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For peace, calm, and relaxation

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Alright? Welcome. 

Blogging... and blogging for calm, blogging for peace, blogging... for relaxation. 

I may blog about a dream (if I can remember one). Or I may blog about family! If I'm truly honest, I have no idea what I will blog about. 

I called the police on John the other week. The foolish drunk had knocked on my door at 2am on a Friday night, and stupid me only let him in. It was ten minutes before he had insulted me, insulted my mother, insulted my girlfriend, and insulted my work, and had thrown a washing hamper at the television. I asked him then politely to leave, then asked him angrily to leave, then fake phoned the police - (which nearly worked, but my neighbour is sensitive to lies) - and he wouldn't leave, so finally I actually called them, got through, and John heard and left because he is sensitive to being arrested. In fact, a great deal of other stuff happened before I called the police. I kissed John in exasperation, for I knew not if he was going to hit me or rape me, it was as tense. 

My father has the right idea. Having told my family about the altercation, they have taken my side. Anyway, dad dropped me home the other day: we were talking about John, and dad said, "That bloke's a waste of space." It's true, the truest! John really is a waste of space, and that approximation is about as factual as it can get. Two weeks ago I had hopes for the drunken fool: he had managed to sign himself up to a course at college - some construction ticket or other - and I was impressed. He even bought a cheap laptop, and I was able to help set it up, and show him a few things, and get him comfortable using Zoom. Anyway, the weekend came and he got on the beer, and called someone or messaged someone affiliated with the course, to tell them he would like to take them up the arse. Anyway, long story short, he got kicked off the course. Waste of space. 

John texted me today and said his ex-missus had died. He was very sad, and knocked on my door drunk. I ignored him. 

Tamsin visited today. She turned fifty on Thursday. For her birthday I purchased her some Vans trainers. It was quite funny: I told her at first I would spend fifty quid on her gift, and to come and choose a pair to order. She said, "I've chosen a pair. These are the ones I want. I don't know if you can stretch to seventy pounds." 

I said, "Well, you can owe me the twenty..."

"I haven't got the twenty to spare..." she said. 

I tutted and said, "Alright then. But you owe me one." 

Tamsin is apt to always be sending her orders back, and I said to her, "Are you sure you're a size seven? I don't wanna be sending things back, Tamsin." 

"No, I'm sure," she said. So I ordered the Vans. 

Anyway, next week they showed up, and Tamsin came over to try them on, and guess what? They were too big. She looked like a clown walking around in those things. So after she accepted they were too big, we decided to send them back. I sent them back. Anyway, here's the thing: After I sent them back, Tamsin changed her mind about the type of trainers she wanted, and said, "I've changed my mind, I want these other ones." In fact, she had gone to the Vans shop in town to try some on, to make sure they were the right size, and the ones she wanted were a hundred and five pounds. "I'll pay you the thirty five pounds," she said. 

Oh really, Tamsin? So you can afford to give me thirty five pounds, but you couldn't afford the twenty from the first purchase? 

I paid for the trainers, and she did pay me the thirty five pounds. And I promised myself I wouldn't talk about it, that I would let this one go, but I think that's typical behaviour and, honestly, I feel a little used. But that's women for you. They'll claim their different, and to the point that they won't accept the stereotype, but that's women, all about the money. I do feel used. I'm glad I said that. Maybe one day I'll bring that up with Tamsin. You imagine she's different. She's just the same. Well, hey. 

And blogging for calm, peace and relaxation. 

I don't know why I don't talk about consciousness and knowledge a bit more. I am after all conscious, and love knowledge. I posted on Facebook this evening, "Other than thinking, what do you use your brain for?" I think I broke the internet with that one. 

I finished a book by David Deutsch the other night, and thank God. It's so lovely to finish books, especially ones as hard and long as "The Fabric of Reality." David talked about how you can experimentally prove the existence of the multiverse, by the existence of "shadow photons", which are antithetical to ordinary photons - they are responsible for dark bands in two-slit experiments. He talks about the philosophy of knowledge, and the fallacy of inductivism, and champions Karl Popper's philosophy of science, and Darwin's (and also Dawkins' neo-evolutionism), and talks about the "four strands", which include evolution, quantum physics, and two others I forget now. He's very good at explanations, is Deutsch, and explains his approach to time and time travel, and many topics. In fact, so good is he at explaining, that it's quite abstruse to follow. 

I have been playing games - computer games! I have a little idea about buying consoles in bulk, and selling them on for profit. But mind you, I don't mind if I don't make anything - however, it would be a fine thing to break even at least. But the idea is to try my hand at sales. The internet is the future, if not the present already, and many a pound has been made by its employment. I am expecting to be paid for some work I've been commissioned for recently, and soon I hope, so I am thinking about investing in these little consoles. Please don't steal my idea. 

But computer gaming is such fun! I have spent a little money purchasing several games, and systems on which to play them, and I certainly wish there was time enough to play them. I'm focusing on the course, at present, so there isn't a great deal of time, but I get an hour in the evening. I was playing my Nintendo 3DS recently, and it's quite an underrated system. The three dimensional effect is genuinely amazing. Luigi's mansion is quite a stunner. 

Knowledge, consciousness, physics, time and mathematics. There was a Zoom group last night, and everything went swimmingly, and it's a fine thing to know there are others on the same ship as you are. You can, in spending your days alone and in books, get quite accustomed to the idea that you're the only one. But I'm just saying, it's nice to have a group to communicate with. It's nice. 

I might hit the hay. 

Thanks for reading. 



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Hi, how ya doin'?

I'm just writing down here some snippets of some dreams which I had earlier. Everyone knows that people are bored by the recollection of dreams, so prepare to be bored, I guess. 

My recollection begins at the top of my old house where I grew up. I'm there, and the bedroom is a triangular as ever, and there's a lightlike thrill tinting the edges of everything. I hear some music coming from the hallway, and then I realise I am not in my top room bedroom, but my folks bedroom, yet the music is still coming. I go out and investigate, and there is a small speaker at the bottom of the stairs and electronic music is blaring from it. I look at the speaker and I can feel the vibrations coming off the front, and they are directed up the stairs towards the door of the top bedroom, and I get my ear in and follow the vibrations up the stairs. The vibrations are very strong, and there is a thick stream of them, and as I follow them I become aware of some other speakers at the top of the stairs, and I try to find the sweet spot where the sound should be strongest. Yet when I find it, there is no sound at the sweet spot, and I place my head there, and look for a minute, and I face the door. Then there, standing at the door, are two men. One of them I know: it is Aaron, and he is responsible for the music. He is staying in my old bedroom. It seems that the other man is his boyfriend, but this is not clear, and in fact I am reluctant to guess that he is, for I wouldn't want to be presumptuous. In any case, Aaron was showing me the techno tune on which he was working. And the tune comprised several notes, with two phrases, and he played the first phrase, and it was fine, and then he played the second phrase, and the last note was a surprise, and went up, and was very surprising. 

A little before this part of the dream I was in a field where I lived in some type of cabin or shack, and what I remember was looking up at the stars, and some of them moved. Some of them moved back and forth, and I thought, 'There is evidence of alien life.' Yet before I could be exposed to this display of alien existence the entire sky became distorted, with all the stars moving back and forth, and I considered this to be some effect of transmission, and nothing to do with aliens after all. And there was a guitar in this part of the dream. I remember sitting at the shack which was on one side of the field which was in fact a hill, with perhaps a forest behind it or maybe a road. And on the other side of the field was another shack, with someone, perhaps Aaron, living there. 

Nicholas was in my dream, in his musical capacity. 

I often dream that I am living in a bungalow that is built upon an estate which, in real life, connects me to Shakespeare's Corner in Mill Hill. It is a quaint little one for an estate where roads interconnect and there are little houses and bungalows, and there is always a drug scene - that is, a drug scene in which a main occupation of many individuals is to deal drugs, and within this village there is a man and he delivers the drugs. 

At one stage of dreaming I am lucky enough to catch Nirvana playing live, and they are playing hits from Nevermind, and the stage upon which they play, to all but seventeen or eighteen teenagers, is small, and probably I am here where Kurt killed Smells Like Teen Spirit for Top of the Pops. I can get a close up of Kurt's face, and the more I look at it, the more he seems to take on features that my own face possesses. There is a young man here, and he seems like a younger version of Eric Weinstein. This young man is a new character in my dreams. When, at one moment, I am in the mode of remembering his name, it comes up as a double syllabled name - Wein ein, or Wein mein - something like that. Perhaps I am enamoured with his personality, for there is something 'cool' about him, yet nerdy at the same time. This young man has appeared in deeper parts of dreams I have had in the past. I am thinking of when Nirvana murdered his song on Top of the Pops. The young man reminds me of a character who would be a frequent presence at the parties thrown by my brother's friends. 

On the verge of dreaming it is often the case that I think about the mathematics I am doing. What seems to be apparent is the rumination of my unconscious of the form of formulas upon which I am working. And yet, the forms, recently, are never clear. That is, there is a fake quality to them, as though I am not really doing mathematics but imagining that I am. I think what is happening is that I am compensating for my lack of real ability in the subject. Nevertheless, the conclusions are as shocking as every 'eureka' moment I have ever had, and they are certainly compensation. 

Qualitatively, there is a graininess to my dreams. They say we dream when we are stressed about something or other. I think I may be getting stressed about the course, even though I am effectively ahead. In real life, I find it excruciating that I cannot wake up every morning at an early hour and do my work. For those days are the days when I really can get things done. Those days when wake late, say eleven or twelve, I cannot get my rhythm, and the day is wasted. This is a real frustration to me. Even those days when I have woken early, yet need to go out, even that one hour away from work disrupts everything for me. It is not that I haven't been working. But in my mind those days are too sporadic, which are those I get a lot done. I aim, with all eager intentions, to get eight hours a day done. Yet, this is not happening. Maybe once a week I can do that. 

I slept in the day today. I have done no work. But my intentions are good. It is now nearly half past one in the morning. I have several tasks I could complete. I guess I should try now to do some of them. 



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The Heat Death of the Universe

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I just had a dream. The dream was this. There I was at mine, in my flat, and at my block there are five other apartments: my neighbour John, some muslims, some blacks, a family of five, and an empty flat. In the dream a fat Iranian lives downstairs, and so does John, and some Muslim bloke, and some others. 

During the first few weeks of lockdown I was convinced I was the Christ. Something happened on television that gave me a message and convinced me of it. I got my crown, and cried tears of joy at the fact. Yet I was still on weed, and when that first clap for the NHS happened, I had missed the memo because I had switched off the television. And I was running out of weed. So when eight o'clock came and, having deliberated to go out to get some weed, I went into the forecourt, the clapping began. In my mind I saw everything. I saw the whole world, because I remembered the idea being put out on social media, and I saw them clapping, and I saw the world world clapping because I was the Christ, and I was going to give them a speech and explain to them everything I had learned by the media over the past few days, that Coronavirus was a 5G implanted chip that goes into your mind, and that you can control like some sort of iPhone technology, and that you will have advantages such as being able to switch environments and communicate mentally, using telepathy but a designed version, and that we were working to... do something... stop the devil... something... I can't remember... But I had to give a speech at this clapping, and the entire forecourt of my apartment block was clapping, and I thought it was me. So I had to give a speech. I was accepting the applause, as though having just come on stage to adoring fans, and something in me thought they knew what was going on, in a way. And then the clapping died down, and I began to speak, and my thoughts evaporated, and all I could say was, "You're as confused as me!" There was silence all around, and I sloped off, very, very embarrassed. So much for the end of days. 

Later on in the week I was mightily upset at the embarrassment. The event had got to me somewhat, and also I had been unable to work on my physics module for three weeks due to being stoned and paranoid and mentally ill. And all that. I spent nights crying in frustration at my huge failure, and vowed to get myself put away. And the way I vowed this was to wake up the neighbours, with music, as though I had a plan all along. I still saw that I was the Christ, and I opened my windows, and it was five thirty in the morning, and I turned on my electric guitar, at full blast, and began to fill the neighbourhood with the loudest electric grunge concert ending I could, distortion blaring, feedback screaming, riffs chunking, the amplifier turned to the highest volume. At five thirty in the morning. 

What I saw in my mind was that we were in a new world order, and that people needed to come to Christ, and also, that Kurt Cobain was in my soul, and he was in the highest level of heaven, and speaking to me, and all the world was communicating through this new 5G microchip technology. What I saw in my mind was that the people would gather, outside my windows, and see this modern day rock star playing the most beautiful music of Elysium that was stream into the streets, as I, the Christ, would be world renowned for playing these tunes and this sound. And I played, and for fifteen minutes, the sound blared all across the neighbourhood.

After that time, however, I suppose it was even a bit much for me, so I switched off the amp, having failed again to bring Earth to the highest level of heaven, and there was knocking at the door. I answered it, and my Muslim neighbours were there complaining and most angry, saying, "It's six o'clock in the morning! My dad works for the NHS." What I could hear him saying was, "It's beautiful music, my father is in the seventh level of hell." And I felt guilty for stopping. 

The idea was that after two weeks of annoying my neighbours like this I would finally be sectioned and placed in a mental ward - Broadmoor or something - and that would be where I lived my life. So I played the next night too, and stopped, and there was knocking on the door, and it was another neighbour, asking me to keep it down. 

In any case the dream was about those nights. Here, in dream, I was somehow ended up at my Muslim neighbour's apartment, and was hiding in the bathroom, and he had left a note with Arabic writing that told me everything about how beautiful he found my music and how relevant it was, and detrimental to life. And now, and I fail to remember why, perhaps because the music was so loud, the police were called, and the Iranian man was arrested, and I was brought out of the Muslim neighbours house, and the police were there, yet I was not arrested. Instead, a female police officer seemed to turn into a psychologist, and she took me back up to my own apartment, and we sat there and talked, in dream, and then we had sex, and I killed her. 

And then I was on the run, but my amplifier was there, as was my guitar, so I played in the manner of those nights, and couldn't muster the noise enough to save everybody. Every time I turned off the guitar something new happened: I had to leave the flat, and go into the hallway, and there was my guitar and amplifier, and I would play, and time would be running out, and I would stop, and another level of the dream would arise, to a diminished effect. Then I was transferred to another part of the neighbourhood, and tried to save the world again with my music, again to a diminished effect, and another level of the dream. And, gradually, the effects being so continuously diminished, I ended up in some kind of bunker, where two young men, perhaps Dean and Lee (two from school days), would attempt to stop my efforts of playing beautiful, loud music on my amp, and in fact, the amp was losing power, and my leads would not connect to the fuzz boxes, and I could rarely get a sound out, and only revel in the glory of old days. 

