a contestable point anyway), but rather that it's about the lack of oversight these games journalists have, that, in effect, these journalists are free to write whatever they want, however they want and receive whatever they want in the forms of free games, merch, etc. and never be held to account for it and that leads to unmitigated corruption with the medium itself.

That is a very, very brief summation of what has transpired thus far in the whole sorry saga. Why I linked those two pictures though is because they are pictures of the XoXo festival, a festival that claims to highlight and support diversity and independence in art and technology. It's all about diversity, right? That's what it claims? Now count how many of the people there that are NOT white, 20ish, males. If you cannot count without using your fingers, don't worry, you won't run out of fingers, hell, if i say take away the white women from that NOT list, you'd probably only need the one hand to count the rest. That's not a diverse crowd. That's a group of people, a very large group of people, who want to sound as though they support diversity because it's the "moral" thing to say. Oh aren't we good because we say good things.

Now compare that audience of people made up of those bemoaning the lack of diversity in gaming with:

http://metalmusicman.com/files/pictures/evo2k11/evo_crowd_shot.jpg

http://na.lolesports.com/sites/default/files/9-28-2013set1%20(46%20of%2055).jpg

There's still an overabundance of males in both pictures, yes, but compared to the ones at the diversity symposium? The second picture was from League of Legends, a game with a reputation for a terrifying toxic environment, so toxic in fact, its developers had to implement ways to curtail player interaction because it was damaging the title...and yet still, there's asians, there's africans/african-americans, there's white folk, male, female, all there having a good time, but it's gamers who have the inability to diversify/cope with diversity? And yet, instead of looking at the quote/unquote journalists attacking people who were attacking them (not as people, but as journalists), other media picked up on it and were heavily sympathetic to the plight of the poor women so traumatised by this event. Which is why women like Zoe Quinn (which I should've mentioned at the start was the woman who started this whole furore) and Anita Sarkeesian are getting articles in places such as cracked.com, polygon.com, even british tabloids like the guardian (oh sorry, it's a broadsheet, snicker snicker) where they talk about their plight and what they've had to suffer through, because they have suffered, that is without question, they've been attacked, time and again. Not because they are women but because what they purport as truth is anything but. Anita Sarkeesian in particular has made a living out of being a victim, it's actually quite masterful, because there'll always be a pack of moral activists willing to jump on the lance pointed at her lies when she screams "misogyny!"

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that gaming is this great, all inclusive thing, because it patently isn't, but as hobbies go it's definitely got a fair leg up on most of its competitors, and for it to be attacked and slandered in such a way is sad, most of all. Not because I like gaming (though I do, a whole freaking lot), but because of what attacking it without thought shows our society to be. The observation I take from it (and other things like this) is that there are far too many people who are far too interested in looking and appearing correct and moral than actually being correct and moral.

Anyway, I've bored you all long enough now, go have an ice cream and/or carbonated beverage of your choosing.

Frozen Iron

Do you wanna build an Iron man? Come on, lets go and save the day! I never see you anymore, come out the door, it's like you lost your way! We used to be avengers, and now we're not, I wish you'd tell me why...do you wanna build an Iron man....it doesn't have to be an Iron man....

Do you wanna build an Iron man? Or ride around our flash new cars, i think some company is overdue, I've started talking to that AI you've got hidden in your walls!

It gets a little lonely, saving a world from certain doom, just watching as the foes fly by....

Tony, please I know you're in there, people are asking where you've been, put down the dutch courage, i know you're trying to, we're right out here for you, just let us in....

Us avengers only have each other, it's just us and Nick Fury, what are we going to do....

Do you wanna build an Iron man....

Originality is dead; long live originality!

Ideas are a funny thing. Not funny "ha ha" but funny in a very stroke the beard and go "hmm, yes, quite" kind of way. I say they're funny in a strokey beard kind of way because they've all been done before. Or thought up before. Or experienced in a fevered dream brought on by too many custard creams and mint liqueurs. The point I'm laboriously driving at is that being original, truly original, is a very hard thing to achieve.

