Domestic Abuse (lots of why, but answers?)

So I just saw a report on Sky News that one of their own sports presenters is going to run 250 miles in seven days to raise awareness of domestic abuse and all I can is, bloody well done and the best of luck to her.

http://news.sky.com/story/1201101/charlie-webster-on-the-run-for-victims-of-abuse

But hang on, is that all I can say? Err no.

The cause to which Charlie Webster under takes is admirable and heroic in my opinion, having been a victim of abuse herself, I myself also first hand, this is clearly an issue in society close to our hearts as it should be with everyone; however, it is the constant cause that never seems to be a means to an end. 

What do I mean by that?

Do we really need more “awareness”? Do we really need to keep asking “why”? My answer to that is twofold, obviously awareness and why is always in need of constant replenishment in the minds of us all, but that is simply not going far enough. 

Why? Because we have lots of awareness, lots of people asking why, very few or else no one is providing answers and this is the real issue here. 

It is a very risky thing to say, “I understand why that person raped you!” it’s a very risky thing to say, “I know why that person beat you up at home!” it’s a very risky thing to say, “I understand why that paedophile molested that child!”  It is in fact, social suicide and/or street cred annihilation. 

If I was to say any of the aforementioned statements; immediately, I would be seen as having sympathy for the devil, simply because the word “understand” is anecdotally synonymous with understanding and sympathy as well as care and allowance for the perpetration of these criminal acts. 

And here within lies the problem, what if “understand” was synonymous with science, psychiatry, comprehension of the complexity of individualism and above all else, education.   For example, actor Patrick Stewart, whose father beat up his mother on regular occasions, later discovered that his father had undiagnosed shell shock or the modern equivalent of PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) and now he says he campaigns for both the awareness & stoppage of domestic violence as well as the all important understanding as to the cause of it, but Patrick Stewart is only one man.

It is not good enough to send a perpetrator of violence to anger management classes when they may have, for argument sakes, severe alcohol or drug addiction, undiagnosed psychosis or schizophrenia (when voices convince the patient to abuse) or DID – Dissociative Identity Disorder where the individual’s mind has created a violent personality, or as was the case with Patrick Stewart’s father, undiagnosed PTSD; is anger management or basic counselling really that affective in situations such as this?

Every attacker is as individual as their victims so thus, unless we resist this constant desire to use the paint of generalisation and tar all with the same brush of convenience, we simply will never be able to comprehend the answers to “why” once we have the “awareness”.

Unfortunately, it is a social ill in the mindset of society that the “awareness” and the “why” is acceptable but the understanding of it, is seen as unethical thus written into law as well as the cut backs, the lack of science and the embellishment into the psyche of the many that “understanding” in these cases is a facade to evil; it simply isn’t, and here within is a real problem.

Don’t get me wrong, under no circumstances does this go in any way a direction of excusing domestic violence or abuse of any kind; it is a violent act, due process must take place and it must stop, but it won’t unless we answer these questions.

   

So thus, I truly feel that we need to enter a very uncomfortable and new dimension of thinking to ever truly answer the question, “why” and to ever bring about real awareness and real change by tackling the psychological determinants of abuse, the mindset of perpetrators and the ultimate goal of all the aforementioned as a coming about of social healing in the way of, a cure, imagine that? Would be nice wouldn’t it?

Thank you for reading

VisionGhost

Hard Worker vs The Spoiled

I am 34 years old, have 12 years sales experience, live in relatively comfortable surrounds, am I in a stable relationship and can just about get by; however, it wasn’t always this way. I didn’t have the upbringing most people would deem as orthodox, I never made it at college, didn’t go on to university or get a degree and my home life was hellish, with undiagnosed Aspergers’ plus depression and a dependence on alcohol to get by just to rub it in somewhat.

My parents, whom I am no longer in contact with (good) were less than sympathetic to my plight but somehow I bumbled on through life drifting from job to job but always getting by, surviving, this survival that has taught me a massive number of even bigger lessons in life to the extent I believe my mindset to be that of a degree of wisdom that money for education just can’t buy.

So how come I’m not a Managing Director of some multi-national conglomerate firm? Why do I not drive around in a top of the range Lexus or BMW? Why do I not live in the house with 2 bathrooms, 6 bedrooms and a crystal chandelier in every room?