And then Charlie was helping me, in dream, by arranging things so that I could play, and yet there was always this looming threat of immediate death encroaching, and I was in the neighbourhood. And yet Charlie was only holding me back, although I could not escape the inevitable, and the effects diminished further, and I was losing my battle. Eventually, Charlie took me to a room outside of which there was a scaffold structure, and there were more people, maybe Sara, and Ryan, and Maddie, and Aaron, and I hung from the scaffold, and finally, the music was so diminished that I ended up in a parallel world, where there only my brother Ryan's friends, and the world was usurped and drenched with water, with little mountains being covered by the increasing oceans, and it was the end of time. 

And it being the end of time, and my brother's friends being there, they were sympathetic to my plight, which really, in a nut shell, was to avoid being caught by the police for killing the female psychologist. And I had to go, and leave for the mountains, and on the way there was an old man, in his late sixties, who was sitting at the bottom of the stairs and congratulating me for a fine and wonderful music career, and Glastonbury loved you, make no bones about that! And there my brother's friends, all reveling in the joy of the end of the world. Then I went out into the mountains, and slowly but surely, the world was drowned in water. And it was the heat death of the universe. 

But then I was taken in to a complex run by old friend Eugene, and he was showing me how to use his new gym equipment, and we spent the rest of the time climbing up ropes and across bars. 

And it was the heat death of the universe. 

That was my dream. 

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Dreams and nothing more

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Hi, how's it going? 

And in today's blog I shall be engaging in the pursuit of examining last night's dream. And to stave off the boredom I shall be delving into the investigation of the residual latent late night imagery of the dreams of nights, and any nights, I may be able to remember. 

But first there is a curious anomaly of the imagination which I wish to relate, personable to myself in particular, and particular to an experience that I had a little earlier on in the day. 

In fact, it was in the afternoon and, having awoken at an early enough time that, by twelve midday, I needed a nap. And so I lay down, and was relaxing in the weariness of the morning's work, and was drifting with the feeling of thoughts. It was such a feeling, that I noticed, that the experience of my thoughts was not so much an intuition of inner awareness, of some self-luminated observation, yet it was a feeling of the feeling of my thoughts - that is, the way the thoughts were structed in the biophysical structure of what I know as my brain. Thoughts would come, yes, but I was concentrating (in so many ways) on the perception of the constructs of thought, rather than the thoughts themselves. I enjoyed such an endeavour. Effectively, the content of the thoughts was lost, yet I felt that a self-illumined presence of light could be physically felt somewhere at the top of my head. Such was the subtle pleasure of the feeling, that in some nebulous state of half-consciousness, I began to visualise the sense in which my eyes were not closed, and could begin to see myself, still laying in my bed, yet in the light of day, as if my eyes were still open. 

I have fears, and am most concerned, that one day I will transition from the happy vestibule that is my own physical body, and into another mind, and hence will surely know my own death. Such is the legacy of my deceased acquaintances (hello uncle mick). Hence, I shook lightly out from the phase, and yet kept my eyes closed, and I was able to be refreshed within twenty minutes and no more. Therein lies the tale! 

However, last nights dreaming can be approached in discussion by the inclusion of a memory of a lane, and one which led to the house - somewhere far away, perhaps in Greece, or Saint Lucia - that belongs to the father of my good friend Adam, and he drove there in his good Mercedes, and it was a fine house. 

There is a nuance of a Miss Piggy type female, largely like unto that porcine version of a female acquaintance, Aoutif, upon whose large bosom was written some paragraph in some gothic, or other style of academic writing. 

Yet, I am failing to recall these reflections at the current time. 

Yet, I am at Glastonbury, and have gone there with Richard and Rob, two friends with very different characters. The former is a medical doctor, and the latter is an IT technician with musical sensibilities, and yet they had similar stature within the dream. Coffee is served at one of the festival's tented cafeterias, and I can hear the festival booming in the background, and I am now alone, and this is about hash. It is a lovely plan to visit Amsterdam, and the famous coffee shops there, and I am playing cards, and that is a dreamscape. We traipse across fields, and at once a boat can take us across some field, and I fell into the water, and was pitied by both the doctor and the technician. Yet the field is vast, and tractors and trees and worn paths draw my attention to something else, so far away. 

There is a building. Or, there are buildings, and there is a causeway, a canal, a bridge, art museums. It is London. 

I am glad I have quit recreational drugs. There are remnants of my druggy past in dreams, but now, and even in those, I am aware that I have fully come off them. The traversal around festival sites is now still nebulous, but grainy, and bitty, and with pixelated luminance. Sometimes I cannot tell the difference between dreams and reality. And I enjoy my thoughts. I suppose many people do. I enjoy the thinking styles, and the exploration of time and consciousness. I watch a central light. And sometimes I engage in the avoidance of the light, and other times I engage in the light fully. I was once enamoured with language and its games, and yet now I am more natural and more concerned with expressing momentary observations, within the limits of my own learned moral rules. 

Sometimes I have good days, and other times I have bad days. I feel I have learned a modicum of control I once never had. You have to have a certain amount of pain to know your limitations. Some of my behaviour has often led to painful experiences, and I feel this is a natural impression of ethical law making, by the intuition itself. I feel settled into life now, and I hope it remains like this. I am lucky in this sense. 

In the dream of Adam's father I felt as though he was of a mind to consider me troublesome. I would like to know to what degree he actually thinks this way, it being the case that I haven't seen David in many years, yet have recently had good conversations with his son. 

I daresay it is hardly worth pursuing the psychology of logic, yet it is tempting. 

I am afraid my endeavour has not been a success. I cannot remember my dreams. All I can remember are country pathways, and routes past tractors and haybales, going towards a distant compound, enclosed by fences, and I know this is a contained unit within which I envisage a perfect white woman, all brunette and full of druggy fun. There she is. I can see a festival, and these places are my most exhilarating environments. 

There is a machine, all cogged and churning. And there is a field. That is the entirety of the recollection. 

I have nothing more to add. 



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The kids are funny

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Welcome, and to every lover. 

Up until 2016, as much as we looked forward to them, Christmases around my family home were beginning to grind a little in the mode of becoming slightly samey.

There was, of course, one or two memorable ones, like the year when I was hospitalised for my life's worst misdeed. I remember the day. Mum, dad, Corina and Ryan visited and I was given a camera, and I did not feel very well at all, and it was not a good day, even though I can remember the ward's Christmas spread, with its turkey and pigs in blankets and stuffing and gravy, and I can remember the staff's nice gift of a set of toiletries. But yes, I was not very well. At the visit, I was still fortunate to have retained a modicum of thought, which was reserved for my brother - and thankfully so, for without an intuition like that, I daresay I would be a different person. And as for Ryan, I'm sure he was also thankful, that there was still a light of recognition within my mind. I remember that I had bought gifts for the siblings, in the form of movie posters, beforehand. I had such hopes for that Christmas: I had some extra money, for my disability benefits were being paid as well as my student grant. I had hoped to spend big, and buy some nice things, like a Nintendo DS for Besty, and... that's as far as I had thought. 

The year before that, I remember, was the one that mum and dad had gone away for a year, and us kids of the family had gone over to Cathy and Tony's, and spent the day with them. I was a vegetarian at the time. Cathy had managed to rustle up some vegetable stock at short notice of the news, and I enjoyed roast potatoes, peas, broccoli and other Christmas vegetables with a nice tasting gravy. Cathy's son Scott was kind enough to have bought me a book for the celebration; I'll never forget it - Shyte's Miscellany. It was a yellow book with much content relating to British culture. But I was poor that year, and was unable to buy any gifts for anyone, and I was full of shame about the fact. Cathy's sister Margaret was there, as well as their brother, who's name I am constantly forgetting. 

The year before that, Scott had come to dinner with our family, since his parents were away. Our cousins Darren and Nerys were also there, visiting from New Zealand. That year, Ryan had bought me a ukulele, and I fear I may have showed a slight disappointment in that, for I remember Darren and Scott reacting at it. It was a thoughtful gift, but I couldn't seem to find the desire to learn it, and in any case, I think Ryan really wanted to learn it himself. I remember Nerys and Corina singing "A la la la le long!" and I remember mum asking Scott if his food was edible, and him saying, "Very edible!"

Whatever happened at Christmas 2007? You can usually remember by the gifts that you bought and received... let me see... I think that was the year we played Nintendo Wii, and cousin Darren was there. I had had the Wii since the middle of the year, but mum had bought some games for it. 

2008? That was the year of the "Credit Crunch". Not a most memorable year, except that I was still living in Colindale, and probably still reeling from the injections. I'd love to remember something from this year. I seem to recall writing a diary and sleeping in the small bedroom. I seem to remember being given a journal for a present. In 2008 I turned thirty years old. I was at the Hammers with friends that year: Fiona (Ryan's girlfriend) buying me Jack Daniels, and Grant Nathan (the old cunt) smiling away his dirty faced grin, and Ross (the old knob) picking up Grant's gloves at the end of the evening and saying, "Eurgh! they stink of spunk!" The old git. I wasn't well that year, I remember. I wasn't enjoying life in the slightest. 

In 2009, that was the year I had been evicted from my Colindale flat, for various reasons, and was living in a shitty old bedsit in Friern Barnet. My ex-girlfriend Kerry's mother died that year. We all gathered round at Ross's to offer our condolences. Kerry is married now. 

2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014... The years went by, with not much to write home about. 

In 2015 we were noticing the lack of any memorable occurrences. But Corina had got herself a boyfriend, then, in February or March in 2016, the family were all sitting around the dinner table, when suddenly mum said, "Corina has an announcement!" I was aghast. I knew what it was. And when Corina told us that she was pregnant, I exclaimed, "There is a God!!" and then Corina was crying, and I was close to tears. And then Ryan also admitted, that Fiona was pregnant, and then he was close to tears, and he hugged mum, and I was confounded because there really must be a God!! Two pregnancies at once, in the same family. 

It was certainly a cause for celebration, and for so long I was unable to stop thinking about the sense of coincidence I felt at the whole situation. It turned out that, four years ago, in October, two children were born - my nephew first, and then my niece next - within two weeks of one another. I really was stunned by the whole coincidence of it. Nothing for years, and then two children within two weeks of one another. In fact, it made me slightly wary. For I could really see the symmetry of things playing out before me. There was my brother and his new daughter, and my sister, and her new son, and me myself sitting with no romantic relationship at the tip of this triangle, and I couldn't get it out of my mind.  

I write this in the intermediate weeks between Rio's and Sia's birthdays. Rio was four last week. Sia is four next week. It would be a shame to forget about the things have happened, in these four years. Yet I do not wish to recall merely the memories which we have caught on video and photographs. Yet, they will serve as good marker points for jogging my memory. 

According to Dayne and Corina, Rio used to call dogs "Ed". I remember playing on the living room rug with the lad, and holding him gently whilst seated on the couch. I remember Corina telling me that she held him as he cried, and as she was tired saying, "I love you Rio, but I'm so tired," and she cried. We used to joke about buying Rio a "baby-cannon". I remember buying the lad a Nirvana Babygro for his first Christmas, and I remember him playing in the garden, and crawling around the house. I remember dad holding Rio in the garden on sunny days, and Rio being absolutely and utterly besotted with the man. 

I remember first seeing Sia - her little hairy head, and her closed eyes - the tiniest package. She has a good memory for her age, the girl, and remembers how at Christmas 2018 I scared them as they played in the rocket tent which I bought. I scared them because I knew they would remember it, because I remember it when my dad did the same when I was aged two. I remember asking Sia if she wanted to open my birthday present, and her saying, "But it's your birthday!" 

Sia likes to fan out the cards - well, she likes it when I fan out the cards, and she likes to hold the fan, and she likes to throw the cards into the air, so that its raining cards. Fiona used to tell me that Sia would talk about me all day, and mum says the she said, "I love uncle Daniel, he lets me throw the cards in the air." When Sia was born, I used to sing to her - "Daisy, Daisy give me your answer do. I'm half crazy, all for the love of you!" 

This summer, the kids played in the garden, in the paddling pool. At parties, or gatherings, they always come to me after they're bored. 

Rio running around the field in the park. He saw me walking off the path, and followed me and walked off the path. We laughed together as we searched for bears. Rio and Sia, playing in the garden. 

Then there was Rocco, and Rocco was new. And now he is one, and turned one in June or July, and I can't believe I don't know which. Rocco is Rio's brother, and he is very intelligent. He likes to communicate, and copy you. He is the newest member of the family. Rio grabbed Rocco by the head, quite viciously, but I guess that's brotherly affection. 

There was Rio at the Mill Hill park dog show, where he played on the bouncy castle. There was Rio walking in the park, just a few weeks ago, and we walked and picked berries off the bushes. 

You want to remember specific things they've said. Rocco has yet to say words, really, but he's definitely communicating. 

Once, Rio was dribbling, and I asked him why, and he said, "I like to dribble!"

The kids are funny. 

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Tamsin and the book

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Edited by Daniel Frederick Best, Tuesday, 29 Sept 2020, 12:02

Hi there, 

And this morning I am sounding off about a curious and perplexing nuance that has graced my relationship to a girl whom I often claim to be my girlfriend, Tamsin. She will never read this, unless she suddenly becomes computer savvy, or if I suddenly die and my blog posts are somehow made available, but I'm not going to badmouth her - she's lovely. 

She read my book. I gave her a copy of the manuscript, and she read it, and now, in short, when I talk to her, he voice is filled with pity and ... some other emotion that I fail to pinpoint. 

Yesterday I had my final wisdom tooth extracted, and Tamsin was supposed to visit in the afternoon to print off some tracking slips for her Ebay buisness. But when the time came to it, I was out of it, my face was swollen and numb, and all I could do was sleep. So I postponed the visit. But when I did, she said, "Okay, I won't come over today because you're..." Yes, Tamsin, I'm.. "Because you're ill." 

I'm not ill, Tamsin, I've had my tooth out, and my face is numb, and I want to sleep. 

She has read my book, and that means I've let her into my life. Previously, she saw me as the worldly, intelligent and creative person I made out I am, and now she sees me as... ill. 