Well, that's not entirely true I suppose. It can be quite easy to be original, putting on your socks with a shotgun loaded with not buckshot but tadpoles, yes, I think it's fairly safe to say that no one has shot themselves in the foot with frogspawn whilst getting dressed in the morning, so I guess I should amend my previous statement to "It's very hard to be original AND be a success at it". Which is fine you know, as my bufo related sartorial story has shown, being original can be overrated, and vastly so. Though, that's not to say you should ever stop trying or striving towards being different. I would argue the worst thing a person can ever do is stop pushing for change and simply accept everything as it is, that's basically a living death. But you can introduce change without being novel about it and that's fine.

It does annoy me however. The other day I had an idea for a story and I got super excited about it. I was lying in bed, doing my usual thing where I can't sleep because apparently I store all my thoughts in my pillow, when it was like a switch just flipped. The story popped into my head, the characters all fully developed, the twists, the underlying meanings, the ending , everything, it was a fully formed story. The last week I have just been running it over and over my head seeing what I can add, what I should take away, but there hasn't been much for either side. Then, just as I sat down the other day to write it, a little voice whispered in my ear "Hey, isn't that just The Wizard of Oz?" and I stopped and then I thought about it and then I did a little inward screaming. It wasn't entirely the story, it was just very similar. Then I started comparing the idea I had to Neverwhere (by Neil Gaiman), Through the Looking Glass (Lewis Carroll) and a number of other stories and of course, it was all very similar. Character finds themselves in a fantasy land, has struggles adapting, experiences heartbreak/overwhelming physical or emotional trial and prevails, becomes hero, goes home...and yes, I've read about the hero's journey, the monomyth, and it's a very interesting thing, but it just annoyed me that it...well...that it was so perfectly fitting.

I'm still going to write the story because how could I not? But I am still annoyed. Not at the monomyth, not at the idea that originality is a night unobtainable ideal or even that my story is similar to other stories. I'm annoyed at my own brain for getting so worked up about it, letting me become so excited to be writing this thing before going "hey, that character, remind you of anyone from any other story? tsk tsk, Terence." Because, and I think I've said this before, my brain is an asshole who likes to troll me, and I hate him for that! But I sure do love anthropomorphising my organs and blaming them for flaws such as my growing insanity and also my expanding waistline, damn you stomach, can't you just lay off food for even a moment! Yes, all their fault, not mine....I'm sure.

Anyway, that's enough for now...I know, I made you wait a month (WHAT?!) from my last little rant, I was busy, doing things, like unknowingly plagiarising everything in existence, which is quite a feat, let me assure you of that. Later taters. 

Inconsistency

So yeah, religion, how about that eh? Me? I love it! Completely unfounded belief in something just because it feels right? Heck yeah! What I hate about it is (ironically) all the hate it causes...it's just...imagine you're God, or a god, whatever, you got all this fantastic power, you know everything, control everything, can see across the whole breadth and depth of existence and what's this?! Someone doesn't believe in you?! Out of the whole universe, from its birth to death, a statistically insignificant number of atoms either don't acknowledge, or even refute, your existence!  Drown them! Drown the lot of them!

Oh, okay, maybe that was an over-reaction, let's save a family of them and have them repopulate the Earth (itself an insignificant speck against the backdrop of, you know, the whole fucking universe!) because there's no way that the generations of inbreeding as a result of this will backfire in any way...not like the last time you did that it inadvertently created fucking Murder (.....that's not to mention that that could only happen because you created death simply because your creations, which you made that way, ate some fruit....which seriously, what were they supposed to do, they were idiots! they didn't have any intelligence until eating a fruit from the tree called the fucking tree of knowledge! what did you think was going to happen?! Oh, your arch nemesis who took the form of a talking snake told them to eat it and you couldn't do anything about it; least of all just let the thing slide like the forgiving being you are supposed to be??? Good for you! *rolls eyes*.)

Anyway, I'm getting away from myself here; the point is religion is okay. It is only a tool, after all, and you don't blame the hammer for being used to murder someone. The problem is many people just use religion as an excuse to inflict harm on others. He's eating a foodstuff that my book says we shouldn't! She's throwing away her hard earned cash by gambling! They're having fun on a Sunday! Those rat bastards!

The food thing annoys me. You can't eat pigs, because they're filthy! You can't eat cows because they're sacred! You can't eat people because oh so many calories! And I also guess it's a sin...the point is, the human thing aside, because that's a joke, because of the calories, it made sense when it was first introduced. "Don't eat the meat!" says noted historical figure Joe Blogg of Babylon.

