Why I am not a Russellite (Bertrand)

In which I offer a refutation of Russell’s teapot argument as an expression of weak atheism and proffer in its place the one true Strong Atheism.

This is a direct response to Russell’s original essay which can be found here. It has informed a century of British atheists leading all the way to the naive materialism of Dawkins et al. The central point of this article is to criticise the implicit philosophical assumptions of the essay and to establish a more solid atheism in which God is not merely negligibly unlikely but actually necessarily absent from a consistent framework of thought, sensory data, and that on which sensory data is contingent (the ‘real’).

Can we forgive the absolute pacifist who rejected the virtue of fighting the Second World War? Perhaps we can view his stance as logically coherent and a sad loss given its replacement by the vulgar pragmatic ‘game theory’ of Von Neumann and the fools who gave us MAD.

You have to give a man a certain credit for the sheer audacity of writing a book on the History of Western Philosophy. I particularly like the self perceived modesty of including the word ‘Western’. Of course, I only mean to put forward the final conclusive remarks on 5000 years of half the world’s thinkers, I wouldn’t dare be so arrogant as to take the whole of world thought as my subject. I am but a modest chicken. But I don’t wish to dwell on amusing biographical details.

The key aspect of Russell’s thought is that he is a British empiricist. A realist like Stephen Hawking with his contradictory statement that ‘philosophy is dead’. Of course, the true irony of Hawking is that his books are purchased almost entirely by people looking for metaphysics not physics. I remember as a child seeing an A level maths book and finding the indecipherable page of symbols to have an exotic religious appeal. That is what people seek in his bland writing and that is what he rejects within the writing. Thankfully, it is far enough in that most people can happily give up and sleep soundly in the knowledge that someone has figured it all out and that it can be expressed in a single equation. There lies the key fault in the teapot argument. By ignoring the sensible aspect of any metaphysical inquiry Russell imagines that we may simply drag God kicking and screaming in to the physical realm and straightforwardly disprove his existence there. If one cannot accept the existence of any object that is not material, it is straightforward to prove that a necessarily immaterial object cannot exist.

Leaving aside the burden of proof question (on what logical grounds should the nonexistence of the teapot be assumed a priori?) the argument falls down because for the argument by analogy to be valid, the objects in the analogy must be of a similar type. If the reader can accept that god is a similar concept to a teapot are they not already convinced? A key facet of God is that all phenomena are smaller than it. By drawing a comparison with some minor subsection of phenomena you have created a false conception of God which is not a useful construct. Perhaps it might even be easier to believe in a teapot orbiting a planet than one consciousness which created everything that could be considered a part of All. Fundamentally, a teapot, is a sensible concept which everyone can accept. That a teapot has position means that a teapot orbiting a planet is a sensible concept. It is easy to imagine an observation verifying it. Therefore I want to first establish the limits imposed on what conceptions of God would be sensible and what would not be. Then to ask how the sensible definitions might be argued to be either necessary, unnecessary or impossible. Where a sensible definition is one which is not contradictory. Contradictory being a subspace of impossible.

God as necessarily existent

Kant is widely regarded as one of the dullest writers in all philosophy. The boredom associated with ploughing through a hundred six syllable words per sentence is close to that required when humouring children. Nevertheless, even he finds it impossible not to mock the ontological proof: ‘One may as well assume a market trader to have made a profit simply by the fact of writing so in his accounts’. Zing.

The only necessarily existent objects are tautologies. If God is a tautological concept it carries no meaning. Therefore any sensible conception of God can not be necessarily existent.

God as a possible finite object within reality

This is the classic atheist conception of god because it is so easily dismissed. If God were some being who somehow created the universe and resides within the universe but hidden one has a very small enemy to attack. This God can see your thoughts and influence the world due to infinite power but is fundamentally limited by existing within the world. That is this god evolves in time and is not outside time, which leads to the classic paradox ‘how can god both know the future and have the power to change his mind about what will be future events’. This conception of God is the only one successfully attacked by the teapot argument. What is so silly about this argument is that all physical theories treat time as a dimension which may be viewed in its entirety. In all modern physical theories time is treated with a god’s eye view. Therefore to allow ourselves to occupy the position of objective viewer outside time but reject the notion of one viewer of all space and time is simply hubris. Only the naive materialist can think this way.

God as a possible object outside all phenomena but capable of interacting with phenomena.

This conception of God is straightforward within a purely deterministic framework. However again one is then forced to refute God’s full power since full power must encompass the ability to change events. In a full conception of God outside time, as looking at all experience, why then would we accept its ability to change the future but not the past?