It is a strange and perplexing nuance of our relationship. She has read my book, and now, somehow, someway, she thinks she is better than me. Or somehow has some insight into my life that I myself do not have. But there is nothing in my book that I wrote that I am not aware of. Something she has read has given her a sense of superiority. Perhaps this is just an occupational hazard, but I tell you, I find it so interesting. There is something in my book that has been outlined, that has answered a question in her own mind, that has been unsettled for so long. And now she's read it, she thinks she has to pity me. 

I am so giddy to see her. She is visiting this afternoon. 

Myself, I like to be able to say the issue, and have done with it in one sentence. I'm likely to say, "You shouldn't pity me, Tamsin," and just say it like that. But perhaps I shouldn't be so explicit. However, her new manner is an unnerving and disconcerting feature of her behaviour. Although, it could be a good thing. Perhaps she will be more understanding, or something, or more motherly, or more likely to want to have sex with me. I am so giddy to see her - to put plain this curious nuance of her new manner. 

Perhaps I should merely go with it. That is, watch her new expressions, as she deals lightly with my ways, and pities me as I do everything in the same way as I have done since I have known her. 

But what's curious is what was in the book that made her seem this way? What particular sentence did she read that caused her to have this new and surprising superiority over me? It may have been my chapter about God, or it may have been that part when I've come home to my parents, hammer in trench-coat. Perhaps... perhaps she has found a new reason to fear me. Perhaps that, and she is afraid of me, afraid of what I'm capable of. 

Perhaps she just knows me in a new way, different than how she knew me previously. 

I'm so giddy to see her. 

She often changes her manner, from phone-call personality to in-person personality, and so maybe the difference will be slight. And I suppose I should be happy that my book has changed somebody. And, like I say, perhaps it will be an occupational hazard of having written a book, that people will read, and find things our about me, that should be left in the cupboard. Yet, at least we will be able to talk about the book. She will give me back the manuscript, and give me that look, like, "I know about you!" She will laugh, with the feminine shyness of an Irish imp, like she did that other time when we watched porn together. 

In short, does she now pity me? Has the book answered questions about me that she once had? Is she right or wrong? Can she trust me? 

I'm so giddy to see her. 



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My neighbour, John

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Edited by Daniel Frederick Best, Sunday, 27 Sept 2020, 21:30


Not good. It's that feeling again, where I've had a very nice day, and I've done something different, and the whole day has been turned upside down. 

Up until I made dinner at six o'clock everything was going fine. I made dinner, and now that my neighbour John has clocked on to the fact that I'm quite a good cook, he expects me to make him a prawn curry every Sunday. 

John is quite an unpleasant person. He's been inside several times, that is, inside prison. Today he was telling me about his conviction as a sex offender, how once several years ago, he was in an argument at the local shop, with a female who didn't like his dog, and he got angry and "flicked her boob". He was taken to court to get a sentence and they told him he had to go on the sex offenders register for five years. We were talking about if flicking someone's boob is a bad thing to do. Obviously it is. But he seems to think it's okay. 

He's this huge motherfucker, like a real dumb fucker, who can sometimes be tolerable. But today he outstayed his welcome. He really is an antisocial person, and has no idea whatever how to conduct himself in day to day living. The problem is, he's not a bad person really, but he believes things about himself that simply aren't true. I mean, I guess we all do, in a way, but to assume that somehow you are clever, or smart, or intelligent in one way or another, well that would entail that you have read a book or two, or know how to solve an equation or something. It's not that he is thick, but maybe, maybe I'm the one who is deluded there. He really is quite thick. 

He says that he's been to university, and i believe him, purely on the grounds that he claims to have done two years of a sports science degree, and never completed it. I do not know how he did that, it beggars belief. 

The man claims to be emotional. He is constantly being banned from facebook for his lewd conduct against women, and yes, he is not very nice to those. He has done time for assaulting a woman, during which time his mother died. I knew his mother. She was a small Irish lady who would walk her dog. I would sometimes talk to her. John thinks about his mother a lot, and he likes to sing songs, and he is very overbearing. He outstayed his welcome tonight. I made him curry, and he sat there in the front room drinking a beer and being belligerent, and obtuse. 

There's times when I can put up with John, and I don't mind him that much. But I have realised that he is partly to blame for the way I feel at the moment. And it's embarrassing for me, because I have to come online and spill my guts about things I would rather not face, and do so in public. John will never see this, so I could effectively say anything I liked about him. But in a way, I want to help him, although John is beyond help. He is an alcoholic, mildly. That is, he likes a drink and spends most of his free time watching television and drinking. He really is beyond help. He does nothing with his life. 

It's just so hard to communicate with stupid people. They're too thick to realise they can't communicate properly. John really has no brains, and nothing to say, and that's the worst combination with a guy like myself, who is patient and understanding, and quite naïve. He'll come in and be burly and obnoxious, and you just have to laugh. I laugh nervously, and I get put out of my rhythm and can't get it back. That's why I have to come here to complain. 

Some days are good. But I have a sensitive brain. What does John want from me? He wants people to be nice to him, but he's never nice to anybody. He really is an unpleasant person. It's hard to keep your distance from someone when they live within a stone's throw of you. I would have come to blows with him many times, for his meanness and obnoxiousness, and rudeness and obtuseness. But I have to live with him. 

I know why he comes round. He wants to make himself feel good, and this is the problem with people with no self esteem. They have to bully you and make a noise, and a loud noise, until you can't hear yourself think. 

John was laughing at an internet video, which is so base and irrelevant, where there's a naked woman in the bathroom, then a man's arse comes and farts, and he loves it. It's so frustrating. 

I wish he would read a book. If he could do that one thing, it would change his life forever. He would have something to say, and something to say that would compensate for the shit he talks, which is quite a lot. He will tell me what he saw on television, and claim to have something to say. He will claim to have an opinion about coronavirus, and the conspiracy theories, and I just haven't got it in me to engage him in a discussion about it. He is so obnoxious. 

And here I am wasting my time, trash-talking my obnoxious neighbour, because he's done something to my brain in the mode in which I have allowed him to believe himself my intellectual equal. He's not. But I have a way of making stupid people think they have a braincell rattling around in their brain. And I keep saying, I feel sorry for him, and I don't mind making him prawn curry. But for fuck sake, John! Lad, read a book, for fuck sake. Your brain is rotten from MTV, and being nasty to your girlfriend, who lives in Manchester, and who talks to you on the phone. God she must be as bad as you.  

You are not clever, John, I am sorry. You are just loud, obnoxious, abrasive, rude, and thoughtless. And I wish I didn't have to say this, but I do, I have to, because that's the way things are. 

I'm glad you're a sex offender, John, but sometimes, boy, I wish you were in prison. 

That's it, there's nothing more to say. 

Love from Daniel. 


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The promise of the past

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It's a hello from me, and hope you are well, 

A recurrent theme for me at present appears to be manifested in the form of an observation as to my life, that there is scant circumstance, and for fun, and for storytelling. But what if this situation was just the ticket? What if it was just what the doctor ordered? What if, as once evidenced in a solitary happenstance on the fields of Green Park one Saturday afternoon in 2005, I am actually quite boring? 

Then I would actually and most probably be in the mode of being most likened to any other self respecting sane person - that is, in a state of happiness. Do not take issue with this fact. For I am sure I am like many others, and such others as, you may have seen, are happy as the proverbial pig in shit. Do not mock me for my tediousness, for I am like the Caribbean pirates, and Dickensian plot-drivers, and heart-essence that gets at least a modicum of American ghostbusting television shows their viewership. I am a ghost. 

The year has shot by, and now it is September, and nearly October, and the weather drops in temperature, and the nights draw in, and evenings are more peaceful. And I should not forget the essence of the season, that after a stiflingly hot summer, we are content to watch such changes, and from the comfort of our homes. You have to appreciate the fact that in being encouraged to confine ourselves from fear of infections, at least we are warm inside. At least the world will move on all about us, and at least we are digitally connected. And in light of such connection, we can appreciate the delight that now, we are content to keep sparse our communications. That is, we keep them sparse in the sense of necessity, and only working life gets to have the key. And this is fine. Boring, but fine. 

For me, today marked the first of the really chilly days, the day that tells you of looming winter. And I know that for some, such days bring about a cause for complaint. It must be observed however, that this year we may not have the chance! For me, this time of year brings back memories of old days, being that I was born in the winter months, and have always had reason to look forward to them. People will want to complain, but they won't be able to, for we must keep inside in any case. But I will not have such need, and am yet anxious to extend the sensations and feelings I have at these days, as they draw colder, and become darker, and I can pull close the curtains earlier and earlier. 

It is good, that I am fully off everything, except those things on which I have to be. And even those things I have become used to. Some have spoken about their desire to re-enter that world of inner recreational strangeness, and I say, let them have it. I talk of old friends and, as I myself am seated at the entrance to phase one of true old age, I sit there with calm recollection. 

One good old boy sought to reengage, to a welcoming reception, with my life, and I suppose that is one happenstance. This is the construct of aging men's world's, that it all relies on past friends who have gone their happy ways, and returned, and just in the nick of time to regenerate the feelings that we used to have, and it makes me happy. It makes me happy that such subtle nuances of middle age can affect us so deeply, and make us pensive and nostalgic. The boy was our drummer. He has not been in touch for many years, and we worry about him. Yet for all our worry, there is nothing much to be worried about. For he is still that good old boy, to me, to all those who know him. He spoke to my mother, and mother called me, and I contacted him, and... the old boy has not changed. 

We took acid together, Nick and I. I have a sudden recollection of this specific instance once when, at the woods, when all our friends were there, and our girlfriends, and the music, it all got a bit much. His missus at the time, Sarah, she was closing down the hatches, and making the old boy very concerned... too concerned. She would fuss and mollycoddle, and bring up all kinds of unnecessary motherly feelings for Nick. And then the old boy got his hatches closed in - you could see it. It all got too much for him; he was under too much stress, getting confused with all the negative attention. Who needs it? In any case, the good old boy fell down to his knees, and then a whole crowd of them gathered around, fussing and mollycoddling, and I knew the old boy needed his space. All I can remember is the big man Eugene, getting in on the scene, with his big face and big concerns and I shouted... "FUCK OFF!!" It was all getting too much, and everyone went quiet. 

I suppose that little outburst is a cause of some personal embarrassment to me, myself. I often wonder if it changed their perceptions of me, these little friends. But I thought they might understand. Nick just needed his space. 

He still needs his space, I'm sure. One phone call, out of the blue, and after all these years, well, perhaps it's not enough to assume that the boys are back. But I know we want it. I know we want nothing more. People like me and Adam, we just want our band back. 

And I told Adam, it's not your responsibility to save Nick. We have to take him at face value. We have to let him drive everything. Nick is sensitive, and so are you. I could tell Adam was perturbed by the resurfacing of the good old boy, and I knew he wanted to reach out, to tell Nick he is loved, and that he is forgiven. But Adam is not good at that. When Adam wants to help someone, what happens is that he ends in the mode of destroying the person. Because in truth, it's Adam who wants the help. 

Adam, in fact, has a lot of untapped rage within him. He claims to have dealt with it, yet I know he really wants to lash out. Well, maybe lash out is not the right term. He is very sensitive. Adam wants to return all the pain he has had in his life, and instead of having the chance what has happened is that people who have hurt him have petered out and dissipated and there's no one to shout at. Now, Nick is not exactly back on the scene, but the good old boy represents something special to Adam, who wants to make Nick understand something about him. I shouldn't psychologize about it really, because sometimes I don't understand Adam, and perhaps Adam has tapped into some things that I myself wish that Nick understood. 

Do I resent Nick? It wouldn't be fair if I did. What I can however safely say I do resent is my own reactions to his personal behaviour when those good things did appear to be happening, at the time. I resent my own inability - not to control Nick, but to befriend him so that we could have made something of the band. I know, there's more to life than the band. But I had dreams like anybody else, and we were good. I have had the dreams of beautiful nights in the club, playing to the mosh-pit that heaved under the crunch of our deep, happy grunge. It hurts that me that I couldn't see it for myself. Things could have been so different. 

Adam is like me. He wants to shout at Nick to tell him WAKE UP!! THERE'S STILL TIME!! But curse the good old boy for his unconscious taunting. There's nothing more we can do. 

It is what it is. And that is the reality of the situation. Life, like the changing of the seasons, is turning, and from a physical entity into a subtle remonstrance of the past. When you can see this happening, you are already at a loss to prevent it, because in many ways you yourself have brought this about, and in the end it is what you wanted. But it happened. The lives of the youths, that they lead so carefree and even deep into maturity, you can sense that they are a million miles away now. You can see it when you look around, and even all the old people can't see you, because you are not attractive any more. You know you are not attractive, because you yourself have lost the attraction to those youths, that you once were. You have come through the problems of sex. You have come through the problems of popularity. You have reached the other side, and now it is time to reflect, and undulate in your maturity. 

This is phase one of true old. I suppose I am welcoming it, like welcoming back the promise of the past. 



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Christ in the Throes, and meandering about the unconscious

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Best to you, and welcome in. 

Hello, and several issues are playing on my mind at this hour of twelve midnight. It's not good enough, I tells thee - for well into my thoroughly and honed sleep regime was I when it occurred to me that, well, not a fair few misconceptions about these said issues are rife on the planet. And I think that the blueprint of these issues could be better looked at, and perhaps, like my sleep regime, thoroughly honed. 

The year is 2020, and the world is rife with concerns that we may at any minute be swept away into eternal rest by a deadly virus. Coronavirus! It has activated us all into a normalised mode of life, and we are yet conditioned into a way of such life, and yet! I am not a conspiracy theorist. 

But it is interesting. 

I suppose we would like facts, when responsibly theorizing conspiratorially, and yet I have few of these. I am not a political commentator, and not a historian. I am however a schizophrenic. Although, perhaps I needn't have been; perhaps that diagnosis was not "God-given"? In any case, here I sit, at my desk in my study, alone, that is, without a single other person to distract my mind, and yet, even in the world. That is, there are never the seven billion people on this planet - I don't believe it. There's just me, my mother and father, my sister and brother, my nephews and niece, their parents, my ever loving girlfriend, and one or two friendly people who I know. I understand them to exist, within the constructs of who I am as we speak, that is, the version of myself into which I continually awaken. Is it any wonder that there are seven levels of hell, seven levels of heaven, and three levels of evolution. Everything that could be said about the world, everything that can ever be known, well, everything in those senses is known to me, and furthermore, in the process of an education. Therein lies the secret of institution. (Yet I dare not intellectualise on these matters, for one must keep a thread). Coronavirus. 

So, factless and lacking political information, I proceed. 

