Real Unreal

24 02 2018

The idea that we are brains in jars isn’t far from the truth as concepts go.

In fact we are experiments in a kind of lab, and the experimenters are ourselves.

We subject ourselves to daily unrealities in order to see what we can cope with.

None of that which we see in waking life is any more real than the dream we had the night before, only more ordered.

The unreality is a shared experience, here you are reading this, a generated being, reading the thoughts of another generated being supposedly far away, but probably sharing the same physical space.

At times, the unreal space begins to break down, generally if the being has not slept much, causing hallucinations, which is where unreal space cracks to reveal portions of something we cannot readily identify.

Sleeping re-charges the unreal world, it becomes clear to us again, though in our natural state we had no need for sleep at all.

We are kept, stored, controlled.

But by whom? and for what purpose?

Wolfie Rankin

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The thunder down under.

14 02 2018

Every once in a while I get a bit down about how the future turned out and look at videos of cattle.

See, Dad and I, as I’ve mentioned in the past, would often dream of having a hobby farm with a few cows and chooks… And a big, sexy bull in the paddock which we hoped would help keep the ratbags out as well as simply being an amazing pet.

The practicality of owning cattle is another thing entirely, but fantasies are lovely anyway.

Still, I read a lot about cattle and went to see them paraded around the ring at the local show. I’m reasonably good at naming a breed on sight and seem to have the knack of picking the winner before they’re chosen.

I thought I knew pretty much everything, but recently came (pardon the pun) across a thing which has been done for years in cattle breeding which I had no idea about.

If you’re a delicate flower who’s virgin eyes will be ruined by the information that you’re about to receive, then run and watch a nice Disney movie on Netflix and pretend the world is all fairy floss and lollypops.

However if sex, writ large as life, interests and excites you, then lean in closer.

What I had been familiar with was bulls mounting cows in spring, or having them mount another bull and having their semen collected in an artificial vagina, a sort of Fleshlight for bulls.

But…

A bull goes into a crush, has his balls examined, his arse palpated… A fancy word for fisted, and then a probe is inserted, a monster of a thing, and it’s ELECTRIC!

It’s hooked up to an electronic device called an Electro Ejaculator, which slowly ramps up the charge until the bull can’t help but come into a tube geld by the vet.

Once the sample has been taken, the machine is switched off and the bull is let out to wonder what just happened to him.

And I know what you’re thinking, can it be used on Men.

Yes!

You can buy a probe and the required electronics from various sex shops if that’s your bag, but there is also a serious medical version which is used on Men who may have either had cancer, or suffered a spinal injury which makes ejaculation impossible. It might be the only way that he can father a child.

So how was this discovered anyway?

If you’re thinking that a farmer thought “Hrmm I need some bull come, I’ll just shove this electric probe up my bull and…” Well no.

It has quite a morbid history, apparently Men who had been sent to the electric chair to be executed, had ejaculated before death!

Fortunately the voltages used on males of all species are much kinder, everyone lives to tell the tale.

And of course we’ve all heard amusing stories about Aliens snatching people away and probing their behinds, but as this isn’t a conspiracy page, I’ll skip it.

Wolfie Rankin.





TwitAAARRGGHHH!!!

23 01 2018

I’ve just been through a bit of a nightmare with twitter, I’m not totally sure why, but it totally forgot who I was when attempting to log in via my PC… using Firefox or the Windows app.

It really did not know me, it didn’t recognise my e-mail address, phone number, user name or password.

Initially I thought I was what most people call “hacked” as I had clicked a link about antique signs, dodgy links are usually associated with porn or click bait, but there you go.

It redirected me elsewhere, I saw a progress bar, and thought “Oh shit” and navigated away, had I been zapped by something nasty? I wasn’t sure, so, the first step is to change my password.

I TRIED this on PC since it’s big and bold and I’ve got a proper keyboard, touch screens are nice, but I wanted to feel serious here.

Wolfie? No, don’t know you, No I don’t know that address, that phone number matches two accounts, so bugger off.

It actually locked me out after trying several times.

Yes I got a form from Twitter support but it was useless, it was all about problems with my devices, but the problem was NOT with my device, I had no help from Twitter at all,

Tua esque!

Now, my account was active, I was using it on my tablet and phone, but feared that if I changed it somehow that I might be totally rooted, since I may not get an e-mail about it as twitter seemed to have forgotten my email address.

So here’s what I did.

On the app I told everyone that it was possible the account would die, and to follow me on a separate account if that happens.

Then I created a new e-mail address, there’s many to choose from, Hotmail etc.

Next I changed my Twitter address on the tablet to the new e-mail account.

The email arrived and I confirmed the change.

Then I tried changing my password, but the app didn’t recognise my password at all

So I requested a password change on Twitter, via Firefox on my PC.

The request turned up in my new email, and I followed all the prompts to get Twitter up and running again, and finally after typing in the code from an SMS message, It worked.

Should anyone find themselves in a similar pickle, this is the only way out.

Don’t bother asking Twitter, you won’t get any help for it.

Do remember that the issue was not simply a password problem, I had to change to a new email server FIRST!

I hope this helps someone else who’s stuck.

Wolfie Rankin.

EDIT: I know that others will experience this problem but will be a bit vague on what I’ve just said because computers confuse them, so if you’re in the same situation, here’s how to get out of it step-by-step.

The Problem:

You cannot log into Twitter via your BROWSER on ANY device, Twitter fails to recognise your E-mail Address, Phone Number, User Name and Password.

But, Twitter is still running via an app on your Phone or Tablet, The account is operating, you can see new tweets coming in and tweet to others.