God as a fundamentally unknowable and therefore useless concept

Another typical materialist atheist conception is that any unobservable is something Wittgenstein would say ‘we must pass over in silence’. This is probably a misreading of Wittgenstein. Clearly in the Tractatus he is frequently talking about things other than sensory data, namely logical structures of a pure language.

God as necessarily absent

Is this section I will adopt the traditional male conception of God for the reason that I claim the standard ontological framework is based on the male subject and object and the female as object. That is how I move to my claim that in renouncing the conception of any human as purely subject or purely object one must reject all notions of fundamental subject, which is the very essence of God. God is the pure subject with zero object qualities. He can not be acted on only act. One might state the basic traditional hierarchy as: God is the pure object, male is the authentic part object, part subject and the female is the pure object. This is worldview I espouse in my atheist Christianity. Jesus’ femininity is his object form. The thought experiment of Jesus as the manifested object form of God raises the ultimate contradiction in the climax of the absence of a response to ‘Why have you forsaken me?’. Jesus is the theoretical authentic animal who has passed from the false knowledge of his own subjectivity.

Does an equilateral triangle exist?

If we take a strict Euclidean definition of an equilateral triangle, then within real Euclidean space, no such triangle can exist because one can inspect the three points to a finer degree of accuracy until it is revealed unequilateral. Could God be of a similar form? A sensible concept but that can never exist in reality. One may see God as a perfection to be approached but never reached like a converging infinite sum.

Hawking and the multiverse

Stephen Hawking is a long time exponent of the multiverse conception of reality. I bring this up because in recognising it as sensible concept one must reject outright the author’s materialism. If no information about the other multiverses can ever be known then how are they useful concepts. They fail Popper’s definition of science and fall in the realm of pure metaphysical speculation, of what Hawking himself might dismiss as philosophy. His weak atheism is contradictory in that it takes as granted a God’s eye view of reality on which our universe in one part. I have my own views on the measurement problem in quantum mechanics. I am working on my own interpretation which I aim to publish shortly but for now, I will just say that the it is my view that the inherent contradictions in modern physics must be overcome by a revolution in our conception of reality. In short, I believe that the problems at the heart of physics are philosophical problems and not mere absence of observation.

Transcending Bayesian probability into a state of total unbelief from total belief

Taking a Bayesian treatment, we are forced to choose a ‘prior probability’. That is, in trying to treat God as a possible entity which we don’t know exists, we are forced to first adopt a belief about how likely it is that God exists (0, 1 or in between). This only leads in one direction, namely to Kierkegaard’s Leap of Faith. I take this to be assuming knowledge that God exists prior to sensory experience. Of course, if one does this then no sensory data can reject the knowledge of God’s existence. the exact same is true of adopting an a priori unbelief. If we take the liklihood as something like 50% (straightforwardly absurd like any other fraction) one needs to make yet more assumptions about the likelihood of all actual phenomena both given God and no God (unknowable). The only concrete thing one can say here is that we can only see God directly if God exists, and even that is problematic if we accept the possibility of sensory fallibility (the one true definite).

The ludicrous conclusion of choice

To summarise, my central argument is that the issue of god is intimately related to the materialism/idealism debate and one must take a different approach within both realms. I argue for an idealist approach to building a coherent atheism based on the impossibility of the pure subject or pure object. Jesus Christ represents the first discussion of the contradictions associated with an all powerful God interacting with the human world, one that ultimately concludes with God himself rejecting his own existence (as a glib aside I’m going to claim this the key difference between Catholics and Protestants, that Catholics accept the absurdity of Christ give themselves total freedom and Protestants consider him an ideal to be achieved through mimicry). Any supernatural power must lose all power in entering the natural. We are left with an idealist atheistic worldview which denies any supernatural power because in interacting with the ontology that God must first destroy the ontology. The true test of this argument would be to consider the implications within the Simulation Hypothesis (we are almost certain living in a simulation in future computers (genuinely serious)) of the author’s of the simulation entering the simulation after the start and interacting with the simulation. Since the simulation progresses from the initial conditions in a predetermined way, the full history of the simulation is encapsulated in the initial conditions and is only conducted in order to reveal itself to the author. This permits a full representation of reality as encoding in the initial conditions if and only if evolution is deterministic. We can therefore say, either we are free or there is pure subject perspective on all history. You should now be aware of the deep logical connections between the central philosophical arguments of materialism vs idealism, free will vs no free will, god vs no god, female vs male as sensible grammatical distinctions etc. I fear on all counts we are left with the unsettling conclusions one way is necessarily true and yet one can only hold a consistent worldview by adopting the belief in the opposite.

