Digital Requiem

I find my emotions in a particularly peculiar place. Today, as some people reading this blog may know, a man that I and many others knew from an online game--The Matrix Online (MxO)--suddenly and tragically died. Many people knew him a lot better than I did; In fact, I cannot claim to have known him as anything more than a casual acquaintance, and yet I feel an acute sense of loss. Upon hearing the news earlier I was stunned, clearly, but also visibly and mentally affected. I am certain that others in the MxO community--those that knew him better--were affected more than I, and will be affected for a long time yet.

Even though I didn't know him personally, Mike 'Nubious' Sloane has played on my thoughts on and off all day. Perhaps I am so surprised by my feelings because I feel the same as if somebody from my neighbourhood had passed away--somebody I knew, but couldn't call a friend; not really. It is that same feeling of knowing that something familiar will no longer be there. Something is out of place, and a part of what shaped my MxO life is gone. A small part, admittedly, but noticable.

It is an example of how the distinction between a 'real' friendship and an online friendship is, in contemporary society, artificial and, in reality, non-existant. We are in a position, technologically and mentally, to know somebody intimately whether they're 20 hours away or 20 seconds. Every friendship we create should be 'real', whether it is in person or digitally. We laugh with both, we share interests with both.

We grieve both. They are the same. If they are not, then it us who is at fault.

Above all, however, the loss of Mike Sloane is not a societal issue, nor is it something I or anybody else should be analysing. It is a life cut tragically, and suddenly short. I can offer only my condolences to his family and friends.

Rest in Peace, Nubious.

Bit empty in here, innit?

Been quite some time since I posted in this blog. Entirely my own fault, naturally, oweing to the end of University, subsequent graduation, then the trials and tribulations of searching for a job. Mostly trials.

Only trials.

But, at any rate, I do the best to remain chipper and continue searching, not once decrying the past 3 years a waste of time because, if nothing fruitful were to come from my time at Leicester (and, naturally, I am sure something will), I would still not regret the money it cost to meet the fantastic people I studied with and, thankfully, remain friends with today. Sentimental? Maybe, but just this once; don't tell anybody.

At this particular moment in time I'm feeling particularly lethargic. A lot of things have gotten on top of me; my unemployment mainly, but also distance from loved ones and frustration at people have contributed to the last week or so being a fitful rollercoaster of emotion. I do however, as always, remain optimistic in the face of this adversity, particularly when I check the reality of the situation and know how much disastrously worse it could become.

A part of me, I feel, misses the University lifestyle. Whilst there is still pressure to perform, and to do well, there is simultaneously a freedom to be yourself. Beyond that, I think, there was an almost universal acceptance of the great 'whatever'; whoever, or whatever you are you were accepted. Two of my friends are an interesting point; one an out and out atheist, the other a practicing Christian. Inbetween this I sit, a gay agnostic.

The world keeps turning around us. Nothing changes, nothing is strained. The ability to have a civil and understanding conversations, including but not limited to disagreements and jovial arguments is something I have not been able to identify outside of that social circle. University is not an essential step towards a career, I think, and I would be remiss if I did not mention and credit the dozens of people I know who have made a career, nay a life for themselves without the need for degree qualifications. However, I personally felt more alive as an individual in that environment; I had creative outlets, living freedom and proximity to my partner. A lot of this I feel has waned.

I haven't, for instance, written anything in months.

This lament, however, may be a pining for the old days gone, but I understand that they are, certainly gone. Uni was great, and Uni led me to encounter many fine people; people I hope to know for a long, long time, but as a current experience, it is over. Moving forward is what has to be done now, and I appreciate that people already know this; friends of mine already have jobs, and for that I am thankful.

If anything, this blog post is a reminder to myself as I write it and, hopefully, when I check it in the future, that going forwad is what I now have to do. If not, I'll be stuck in this rut forever...

Next time I update, we'll be back to my usual inanity. Look forward to it, I know I do.
- Peter

Musings upon 'Shaking Hands with Death'

I know this is several weeks later than Sir Terry Pratchett actually gave his speech, but I felt compelled to say some things about it, even long after the event itself. This entry in my blog is an issue that is very emotionally near to me, as I'm sure it is with so many others. With that in mind, I apologise if any of my beliefs or opinions upset or offend people. That said, I shall surge onwards with characteristic tact and care for others, and dive in at the controversial and possibly upsetting deep end.

Nearly two weeks ago now, Sir Terry Pratchett wrote and had read for him by Tony Robinson a speech entitled 'Shaking Hands With Death' for the annual Richard Dimbleby Lecture; although no longer on the official BBC iPlayer site, the lecture can be found on YouTube. As the title of his speech suggests, it concerned the terminus of our mortal lives, and more specifically the rights we had to ending it when we felt we could take no more; when our lives were no longer worth living. He referred particularly to those suffering from terminal illnesses; excruciating ones such as cancer and, the illness Sir Terry suffers from, and therefore feels strongest about, Alzheimers. I must admit, the issue of Dementia and Alzheimers is particularly close to my heart, as well.