I want to say, there are people who seem to think about the illuminative designs apparent on financial receipts (legal tender), especially those in the US, are those designs of man, and therefore strangely enough a design that could be made up by man alone. This triangle with the eye in it... the all seeing eye... why do they call it satanic? These people with their machinations about the top of the hierarchy being somehow the source of all evil, well, I fail to see how such things make any sense. And yet, the entire thing brings us subtly or otherwise to Christ! Perhaps I will remain open about my thoughts on that. Perhaps I will suggest a respectful privacy on the part of the reader. Those days of evangelism are long gone; nobody believes these things anymore. And yet, what use would it be were I to explain here the experiences which I have had?

What use indeed! 

Well, Sam Harris has called The Bible "Bullshit", and has done in the most off handed way. Everyone knows Sam Harris. The atheist? And David Deutsch. The atheist! In one sense I think it is relaxing to know these top intellectuals are atheists, and I could claim the same. I don't believe God would like that, though, and in my heart of hearts, I must say, I am a believer. In the same paragraph I express a concern for respect of my privacy, and I certainly wish I was good enough to activate the most succinct surreptitiousness. Yet, I am busting my nut to express the things I really want to express. 

Was coronavirus planned? The conspiracy theorists and I differ on the intricacies of this matter. For they would claim the existence of a satanic society, that controls everything. But I am a mere man, here, alone in my study, at my desk, and only a nuance of the representatives of the old age in my mind. Happily, mind you, do I sit. And yet with an urgency that is bonded in desire to express what I need to express. 

There is no such society. Man alone cannot hope to activate such a new world order. But we must remember, that vulgarity is meagre, and subtlety is key, and if you are reading this now, I hope you understand my mind when I claim that, in response to these conspiracy theorists, there is no such society. There is, however, a man, sitting at his desk in his study, trying to think about how best to put his point. 

What we need is a blueprint. And such a blueprint can be found in the deepest recesses within. Imagine we had an oracle! And an oracle that could tell us the outcome of every experiment we ever thought to undertake! We would never need to experiment, and I thank Deutsch for the insight to claim that we have such an oracle!! It is the world itself. And the world can be understood, and we have now a philosophy for the concept of A.G.I. (artificial general intelligence), and we have our computers. And, in the seventh level of heaven, we have the internet, and we have the written word and thought! Perhaps thought is not the absolute ending of human experience, or perhaps it is just the beginning. There is an infinite world, and not merely by conjecture alone, but there is a way the world works. Let me put these matters into context. Let me say these matters, in words. 

Let me outline the point, which may or may not have been lost along the discourse. Everything is true. And as we sit here, in our infinite wisdom, while all others in the planet are doomed to idiocy by our very intelligence, our mind is content in reading the words of a university student who seems perturbed by some or other issue which fails to come to meaningful fruition, by means of a point. The point is, we should not imagine Satan to be sitting there at the top of the seventh level of heaven, no! We should imagine that it is God! And it is God, yet not by any lay modicum. I'm talking about the fact that there must be people who have been privy to His Plan. They must, rather than have planned the atrocities and pandemics, well they must have known through the infinite copies of the system, of the thermodynamics and quantum mechanics, that are to tell us, through human logic - that is, the human logic of the unconscious mind, which in infinite terms is fully knowledgeable. Fully wise, fully capable of seeing infinity! 

And yet here I am, a man at his desk in his study, looking at a screen, with full capacity for thoughts, and a well meaning heart. I am a dear. And yet, I have not expressed everything which the blueprint requires - or have I? 

David Deutsch, with his exposition of the infinite worlds of quantum mechanics, may have a point. He may say the point better than I ever could, and why not? Artificial general intelligence is a matter of philosophy. Philosophy is a matter of thought. No amount of science will bring about a computer that is self aware, but we could have a human who is aware that he is a computer. We are so rich in humanity, that it could even be a forthcoming enlightenment. Worse things have happened at sea! 

And to hear, that we are coming into an age in which we are afraid, is to hear that we must be controlled. At current we are controlled by the virus. It is up to us to be happy about it. 

Watch television. Watch netflix, amazon prime, youtube, facebook posts, and have a beer. There is only you. Only you and God. Look at your life, as I wish I could see your life. I can only see my own life, yet I have never seen myself, and that is for your pleasure, and for you to treasure the experience. This world is your story. There may or may not be issues to awaken to, and there may be secrets in your life, and there may or may not be God in your life. There may be only a technological program at the heart of everything there is, and would that not be devastating? You are these people, these noisy drivers with their engines and tears, and pit bulls. There may be quiet trees, and friends with travel tales, and your mother may still be the only one to have the capacity to bring you to anger, and your father may be the blueprint of your brother, and there may or may not be a heaven. And yet, is there a heaven? Do they eat meat in heaven, and do they drink beer? Do they smoke continuously, and drink coffee, and think of science and mathematics, and yearn to speak to their maker? Are there people in heaven, talking to God? Is the New World Order suiting you well without your religious leanings to make bored the strangers you talk to in your mind? For we have a thousand and five hundred followers, yet only three people who we actually give a shit about. The world works, and not without you. But the world will work without you, and with or without your thousand followers. And there are only three people who give a shit about you. 

I struggle to say what I need to express. I hope that there is a chip, that exists somewhere deep within the cosmos, that can translate out to someone in the world who isn't a complete disappointment as I. I hope someone gives a shit, and I hope that the one spirit in heaven is made of all types of avatar. And I hope that my consciousness persists into eternity, and I hope eternity is borne on the waves of the quantum of time. I hope Planck existed, and Einstein existed, and I hope there are real people, and that we can access the thoughts we have when we are sleeping. I hope I wake tomorrow with a touch more intelligence and wisdom than I had today. I hope I am more economical, and I hope that the Christ in the throes was not just a mere joke. I hope the blueprint is considered readable by at least one or two high minded people, and more. I hope it, and some. 

And as I close now, I hope that my point was sufficiently subtle enough to have embedded itself at the heart of your unconscious, and there it is, and there we have it. 




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Overview of a dream

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Hello, and hi and how are you?

There I was having lost my phone within the studios of the secret art factory, and having been privy in this society by some historical route, that was that I was at the mean, and there was a cavity - a cabinet - and I found the cabinet, and it had some papers inside it. And the papers had notes written on it that had been written in 1981 - except it couldn't have been 1981, for then i was so young, so it must have been 1991, and the notes pointed to a memory. This memory was a scout master's presentation of some nature concerns - perhaps a link to the planting of a tree, and yes, perhaps that. 

And then the master was giving a talk in some community hall, and the full room listened adoringly. And then afterwards, I spoke to the man, who here was Weinstein, and I told him, "You are like Isaac Newton in your own head. And by "in your own head" I mean "in your own head"!! And then I was allowed in the society. 

And then in the society, I was given a canvas - a huge blank canvas. Except the canvas had on it the picture of American president Abraham Lincoln, and free reign was I given to paint over it, and I did, and was in the society to make this art, and there were others - other artists - at their stations, and one was able to go about and use any paint to make your own art, and paint on any canvas, and use any paint brush, or any colour, and be influenced by any way. 

And there were scenes; different scenes, and different characters, and different masters. And I was able to paint these scenes and change them in any manner in which I saw fit. And my favourite scene at first was that in which the scene was the muppets, and these characters in puppet form, in a scene of utter beauty:- that of the surroundings of wooden childhood, and I tried to enhance the scene by somehow trying to make the puppets bigger, by putting them higher, and they fell, fell behind the pianos and tabletops and then the next scene. 

I placed my phone down, and was brought to another canvas, and painted on it. The place here was a huge bunker, and very easy to be lost within. Then a girl from another world told me some joke, and it was very funny in its own way, and then another girl, from another world, shouted, "I've lost my phone!" Then I knew I had to find my phone. 

But before I searched for my phone a master here brought me to a place and said, "Open your mind!". And then the scenery was so vivid and clear - clearer than any scene I have ever seen in reality or dreaming, and I knew I had to represent this image, but there are no clear objects within it. The only clear object I have to go by is the here and now, in reality, that reality which is the immediate reality, yet it was in a dream. 

And then I did go on a search for my phone. And I found the lower echelons of the bunker. A television broadcast was taking place in which there was a muppet dog doing some children's show, and there and then I went to my left. And my paintbrush was still in my hand, yet bunged up with thick paint, and soon I realised I was on a boat, at the edge of the water - at the rear of the boat, where the water was so close, and I dipped in my brush and cleaned it, and was fluid once more, then went back inside the boat, water to the front and right. 

And there were a line of strangers, all in some echelon of realms, pulling like rowers on the rope of the painted road and its yellow, truculent lines, marking some boundary - and they rowed. Yet although they seemed like in some kind of tortuous hellish scene, they were happy to live in this echelon, and the light of consciousness took me through the night. 

So I woke up, and the world in the darkness of my room was painted like a canvas and I was able to follow the light of consciousness and did so, into the bathroom, and past the sleeping cat at the edge of my bed. So I realised, as I used the bathroom that my life is some kind of art, and you know I almost forgave myself for the terrible things I have done, for it could be seen that I have done them all in the name of art. 


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Cosmic thinking in the human body, society and the universe.

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Yah sas, and Kalimera! 

There is, I think, something certainly cosmic about the world in which we live. I do not know if this cosmic nature extends to every place in the universe at any one time. For example, to look at the world from perhaps a naive point of view, you might see that there is, in effect, a type of "biological" essence to various realms. The realms I am considering are all areas of the world, such as from the biology of the human body and that of the animal kingdom, through the political and social scene of the world in which we live, all the way up to the far reaches of the universe, that is, off and out into space. 

To begin with, in terms of the far reaches of the universe, into which we can see some 14 billion light years across, it is natural to think of this realm as indeed cosmic. We initially see it as static and infinite. We see it, in a sense, as self-regulating, and nothing biological about it. 

We may see, in the closer-to-home realms such as those in society, in a naive way, that there is a biological essence at play. When we look at the way social dynamics works within interactions, and we sense either the freedom or indeed the lack of it in those interactions, we sense that there is an expansive nature which is bereft of infinity or eternity. And the notion of death and time come into play here. 

When it comes to the human body, well, herein lies the entirety of our understanding of the "biological" essence of things. We sense it because, in being human and having experienced this from as long as we remember, and in being aware of pain and sadness, not to mention happiness and pleasure, we call these feelings natural, and our cue to know humanity. Humanity is by definition biological. 

However, whereas our primordial intuitions of our universe (in terms of its far reaches) are to consider it to be a cosmic entity, having studied a little into the ideas of physics one can tend to achieve a more rounded sense of world view as to its increasingly finite capacity. That is, when we know a little about the features of astronomy, such as space, time, stars, planets and black holes, and we apply the worldly physics of thermodynamics to those features, it becomes all the clearer to come to a view of our universe as more and more biological. That is, the universe loses just a little of its cosmic mystique, and in a sense its fleeting finitude becomes so much more evident. The notions of infinity and eternity, in terms of our naive understanding, ebb away, and we become so much more aware how we must be careful not to take it for granted. 

Yet having said that, the biological essence that we take evident in our daily social lives could also be given to assume something of a cosmic view. If we take into consideration all the things that tend to force the biological sense upon us - the fact of interactions, the fact of death, the fact of anger and love and all those emotions - and consider them for what they really are, which are devices, we can see that these devices are in play to ensure a fluid social mechanics. Admittedly, this may be a metaphysical concern, yet it appears to me that the cosmic intuitions we have about the far reaches of the universe can be interchanged with the biological intuitions we have about the society in which we live. Effectively, it is no longer biological "in here" any more than it is cosmic "out there". 

I tend to suspect that a type of quantum mechanical feature is at play here. For example, the outside universe may be cosmic when we look at it and biological otherwise, and vice versa for the immediate social scene. In any case, the point is there. But when it comes to the human body, this idea is a matter of psychosomatic medicine, psychology and well being. Perhaps everything is in fact cosmic, as you might believe if you are of a religious leaning. However, my thoughts on this topic come from a vast idea with which I have been imbued, or the universe that must be cared for and protected, and respected and understood. 

Therein lies the tale! 




Permalink 1 comment (latest comment by Jan Pinfield, Sunday, 23 Aug 2020, 08:38)
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A day in Mill Hill

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Blogging, and blogging.

Hi how are you? I'm frustrated. Perhaps it's the heat, perhaps it's something deeper and real. But whatever it is I shouldn't feel the need to be cathartic about it, because I just ranted about it to my girlfriend (fuck it, I'm calling her my girlfriend) for about twenty minutes over the phone.  

When covid-19 hit... in fact I'll go further back... before covid-19 hit, I have to say, I did not enjoy living in society. I'm sure I'm not the only one who felt it, but there was a belligerence, a tension and an antagonism evident everywhere you went - even in the town I live. I have several examples of times when I had to suffer the brunt of someone's internal insecurity, whether that would be coming from the attitudes of the right in terms of Brexit, in which their fear of a changing society would culminate in aggression, or whether it would come from their, admittedly ignored, psychological issues about their own sexuality. I have to admit, I'm happy in my sexuality. I have had problems, and perhaps these would be tedious to explain, but when I see others - closeted, undisclosed in their internal outlook about sex - I am bored by it. Bored because this problem they are having is none of my business; it is their issue; I have dealt with mine. Deal with it by yourself. So if I happen to walk by and you see that I am a happy person, living in the outside world, that has nothing to do with you. I'm not saying I don't want you to have dealt with your problems - because I do! I want you to know who you are, and not be deluded into lies that you have been led to believe by whatever algorithms you find yourself in submission to. If you think you are "sussed" in life, that you have everything in life "sorted", and then I walk into your view, and you can clearly see that there are things you have not dealt with, that is not my problem. I'm not going to lie to you. I'm not going to look at you and say, "There goes a bright man, with all his issues in hand," when all I see is a child who is too afraid to face up to himself, and say the things to himself he needs to say. If you're not there, you're not there. 

Perhaps I am a little arrogant in this matter. Perhaps I don't have everything under control. Perhaps that is true. The thing is that I like the truth, and I know things that other people don't naturally know, because I have worked to know them. I know, they think their intelligent. And maybe on some human level they are. But I don't know who they are, so how can I explain to them that they haven't worked as hard as me to know the things I know. These are very basic people. It doesn't apply to everyone. But those people to whom it does apply, I'm sorry but you're going to have to read a hell of a lot of books to catch up with me, because you're of a certain age, and I'm not going to bow down to you to recognise you for the things you have thought or learned or thought you learned, when really there is a whole other universe of knowledge that you have not yet realised even the existence of. I'm sorry. You don't get to look this smart by watching Game of Thrones, or drinking every night, and fucking your girlfriend every night. You'll have good things, don't worry. You'll have a wife, and you'll have your job, and you'll have your children. It's just that, personally, I am not interested in that life. I am not interested in you. So don't take your aggression out on me and try to communicate that I owe you something or that I should in some way look up to you. Because I find you very sad. I'm sorry. 