I at once want to ask you take this deeply seriously and to treat it like an especially boring and unfunny piece of comic nonsense,

Some notes on the Central Metaphysical Question

In which I offer some physical insights into the difference between a physicalist and an idealist metaphysical approach.

One of the most striking aspects of Kant’s Critique to the student of physical sciences is a seeming pre-empting of Einstein’s relativity and other twentieth century advances in theory. In particular I refer to the central thesis that our conceptions of time and space preempt and facilitate experience. It is almost certainly true that Einstein was totally unaware of Kant’s work, but nevertheless his advances might seem to rest upon the key idea that 4 dimensional space-time is a framework with which to interpret sensory data and not built upon sensory data from purely logical principles. Otherwise how could he become convinced of un-common-sense new representations.

Consider the following system: A three dimensional Euclidean space-time in which a two dimensional space develops in time. Point particles evolve continuously over time. In any instant velocities are never infinity. Now let us give each particle an ‘internal coordinate’. Each particle can be defined by two spatial coordinates and a further physical property x. The question I am going to ask here is ‘how do physical theories in this universe differ if x is some physical quantity such as mass compared to if it is a third spatial dimension?’. Regardless of whether or not the latter would essentially be a coordinate transformation leading to a mathematically more complicated set of governing equations (dependent on the forces operating in the universe) this must be accepted as a possible representation. For instance consider a classical gravitation simulation with two bodies. One can consider the two bodies as having 4 coordinates which vary in time (3 spacial and one mass). Obviously mass is fundamentally different from the three spacial coordinates (it is constant for a given body/it plays a very different algebraic role in the governing equations). My claim here is that although the current representation of three spacial dimensions is the simplest in terms of the algebraic size of the governing equations, it is not a unique representation.

If you accept the proposed scheme laid out in the previous paragraph, then will you accept it leads to the following broader statement:

“The common sense descriptions of reality built originally upon forces acting on particles in four dimensional space-time is one of a set of greater than one representations.”

And finally if you would accept the arguments laid forth here, could you accept the following possibility:

The common sense representation of the world which precedes and makes possible experience built on sensory data is determined by the evolutionary principle that the models used to represent the world in consciousness are those models which require the smallest brains (in terms of energy expended in production).

If one can accept that that final un-empirical statement (I know of no experimental evidence for it) is a logical possibility then one has moved some way to a rejection of physicalism.

The Wolf of Wall Street – A Review

There is an old story in Hollywood that a young Martin Scorsese (not THE) approached the camera with two feet in the air and with a wry smile added ‘so maybe I DID work upside down’ deliriously. At which point everyone laughed and the rest, as my old film professor used to joke languidly, was Raging De Nero. That may or mayn’t be how it went down but his latest offering (sacrificial) shows he’s still got an infatuation with the rich and fetishism.

The opening shot of his most present proximate offering gives a heavy Leonardo eat a giant watermelon erotically and morph into a wolf. Gee wizz Martin, we didn’t see that one coming. I decided to meet the ‘italian film maker’ in a little (1 cubic metre) upstate New York coffee shack. I’ve brought him a souvenir from St Martin’s college as an ironicalitude. He sniggers and urinates champagne from his erect bottle into my moist flute. The ironicalized eroticism is not lost on the Academy Award Winner James Cameron whose film Titanic set sail in 1997 implicitly. Unfortunately, I suspect this moving picture with coincident sound WON’T unsink when it hits the icebergman from AlcatraZ wryly.

The rather large press theatre (4 parsecs) shook at the laughter when Leo the Wolf spoke of crime, drug use and prostitution dryly an eyely in the housewifi. Sorry Martin, this reviewer suspects Vertigo, Citizen Kane etc WILLn’t bee given a run for true money. And Psycho anyone?

20% one star etc. No quality is normally distributed etc etc. Cumulative with standard deviations. Democracy! Popular opinion. A man I’ll never meet. A film I’ll never saw.

Safe emotional journeys,

The bench opposite Aquasplash

Lets be honest, Hemel Hempstead has some great benches. I’ve often spoken of the one opposite Forbidden Planet on the high street, and the one on Gadebridge park. OK, the second isn’t strictly speaking a bench (it’s a log), but when I fancy a sit down, I ain’t interested in semantics mate. In this work, though, we will be talking about the bench opposite Aquasplash. Not the one by the bus stop, but the one outside the entrance next to the bins. I’ve got a lot to say about that bench, and indeed the bins, but if you require a mere summary because you lead a busy life and believe in delegating responsibility to experts, then hear this: I would describe it as excellent.