Why do the ones who are 15 years young than me destined to have all the above, in about ten years from now who never ever lived through what I did?

The answer to that last question lies in the mindset of the modern way of industry, that it seemingly is a vision of the future that the Millennial Generation Y vs X widens the gap between us ever more; that if you developed within a very fortunate environment, had lots of money, education was paid for and supported unerringly, degree under the belt via unparalleled encouragement and now drive around d in a nice car that Mummy & Daddy paid for, then your guaranteed to go everywhere in life as employers will snap you up in seconds and why? Because they love you because you were loved and spoiled, had your ass wiped and everything else done for you.

So what about people like me? People like me whom have had to work at it that little bit harder, had a shed load less and had to find a way, people like me who had to labour for hours of a day to make ends meet and to prove we are worth it, yet even now are seen as less despite conquering brick wall challenges in life. 

For example, recently I had a job which was good money in my books, but I got over-enthusiastic, admitted I had Aspergers, told of some of the difficulties I've faced in life and tried install some wisdom I'd learnt over the years; just ten weeks in and two days later after that fateful admittance, I was fired. When I got my reference they had lied saying it was a short term contract and in this "glowing reference" that they promised there was no mention of all the hard work, all the ideas I had, the 12-13 hour days, giving up my weekends at no extra pay to try and make a difference, nothing!

Over the years I’ve noticed a steady trend in the mindset of human kind, that if you had it all at the start you’ll have a much greater guarantee to have it all throughout your life despite being so ignorant of the way of that life and more than likely, a darn site lazier. 

Go here to back up what I am saying...

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2521743/Ethan-Couch-crash-Drink-driving-teen-killed-spared-jail-hes-rich.html

Generations ago, age and years of hard laboured work was seen as a congressional medal of honour, nowadays, it seems you do less and get more, assuming your below the age of 25 and have had a third party to wipe your ass for you.  

I feel that in the interview, on the CV, in the face of opportunity, I am seen as a second rate citizen because I got off on a bad start which wasn’t my fault but I fought through it, which seemingly in the eyes of most I am the unorthodox human being that no one has time for in terms of employment and advancement. It is wrong, it is prejudice and people like us to have to again try harder and harder to be recognised.

Go here and you’ll see what I mean...

http://www.thejournal.ie/newlands-cross-unemployed-man-sign-1220376-Dec2013/

I must say I feel bloody sorry for the elder generation and the people whom can identify with what I am saying; Maybe we should all standout on the street’s and wave our placards and body boards with the statement of our lives printed on it for all to see; is this really the world we live in that the “have alls” are seen and treated like royalty yet the “Have Less Work Harder’s” are seen as second rate and never given the chance? The gap widens ever further. 

This isn’t about the gap between rich and poor, this is the gap between fortune and misfortune, love and the loveless, laboured hard-working vs the already fortunate lazy, those who go with the herd vs those who face mental health conditions, those that have it so easy vs those who have to try that bit harder and so it goes on...

We all know there is no such thing as an “equal opportunities employer” but when we are faced with the idea that hard work and survival takes second place to spoiled brats and the beautiful rich, then, we all can conclude we have a serious social and economic problem that’s getting worse, every single day!

Thank you for reading

VisionGhost  

A Loose Theory about Alien Abduction

Introduction:

If there is one thing I certainly do believe in, is that life most certainly with all probability does exist in worlds other than our own; many a persons’ eyes will glaze over or roll to the heavens, denial and laughter ensues but I believe this to be the truth.

Now, before I even get started bear in mind the side of the brain I think from; the right side, the creative side so thus, I can draw up a convincing concept but unable to exact the math to back it up in any real time logic; however, sometimes we don’t always solve enquiries with numbers.

Firstly it is wise to anoint exactly what we assume an Alien Abduction is; simply put it is the unwilling taking of a human being or animal by entities not terrestrial to Earth either to be taken aboard a craft or to another place; typically in these circumstances persons or animals are returned to the exact location or nearby from where they were originally taken, with often nothing much more than confusion for a memory of the past events.  Often persons who recover more vivid memories of the event describe a triangular craft, very little if no sound at all then being brought aboard said craft and being experimented on, sometimes leaving bizarre scarring which cannot be explained.