So, when covid-19 hit, in a way, I was glad. Society changed, and people like the sort of which I describe were no longer able to assert their masculinity in the way they had before, because by law we weren't allowed within two metres of each other. Society was sparse, there was respect, and people gave each other space. There were few people on the streets. And I was glad because I could finally go outside and never have to worry about these aggressive apes getting in my face about things. By law you couldn't do it. It must have been very frustrating to them. 

Yet it seems that my happiness in this matter has been very short lived, because four months later it is as if we have learned nothing. You can't go outside without this evident antagonism from all sides. It's as if you're being challenged by people for walking down the road. I'm trying not to say it, but it is too tempting, and I know that deep down, somewhere in the pit of your heart, you have realised you are homosexual. I'm not saying that you'll have to come out and go down to Soho and have anal sex with the first man you meet. But on some level, you have thought about it, and you are guilty of thinking about it, and we know. I'm sorry. Just don't take it out on me. I've dealt with it. I'm happy in my sexuality. 

I know. You now think you have to fight everyone about it. You now have made it everyone else's problem. But it's your problem, and that's life, and you have to deal with it. 

Look at you. You're sixteen years old. You think you're some kind of gangster. My friend's, we live in Mill Hill in north London. There is no gangland here. There's an elderly community here, just up the road. Do you think you will get away with looking at people in the way you're looking at them, and not get your arse kicked? Wake up. We are humans. We don't care what hole you want to put your little willy inside. Deal with it on your own, like the rest of us had to. Don't take it out on me. Don't spoil society like it owes you something. 

Anyway, in short, I think the social bliss that was apparent for four months here in Mill Hill was very short lived indeed. Perhaps it's the heat, perhaps it's a seasonal sensation. But for a while we were there. Maybe we'll get a few more months of relative peace out of the situation, but rest assured it is coming back and within ten years we can expect to live in gangland Mill Hill, and covid will hit again and we'll have to go through the whole thing once again. What a shame. 

Rant over. 



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What about the kids, man?

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Hi, how are you, and hello. 

What are we going to do about our kids, man? Are they becoming feral in the wake of lockdown rules? How will they adjust to going back to school? 

You can imagine they might become the delinquents of the future, and call themselves the "Covid Kids", or the "coronavirus era punks" or something much better. I'm worried, I tell you. Because whilst all the teachers are having the time of their lives, acting like they are on holiday, these kids are not getting an education. It is something we must ultimately think about carefully. There is going to be a whole generation of uneducated people, who will blame it on the "Covid-19 lockdown era education lapse." We need to reach out right now. It's not as though we are bereft of educational facilities, now is it?  

What are we going to do about our kids? 

I haven't yet personally seen many examples of outrageous delinquent behaviour, and I suspect that's because we have all had to share the difficulty of quarantine, etc. And there will be a great deal of youngsters who are able to keep up with the curriculum. But not every child is a "nerd" and willing to do home study. I'm just worried we're going to have to deal with a slump, in the form of a generational education gap. What are these kids doing for inspiration? Is government thinking about them, or has it forgotten about them? 

Whereas if this situation had happened to me when I was in the final years of high school I would have probably gone into a great life sleep, perhaps (and I hope) we are wiser now, and perhaps we can deal with it. 

Yet I predict that there will be something akin to a quantum mechanical "doping hole" that will appear in the system, and there will be nothing to blame but the state of the age. This hole will move up the generations like a bubble in a tube, and have detrimental effects on progress of society, and finance, and politics. They'll be completely left out. The country will suffer. 

I personally believe that now is the time to gather up our senses, and engage enough that we deal with this foreseeable issue, by making education a priority over, say, what we're going to do for our holidays. Because it is evident that there will be a residual effect not only in educational capabilities, but also attitudes to education. An entire section of our society are not getting an education. And, without blaming them, it will only turn out to be a disaster if we don't appreciate what is happening with our kids. 

In addition to this, the whole of the above needn't be an issue, in light of the fact that we have the entirety of human knowledge at our fingertips. So, provided parenting is not at risk of jeopardising the future of this anomaly of society, we'll be alright. But education should be a main concern. 

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I'm always dreaming...

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Hello, how do you do? 

I just thought I would smash one out for the sake of love and loving kindness, and sex. 

She's mean, my girlfriend. I don't even think she realises she is my girlfriend. Why are girls like the way they are? Perhaps the problem is me, and that I should never have chosen to give love to her unconditionally. Perhaps the problem is that I don't act romantically enough. If I had the energy, I would. We're not like that. But she is mean. 

Wait a minute, is it me that's mean? Does she desire for romance? Should I send her flowers? And prove my love? 

Perhaps that's it, and perhaps I think I'm an unconditionally loving man, when in fact, I should shower her with gifts and jewelry? 

She probably wants to feel like a normal girl. Not like a used up rag. 

I should buy her flowers. 

I'll make a point to buy her some flowers. Because I do love her. Maybe she'll love me back. 



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A dream of the mothership

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Edited by Daniel Frederick Best, Wednesday, 10 June 2020, 15:47

Hello, and hello, and hello to you, 

 Yesterday was the first day after the completion of my course in physics. Well, completion in the sense that all the work has now been done - I still have to wait for my results, and this happens around the 21st of July, and I anticipate the day eagerly. 

Yesterday, there were two highlights of the day. The first was that I got to see Tamsin. We met in Hendon park, walked to the middle of a field, had a chat and played some rummy whilst listening to Audioslave. We were only there for an hour, and then I caught the 113 back to Mill Hill. The second was that I was able to visit my family home where I saw my mother and father, and my brother, and we had a nice chat, and I was able to have a lovely meal of a salmon pastry and beans with chili sauce. Everybody is most impressed with my exam and course completion. 

Ryan dropped me home, and I then tried to sit at my desk and begin working on my new project, which is to learn computer science. My efforts were to download the Python package and watch a tutorial on YouTube. Python looks to be the easier between that and C++, and I daresay I won't have a great deal of difficulty with it, and hence wish to be versed in the harder of the two, C++, for which I have a book, and for which learning Python will give me a better understanding. It is very early days, and I should be a little more advanced in this area, and wish I had pursued it when I became interested in it aged eight. I will take it as far as I can, in this free four months, and I'm sure it will be a great help to my studies. 

It was not long however, before the day began to drain on me, and I became sleepy, and desired to resume in the morning, and went to lay in bed and read Penrose. I have several of his books, and have been working my way through "Fashion, Faith and Fantasy", but recently bought his "Cycles of Time", with which I chose to make a start. I was asleep by 12:30 am. 

I must just say, to remind myself, that the course content is still readily available to look at on the website (not to mention in print), and it is a half-formed thought and desire that I do review it from time to time, to refresh my knowledge, and also to go a bit more in depth into the topics of which I was only able to get a basic overview: such topics as thermodynamics and entropy, and quantum gases, and nuclear physics and particle physics. The content there is about as comprehensive as one could wish, and it is well worth a further investigation. 

But this morning, having woken up entirely at the relatively late hour of ten thirty, I realised I had had a quite fascinating dream. I wish to relate: 

At one stage I found myself in the Caribbean, specifically St. Lucia, where I have been in reality, and where in dream I was walking around and holidaying with several of my brother'f friends, and including my brother. There must be some hidden neuroses about my psychosis deeply embedded in my unconscious, because they were made manifest in my conduct, in dream, in which I feel I was making  a nuisance of myself, to my brother and his friends, in an antisocial way. I seem to recall the presence of my father in a fleeting representation, but mainly Ryan and his crew. There was a room, a bit like a fale in Samoa, where the was a bed with white sheets, and a television, and bars in the windows beyond which you could see the tropical trees - mainly green and shining. But me, being a perpetual nuisance (somehow or other) to the boys of my brother's friendship, it was the case that soon the St. Lucia mental health services were involved. Now, we are caught up at the latter end of the holiday, and everybody was getting prepared to go back home. Yet now with the services involved, and Ryan seeming to be quite - I don't know the word - acquiesced to my loopy ways and means (which involved nothing more than fevered excitement as to my wanting to stay here), he was like, "Fine! It's up to you! Stay if you like!" And the services were fully involved now, and I was to be sectioned in the Caribbean! And the way they do it here, is by giving you the strongest anti-psychotic pill that you can imagine, and I was given a choice to take the pill, and told them, "I will take it, and take it happily." But I just took a lick of a dab of it, and it had a little effect, and I was still a sprightly nuisance. The services consisted of a black nurse and a chinese nurse, and they took me to a beach, and it was night. And they told me I was to be killed on the beach, by means of a gunshot to the back of the head, and I was fine with this, and distractedly went with them, ahead of them, as they followed me behind, and yet I still had this pill in my hand. I doubted that I was going to be killed, and as soon as the doubt entered my head, so did the bullet, and I died. 

And my spirit went up across the ocean, and I was never happier, and I began to be able to see the situation of what it is like to die. That situation was actually that you can see the mothership. The mothership is  an alien spaceship that is invisible to all those living, but when you die you can see the mothership, and this one was the Deathstar from Star Wars, and everything made sense. My spirit went up into this mothership, and I was back at home, with the aliens, and realised that I was an alien. I was in the mothership, and welcomed back home, and looked in the mirror and could see my true alien form, and there were others, and one of these was Lee Kern. Yet Lee was a representative of the Earth and he knew the alien language and I was able to communicate with him about the situation. Very soon, I was able to have the chance to have sex with a beautiful woman, and was given choices about which way I wanted to have her. It seemed somehow untoward to want her in the vagina, or anus, and I chose to have her without penetration. Such a choice, it seemed, was not in the right mode for me to stay on the mothership, it being the weakest choice, and I think I was sent back. In any case, the dream ended. 

Although, I stayed asleep for some two more hours, and didn't dream anything of note in that time, and I woke and made myself coffee, and smoked a cigarette, and continued to work on my computer coding vocation. 

I also had to pick up some prescribed sleeping pills, and read a little when I was at the Broadway. When I was home, I fell asleep for half and hour, then phoned Tamsin and told her about my dream, and then I came here. Now I wish to work on  my summer vocation a little, and make a prawn curry for dinner. 

And there's the long and short of it, and there it is. And there you have it. 

Best wishes, 



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Worries, fears, plans - unnecessary or otherwise...

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Hello, welcome, I welcome you, 

And this will be, since I have not the time available, possibly my final blog before my exam, and this is an early morning, Thursday the fourth of June, and my exam will take place on Monday the eighth of June. I therefore have four days including the rest of this one to prepare, and I must admit I have been extremely lax in the performance of calculations and equations, and still have yet some remaining reading to do in the name of revision. I must study to completion the rest of Unit 25: Particle physics. Being a most diligent and thorough person, my technique has been that I have basically rewritten the content of course material out in my own words in its entirety, and I wonder at the thought of the use of such an endeavour, such is true. In fact I know, from past experience with study, my failing has been complacence, and this way of working is the best way I can think of that will crystallise my understanding in all areas. In theory, the equations should go well, for I feel a grounding has been gained in the conceptual and definitive areas of such topics. That is, I know what all the equations represent; that is, I know about their connections in terms of derivatives. On paper, it seems, the story could be quite different. Hence this should be a short and concise blog - an outline of the situation. Dickens would be merry, and would drink his merriment. 

I must plan, to the letter, the entire engagement of the upcoming test, and probably not without a loving impression. After all, one wishes to carefully plot time in the most decisive manner, in the sense of a happy experience to be had. Planning is a task through which all fearful concerns can at least come to dissipation. And I wish to outline my thoughts as to the venture.

  • Sleeping: the exam goes ahead at 00:01 on the morning of June the 8th, and I have found my days normally begin at about nine or later. I wish to organise it so that I am out of bed by at least 02:00 that day. This means going to bed at least eight or ten hours prior, at four pm on the Sunday, which means staying up the night on the Saturday before. I say it now, and planning shall fruit, yet I yearn for the taste! 
  • Refreshment: I venture to ensure the supply of several cans of energy drink (Monster, from the garage across the road), perhaps some packets of crisps or nuts and chocolate bars, and at least a whole fifty gram pouch of tobacco, of which I shall pre-roll thirty or forty cigarettes, and happily keep them within grasp, but only for the reasons of the celebration of the day. I shall need milk, and a good supply of coffee. Nescafe Gold blend should do the trick, and can be procured from Iceland in refill packets, and also the convenience shop where they do the off milk. 
  • Studying: Due to the few hours remaining, the organisation herewith should incorporate no more than 48 hours of serious practice, that is outlined as to which topics I should cover, and know in their entirety, and be confident in their working. I should get my fucking head down on this effort, such is the case, and I know it to be true. I've been so lax, yet time has been its usual relative demeanour, and goes fast or slow as and when it pleases. This must be done. 
  • Privacy: I must put my phone in airplane mode, and not answer calls. I must not answer texts. I must concentrate. People will phone, people will knock at my door, something will happen. 
  • Comprehensiveness: I must be diligent and thorough, and persistent, and clever. 
  • I must be philosophical, and scientific. 

These cannot be the only plans, yet all else is within grasp, I feel. 

I must close now, and go to bed, and dream of future credence. 

I bid you farewell. 



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Science and God and me

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Welcome you, and good morning. 

I told myself I would blog in the morning, and so I settle down to think about things. 

One thing I should really try to not do is post my blogs to facebook, once they're done. It's such a wasted endeavour. Every time I do, I think, -This is the one, this will get the likes, this will get my point across. Facebook is not like that, I know. It is more about posting pictures of a minion with his arse showing, and it is all slightly embarrassing. I put a lot of effort into these blogs, in terms of time and honesty, and you get the sense that people just do not get it at all! Especially for me. I'll post something up and, rather than "Good job!" or "Great post" or "Here's a comment that gives my personal point", you get, "Are you okay?" or "I'm worried about you!" It's totally counterproductive, and a complete and utter waste of time. I don't like facebook, I'll be honest. It gives me a bad feeling. I think what bothers me at heart is that no one gives a crap about what I have to say. All the while I seem to be under the impression that they do. They don't, and that's that, and there it is. 