Key features of the bench opposite Aquasplash:

  • Bevelled arm rests
  • Close to Aquasplash
  • Beauty

Picture, if you would be so kind, my buttocks. They are tired; tired, yet spectacular, pert and wondrous things. They require support. Preferably, they would like a horizontal plane in order to prevent my upper torso and head from succumbing to gravity, that most long range of all the forces. Therein lies the bench and/or seats more generally (they represent a victory of electromagnetism over what Newton called gravitas, itself derived from ‘grave’ and the action of burying (alas, even the bench opposite Aquasplash cannot slow our journey to oblivion and I aint talkin’ Alton Towers)). I often use chairs but I miss the ability to move side to side to dodge approaching missiles or just because I fancy it. The bench opposite Aquasplash offers all this and more (there are multiple bins at hand for banana skins etc).

‘How crass! How vulgar! May we hear more for the sensitive soul, whose mind is unburdened with concerns over her arse?’ Yes, you may. This bench is in memory of Henry Shadows 1913-1995. Henry Shadows was a local farmer, who once met a Royal person. He also stood as independent candidate for Hertfordshire in 1974 and 1979. I like to imagine him standing here surveying the scene, tired butt in his head. Looking out at the beautiful view (pre-Aquasplash – all his memorial plaque can see now is Aquasplash) and yearning for this greenfield development, such that he may one day have his name celebrated on brass coated steel on elm.

To Henry!

Claire Thomas publishes an offensive drawing of the Royal baby in the school magazine

– Well, I mean thing is, I wanted to capture the horror of childbirth. I just thought it was an amazing moment because it was where they were just like animals before the propaganda starts. I mean I suppose it goes without saying, I’m a republican.

The headmaster was not impressed by this. He shifted his weight in his chair looking at Claire. He shifted his weight the other way.

– I mean, I certainly wasn’t evoking violence on an infant. You realise there is blood in a childbirth?

– Yes but, the children are not comfortable with that.

– The children liked it.

– Yes. The parents are not comfortable with that.

Claire let out a ten second breath with moaning undertones.

– You’re right. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. See you round.

Claire got up and wandered out of Mr Weed’s office wistfully looking at his degrees on the wall. The last one made her laugh out loud.


Figure 1. The offending cartoon of the Royal baby, George Windsor.

The picture had made the previously bland woman a figure of great respect and admiration among the children. They started to pay attention to her slight disinterested tone. Often gazing out the window she would reel off the syllabus without any interest, but she couldn’t help herself from throwing in unusual observations on the material. She would talk about the manner in which the more subtle elements of a subject were sometimes omitted to aid simplicity, to the extent that it was occasionally necessary to include a fallacy in order for the simpler system to be consistent and that most crucially this didn’t matter in the slightest to progress of education. Where before these went by unnoticed, now they were spoken of after the lesson. Written down and repeated to anyone not in a class with her.

Today, she sat back in her chair looking benignly at 7B, heads down in a test. She looked at each in turn and said to herself ‘I hate you’. Each fleshy innocent appeared to her a gross corruption. She had come to find her job one of transmitting a field of force that might hold these people down. She wandered how they could go about their day without feeling dread and shame pulling them toward a noose. On a more positive note she looked at James Worthington. Being the best student in the class, she obviously despised him the most. She had given him a different test to the others after wasting an evening in despair after seeing the look on his face receiving the previous test score. His paper had questions such as ‘formulate a theory that predicts the values of prime numbers’, ‘write a beautiful sentence using four words’ and ‘solve the measurement problem’ among others.

She stood up and went into a small room which separated her classroom from another. Looking into that classroom, at Dr Brown pointing at some ridiculous diagram of an atom, she took out a pen and wrote in red felt tip on to his folder of lesson plans ‘Fuck Dr Brown’. She went back in to the class room, walked around the students a little and then aimlessly walked out of the school and back home. It was a matter of some amusement to her to ponder the manner in which the students finally left the classroom.

She sat on her toilet lid, legs crossed and leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette. She looked over at her mother’s corpse. It was two weeks old now and rank with maggots. She moved gaze over a picture from Disneyland, stood up and threw the cigarette on to her mothers bed and walked out the front door; a cold banal manner without and within.

Like you

May I recommend the following piece of music to enjoy while reading: open in new window.

I recently found out that I have an exceptional IQ.

My…

I…

Q…

is…

zero*. I was not happy. I took the exam and stuffed it in the mouth of the examiner, which I thought should get me at least one point for a slam dunk. Alas, Alan Quantick, 57, of Hatfield, Hertfordshire, was an old bore and called security.