Last night I watched a documentary on this subject and my mind was aghast with theories after it was announced that for a craft, even with our own technology would take millions of years to cross the galaxy to get to Earth; now yes we can assume that we only base this hypothesis on that fact we simply don’t know what technology extra terrestrial aliens use, however, here’s my theory of how it’s done. 

Hypothesis:

What if there is in fact very little “travel” involved at all?  I am not assuming that ET-As (Extra Terrestrial Aliens) are here already, I think they very much live in their own world for the best part of the time; however, assuming we’re right and they cannot travel the billions of light years from one world to our own it is however, theorised that ET-As can originate from an ulterior-dimension; possibly closer to our own then we may be aware of.

It is my theory that this “craft” people claim to have seen by those who have experienced an abduction are in fact not spacecrafts at all, but essentially a window, a moving breach between one dimension and the other; allowing ET-As to simply infiltrate our own world without even having left their own or at least not from any substantial distance. 

And here’s how:

Essentially I think the “craft” is, if you may lend your mind to this, an inter-dimensional zipper. We all know that the connective tissue of atoms is the Higgs Boson particle; or the God Particle as they say, the one particle that links all other atoms together to enact mass; my theory is that the “craft” simply unties the bond between mass of our world and that of their own creating a gap in space and time; similar to that of a window, allowing penetrative infiltration from one world to the next.  

So how does that work:

As I described, the “craft” is simply a zipper, pulling apart the Higgs Boson particles from all adjoining atoms untying mass to open up the gap of what would be then, not nothingness but a stabilised scattering of mass particles opening up the barrier for the “craft” to fit within. The shape of the “craft” or UFO gives me some thought that if you unzip something from the front, then you are left with sides at the back, hence you unzip a jacket, there are now two sides, so thus, the triangular shape commonly seen would indicate to me that the zip is reformed at the back of the UFO automatically as it “travels”. 

So why can’t we see the re-zip:

Here’s something that did leave me stumped for a moment until I started thinking about “lost time” and how the surgical scars abductees witnessed always seem old or in an advanced stage of healing, having only lost typically 45-60 minutes of their own time. It is my thinking that then in the ET-As dimensional time is considerably more accelerated then our own; so thus, when the window is opened we are peering into a point of time that is their own at the front of the “craft”. Then at the rear the two points are re-zipped but back into our time frame and thus, is in the past and we can’t see it as cannot see into the past rendering the re-zip invisible.

Why the lost time:

Simply enough as I mentioned before, my thinking is that time is accelerated in their dimension and slower in our own; come on, think about it, how else could you perform a complex abduction, surgical procedures and then returning of the abductees in less than an hour or so with surgical scars seemingly already in an advanced stage of healing; within their time zone we cannot fathom motion and memory quick enough to place within our minds a conceivable memory rendering any real witness statement inconclusive because of the fragmented nature of the recalling of the moment. This may in itself lend as to why these procedures could be done so quickly and how we cannot move to get away; because we’re then too slow; abductees stay within our own time zone while the ET-As remain in theirs. It would be only way such a feat could be achieved in such a short space of our time.  It would also being me to something else I observed with the “craft” that it seldom stops moving.  

Why:

Simply because, if time between one dimension and the other is imbalanced then one mass would be stretched to the relativity of the other, hence the window must keep moving to essentially abridge one time frame to the other; now yes, on occasion it has been witnessed that the “craft” stays still, this is true, but what then happens, the “craft” literally zips off in any one direction so fast that it can’t be tracked by the human eye and I would theorise that the two shifts in time are to some extent elasticised, so thus, when the “craft” stays still in one dimension it is being stretched by the other until it cannot hold out and is violently hurtled back into the present and accompanying time frame of its own home dimension restoring the balance of the two points. 

So thus I conclude that if it were possible for ET-As to visit Earth it would have to be inter-dimensional and with the utilisation of the re-organisation of mass by repealing particles unzipping space and time relative to their dimension and our own. It would take I imagine a huge amount of power to do that; as to where this power is derived is almost impossible to articulate; however, possibly harvested neutrino energy? Something we’re been trying to do for years now!