I have no allusions that this is not a contentious issue; it would be foolhardy to think otherwise. The very fact that Sir Terry is giving a lecture on it highlights its controversiality. The implications of allowing those whose quality of life is irreversibly degrading to end their own suffering range across the broadest possibly spectrum; moral issues, religious issues, even financial issues. There is no denying that, despite Terry Pratchett's hugely powerful words, this is an issue that will rage on for a while yet. If it were not obvious already, then let me tell you that I couldn't agree more with Terry Pratchett's sentiments.

But at the heart of it all, I must stress that I feel that whether or not you agree that terminally ill people should be allowed to die or not is a question for our base humanity; not religion, and not finance. If you believe that a man should be kept alive until his body ultimately loses its fight against cancer and dies a natural death, then you should stand on the side of anti-assisted death. However, if you find nothing good about watching someone irreversibly degrade over an agonisingly long period of time, how can you not support such a cause?

It is easy for me to implore people to put aside their Bibles when looking at this issue; I'm not religious, and it is also easy for me to suggest people view this issue with their wallets hidden away; I'm a poor student, but it is my hope that people can see past their given creeds and to the truth that people are being sustained, barely, because we don't allow ourselves the ability to take another human life, mercifully, in a civilized, evolved society?

A common argument against assisted death is that once man returns to an age where people are killed by the state, then we are on the path to our own destruction. No man should have the power of God, only God can give and take life. At heart, I believe that we are, as a race, compassionate and good, numbed by our own society's indulgences. It is perhaps my most naive trait; my belief in an intrinsic, smothered, human goodness. But I still maintain that it is there, and situations like these call out to that smothered, but no less active compassion. If we are to inherit the power of God, then let us inherit his omnibenevolence. If indeed we take his power to end life, surely there can be no heavier burden on us; no worse task? The decision to take life in this way is no frivolity, it is no easy choice. But nevertheless, it is a priviledge to give somebody that peace and freedom from suffering.

(That is not to say I do not think the care services do not do a tremendous job looking after terminally ill people; they are gracious, caring, and do the very best that they are allowed, but my point is it is not enough).

If our humanity, our inherent mortality and difference from whatever God their might be, decrees that we have to watch people suffer and die from as-yet incurable diseases in the most horrifying ways, then we are lost, and there is no God.

A relative of mine; somebody I love hugely, and dearly, is a sufferer of Dementia, possibly Alzheimers, and is already in a state that saddens me. They remember me, my Mother and Father, and most of their relatives, but it won't be so forever, or even for long. The very idea that I will have to watch them degrade into a world of constant mental fog, the Forever Unknown, tears a pain through me I cannot describe; it is agonisingly heart-rending to think of someone who was once so strong could be reduced to a bed in a home, waiting for the inevitable, but not knowing of its approach. I pray that something gives before that day occurs.

One of the most profoundly important things people desire, in fact deserve, in death is dignity; diseases like Alzheimers and Cancer do more than take that dignity away, they rip it from us, painfully. They warrant that dignity; all that denying the progress of assisted death assures is that terminally ill people will never be afforded their right to die simply, and dignified.

So I implore, choose your side by looking to your humanity, not your reverence for something higher than us. There will be no answers from above. The only words of hope can come from our mouths. Let those we love slip silently away and with minimal pain. Listen to Terry Pratchett, give them the sun, music and whatever Brompton Cocktail they choose, and let them drift away from pain, and off to darkness, or the next life, or whatever lies beyond closed eyes.

The Year in Review

I can't even remember the first half of the year, so it should be 'The Second half of the year in review'. Whatever.

I think the problem with University is that it's skewing my sense of time, with its short semesters, long holidays and, of course, the standard system of academic years ending in June/July. As such, all of what I did in my second year of Uni is forgotten, as third year takes priority. That of course means I can only remember summer and what's happened since then.

That, of course means, that anything good that happened in the first half of 2009 is forgotten, although I don't think there was anything memorable. Oh! My birthday was fun; what a good bunch of friends I have. That's not sarcasm; I love those guys.

However. The second half of 2009, by all accounts, sucked. And sucked hard. Time with friends in uni and spent with my better half have, as always, been a joy and a pleasure, and I can't take that away from them or myself. Socially, 2009 has been a good year.

It's with a sad face that I must admit, though, that my own personal problems, and physical ailments have shadowed; in fact, almost dwarfed those social gems beneath a depressing shroud. I have been worried, stressed, ill, ill again, continually ill, and stressed some more. At the time of writing this, in fact, I am also stressed. Not so ill anymore, but still not tip-top. I might be feeling fine just in time to go back to uni.

This latter half of 2009 has been wrought with personal struggle for me--not in any kind of heroic, Trotsky-ist way. Just a lot of worrying, and becoming upset over family members. Silly, sentimenal things. Don't let anybody ever tell you I'm stone-hearted. That's just an act.

However, my holiday has been a good time to relax (despite looming work), and Christmas with the family was a great time, better than I'd hoped. Hopefully, a good party awaits me tonight, and then I'll face 2010 with the coy, cautious optimism for which I'm known, or at least I want to be.