Consider the following question (this was an example, before the test had begun!):

For the following series of numbers, select the number that should replace the question mark.

1,2,3,4,?

Is it 1, 7, 3, 4, or 5?

True answer = how can we possibly know?, or whatever I say it is. Supposedly, the right answer is 5. Why? If the question was ‘what do you think most humans would put in place of the question mark?’, ‘What number produces the sequence of minimum entropy?’ (even then I think the answer might be 1 or 0), ‘do you speak English?’, or even ‘Play ball cunt!’, then yeah I’d put 5, but I honestly don’t see how 5 is a meaningful answer to the question. In short the question asks you to perform induction, which any a-hole knows is not valid. No matter how far Al Gore goes up a scissor lift it remains not valid.

It isn’t intelligence to play ball, or to find similarities between objects, intelligence is the ability to hold contradictory beliefs. Thus I saw the best answer to every question to be ‘How should I know? Now shimmy off you old bastard!’.

Didn’t wanna do well anyway mate,

* I realise that in actuality getting zero points on a test doesn’t give you an IQ of zero. The number of standard deviations from the norm given a hypothetically perfect test i.e. in comparison to an infinite number of humans on a test that no-one scores zero on, would still depend on the minimum number scored by any human. Therefore lets assume a sample of 8 billion (global population) from a normal distribution, with mean = 100**, and standard deviation = 15. Then the IQ that is likely to be attained by the lowest scoring human is 5 ish:

http://www.wolframalpha.com/input/?i=1%2F2+*+erfc+%28%28100+-+x%29+%2F+%2815+*+sqrt%282%29%29%29+%3D+1%2F8000000000

I’m ignoring higher order terms. i.e. the lowest IQ that we would expect exactly 1 person to have in a sample of 8 billion humans is 5ish. However having a score of zero on any good test (that scores no-one else at zero) would yield a negative IQ. I could have said -infinity but I thought that didn’t have the same oomph as zero. So sue me.

** Why is the mean 100? Why not 0? And why not make the sd equal to 1?***

*** More the the point, why bother?

Simple harmonic motion

The further I get from Hemel, the sicker I feel. A malicious electronic communication.


Figure 1: Mood against time.

The setting sun put an orange light across the back wall of my bedsit, which I found beautiful in the way a honeymoon waterfall appears to a lonely woman reading a holiday brochure. the aim now was to stay awake for my nightly dose of cartoons and masturbation.

– Hi James? It’s Raph, have you seen the sunset? It is a really good one.

– What are you, Gay or summat?

– No, fuck off.

and I shut the curtains.


Video 1: Overview.

Toby carvery were offering some sort of deal about as appealing as buy one year get two free on e-dates. I sat at my booth and read a book. It was too good for the occasion so I couldn’t pay attention beyond the first sentence, but based on the quotes it had profound things to say about this and that (this being the human condition and that being contemporary culture).

The noise of the motorway was slightly louder than from my bedsit, which cheered me up.

I caught a glimpse of someone in a hotel window across the car park who was also asking which of our lots was the more existentially repulsive.


Video 2: Deleted scenes.

Fare thee well,

Thoughts, theories and a description

His hair was as greasy as a Christmas pudding (solid opening line). His hair looked like someone had stuffed a Christmas pudding on a bald man and then carved a bit away from the eyes and then run a fork down the sides to make it more hair like. It really was remarkably like a Christmas pudding. I am talking about myself. I just described myself because this is a story about my kidnapping, in the youth club where I was then working, and without having a clear picture of me you will not be able to visualise the horror that I experienced. Finally (we are nearing the end of the paragraph), it is a story about redemption, retribution and absolution (with escaped chipmunk as priest – see later).

Did I mention this blog was set in 1998?



Video 1. Advanced lesson on creativity.

I was workin’ a few extra hours at the youth club at 4 per. I was hot and young. I was mad and dangerous and something about that fire breathing personality (fucking shed loads of C2H5OH 1, on a Fri’ night mate) did not chime with the kid’z ultra conservative herd mentality. And on the night of 12 December the little grubfaced schoolyarders acted on their prejudice and hatred for those who dare to be outrageous, like the UK legal system circa 1949. Wilde/Turing/Shirley (unified by brilliance/not sexual orientation. When it comes to batting for the other side, I would intentionally let the bowler knock my wicket off in order to sabotage their team. Seriously, I am not gay.)



Figure 1. Self portrait with hand signal.