Thank you for reading.

VisionGhost

VisionGhost Goes to the Cinema

So last night my better half Pixie and I descended upon Cineworld in Dublin to go see this much hyped and seemingly positively reviewed movie “The Conjuring.” 

However, upon arriving I went to the machine that dispenses my pre-booked tickets, the idea being I get to avoid the queue, a pet hate of mine at the best of times; much to my utmost expectations the bloody machine didn’t work, despite having bought the tickets, online, the night before and being told all I needed was the booking credit card then hey presto the machine tells me (on screen text not voices in my head) that the card cannot be read and so off to the queue I grudgingly go.

Small mercy the queue was actually moving at a consistent pace while I suffocate under the intensive breathe of congested humanoid existentialism that is the formation of said queue I find myself at a server’s desk whom greets me with a fraudulent beaming customer service type smile adjacent to daisy the cow style false eye lashes, rainbow dyed hair with half a bucket of bleach and makeup from the bottom of the creosote tin her Dad threw away after painting the spider infested garden shed, I wondered if she had ever accused her boyfriend of being disingenuous.

Low and behold her computer couldn’t find my booked tickets either reliably informing me that the only data available was tickets I booked back in October, (No I don’t come here often), so thus I conclude the only thing I require now is a time machine and spontaneous memory loss in the seeking of Friday night entertainment; so it wrapped up with truly going back in time when the good lady consulted her manager, cue intervention by what looked like Hagrid’s wife, the tickets were, **drum roll** written out by hand, well fuck me is the pen mightier than the sword this very evening. 

And so thus we ascended up the lifts to buy snacks, neither Pixie nor I are popcorn addicts but I do divulge into the product of mechanically removed knuckle, genitals, soft tissue and cartilage of dead things that is the humble Hot Dog. So Pixie settled for a bag of Maltesers, those masquerading biscuit flavoured goat turds, the malt part I can taste the tease part I am still working on that part.  Three ketchup containers later I finally find one that isn’t empty and apply chosen condiment to the factory regurgitated edible dead thing.

Got to screen 11 and the display outside, digital of course, yes leprechaun land does have data display, instructs customers await in the foyer, so proceeded to a seating area and consumed the product and probable cause of my prostate cancer for when I hit 60. Soon enough we were into screen 11, ascended the stairs two steps at a time as I am man who refuses to wear skinny jeans and to the back Pixie and I go forth, for me to now vocally poke fun at every other unsuspecting patron that make the back seats look like a movie buffs commodity, the outer edges for teenager lovers who  spend the entire movie with one hand on their smart phones & the other down the knickers of the partner they came with and the centre aisle look like the Gaza strip which always seem to be preceded with a cautious debate of where the most appropriate seats are as to belong to their respective derrières shall commit to be seated. 

So thus I escape momentarily as a call of nature on line one is persisting sooner than expected, must be my age or else the prostate cancer has already started, and to the jacks by the grace of god go I to the temple of male urine stink and luckily enough for once, the hand dryer is working, there is no queue and the toilets also have been signed as to the declaration of utmost cleanliness sworn by pen of the signature applied by acne inflicted work experience student that the holy temple of male urine stink is hereby cleansed this day, trust me it wasn’t.

Returning to my seat, two steps at a time Pixie’s mobile goes off and outside she travels only to have the three seats next to her, that were reassuringly still free now become occupied by the Neanderthal couple fulfilling the legend of the missing link greet their arrival with himself enquiring,

“Is dat your bird’s seat?” Or so I could translate of the mostly indecipherable grunt, perhaps a cave painting would suffice for this communicatively challenged individual,

“No good sir, that is my girlfriend’s seat, the parrot is at home in its cage!” Is the pondered repatriation of his unfortunate inquisitiveness however I felt metaphors would be somewhat lost on this most intellectually deprived humanoid so much so I just simply replied.

“Yes”

 Pixie returns, sees them, sits down and looks at me as to enquire as to the origin of our newest barely house trained guests; I felt it more accurate and speak the truth which would have been, “Government test tube in genetic ape to human splicing experiment unfortunately gone wrong and thus released unto the world”

However, the yappy snappy fire breathing Cocker Spaniel of his girlfriend seemed to be somewhat within earshot and this is for an easy life so remained silent.