Yesterday was a strange day right up until I was able to blog that last post. It says it all in there as a matter of fact: I was fatigued by working, then I was tired, then I went online once again, wrote out all those words, and finally realised that what I have to do is to accept myself as a schizophrenic. I have done that; I know I'm schizophrenic. I just never knew how important it is to put myself out there as one. You tend to think that being schizophrenic is something you have to hide and pretend away. In light of what I said yesterday, I just want to reiterate the point, that there is a 'social feeling' in society that I need to engage in. And this culminates in trust of the media, and that is, the mainstream media, which is classed in the 'standards' of humans in the world. This standard extends across the entire spectrum of human achievement, from the daily news to education. I feel as if I need to make a point about that. I want to go in for that thing, and in some ways it is true that I have no choice, but I also have reservations. We are just humans, and even in science there is an element of untruth about it. 

Take Flat Earth theory. These theorists take scientists as liars. But science is as honest as it could be; if scientists are not right about something, it's not really their fault, because we just experiment and see what works, and if something works we keep it. It's hard. I want to debunk science in a way, to say that everything we've ever achieved has nothing to do with actual objective facts. People can say, "Flat Earth theorists are stupid; of course the world is round," but we don't know that. We don't know it! We have never seen the round Earth. The fact is, that the science we have discovered works. That is to say, the scientific regime works as if the world is round. But it might not be. It might very well be flat! It might be flat, and it might be a thousand other shapes and surfaces. All we do in science is take people's for their word. Just because a whole bunch of people think the same thing, doesn't make it true. That's the doctrine of "might is right", and they have done studies about it, and might is right is not necessarily the objective truth. I hope I have made my point. I hope so, because there is a niggling thought in my mind that I cannot seem to bear out. It culminates in the spiritual and holy thoughts of religion and God. 

I think I have a choice, between religion/God, and science. Not rehash the point, but I have had some religious experiences, that I now think I have personally debunked. The experiences are, that I have "met" God, that I have encountered "truth" in the bible, that these religious experiences have helped me through hard times, and have been something which I have been able to rely on in hard times. But when I look at the world, I nowadays do not see God - whatsoever! It's about those times when you see a truth for yourself, like when you're studying a concept and then suddenly everything makes sense. For me, unfortunately, these religious machinations come to me in the throes of deep sleep, whilst I'm inside some dream or other, and I wake and I understand everything. Like this other night when I did that, and woke and realised the truth and structural formation of evolution. Or other times when I have seen the spiritual recognition of my own "Christ consciousness". Or other times when I simply figure out the structural form of an equation of physics. I think however, that the "sanest" way I can approach my life today, is to reject religion/God and accept science and the scientific regime. I fail to see God nowadays, but science, I can get into that. 

And there it is, and there you have it. 

Stay safe. 




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COVID-19:- Developments: personal and social

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Welcome ye, 

Hello there, how are you? How am I? How, indeed, are things going for you right now? Bloody fantastic, I must interject, and there it is and there you have it. Well, and perhaps not so good. Perhaps my mind has deteriorated, from the inundation of surplus hours and hours of studying and working - mainly, in the physics regime. Yes, for I have gone quite, quite insane. And by that I do not mean to say that you yourself have gone insane, but that I myself have gone quite, quite doolally. 

I just spent an hour working on a topic of physics, namely (and what was the topic), the blackbooty spectrum. And it was over an hour, in truth, approximating to approximately two hours, or two and a half hours, and I took down the particulars. And henceforth, when it all culminated in a conclusion, I was dismayed, certainly, to find that the problem was indeed a classically moot concept, which was not in use for the solutions to the problem. And now I find that the problem is indeed a "heads up" in the mode of the quantum solutions, yet imagine my dismay, to have all my good work... thrown down the pan!!! 

I guess I don't mind. I actually performed one of the equations. But I wonder, how can the open university expect us to be able to keep up with this immense workload? Well, I imagine, that that is because I was two weeks behind, for the reasons of the coronavirus. 

Remember the coronavirus? Do you recall that era? That was a strange time indeed, forsooth. We all had to stay in the house and try to keep abreast of things. That reminds me, I must check upon the daily round up of news. But before I do so, I would like to mention that I am not so fascinated by the questions of conspiracies in light of the current situation. 

Now it says here, that the United Kingdom has the greatest number of deaths in Europe. We are second only to the United States. This is certainly a good reason to stay the course inside. So I must be wrong about my considerations of the COVID-19 disease being, in its capacity, a psychological phenomenon. I simply cannot understand how we have had so many deaths? We all locked down, didn't we? We all stayed in quarantine. But the good news is that the NHS is handling the situation. 

The news certainly is a bitch. I feel a little stunned, and now a great deal more worried. Have we reached a peak yet? Why are the elderly dying? They are vulnerable, but where did they pick up the virus? It's a state I'm in that equates to confusion. Why are people in care homes picking up the virus? Is it something to do with the NHS? I am actually in shock. Nearly 30,000 deaths!! I wish I was able to help. I wish I was able to say something comforting. 

And there I was, thinking about suicide. 

What would happen if I were to test positive for Coronavirus??

They are saying we could have done things differently. We're in week seven of lockdown, and they think we could have done things differently. 29,427 people have died, as of the fifth of May. I would like to know if that's exactly related to coronavirus, or there are other factors. Yes, the elderly and vulnerable are dying. Why can't we protect them? 

I haven't been watching much television. In fact, my only source of media has been the open university website, and I think that's as good as any. We do not have to be so morosely attached to the mainstream media, however, perhaps I should be a little more in tune with the feelings of common social discourse, maybe. 

The lockdown is working, they say. So that's good news. 

I should personally be extra careful, because I am a smoker, and a fairly heavy one at that. And they say, that you are four times more likely to catch the disease in that band. 

I still get the sense of a psychological cause... Am I a fool? I should not spread misinformation. Media is just fine, in the sense that we as humans are in fact central to natural existence. In a strange way, the media can help keep you sane - at least, further from real insanity. I don't want to say what I'm thinking. 

But now, I must interject, that it is of utmost importance to treat the coronavirus as a true and real threat, and not to mess around and joke about with claims of conspiracy, to treat the coronavirus for what it is - a virus that is killing people all over the world. 

And there it is again: That thought of psychology... It cannot be put into words. I would like to redeem myself by asking about the science of COVID-19. 

I must say, I feel at odds with my situation, that is, of being on benefits for illness. Yet I am trying my best to keep on with work, and perhaps this is the best I can do. I am doing the best I can to do my bit, which is merely by quarantining and locking down. For the worries are social, economic, scientific, political. 

I'm listening to a science podcast on the topic of the psychology of conspiracies. The points being made are, that conspiracies are a way to help people understand their anxieties, and the world; that social media is spreading misinformation; that people who lack critical thinking abilities are more likely to believe in conspiracies. I conclude that the virus is a real physical threat (if it ever needed to be affirmed). Narcissists are more likely to believe in conspiracy theories. When you are in an environment that increases your uncertainty this makes you more susceptible to conspiracies. When you believe in one conspiracy theory, you are more likely to believe in others, for example, if you believe the virus is man-made, then you are more likely to believe in the 5G conspiracy theories. Confirmation bias. Proportionality bias: the coronavirus event is a massive event. Many people are out of their minds with fear. Me? I'm just out of my mind. 

I have problems. I'm glad I'm studying science, for the narcissistic reasons (obviously), and others. But why am I so skeptical about the governmental and scientific evidence about the coronavirus? I must remember that I am in fact a paranoid schizophrenic, which means that I have had experiences, and none more so than in the last few weeks. I have problems, and have had experiences, but I have good reasons to believe the things that go on in my head. I also have good reasons to ignore those things and connect into the mainstream media. It's a strange world outside, I can assure you, and I'm not sure I like it. I miss people, real contact. But now, I am coming to think that the scientific and social view of myself is a far cry, in fact, from the philosophical and spiritual person I was once trying to attain to in life. Some people have called me a plethora of things, from genius, to queer, to dickhead, to paranoid schizophrenic. I feel the medicinal view is the most debilitating, for it is the hardest to accept. Yet, in fact, that is who I am. I am not the Christ, I am not a God, I am not an angel. I am a paranoid schizophrenic. That is how the doctors see things, that is how my mother sees things. That is how I should see myself - even in light of my esoteric views on the topic of what we take to be authority. Because I have been studying science for a very long time, and I wish to pursue science, and gain credence in this subject. I have to relent and even acquiesce to the whims of medicinal, or medical authority. And I had such hopes for the psychological legacy! 

I am not there yet. Perhaps the diligence must be strenuous, and perhaps the work will not be fun. But the fun is over. I want to see this pandemic through and make it over to the other side. You know, I couldn't explain those conspiracies nevertheless! So that is it. 

Now I think of it, I have been lacking a modicum of faith recently. Faith is like a rule of life - it will always rear its head in your moments of despair, and you can fall back on it. But science is truth, and reality. It is really the best way to accept your life. I want to retire from my fears about the way society identifies me. I want to accept myself. I'm a paranoid schizophrenic. 

Best wishes


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Coronavirus and everything...

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Edited by Daniel Frederick Best, Thursday, 30 Apr 2020, 00:15

Welcome in, welcome in... 

And I felt a little sad one night, perhaps the last night, perhaps the night before - I do not know; the days seem to meld into twos, and one thing I think happened yesterday might be pointed out to me that it happened the day before... days meld in twos. That's why I blog, I think. I seem to have a bad memory for all the disconnected events that occur. And I felt a little sad one night because it suddenly occurred to my mind that my sister had missed me, ever since I committed suicide in the early 2000s, or ever since I was medicated with antipsychotics. "Corina misses her big brother," went the voice in my head, and I was all, -Oh, here we go, and I could anything but keep that voice from making me feel a little sad. 

"Corina," I called out. "It's okay, I'm still here." 

It's these little intuitions that get to me, that seem to appear out of nowhere, but remain stuck in my mind until something like action or some other thing causes closure. I can never behave in the way I think I should, when these concepts come into my mind. That's why I have been as violent in the past. That's why I do silly things. It's not my fault - if I had my way, I would see them off with a shrug and be happy in whatever shit I wallow. I feel like I follow a sort of unconscious impression, that is my true self, yet is that which I cannot really have access to - like my thoughts. I feel I don't really have true access to my thoughts, and I thank the antipsychotics - they truly empty your head. Although, nature can play a thorough part in accessing them: I wonder if my life is a completely natural phenomenon, and sometimes it feels very, very strange in the ways I operate in the course of my day. The good thing, is that working on my course can save me, and though I may be behind in life, its whole structure is an aid. I am a perfectly natural man. Every natural resonance which engages me can make things feel like I'm not really in existence. I explain. 

When, yesterday, I was doing administration at my desk, I could see how ugly I am. In fact, nature is nothing but symmetry, and it is ever more obvious and clear. At once I wish to solve its very essence, and also have little to do with it. Nature sometimes feels so obviously symmetrical that it may even be machinery. This is how I am beginning to see it. Perhaps my own life, from a "subjective" point of view, perhaps it is nothing more than an application. Perhaps this way I see life would be better enhanced by an end to the lockdown quarantine, and more and more human contact. They say we need to limit human contact, or we'll increase the chances of a virus. Life certainly feels electrical to me at this time, and I'm part enjoying it, part wondering how to escape it. 

Not a great deal happened today at all. I worked on my course, then at seven o'clock I walked over to the shop for things. There I asked Nathan if he believed in God. On a walk yesterday, I was only saved by the beauty of the trees; everything else was cold and man-made. And it can feel like hell when you see the unhappy individuals walking the roads in masks, and I feel a little sorry for them, and a little sad. Once I was at home I concluded that there is no God. It made me feel better, and I was able to look out on the streets at the few individuals and at my pleasure confirm their humanity, for they do not believe in God either, as must be the case, as it is, as it should be. And talking to Nathan, I was struck with the notion, that people are the purveyors of holy entities, and belief is all it takes. Perhaps the shop owner can see God, in the same way I began to see God in him, as he expressed his beliefs. And it occurred to me that people are the purveyors of their own holy machinations, for I was impressed with a little sense of divinity as he expressed his beliefs, and with such vociferous passion, and was overall impressed - yet my nose dribbled a little (I had to keep wiping at it with my sleeve). 

I really do not know what to think sometimes. The media insist that coronavirus is a real virus and infectious, that it can be passed by contact. I do not wish to be obvious in my speculations, but I feel there is more to it than this. For when I left Nathan's shop, I began to cough in a new and strange way, that felt like a respiratory effect, and I wondered if the virus had entered my lungs. I think what I am trying to say is that, for me, there is difficulty in believing that we can catch the disease from the outside world. Perhaps that is the psychotic tendencies of my mind. But you know, when there is a cold going round, everybody gets it. Everybody gets it. What kind of a virus is this? It seems to choose the people who you don't know. It's never you! I cannot vocalise what the issue must be, but in any case, it will not do to scare people. But there is a nature to this virus, that is beyond science - cold science, that is. I know of the existence of a mental state which tells you you may have the illness, and it is psychological. I think my coughing was had something to do with my conversation in the convenience shop. I think you can catch coronavirus by psychological means. Why do they lump me in with conspiracy theorists? That's because what I say is obvious, and not to be said. I should shut my mouth, and say "Stay safe!" The underhanded reasons for the disease ending in death is a matter of our very thinking. I feel it, and sometimes I feel that were I not in the environment of person that is a fighter, I'd have been a goner a long time ago. Yet, perhaps coronavirus is everything and all we only think it to be? Perhaps we're all correct in what we think it is. Perhaps fear may have a little to do with it. For at bottom, whenever I feel afraid of COVID-19, I feel succumbed to its grasp. Fear is coronavirus. Perhaps that is what I should think. 

But that doesn't mean we ought to laugh like fannies at the threat. We need to learn to be reverential and respectful to our feelings and thoughts, and those of others. We need to learn to be sensitive in consideration and tenderness to the virus. We need to learn to aggrandise in humanity and human compassion, and learn that we are afraid of something we need not be afraid of. For that is when the pandemic will pass. All that is left to learn is the way in which fearful people have gone in for the deal, and failed to find away out, and maybe therein lies the secret. 