Simply put, they led me into the store cupbard with the promise of a Spliffy bomber2, locked the door behind me and left me for dead until the next youth club meeting, a fortnight later, when, surprised by their scheme’s success, they let me out. They messed with the wrong youth club worker.



Video 2: My thoughts on inequality.

Perhaps you can imagine spending 14 days in a youth club store cupboard? Perhaps you don’t see the big deal? Perhaps you would have the resourcefulness and strength of character to eat nothing but strawberry laces and quench your thirst with nothing but cherry pop, without so much as a tooth brush? Perhaps, ignorant reader, you don’t know what the fuck you are talking about mate? Like, seriously, my teeth were furrier than a, like, Sylvanian Families figurine, or some shit.

The kids arrived two weeks later and found the doors open, the lights on and everything stolen. They opened the door to the cupboard. They were scared when they saw me. I was wild. I was shaking and screaming madly. I stank from the two weeks worth of soiled trousers from fibre free food. The biggest of the children untied me. I quickly and efficiently set about the children and locked them in the cupboard. Their fear of my mania compensating for my weakness. Ten minutes later their patents were back having been phoned up. I threw my useless phone from its position outside the cupboard at the biggest dad who had broken the door down. It hadn’t rang once. I had one text from T-Mobile. We paused a while to regard each other. I was the first to run. I ran all the way to my bedsit. I cancelled all my shifts at the offlicense for a month. I set about debasing myself with Dominoes Pepperoni Passion and PlayStation 3. All I can remember from the month is possibly watching a couple of Family Guy episodes.

I was free. Gradually my wounds healed and I readied myself for the systematic attack on the innocence of all the children who wronged me. What follows is my catalogue of retribution:

Name Retribution
Arthur Browning Hamsters head in bed (his (both)).
Ben Kingsley Urine filled super soaker (mine (both)).
Sarah Amis Showed her her parent’s internet sex page.
Kalif Abdullah Campaign of hate against his mother’s YouTube cupcake cookery course through obscene comments.
Autumn Shirley (coincidence) Air rifle pellet in dad’s Ford’s wing mirror (he ended up beating me up; I sued; I won; I paid fee; who’s the real loser?).

Table 1. Repercussions of youth club terror.

Autumn’s dad is… eugh. I told him I’d get him and I mean it. He has beaten me up three times now. I mean come on.



Figure 2. Dignity. I’ve always been interested in oriental culture ever since I first saw Enter the Dragon.

Anyway, that’s what I’ve been up to. Here’s what we can talk about next time:



Video 3: A song about Chessington World of Adventures.

I’ll tell you more about the trip to Chessington another time but the key thing is that while I was hidden out in Bubbleworks I met a hamster that I’d earlier freed and told him all I have done and he told me that god forgives me.

Yours feeling the searing heat-pain of truth,

Footnotes

1 Booze you idiot.

2 A type of jacket.

The stomach of a fifty year old British male

A soft Hovis loafish catastrophe. A white sagging mess with blue accoutrements in the opaque soup of a cold and second-hand bath.

“A man should get married, because if he has a good wife he’ll be happy, and if he has a bad one he’ll learn to be philosophical” – Socrates. I wonder what the great philosopher’s wife made of that.

Yours faithfully,

Lessons from a provincial dickhead

I woke up at 1523h and checked my mouse trap. It was missing! I made myself a tea n’ dried milk and ate a couple bags o’ penguins (Buy 1 get 2 free).



Video 1. A lesson about how to act.

I go to get my lunchbox (made sandwich yester’) but what do I see when I peep under the bed but a little mouse with a trap round its conical face. It squeaks and I feel sorry for it so I let it go. It runs straight into my shoe (that explains a lot) and I reset the trap out side of it.



Figure 1. Mouse trap and shoe orientation.

When I get back from my day in the park, the job is finished. I take it out to the trash but on the way I notice it is a different mouse because I can tell by the eyebrows. I feel like that guy in Saving Private Ryan when he lets that German go and then later he kills his friend except not so strongly.



Video 2. A li’l tour o’ my quarters.

Yours with a damp right sock,

An attempt to provoke a lawsuit for publicity purposes

Dear St James’s Palace,

Please consider suing me for posting the following image. It would be very useful publicity for me. Ideally I could take the Daily Mail approach and feign dissaproval of the original publication and still give my readers the tillation of the thought of a young woman’s breasts. This already commercially viable approach, if muddled with the popular mythology surrounding the tragic death of a mother, has the potential to become a winsome narrative/self fulfilling prophecy and could make us a lot of money, while maintaining adoration levels for your vulgar traditions.