 "But!" say the people.

 "You'll die unless it's super fresh because we can't store meat properly as we've not yet invented refrigeration and we live in a fucking desert," continues Joe Blogg.

"We don't care!" say the people, eating the bacon and promptly expiring post haste.

"Hmm," says Joe, "I know...People, hear me! You know that God dude? Totally hates you eating those animals because they're like, his favourite creations and shit."

"What, all of them?" says one of the audience, who somehow survived death by bacon.

"Erm, yes...I mean no! Some are also possessed by demons, which he hates, and if you eat them, you take the demon into you and become corrupted! For example, by eating a pig, you become like the pig demon, full of sloth and gluttony."

"Well, sir, I am convinced, because after that plate of bacon, and the second, I cannot move a muscle save to adjust the cushions on my ottoman...ottoman...say, that's a great name for an empire!" and off went that audience member to found an empire based around footstools.

It made sense back in the day, not so much anymore. People don't really die from eating meat anymore. It's an archaic practice that is only still done because it's what has always been done, which is no excuse to do things!

Then there's the whole thing of attacking homosexuals because a man shall not lay with another man and all that bullshit. Again, probably because back in the day that probably was far more dangerous to do because of hygiene reasons. Got shit on your knob? It's staying there because all you got to wipe it off is a dirty rag, or you can wash it in the river, I guess, but you know, that probably ain't much cleaner....because fish pee in it...you know.....doesn't just apply to homosexuals, but heteros as well, think about it. "Don't have sex!" "Why?" "Because demons live in semen and labial juices, they're attracted to it, and they can get into you via that and corrupt your mind and body!" "Are you talking about STDs?" "....that sounds like scientific demon lingo, you're not a demon wearing a man suit are you?" ".....no" then he grew fangs, his eyes glowed yellow, he sprouted wings and flew away....weird conversation, but he had a point, maybe this science thing could be right? Could it be that being promiscuous is looked down upon because it was ridiculously unhealthy back in the day? Probably. I'd also wager there was a lot of jealousy involved in making it morally reprehensible. 

Which leads us neatly to attacking women, denigrating the entire gender because of original sin, right? We only live these shitty, temptation-filled mortal lives because a woman had a major hankering for an apple, which to be fair, haven't we all had at some point (I may be projecting here, as I bloody love apples) so let's blame her! As opposed to, you know, the being who inflicted the punishment in the first place because his astoundingly arbitrary rules were broken by the crack team of his infinitely less powerful adversary and the woman who literally had the IQ of a retarded sponge (remember, this is before intelligence was even a thing, sure Adam had his little interview things with God, but they were on the intellectual level of say, your average sports journalist.). This is something I feel that gets overlooked a lot. In terms of plot hole, that ranks way up there, and the cover of "well, he's a bit unknowable, you know, we don't know why He does these things, but we do know that we shouldn't know, you know?" is fucking ludicrous. If God is truly unfathomable, then why follow anything He's apparently said, who interpreted it in the first place, how did they do it correctly if He is literally, not figuratively, but literally unknowable. He says woman are bad, maybe he meant it like 90s kids used the word bad, to mean good, and for centuries, millennia, that was (perhaps deliberately) misconstrued? 

I do realise I've gone on a bit too much here about religion from an Abrahamic perspective...mostly because that's the one I was raised with and the ones I despise the most because of the harm and hate they cause in the world. Announcing you're a Jew, a Muslim or a Christian in certain areas is likely to result in your head being caved in, and for what? It's not the religion that causes the hatred, well, sometimes it is, ("Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live"...again, the woman thing, I wonder what's up with that, I reckon the bible writing men just had a serious vagina envy thing going on), but mostly, it's the users of the tool. They're free to pick and mix what to use, to take away from the texts, and instead they go with the stuff liable to do the most damage.

What's really sad is the ones who do do the good crap from the books are the ones you don't hear about. The ones who are temperate and who let things go on, not judging, letting people do their own thing, who don't proselytise, who just live their own fucking lives...course, you don't know how much of that is their own choice and how much of that was forced on them by their parents and how much damage they'll do to their own kids simply because they don't know any other way of being.

