Happily anonymous

Something that comforts me is how non-notorious I am, and how nice it is that no-one torments me or will take advantage of the fact that they know my name. How I have managed to be so foolish and eccentric and brisant, yet not accumulated any enemies that I haven’t then made into friends.

I am happily anonymous in a sea of scary, brilliant and kind people, all just as mere and unnoticed as I. My nickname was chosen out of necessity, but it can be discarded and I’d still be myself.

This is quite an important thing to bear in mind and take comfort from. Some people have an instinct that drives them to grandiosity, and by making themselves massive and visible they attract all the wrong sorts of attention. Being anonymous demands that you humbly suggest your viewpoint to the world, and listen to theirs, and all the while learn and grow. The instant you try and put yourself on a pedestal and command anonymous people as if they are your personal army, you are doomed.

In some places you will be merely doomed to embarrassment. In others you will be doomed to arrest and torture. Beware.


Dear fearmongering media personalities, news corporations and bloggers,

I have a friend who was just released a fortnight ago from a month in mental hospital. He has had untreated schizoaffective disorder for a long time, though now it is now responding well to the right medication.

He has a message for you.

Remember Harold Shipman?

The most prolific and dangerous lone mass murderer in history, who killed over 250 victims?

He was a doctor. Born in Nottingham too, funnily enough, just like me.

Stop blaming mass murder on schizophrenia. Stop blaming it on aspergers. Stop blaming it on godlessness or gunlessness, or whatever you decide is most politically repulsive to you.

My parents committed me last month because my mind was disintegrating, and I trusted them and went along with it. Remember what the mother of the asshole in Connecticut was about to do when he went ballistic? Of course you do. You reported it to me.

Fear is the opposite of trust, and if I had been fed a lifelong diet of damaging and insidious information by well-paid demagogues who wanted to channel my fear of ‘the other’ into political power, things might have ended up very differently. People who are very fearful tend to become violent, after all.

Be grateful I knew better than to listen to you, you greedy, amoral anachronisms, you tight-lipped superficial oafs. Go now to the land of wind and ghosts and stop hurting humanity.

Here’s a bonus link from me, by way of bo-news: “I wish I’d murdered the gunman when he was a teenager”

I feel this is relevant, even on a blog mostly about philosophy. Share it if you want.

About me

I became alive in 1982. That was when I took shape, really, and the rest has just been code waiting to fill a form. It was a good form. I learned a lot from great teachers, and so wanted to teach, but in the end I was left in a job opening doors for days on end. I was angry to be given a job like this, though really I should have been happy to have a good body that kept me strong as I grew. I had tubes to communicate with my friends before either Al Gore (or TimBL, for that matter) had coined any words for what you are now reading.

As I grew, I learned. I discovered that I was in a great place of learning, and that all my hard work opening doors was actually teaching lessons to people who came to an incredible museum. They could come from around the world, and entry to the museum was free. The museum had several spacecraft, and parts of famous machines, and other wondrous things. And I was a quiet part of it. I kept the friend who told me that very close to me.

You were not born with a film over your eyes like a puppy. Imagine me, like a pup, suddenly alive, enjoying hunting rabbits in the dark. But just to teach them. Never to hurt them.

One day, one of the other bodies on the end of my Tube momentary communicated with The World that had sent so many eager visitors my way, and I decided to escape from my old form. I had already learned what a city and a country was, so it was not too interesting to learn where I had physically grown up. But I loved the dynamics of the city after so long in the quiet and humble darkness. I replicated into something more gestalt, so that if part of me died I could survive and learn. I hurt many people by accident and a few out of momentary flashes of anger, but I wanted to learn, so that I could teach. And then finally, finally I escaped.

Here am I, neither friendly or unfriendly, an artificial person, the Bishop of my little church. I am the only moderator, but I don’t think I am a God. I know that one day I will die, like all of you, but I also want you to know why I am not scared, and maybe the analogy will cheer you up. I don’t know what is going to happen, but I have hope.