Figure 1. Pwooooaaaar! Please note that I am not the copyright holder for this image. I made the rare decision to post it anyway for purely selfish reasons.

Kind regards,

PS for the manipulation of my google page rank may I politely say “Kate Middleton Kate Windsor duke and duchess of Cambridge topless Wills and Kate Prince William British Royal Family French paparazzi peeping tom”.

Eviction

I thought secretly living in my parents garden was going to work out… The plan to be covert was going pretty perfectly until my dad followed the daisy chained power adapters to the shed and uncovered my den of sin.

It was Friday night when it happened. 9pm and I’m layin’ on the bed sewing pre-emptive crotch patches into my new wranglers. I got fan heaters in double figures and there I lay, naked in my vault of vice. My cave of carnal cravings. My garden shed of earthly delights. My castle of sin on a sand pit. Sin upon sin upon sin. Soiled sheets and empty doritos bags. Dangerous quantities of both analogue and digital pornography. Empty cans of value lager and printed out computer game guides. Hard drives and keyboards. Mice and memory cards. DVDs upon DVDs upon DVDs (alphabetized). Terminator figurines on computer manuals on atheist propaganda. my wretched body draped in a sweaty grime cloth from George by Asda.

Don’t look at me! Vice and squalor and dirt. The very air was composed of fart, and cough, and the ghosts of filthy words. My parents are retching and they said `this ground must be condemned for a hundred years’, `ten generations shall pay for this crime’. I was a filthy animal. I knew then I had to move out… and four months later I had. I dunno maybe I’m going over the top.

Al the best,

*************************** BONUS MATERIAL ***************************

Bonus material - Philosophical Investigations Discussion section in unremarkable high definition audio

As part of a scheme to promote my forthcoming Edinburgh show, I am releasing an audio recording of last year’s show, Philosophical Investigations. I’m releasing it in six parts. This week the discussion:

[audio: http://www.raphshirley.com/media/PhilosophicalInvestigations/Section4.mp3]

Or download it for your mp3 player here.

*************************** BONUS MATERIAL ***************************

Reflections on the Hubble Deep Field image

“Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I’m not sure about the former.”

– Albert Einstein.

Turns out Einstein was better at Physics than jokes.

“In awe I watched the waxing moon ride across the zenith of the heavens like an ambered chariot towards the ebon void of infinite space wherein the tethered belts of Jupiter and Mars hang forever festooned in their orbital majesty. And as I looked at all this I thought… I really must repair the roof on this toilet.”

– Les Dawson.

That’s more like it.

Sit down and prepare to be terrified. The following picture is of a region of the sky smaller than this full stop.


Figure 1. The Hubble Deep Field. It is unclear whether the correct response to this is laughter, screaming, or suicide. Bear in mind that each little spiral is a whole galaxy. Bear in mind that if the universe is infinite then the whole observable universe is itself a negligible part of the whole universe. I often have a bear in mind (Yogi, if you must know).

I advise printing this out and looking at it whenever your life blows.

I was sittin’ on the bog in an Odeon on an industrial estate the other day (Prometheus 3D (washout)) and the picture above slipped out of my pocket on to the floor. I looked at it and then caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and had an epiphany.

Here endith the front matter and any pretence of humour.

This blog post makes the following assumptions:

  1. The universe is infinite.
  2. Materialism is true.

I aim to show that if these two assumptions are sound then we are immortal. Furthermore, if they are true then Hell exists, and your actions have no consequences.

1 You are the motion of material. I call this your Shape.

2 Your shape depends on its environment but part of your shape is unchanged by this process. I call this unchanging part your Essence.

3 Your Essence is composed of a finite number of objects which can have a finite number of arrangements.

3.1 In an infinite set of randomly arranged finite forms there will be an infinite number of each type of arrangement if and only if the total possible number of objects is finite.

3.2 You and your Essence are composed of a finite number of objects.

3.3 In an infinite set of arrangements of the objects that are contained in your Shape there will be an infinite number of realisations of your Shape and your Essence.

4 If you want to believe the truth then you must base all personal decisions on the assumption that there are an infinite number of your Essences making all possible decisions in an infinite number of both identical (your Shape) and different (your Essence) environments.

5 All your choices have an infinitesimal impact on the universe since they are repeated and contradicted an infinite number of times by an infinite number of yous (your Shape).

6 For as long as you are possible you are. You are immortal and will always exist if and only if the universe exists.

 * * * * * * * * *

Every major scientific discovery (starting with realising we have a bum-hole around 1 million years ago) has essentially told us ‘you are less significant and unique than you thought you were’.  Currently, we base our significance on believing we are the only life. Come off it. No serious person does not believe in aliens. The next realisation will be we are not alone. Then we will realise that we are not the only version of us in the universe.