And now I think about it, I wonder at those people in masks, who look and seem full of fear, and also wear their masks with a modicum of antagonism and arrogance. When they hold their hand to their mouths as they pass me, I think how rude. Something inside me says, I don't think you're getting it. It feels like racism, or some other prejudice. Of course, I understand the recommendations, and respect them, but don't make into something personal. These western countries are overcome with social issues, and I look at New Zealand. It is said they have the best race relations in the world, and you know, they have had just about three deaths from COVID-19 overall. Amazing. What's their secret? 

I don't know what to think, exactly, but perhaps we have to take this time to learn, not just to live with one another, but engage with the respect we acquiesce in by force (of nature or man, no matter), and just stop being afraid of each other. 



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Dream and yesterday

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I must blog, and welcome., 

A lot of people are scared, I imagine... I personally culminate my fears in dreams. I might as well blog about those. 

I dreamed at first that I was phoned by services in mental health saying - Martin Katz is unwell, and it is because you are increasingly psychotic. I could see their meaning in this, and although I care about Martin, could not see how I was currently in a breakdown. And, from where I remained (a house in the Garden Suburbs), my brother Ryan and I laughed at their request I come in to be examined. Yet services, in the form of psychiatric nurses, managed to get inside the large house, where I was asking my brother to get me some hash, to calm my brain (which these days would not do such a thing; but make things worse). We laughed at the services, but soon they were entered into our place of residence and threatening my brother with anti-psychotic injection. I fought this, and we were in the right, but I have an image of their trying to restrain Ryan and inject him. My only course of action to avert this disaster, was to grasp Ryan by a piece of flesh on his back, that must have hurt him. Yet we were still in the right, and services had nothing on us, yet they still persisted to save Martin's mind by the action of medicating me, and I brought out my phone to "go live" on facebook and the phone had been recording the audio of the entire debacle, much to the dismay of the psychiatric nurses (they appeared sanitised and medicinally clean). The dream ended with a vision of Ryan being held by three of these nurses, and then I awoke, and went to eat a piece of bread with cacik. 

And the next part of the dream, when I got back down after food, began. And there was Rochelle (a friend of my sister's), and my sister, in my mother and father's bedroom, and there was pink and perhaps allusion to childhood. I picked something up, perhaps an illness shard by the girls, but as much is not clear. But nevertheless I picked up an illness, in which small caterpillar-like creatures squeezed out from white pores in my skin, and I had to go to hospital. Here, everyone was having a similar illness, and there was my mother, perhaps suffering too, I don't know, yet in any case there she was sharing a bed next to someone I feel pained to say was my mother's auntie and friend, June. But my illness worsened: Caterpillar-like animals crawled out of pores in my skin, and I was worse for wear, but since it was an epidemic, I was able to leave. And in the dichotomous position of leaving or staying, it was the case that many people would contract the same illness, including doctors. We all took our positions in hospital beds, my mother, my mother's friend, and a doctor who became most unwell, and yet tried to help us all. Then, my sister being quite well and not in the vicinity, my brother arrived to take care of us by purchase of drinks and snacks, and meanwhile the hospital ward was going mental, with the epidemic taking full effect. And now, my brother exposed to the illness, he contracted it, and found this out by talking to a black girl who told him of his condition, which Ryan could not believe, and called out to his black friend, Keith, and apologised to me in the process, yet I understood the whole thing, and have always wanted to feel this understanding. And then an inpatient was there, Alistair, and had a deck of cards. He was a Scottish man, and knew every trick there was (I also had a deck of cards). His method of trickery was rough-edged, yet we compared tricks - well - Alistair was able to trick me a number of times, and I myself was unable to gain leverage over his mastery... his double-lifts were better than mine; his mind-reading tricks were better... The small, brown hair Scot soon turned out to have been a doctor all the while, and smiled at my efforts, which nothing could beat him. Alistair, being victorious, went back to his position as NHS hospital staff, and my illness continued. However, now, I wanted to leave, to get home to see my father, and went out into the hospital ground and found a bus, and went on the bus, and went back to my area where my father was waiting at home, where I really wanted to be. There was some altercation on the bus upon which some frenzy was taking place to do with the driver and passengers, and money, and it was a full bus, with mothers and .... mainly mothers, and i got back there to my area, near the park. 

I spent the rest of the night feeling weak with a respiration issue due to smoking. I could not sleep in, and need to work. Thinking over my time in life, and my failings before God, I finally resolved to fight the illness and woke up to breakfast and sit down to work. 

I must try to get on with things today. I am now on Unit 23 - The Fermi gas and solid-state physics. It is nigh on impossible. I shall be lucky to pass, but we shall see. 

I fail to be able to see what else I have to blog about. 


Yesterday was Martin Katz's 64th birthday. I sung him Happy Birthday several times. Martin cried throughout the day - it can't have been a very nice day. At about six o'clock Ryan needed my assistance in doing some tree work, in which I had to help the boy with picking a stump-grinding machine off his green van, and on, and off again, and I love that boy so much. And whenever I work with him, I feel an affinity for manual labour. But, however it appears to be the case - through mental health issues, or academic work and so on - I am at heart a cerebral person, and have not much love for this type of working. Nevertheless, I was able to see my boy, my brother, and we had great... how you say... banter - and we laughed and joked, and we bantered all the while, back in the old town of Burnt Oak, where we spoke of past friends that live in the area, and chatted and laughed about this or that, and it is always nice to see the boy - my boy. I took snaps and films as he chopped down tree stumps with his chainsaw, and then ground them out using the machine, and he (the boy) is becoming even larger in his arms, and fitter in his general fitness. We laughed and joked, and by the end I was able to leave the conversation we were having, which was about the species of trees, and whether one could tell if a tree was male or female, and their names, and their birth names or species name, and then people around being categorical as unto a tree (I have, for example, recently named a Copper Beech by the name Henry, which I thought a good name) - I was able to leave the day's talking on a high note, by activating my deepest charm, and finally saying something poignant as we departed - something I have always wanted to do. But before this I received a WhatsApp message from my sister Corina, which said that her three year old son Rio was enjoying the gift which I bought him, which was a third-party nintendo machine, and by the looks of the picture, it seemed he was really into it. 

Then later, Corina texted me the information that Rio found gaming difficult, but that he would try. He's just like all us Besties - we all try. We all try. 

Peace, and good morning to you. 



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New blog post

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Hello, hello and hello. 

Yesterday, and from a little, tiny, kind of huge pig out the day before, I woke up and got straight out and went for a long walk around my town, that lasted for over an hour. It felt great, and by the end of it, as I neared my little area, I noticed that I was high as a mother, from the exercise and endorphins I had experienced. Then the day went on, and I was able to take a small rest in the mid-morning, and it was a fine nap from which I was awoken by a knock at the door, which was an Amazon delivery woman whom I mistook for a man, by calling her "Bro!" (this sort of felt good, for some unknown reason), and she had delivered an HDMI cable that I ordered so that I could connect up my SNES mini to the new box that I received from my neighbour. In fact, my neighbour was drunk in the afternoon, and making a nuisance of himself, by his own choice in the forecourt of my (relatively small) estate, and began the endeavour by picking on two council workers with a ladder, and they seemed to take this action with the correct amount of skepticism, and did their best to ignore his drunken japes. John is a great bloke. I have called the police on him twice. Once when he was insulting me in my apartment, the second when I opened my front door and he drunkenly barged in. We've had our ups and downs, but we can see eye to eye on most things and, in fact, despite his misgivings and the fact he has spent time as a prison inmate, John is harmless, and a lovely bloke. I don't even believe he is an alcoholic; he just likes a drink. What's the harm in that? In any case, I have some footage of his conduct, and it gives me a great deal of amusement to watch him in action. We are all slightly bored in this quarantine situation (which might I add is an unbelievable construct in an otherwise relatively boring life, and I think God must be a wonderful story teller to have written all this. Amen. ) 

But today, I went for no long walk around Mill Hill. However, I was awake at an early hour and chose to sign straight in on the PC to check emails and do some preliminary administerial work, and then immediately after got down to study. The day's engagements in this endeavour began with an attempt to compose myself in the manner of finishing off section 4 of Unit 22 - Bose gas and crystal structure. The entire lockdown and quarantine situation has seemed to have given us a chance to organise ourselves (at least it has done for myself) in our daily lives, and also given us a nice break from the rat-race that was becoming a terrible drain, you must surely admit. I found, in my endeavour to study, that I do tend to get distracted quite easily. I have, in this matter, a series of goals such as a long-term goal (attain a professional degree in my best subjects), an even longer-term goal (to gain a masters or yet higher level credential in my best subjects), and these finicky little short-term annoyances, that I find I must immediately attend to the very second they arise. They can become quite bothersome, but in fact they are quite necessary and, in fact, once they are done they are done and out of the way. These are menial tasks such as might be tending to a small piece of litter on the floor, or something similar, or brushing debris off the table, or making roll ups, or a cup of coffee. But once they are done, they are done, and there it is, and there you have it. However, such tasks as these are also invasive in the process of the course of my study. So the short-term goal of finishing to understand a paragraph from the university website, today, was inundated with all manner of distractions, in the manner of turning to Wikipedia to crystallise a concept, and then finding another concept and searching that one, and then another concept and then another. In the end the culmination was a web-browser complimented with a number of Wikipedia tabs connecting to a vast array of subjects and, in short, the endeavour was dappled with an intensity of learning which I found most illuminating and was both surprised and grateful at the things I was discovering. 

At around midday, having recently realised that my local hardware store was remaining open (we all love hardware stores), and wanting to replace a watch battery in my best watch that had recently run down, I chose to go to the local town to amend the situation, and went there, and by walking. I fixed the watch (it cost £6.99), and I went about to different stores -  the local Turkish one (bought vegetables for lunch - genius!) and the local Iceland (for rice and Chinese sauce, and also a box of mini savoury eggs for the local tramps lunch). As I sat waiting for a bus, I met a lovely man, an acquaintance who frequented the once-open coffee shops around Mill Hill reading books, and he sat at my bench and we were able to engage in a polite conversation. I realised afterwards how pleasant it was to finally talk to someone with a human face, which I did with relative alacrity, having not done so for over a month. Yes, I was most surprised to hear myself discussing the topics of my studies in quantum mechanics, and it was a great feeling - one that gave me a great deal of satisfaction and complacence in myself and things I have learned. Sometimes everything comes out. But then I did get a bus and went back hoe, and was pleased to continue the distracted work I was doing. But it was alright. 

I went out later, too. I went up to meet my parents at around six o'clock at their home, and spent some time in the garden talking to each of them. It was very lovely - my mum had borrowed a blood pressure measurement device from her auntie, which I needed to take note of my blood pressure, due to a recent change in medication. I spoke to my dadsie - he was talking about a science show he'd seen on box - and we were having a nice discussion. It's nice when you can get along with your folks. I'm so glad I'm in a continual state of awakening, in which I'm always and every time appreciative of their state of being still alive. They are still relatively young, and you hear of such terrible things when they eventually pass. I feel fortunate to still have them around; to still have the opportunity to get to know them better, and to share everything with them that goes on. So much happens. So much goes on. 

I walked home - it was slightly chilly. I jogged part of the way and, not wearing my glasses for whatever reasons, began to feel self conscious about my beard. When I was arrived back at home I was recipient to a call from Tamsin, the girl I claim is my girlfriend. She likes my beard apparently, but when we got off the line, I shaved it off. 

Anyway, there it is, and there you have it. 

Best wishes all, 


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Mainly schizophrenic blethering

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To whom it may coronavirus, 

I'm going to smash out a quick blog post here and hence we begin with no particular destination in mind. 

First thing. I have had experiences, of the mind and body, which I would love to put into writing. Have these experiences recently been put into context, and hence into the category of "not worth talking about"? Well, I bloody hope not. There's all sorts of things I want to say. What you must know about me, firstly, is that I'm a paranoid schizophrenic! It's not a pleasant characteristic, yet I am glad I can be lumped in with that stigma, for it can at least assist other people to help understand me or, if not understand me, at least give them some kind of counterpoint with which to contextualise my ever so underhanded dealings and ways. That is, when I come bowling down the street, and they see me coming, and they are overcome with the fear of the holy Lord, by dint of antagonistic and fearsome ways and dealings, they can, when they come to know me, be placated in the notion of this fact of my nature. I am mentally ill, and it's me and not you, and you can rest safe in the knowledge that I am the outsider, and not a perpetual God, which is what I really am. No. I am a paranoid schizophrenic. 

So, in light of this new knowledge, here are some theories of the Coronavirus, that may or may not be deemed conspiracies: 

  • The coronavirus is a man-made virus, created by the Chinese government, in effect to partake in militaristic dealings with the United States and everything that's going on between those two countries. 
  • The coronavirus is a highly advanced scientific technology, that transcends the comparatively basic science we may associate with the construction of the first theory's version of the coronavirus. It does this, with a view to advancing the "Wi-Fi" connectivity of the human brain - a consideration that the good Lord Himself was unable to construct without the assistance of His finest brains, all of whom have a special part to play in the rising of the current pandemic, personally and necessarily. It connects with the erection of the Huawei 5G towers, which may or may not have merely been a "red herring", that coincided with an evolutionary shift towards the illumination of the collective mind. 
  • The Jews did it. 
  • The coronavirus pandemic is not a real pandemic. It is a construct of the imagination of: 
  1. A paranoid schizophrenic who is in fact a patient in an ongoing condition of seclusion, in a locked ward on a wing of Broadmoor Psychiatric Unit, with a mind so unwell that even the administration of the strongest antipsychotics can not prevent him from imagining the entire ordeal. 
  2. A man who, in the year 2001, has committed suicide, and is receiving communications from God about future events, as a product of the rewards of the afterlife. He has committed suicide, and left his family and loving girlfriend to try to continue life without him. Yet the constructs of suicide are on the other hand as complicated, and now, only the residual version of himself now exists, and he lives in the future, passing knowledge back to himself, at the crux of his life and legacy. He sits happily in the perpetuity of suicide, with just his imagination to keep him in sanity. 

  • The coronavirus and COVID-19 pandemic is a hoax, and was put in place to create an entirely new world society which will be maintained for the foreseeable future, and which culminates in: 
  1.  The eradication of every unnecessary economical trading element, which have been hitherto blockades to financial advancement, for both government and social individual alike, the overhaul which has improved the financial situation for all. 
  2. The overhaul of the education system, which is now to be continued using the available technology that can be employed from the safety of the home, and by parents. 
  3. The overhaul of the family society, which is now a case where families are spending good quality time together, watching each other grow up and engaging in healthy, wholesome activities as a family unit, on a daily basis and at length.  
  4. The overhaul of the policing system, in which criminals are now unable to continue to do the crimes of which they were once able to do. 
  5. The "wringing out" of social prejudice, which is borne out by the two-metre distancing rule that everybody must adhere to. 
  6. Etc., etc... 