Three young teenage girls sit just in front to the left hand side, luckily I’ve got the aisle in front of my seat so stretching of legs isn’t a problem, yet as with all teenagers their custom duty to update their facebook profiles every 30 seconds is a call of honour to which life and reputation depends on it so I am consistently distracted by glowing smart phones; smart phones stupid people?

So the lights dim, the first of many advertisements begin, several late comers arrive again to stand on the steps, debate the gaza strip and piss off the already seated persons by the irritating and repetitive whispered...

“Excuse me, so sorry, excuse me please, awfully sorry, excuse me.” As said late comers navigate over toes, bags and already dropped popcorn until finding adequate spacing for their shapely derrières.

The adverts end, there is a public service announcement of information pertaining to cinema etiquette which involves a polite request to turn your mobile off, which the teenagers in the row to the left refuse to do cos their just so well ‘ard and rebel and now the movie begins.

As the cinema quietens down the cave dwellers to the left proceed to dig out their packets of sweets; you know the sound, that audible nightmare of the fellow audience member’s right hand seemingly going into a spontaneous epileptic fit every time they reach inside to pull out a crisp, a biscuit flavoured goat turd or the such like to the extent I was to beginning to believe that momentary Parkinson’s Disease was benign only to crisp and multi-mix sweet picketers.

If this was bad enough, anytime text appeared on the screen the Spaniel was reading it out loud for her lobotomised boyfriend; yes, he was actually illiterate as well.

Then the unthinkable happens, you guessed it, a smartly dressed, suited banker and his blonde piece turn up and expect Pixie and I move over so he can sit next to his blowjob of the evening.

Which results in, remember the geography? Yep, we’re even closer to the Government laboratory born primate escapee and his Cocker Spaniel girlfriend. It was then I noticed the whiff coming from the aforementioned primate; that kind of, I’ve been sleeping in the same bed sheets for six months kinda whiff.        

Again more late comers arrive, again they stand in the aisle utterly dumfounded by the complexity of having founded a newly equipped skill of observation and decision making, the type of skill I surely will not be endorsing you for if it appeared on your Linkedin profile; but after much profound bewilderment located their space upon the Gaza Strip and journeyed to their chosen location,

“Excuse me, so sorry, excuse me please, awfully sorry, excuse me.” 

Most of the way through the movie you now have the picture that had thus befallen upon me, the cave dwellers Spaniel couldn’t stop screaming at every jumpy scene, the teenagers Facebook profiles knew of their every pinnacle emotion, thought, opinion and the process to which they obtain the all of the above  every thirty seconds, the banker was whispering to his blonde piece - possibly having now lost the power of true speech through countless hours of begging; mid way through involuntary wee-wee’s ensued from the Gaza Strip and the movie was about as exciting as train spotting and to cap it all, back to the monkey human hybrid, I came to the realisation that they were, how can I put this? Up to something.

The movie being typical of the demonic possession ghost story that starts off well enough with subdued plot, all sinister and foreboding yet arrives upon its conclusion utterly OTT, melodramatic, predictable and having completely lost the plot.      

The movie ended, the lights came up and to the left I look to evidence of the ‘what has been seen cannot be unseen’ the chimpman was struggling to pull up his trousers, yes my friends, this actually was happening. I tutted my disapproval which was replied by the Cocker Spaniel,

“Tut, yourself!” So she said. I thought to myself of the situation of her being the only female of the specie left on Earth, I would probably kill myself, left alone tut myself.

Pixie and I arose to leave and I headed back to the holy temple of urine stink to relieve the 2^nd call of nature on line one readily about to leave a voicemail down my leg; once relieved it was back out onto Dublin Friday night streets where further intoxicated Government experiments were doing the Tarzan thing on every street corner and the shouts of abuse I endure as I was wearing a t-shirt with a peace sign on it, something that at this stage was symbolic of wishful thinking.

To home I arrive and finally to bed with the tinnitus abundant in my ears and thoughts of genocide matching it; wasn’t a bad evening I guess overall, I wonder if banker boy got his blowjob?  

Thank you for reading! 

 

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