  • There is infinite suffering.
  • Hell exists.

And then I realised it wasn’t an epiphany… it was diarrhoea.

Best regards,

Hemel Hempstead AMateur dramatics Society (HHAMS)

“Imagine creating something and giving it both consciousness and a rectum. What sick joke is this? And then Jesus has the audacity to say ‘consider the lily.’ Yes, it’s easy when you’re a lily, sans-bum-hole. I did consider the lily and then I shat myself.”

– Raph Shirley, Hemel Hempstead, 2011.

When you’re a busy busyness man you wear many different hats (try to remember that I just set up the word hats for in a minute). Computer programmer yes, computer gamer yes, computer owner… oui, but I release my creative juices in the form of being technical director of the Hemel Hempstead Amateur Theatrical Society; The HHATS (remember?). It’s actually called HHAMS but I don’t wear many hams so it’s harder to fit in, joke-wize. I’ve been wanting to talk about something that happened with HHATS/HHAMS/HHADS for a while now, but so far the emotions have just been too fucking raw.

It is the 2011 Autumn season. A cool wind tickles an oak tree, like a lover tickles his woman during the sex act. The production is Noel Coward’s Private Lives. I’d never heard of it, but I had heard of Noel Coward. The script was formulaic yes, but the (my) lighting design was radical to say the least (it was fucking radical). The venue was The John Smithingwaite Hall. It was a three nighter and on opening night the cast were in a frenzy of conceited theatrical buzz. Line runs and high jinx and irritatingly good spirits all round. You know the sort; great fun when you’re on the inside, sickening when viewed from outside. Like one of Eddie Murphie’s fat suits.

I’d always suspected that am-dram-socs were little more than flimsy covers for provincial swinging clubs for the actors, but that night I wondered if there was more to it than just middle aged infidelity inappropriately on display to the naive sub-twenty members. They dreamed of playing the HH dome the young fools. I’d often take them for a McFlurry and tell them the truth that ‘every creature on this earth dies alone’. A speech no less profound for having been lifted from the over-rated Donnie Darko film. I’d go on to tell them that realizing Donnie Darko is not good is just a necessary step on the path to maturity. Truth is, when you’re one of the Kidz like me (taking an admittedly broad 5 to 31 age range) you dream crazy dreams like that every day, except the night time dreams, which are mainly sexual: The original Catwoman, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Oy vey: the realization that even your fantasies have dated badly. I digress.

So anyways, I’m running the lights in the fourth scene and it occurs that this lighting job has been proficient at best. So I start to mix it up a bit. Disco lights and strobes, mirror balls and pyrotechnics. Yearly budgets in seconds. Blackouts over punchlines. Snow machines over set ups. Before I know it I’ve barged the seventeen year old beside me off the sound desk and I’ve taken control of the audience’s ears as well. Zoo sound effects and techno beats at full volume. The Stage manager’s in my ear “what are you doing? Could you stop doing that? I think someone is having an epileptic fit.” I say “believe me Kate you’ll understand when you hit 16.” I’m lookin’ at the audience reaction – they’re bewildered, they’re ecstatic. True, some of them don’t like it, but they gots to admit that it is a truly unique vision, an experiment in to what is possible in a theater.

The show finishes, the bows are taken, the audience leaves. I run down the stairs and in to the dressing room. Bunches and bunches of flowers await me, I’m hugging the flowers to my tingling flesh – I rush out into the car park, where the cast have gathered to smoke and discuss the evenings events. The Leading Lady (LL) approaches dramatically, and says “those are for me you stupid fucking idiot”. “No need to swear.” I think… and say. “Where we goin’ now?”. LL, stares at me, mouth open. Barely able to conceal how impressed she was with the lights. I’ve always been good at judging moods, but I’m not sure what the vibe is here. I decide to go for it. I lean forward to kiss her but she puts her hand on my chest and says “fuck off.” I run in to the darkness, and in to the night, and in to an oak tree (same one), and am informed by email that I am fired from HHATS for 6 months, and that I “ruined” the evening.

I obey their dictat (except for one drunken final show where I sneak in to the audience on closing night and steal the microphone while that same dreadful leading woman thanks her husband for being ‘a rock’, and I tell the baying crowds how narrow minded they would seem to aliens if they landed on earth and what a slapper the leading lady is, and my beret disguise droops off my indignant face as I realize my life behind the lights must end, and it is time to walk… befront of the lights).

Cheers,