I hate to be depressing on New Years Eve. But as a year, 2009 hasn't been good to me. I am looking forward to 2010 (Twenty Ten! Take that, regressives!) and the possibility of goodness it may bring. I want to end on an optimistic note, to show that 2009 isn't leaving any kind of permanent scarring on me. 2010 is a new year; a new decade in fact. It feels kind of funky living in an early century. Especially after having done Romantic/Victorian studies in the previous semester. Feels like change, and progression is about.

Could just be the air freshner, though.

- Happy New Year, everybody!

Prognostication

So yes.

I wrote 6 stanzas--so, all but the last--of this poem during a time, several weeks ago, of extreme turmoil. To me, the rest of my life was essentially hanging on one piece of paper. It was a silly thing, and I have melodramatised it in this poem, but it got to me. So I let it flow onto paper.

The last stanza was written after the world had been lifted from my shoulders, so to speak. I think what I wrote adequately describes that, but that's not for me to decide. I have several disectable literary moments I've put into the poem; so for one of the first--if not the first--time, I've actually put some conceptual construction into one of my poems. So we'll see how that goes.

I managed to get this written with a multitude of university dedications growing around me. If only I could get around to finishing some of my prose, then I'd be a much happier person. As it stands, however, the dialogue of Pat Barker's novels becomes my number one priority, despite the fact I also have a project of equal length as my Dissertation for my other class.

Fun times abound.

Enjoy, I hope.

--

Throwing caution to a breeze,
To snatch it back again.
Stealing short, brief lines of hope,
From Fear's immortal den

A darkened room, a dreamless sleep,
Awake to aches of truth,
Eyelids stuck, yet drumming down,
Lethargically aloof.

Repeating visions, haunting doubts,
Clinging like a creep.
Too despondent for a smile,
Not sad enough to weep.

Roaming, floating, drifting through,
A non-committing space.
Where undetermined; fear or farce?
This purgatory place.

Yet purgatory's dull and patient,
There are no sins to sell.
Wandering twixt noon and night,
This is the depth of hell.

A growing fear, a ticking clock,
Anticipating mess.
Answers looming, darkness now,
Fear is knowledgeless.

Hope eternal, springs anew,
Fear was folly's guest.
Eyes close gently, panic-tired,
Into dreamless rest.

Jan Moir - Synonym for Professional Suicide?

It isn't very often I go on the offense with regard to homophobes. I do occasionally, however, go out of my way to highlight ignorance and stupidity when it shows its all too common face.

The fact that Jan Moir's delightful article, on top of being uninformed, is also so bigoted that it's almost amusing is just a bonus. I get to champion civil liberty and be egalitarian all in the same blog post. I am nothing if not dilligent.

Moir's article (which can be found here -- backed up incase the media should do something sneaky, which of course they never, ever would...) makes two rather glaring errors in its approach to Stephen Gately's life and unfortunate death; One, that homosexual partnership is held up to a higher standard than heterosexual marriage, and secondly;

That his death wasn't natural.

I don't want to make a huge deal of her claim, or fill this entry with flagrant rhetoric (like that) but in her obvious desire for column inches and sensationalism, Moir has gone and overlooked that one tiny obstacle in her her way; the truth.

Coronor ruled 'Pulminary Odoema' - Fluid on the lungs. Entirely natural. Possibly caused by a previously unknown heart condition, or by vomiting in his sleep. Both happen, and both are unfortunate. The oh-so-subtle undertone she injects into her article that there was foul play involed with his death is just like my oh-so-subtle undertone that she's a stupid bitch.

Except I'm right.

To draw my ramblings to a neat conclusion (Well, perhaps not so neat), we have her suggestion--as always tempered with fairness and morality--that heterosexual marriages are the paragon of union, and public tragedies such as the deaths of Stephen Gately and Kevin McGee bring the name of homosexual marriage down to a much lower level than heterosexual marriage could even dream.

Which is utter crap. If anything, it proves that homosexual and heterosexual marriage are on a very, very even playing field. Men marry women, then have affairs with other women; they break their families up, get depressed, and can kill themselves, or cause others to. Women can do the same thing. The world can be dark, and althought I like to think that there is a lot of good to counterbalance the unavoidably grim situations I mentioned above, it nevertheless can and does happen.

These unfortunate deaths highlight nothing more than the tragedies that can happen as part of the human condition. It's not sexual, it's not gender.

It's just sad.

The First

And who knows; maybe the last?

Well I've had another blog for some time, that I used as an in-character communication tool for a piece of roleplay I was writing. From my introduction you may have already guessed; it did not get used more than once.

But maybe this will. I'm seemingly bubbling over with an annoying amount of inspiration; annoying because getting them all down before they burn themselves out in my mind is a task.

I have several pieces I've already started that I'll be adding to very soon, and then there's new stuff I want to get written down. Whether I post them here or link off to them remains to be seen, but that's a trifling matter.

Now, down to what you all came here to see; hardcore nudity!

(and my signature)
- P