In conclusion, some religion is fine, most is bad and only used to exclude and harm others whilst making one's self feel better. Personally, I'd go with Norse mythology as it just makes sense, plus Vikings were pretty fucking cool, even if...no...especially because they spent hours before battle shampooing, conditioning and braiding their hair, because what point is there in looting, raping and pillaging your way through a country if you don't look fabulous whilst doing so?! Exactly! None at all!  

        

Death and other things.

Lately, I've been thinking of death. Not in a big way or anything, just in the way where one is falling to sleep then jolts awake when the thought "oh crap, I'm mortal, one day I will no longer be!" pops into one's head. 

It's annoying. I really do jolt awake, I'll be there, slipping off into sleep then boom! My brain says in a creepy voice "Hey, bitch..." and I say "...yeah?" and it replies "You gonna die!" and I sit up and make a kind of mewling noise and stare at my hand, touch the walls, pick up a book or whatever, just something to convince myself that I'm still here, that things are real. 

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining as such. I've had those thoughts/reactions to said thoughts for pretty much as long as I can remember and they used to be more frequent to the point where I'd have them every night. Now it's only like once or twice a week so yeah, that's a marked improvement. It's just this last week that they've become a regular reoccurring thing again. Mostly, it's down to university. I might actually fail this year. I wouldn't be so arsed because I don't even want to go onto the second year of this course, but I need to pass it to get onto the first year of my new course. I didn't learn this until quite recently, after I'd pretty much given up any pretence of caring for the current course. So I was way, way, WAY behind on work and knowledge of what I needed to do and I know, don't misconstrue this, I am blaming myself entirely for it. I counted my chickens before they were hatched, ate my goose before it was cooked and other such avian related metaphors on making poor assumptions.

This, of course, leads to stress. I'm having to make up a lot of ground in things I don't want to, or even can't really, do and it's not really going fantastically well, no, not well at all. Which leads to me being awake, depressed, fatalistic, at five in the morning. Then, when I do get to sleep, I have anxiety inducing, cryptic dreams about, well, everything. I can't even explain. Like, last night I had this dream I was at a formal party and this girl I once knew was there and we got to talking, but she was a completely different person. It was someone I really cared about, I hadn't seen her in quite a few years, she had, literally, a new face, a new personality, new mannerisms, almost entirely different to the person I knew, but it was still her, and in the dream she tried to engage with me but I rejected her. Obviously that wasn't the only thing, there was also a part about being a vampire and trying to sell a castle but being unable to let go of it. 

From them it's easy to see what the problem is. Holding onto the past, incapable of accepting change and moving on. But then, maybe it's the other way. Maybe it's that I should be holding onto the past. I mean, I do tend to stop and drop things pretty abruptly, simply letting things go because it's easier than holding on. I don't know, I'm starting to hate going to sleep though, again, which is something I thought I'd gotten over.

As I've said in other pieces, depression is something you don't really ever get over. The best you can do is suppress it for a while. At the end of it, those thoughts always come back. The ones about not being good enough for anything, anyone, the thoughts about how insanely close to oblivion everything just is, so what's the point of anything.

I can feel it there, at the back of my mind. I think it's there at the back of everyone's mind. At least, I'd like to assume so, because then it would mean I'm less crazy by virtue of everyone else being crazy too and, you know, that shits relative. It's frustrating though. Every time, I fuck up. Not other people, me. Myself. I. Who knows, maybe Douglas Adams was right with the other Trillian thing. You know, if there was another you created who, in their life, had made the opposite choices to yours, they'd wish they made the choices you made. In other words, we'd both regret the choices made....grass is always greener is what I'm trying to say in my own, distinctively obtuse way. I don't know. Can't find out. Just nice to think that no matter what I'd be fucked up anyway, right?

But yeah, it's always my mistake. It might sound egotistical, or conceited, but honestly, I've basically been in control of my own life my whole life, people have bent over backwards to help me and all I've done is piss on their help. All I ever had to do was be something slightly other than myself and I might actually be somewhere right now. Hell, even these diatribes are a lesson in self-gratification aren't they. I could stop writing them, right now, could not post it. But I'm going to, aren't I? The whole world must know and read about the all Great and Powerful Terence...though I'm sure they won't. Maybe it's a cry for help. I don't know, I have a bad time actually asking for help. Maybe, I really don't know. Indirect, perhaps. Not that I think anyone really could, or indeed, even should because I think that way. 

I better get to work, increasingly disjointed rant over.