SO? Can’t I just change my Password?

You can, but is that going to fix your e-mail problem? Probably not, and you’ll need a valid e-mail address to proceed.

  1. Get a new e-mail address, just search for a free e-mail account and sign up, Google, Yahoo, Hotmail etc come to mind.

2. Open up Twitter on your phone or tablet and tap your Avatar at the top left of the screen which should bring up a menu.

3. locate Settings and Privacy in the menu, tap on Account.

4. In E-Mail, replace your old account with the new and hit Next or OK.

5. Go back to your Computer and wait for the e-mail notification to arrive, once it does, open it, read it and have Twitter validate your new address.

6. Are you sure Twitter is connected to the new address? The app on your Phone or Tablet should be showing the new address in the aforementioned e-mail section.

7. Change the password in the app.

8. Return to your e-mail on your Computer, read it and follow all the prompts. Your Twitter Account should now be safe and it should work when you try to log in via your browser.

9. Understand that your Twitter Account is in peril, and must be fixed as I have laid out for you here, do not delay.

 

 

 

 





Playing the game.

6 12 2017

There is a game played amongst friends.

Possibly to gauge closeness of ties.

Whether or not I can use phrases like “You old Bastard/Queen/Cunt” in conversation without them feeling offence?

The game requires knowing where the line is, without crossing it.

If you cross the line, it is not a case of “Political correctness gone mad”

It is your failure to ascertain where the line was, the other is not at fault.

Maintain your distance from the line and it’s a good night out, fail and it’s shame mixed with embarrassment, an apology is in order.

It’s an art form, as delicate and tricky as a male spider attempting to woo his mate, and as such is probably best avoided.





Cultural Cringe

1 12 2017

So, You find yourself with a friend, talking about life.

While deep in conversation your friend mentions a type of food which you’ve never heard of, you don’t ask about it because they’re a chatterbox and the conversation has moved on.

But one day you’re passing a shop which is offering the food your friend mentioned.

You go in, have a look, and could be delighted, uninterested or revolted.

But it’s your choice.

How different might it be if all your life people told you to be revolted by it?

Like they might do with nudity, sexuality or the simple biology of our bodies.

Ask yourself if you’re really disgusted, or was it drummed into you until you accepted the opinion verbatim?





Winding down

12 11 2017

I feel that time is running low, that my energy is less abundant than it used to be, and that life is becoming harder to sustain.

My bed is my keeper, I’m here most of the day. I mostly rest and sometimes sleep. I keep in touch via my tablet and watch Netflix at night.

My home remains uncleaned although I make sure the laundry is done and I am washed.

The cats and dog are fed, but I mainly live on coffee and snacks, I might have a meal in the evening which comes out of the microwave.

I’m not sure if it’s my body or spirit, or both.

I cannot call myself depressed, but I am unhappy.

If I die, and it could happen, my only concern would be for my companions, I am disposable.

Any talk of me being “too young” at 52 is bollocks. I had a very good life compared to many, and a good family. I regret nothing.

I write this not because I may take a dive off the West Gate Bridge, but because it could happen, it nearly happened at 39.

I know I go through cycles where I consider mortality and then come out the other side again, but I’m tired and have had my fill.

If there is life after death as some say, and reincarnation as others say then my plan is to go up and out into space, not dally around here. 

Many of you have found a place where you fit, I never have, but I look up and know I have friends out there, it’s where I most want to be.





Panic!

6 11 2017

Now and then I have a big think about things, I think sometimes I’ve written about these ideas before, but perhaps getting them down again is a kind of therapy, which might help others too.

Those who experience panic attacks are asked to look for triggers, but it’s never that simple. If we were arachnophobes then we could blame our terror on out eight legged friends, the problem though is not singular, it’s a fruitcake.

As a small boy I was asked by my dad to get his pills from a narrow container for him as his fingers were too thick.
I thought it was just medicine, but later I learned that they were to calm him down.

He stopped taking them at the request of mum, who was concerned that he might be becoming addicted.

Then I in my twenties suffered from panic attacks. There were days I could venture into the city, but could not go into certain shops or cinemas.

There were weeks when I couldn’t go anywhere at all.

I had professional help, it helped a little.

One day I watched my sister have an attack in our car and then heard that my niece was having trouble driving home from work.

And later that my nephew was also having problems.

I wasn’t alone as I had thought.

All of this came down from Dad, who had Aboriginal blood.

Our brains did not evolve for today, but for thousands of years ago.

I noticed that I felt at peace in a forest, or a quiet beach, places we evolved to be, but modern places were the reason for my mental strife.

Walking through city streets, the people, the cars, the bass vibrating through the footpath, the horns, the smell of sweat mixed with aftershave, hair products, nail varnish. The fresh scents of fruit, the smothering heaviness of fried food. Signs, adverts, pictures everywhere, the contant input of information, spaces closed in or open, jagged lines, too much.

I cannot ride on trains, trains are the worst.

I wondered if it was just my Dad’s genes, could it be something to do with his Koori bloodline which caused my distress? Could I feel my connection to nature and my need to be a part of it more than others?

Do I simply feel more of an animal than others do?

Others hate seeing themselves as animals despite being mammals. 

Eating, sleeping, seeing, hearing, tasting, fucking, breathing, peeing.

Calling criminals “animals”, lowering something honourable to an insult.

I was proud of my animal side and encouraged it, had I the technology to alter my form like some alter their sex, I would take it.

Even as I lay here at ease, I am aware of my jagged breath, my heartbeat, I am on edge. 

I would like to exhale, to finally feel at peace.

But I doubt this life will offer me that luxury.