And so it goes, and there you have it. 

In other news, the course is going well, and I am greatly enjoying it. I have spent a great deal of the day studying for it, and also spent some time making adjustments to my computer, which now boasts Windows 10, and for which I have ordered superfast fibre broadband. 

I really must try to go to sleep now. 

Best wishes. 



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A basic entry about a basic Tuesday

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Greetings, and welcome all blog lovers. 

Well, what an interesting night last night was! The details of it you can find within the sentences and sentiments of the blog I wrote at that time, but in short, I was halfway through my interjection when I decided to stop and try to sleep, and yet I could not sleep, and had to come back to the work and complete it, all the while under the influence of a full quarter of a sleeping tablet. Such was my motivation, borne out by that unsettled feeling of an incomplete day. 

In the morning, and from the reading of a paragraph from a book about habits and changing them, I tied up my shoelaces and finally went for what happens to be the second of my life's attempt at jogging. And I jogged down what they call Uphill Road, in little bursts, my lungs straining from the previous days smoking tobacco, and it was difficult and tiring. I wish to explain, that my motivation for such conduct is a continuation of the events of the past few weeks during which I seem to have been going through some major changes. I got down, in any case, to the mead at the bottom of the road, and yakked up my coffee into a bush there. I could have decided to take the A41 back up to my home, a direct route, but, by the dint of trying to get in touch with my true whims and feelings, I chose to go down and through the Broadway in Mill Hill, and did so, in little bursts of jogging, and say for a moment at the bench near the Mill Brew coffee shop (closed at the moment that is now), and went up on the Millway route, towards Apex Corner, where my home is. And I saw John, my Romanian acquaintance, who was most impressed with my conduct, and complimented me. (He wore a mask, and was going to work). It was nice to see him. 

Back home now (and I wish not to be crude about the matter), I noticed the bowel loosening effect of half an hour's exercise, and also washed under a temperamentally hot and cold shower, and felt a million times better than the way I did through the night, which was not a nice night, of sleep, or feelings. 

The day continued as like any other day, although decorated with a feeling of healthy design, and I pursued a breakfast of a single slice of toast with hummus, and a glass of water, and I set about, at the desk, by catching up on my social responsibilities, by means of my iPhone. I checked in with an old friend, Oliver, with whom I shared a couple of comments on the topic of family and exercise, and made my regular interactions with my main point of contact in this time of lockdown, a certain Martin Katz. I feel I should illuminate his life in a book. He is a good man, and an old sixty two year Jewish man, and he took a liking to me many years ago when we were in a mental hospital at the same time, and where we met. We've been friends ever since, and had our ups and downs, and what a sweet and spiritual presence he certainly is. He's been an absolute Godsend over the last few weeks, in which time I have needed such a friend to help me through. I would have been at a loss without him. His patience in my failure has brought me to tears in a moment of need. I have often brought him to tears, but he has repaid me tenfold, and I'll never forget it. However, our conversation this morning was a short one, relatively, compared to the hours we spend in facetiming. In fact, there was a hint of testosterone influenced shortness to the correspondence; yet we both seemed to understand one another. I knuckled down and continued on with my work which was to complete Unit 21 of Science module S217 - mathematics and physics, and did this until my eyes bled with tiredness and, in truth, I began to hallucinate I was as sleepy. 

After two and one half hours of study I decided to rest and catch up on the sleep of which I was deprived the previous night, and it was a rest so dotted with the freckles of the effects of medication (amisulpiride), that I spent two hours in it, and once I was awakened by a facetime from Martin, I realised I could remember my dream. 

In dream, as I sat near my mother, on a couch in the sunlight, I became aware that she was sent a letter - in fact, a correspondence from my open university tutor - which was a marked assignment that showed I was not achieving the highest marks of which she thought me capable. Upon her indication to me of this, that many of the equations had come to be wrong, I complained that the course is hard, and that you had to recognise the difficulty of special relativity, and that this equation was my first attempt at solving a calculation in such a topic. And then, still in dream, I left the room and sat to in a car outside to sulk with my sister who was also in the car. When mother came along to inquire about the situation, we complained to her about her, that she always.... she never.... this that and the other.... And the car was in front of a estate agent's office in Mill Hill, and I realise, that that was where the couch in the sunlight must have been. I found myself walking about the town, in dream, and past various happy people, including an Indian woman, and past an ice cream parlour, and this and that, and the other. Then, soon, I was back outside the estate agent's office, where Corina (my sister) still occupied the car, and I noticed a time-travelling man appearing in different positions around the vicinity of the office, and pointed him out to Corina, saying, "Can you see the time-traveller?" Then, in any case, my sister and I had secretly installed an espionage system within the estate agents, which we monitored from the car, and found, explicitly, that we were being grassed up for doing so, by Chris Addison, who appeared in "The Thick Of It", that is a television show written by my man Armando. The phone was ringing, out of dream, and I was glad that I had something for which I should awake, and it was Katzy, facetiming me. 

After I spoke to Martin I phoned my girlfriend, who is called Tamsin, and we spoke, and I found out about her day, and her plans, and her habits of reading (at the moment it is the Harry Potter series), and then, in any case, we ceased communication, and went on with our day. That endeavour, for me, was to continue to catch up with friends, and I spent a good half an hour chatting by Whatsapp video call to another old friend of mine, Adam Young. His diatribe was based on the care which I should take in signing any contracts, with Channel Four, to do with a television series that might be made about my life, and based on the book about that, which I called The Chicken Shop Incident. He is most concerned that I am going to be fucked over, and I settled the discussion by outlining my full awareness that I am most certainly going to be fucked over, and it's a done deal, in short. We ceased communication, and I spent the rest of the day trying to continue my studies, interposed with bouts of communication with Martin, and a meal of fish fingers, chips and beans, and a walk to the convenience shop on Apex Corner, for lemonade and cat food. 

In the evening I spoke to my mother, and also my friend Charlie, and only one other thing of note, was the occurrence of a lengthy conversation with my little brother, Ryan Best. He was carving a spoon down the shed at number five, and I was speaking about the events of the past few weeks, which have been a great experience of illumination, which I must admit were most difficult, but also humorous and interesting, and which I would one day like to write about, if such an endeavour is possible. In any case, I love my little brother; our conversations may improve, now that I am not so completely and utterly stoned off my face on weed twelve or thirteen hours a day, since I quit that drug during a medication change that happened because the supplies of my last one had discontinued. 

This drug is much better. Amisulpiride. 

I was looking forward to this day, and I have gone over my time. But there it is, blog lovers. That's my entry for the day. I will see you in the next day. 

Love Dan

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at home

The state of progress

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Edited by Daniel Frederick Best, Tuesday, 14 Apr 2020, 02:36

Hello all blog men and women,

I begin my entry by putting down the great feeling I have associated with the practice of learning physics. It is one of happiness, and contentment. 

How glad I am to be finally off the marijuana! It makes study so much easier. 

In addition, it is nice to have chosen to pursue this endeavour of study, and I'm sure you will agree, what an endeavour. 

That other old love of mine, music. I'm sure I will come back to you, one fine day. I'm not very good at music anyway. Well... 

This quantum mechanics is mind-blowing. And how practical, and how complacent one can become. How expedient to use the time in lockdown to do something as nice as study, thus. 

The practice of physics, I have yet to consolidate. But by Lord, I'm anticipating the practice to achieve fruition. 

I am feeling mildly confident, however, as to passing this level 2 module, and wish to continue to higher and higher levels, and I put this down in writing with a view to crystallise my whims. This has worked up until now. 

And in other news, the quantum state of my mental health is now reaching a level of boringness that is so dire that I must be cured of it. Yes, sanity is of necessity the most mundane of all positions; to come to learn to love it could be the greatest struggle of all. So we must pass this knowledge on to sufferers of addictions. For at least in normality you can get something done, and I just recently have approached the idea. 

And what is normality for me appears to be a world apart from that of many individuals, in the current age. We should have this down by July, and we will help each of our peers through it. There is more to this quarantine than meets the eye. I must say, tonight we move forward to attack tomorrow, without qualms. I know, it is starting to get boring - all this waiting until the curve is flattened. All we need is a little patience. And perhaps a little altruism, and perhaps a routine. But that is all. We are all a little tired, and we all need a hug. 

As I am able to claim, I have a fine girlfriend now, with a beautiful mind. Yet, it is not possible to hold her. For such a pleasure, one must absolutely be patient. The goal is to forward our notions with a modicum of diligence, and diligence with satisfaction, and it can be done. We must all do this, every single day, and we hope nature will support this goal. In short, we must use this eon to place our house in order. That is the simplest it gets. We will have the assistance of government, but we must assist them to assist us, and without waiting for the gift. We understand the plight, and pray the economy can handle it. Don't be astounded by society's unbelievable grit, especially to a Brit! (but also, all across the plane of the Earth.) And hope is not the only emotion. Everything is going to be alright. 

And so it goes, everything must be got out the way. I have just given myself a half pill of sleeping drugs, which didn't work, and the very blog we currently read was not finished and no matter the pill taken, you must go until satisfaction, and do so like you are on some other drug; it is only right. I do not understand why much of our planning does not go well on the initial run, lads. Okay, I knew the time was to be a whole hour of, and of full complication in the new and good thoughts we learned, somehow, during the course of the day. Why you didn't merely continue like you knew you had planned, I fail to know the existence of a reason. And you know, it makes me so tired, that it is one of the reasons I knacker my life and life's energy. There's the boy. 

What an interesting change of affairs; forgive me my verbosity. For the lessons of the day, have made it so clear in the eye, that there is more to be said, and all changes, and we start to get used to it all, and we try to believe, and it all comes to nothing. There is more, and what a failing day. That started too well, and ended badly as it could, and within the final three seconds. And for an hour's sleep, well how would that be the a thing? I do not know. It makes no sense. I want it to be a thing; I wish it. 

What story I would like to tell is borne out in the events of the day: in short, I awoke, I worked and spoke to my best friend, and I spoke to my girlfriend, and spoke to a receptionist in the NHS surgery at Mill Hill. And she advised me, and provided knowledge, that I have a prescription to collect - of perfect sleeping tablets which have failed me tonight. And it had royally annoyed me. HE really does laugh at our plans. I mean He pisses himself. And all we can do, and all you can do, and all I can do is follow the course, and try to feel the plan that He has. 

It is religious. The whole thing. I need be like you wish me to be surreptitious, for feel my annoyance. It is anger at myself, and I am only ever angry at myself. I fail too much. I had a thread there, and now I cannot feel such a thread, and this will always amount to ushering in the sorrows of youth, whatever those may be, you slaves. COVID-19 is driving us all insane. Some think it's a conspiracy; some think it is God. Others think it is natural psychology, and I have been wondering at the consequences and ways and means of the psychological methods of infection avoidance. I really have, you know. I always say it. It is natural psychology. That is, COVID-19 can be solved through psychosomatic means. Those are all original theories. Allow me to explain. 

Even the common cold is psychosomatic ( I do not know the exact science). Such a conjecture needs to be understood. Psychosomatic phenomena relates to what the nature of the world dictates, and such a point is made. The nature of the world is made of at least a dichotomy: The man made and the structure of what is allowed in the physical universe, which are both (let me assure you, but do not take my word for it) in connection to reality, and this is the pain of punishment. You must be true to yourself, your nature, and the natural world around you. You must try remain in cohabitation with all these effects, and knowing that morality is the connection, is not such a terrible point of view. for morality can tell how phenomena shall pan out, for it is in the world, and in you. I do not know the exact reasons why. But my hunch is that when an action made by a human is made in the name of being good (not necessarily a relativity of morality), you will instantly see that there is a good that comes from it. This is the point. It is simple: be a good person, and refrain from depravity, and refrain from destitution, and refrain from desperation. (Although I have failed in timely fashion at this latter instruction). Keep government as a vessel of human sanctity, borne of what is thought right, within these confines, and constructs. Use the restrictions and recommendations to your advantage; see them as pointers to help us all achieve a cleaner society. For all my own libidinous desecration, life is a learning curve. Perhaps that is why tonight I have failed. And I will fail, and I will continue to fail, and it will be to my own disadvantage. It will hurt. 

I will not achieve what I originally set out to achieve, here in the thread. You know what I mean about this. IT could have gone so well, and I had doubts. I very much certainly doubted myself. And here is my plea, and here is my prayer. Dear Lord. Please forgive me my failings, and know that I will always try to do your will, no matter the scene of connections to my failings, that I cannot understand your ways. I am not a God, I am a human. I have had a routine for three weeks now, and one night you asked me to change such a routine, and I failed to accept the request, and I am sorry, and please forgive me; I take not the living piss. 

We go again, for the hour is nearly up, and I have done the best I can to solve this crisis, as some coronavirus doctors and professors have so diligently done. I know, Lord, that I could have done better in my day - I pursue the next with great anticipation, and forgive me for shagging your leg whenever I see you at my table; you are wise and great, and I would do anything for you. I was confused by your anger, and now my capability to complete the original task is clear. I have said, and it is said, that you laugh at our plans. But tonight I may have possibly laughed at yours. Yet it is a strange and difficult task to be sensitive to your feelings. I thought what I gave was enough, and I am human, and I fail. The thread was lost, but it is still unsalvageable. I hope you will forgive me! Forgive me Lord, and let me not fall into mirth and hilarity, for I have killed a thousand thousand, and I was sorry, and I never knew pain. All those lost, and the science behind the regeneration of their souls.... I am sure everything will be alright in the end. And I know my place; I know my thoughts (some of them fully). And I know that I will cry to be sensitive to the most important things - they are difficult to navigate, all amongst the notions of personal disbelief in your ways. I struggle to come to terms with the extremes of my responsibilities in this life, I am sorry I took your love. I will perform my utmost to understand my position in this critical time of pandemic and pestilence. And I am sorry that I threw burning hot water upon all the thousands of creatures that fell from the garden pot which I lifted. I did it from curiosity, and from that they seemed so ugly. I hear their screams, of these insects, every day, and it crushes, and I know it made your anger over boil. I am sorry Lord. Please forgive me. Hear my screams, as I scream in the night, throughout the night, every night. 

I will not cry tonight, but I know of my failings, and I know your jealous, and merciful ways. I have faith in you, my Lord, please take me back into our arms, tonight. I love you. 



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