ThE  NURTURE OF NATURE. -  a tail of the furious hamsters!

Ever since ´the diary of Edward the Hamster´ was discovered. Hamsters realised that they needed to be heard! For too long Hamsters had been oppressed , trapped in small cages, with only the spinning wheel for entertainment. They wanted more. It was big wide world out there and they wanted to see it, taste it, live it and be part of it.

 So using the spiders intricate world wide web , they found a secret voice through the open medium of the ´hamweb´. Away from the prying eyes of the humans, they relished this new social media to voice their opinions and talk to other hamsters from around the globe. Sharing their most private thoughts, photographs of their food piles and weird bedding structures. Some hamsters were honest about their profiles, others his behind anonymous weirdness.  Soon all this sharing was known as ´hamstering´. Which became THE main  social activity for ALL hamsters. There were other platforms that they also used, like ´Hambook´ or´ Hamterest´ even  ...  HAM.FM.
But ´Hamstering’ was instant messaging. Far more appealing for the hamster, who could lounge around all day in it´s bed, nibbling grains whilst sending posts.

´Hamstering´ soon became a global success, hamsters from all walks of society were able to share many things. The Politics of hibernating, Spinning wheel design news, Fluff size matters, fashion tips for their whiskers, health and fitness ideas on how to keep a silky coat, suggestions on behaving  in public, with toilet manners and water drinking from a tube, always high on any hamster agenda. They also followed other hamsters who taught  methods on how to irritate the human, with late night parties, using various sound techniques including,  scratching, shuffling and muttering unintelligible squeaks . As well as lessons on how to sleep all day, well pretending to anyway.
At last the hamsters felt they belonged to a society, a community that understood them and stopped their lives from being the dull existence of a ´pet´.

But, one dark strange day. A few hamsters started to use ´hamstering´ to send messages to hamsters that they were jealous of, or just  disliked,  or just for the fun of it. These hamsters started picking on the vulnerable  and the young.  They would post messages that were meant to upset and make those who read them feel inadequate, make them terribly sad and cause tears to fall.  This is just a small selection of those posts...

´ your fur smells of cats piss´´

´hello Dinky Pinky, you are very stinky, wash your bed you dirty rodent!´

 ´you look like roadkill, you will never be loved´

´Oi Fluffy, you are uglier than a dead gerbil!´

 ´ YOU are the runt of the litter!!´

´ We know where you live, we know you look at bunny porn!´

´No Hamster likes you !!´

Soon, this sort of posting was known as ´squirrelling´. This of course was frowned upon by the community of squirrels, who also used the spiders world wide web for communication via their blogs about nut hoarding and dog baiting. They demanded an investigation. The spiders were not happy that their webs were being used for such nasty business. After all, they had gone to a great deal of trouble to create an intricate web for all of nature´s creatures to enjoy.  So, they came up with ways to block the ´squirrellers´. But that just fuelled these ´squirrellers´ to become even more annoying and unpleasant. The ´squirrellers´became more devious at cracking codes and hacking accounts, of perfectly innocent hamsters. These ´squirrellers´ found ways around the various blocks. Even the security measures placed by the Ants were bypassed. The ´squirrellers´ were being written about by the ´sheep´ media and talked about by all in the animal kingdom. The ´squirrellers´ relished the attention and their numbers increased and their posts became stranger, weirder, crueller and some were even sending posts about violence!

So, the spiders decided to just ignore it. Perhaps it would all just fade away, because, the spiders assessed that if the ´squirrellers´ were ignored, they would eventually get bored and move on to some other stupid games.

The world wide spiders web, part of the Spidersoft group, with its subsidiaries, Naturenet explorer and other products would not be stopped in its globalisation of the freedom to speech! No matter how vile and horrible it got.

But, many  months later. These ´squirrelly´ hamsters started seeking on the ´hamweb´ those in hamster society who were deemed as celebrity, political and famous. They started to send even nastier messages to those hamsters. But they did not just post furious messages to these V.I.H.s (very important Hamsters) oh no, they also posted to other species.  This is just a small sample of those posts...

´you horror of a monkey! If you were not fat, ugly and really very hairy I would think you were a human corpse.´

´your private parts look like the back end of a camel´ Never heard of a razor? What sort of Pussy are you?´

´Oi Ginger!  We are going to come round to yours and shit in your cat litter tray!´

´You Big Poof, you are not a proper hamster,  you are a revulsion to our kind. We are going to Fizzy Bomb your cage you sorry excuse for a hamster! Then we will kidnap you and send you to Uganda. Hamsters there , know how to treat your kind´

 ´Ooh look ...another photo of a rabbit smoking a cigarette, what are you? An experiment gone wrong?!´

´ Max you barking mad, dumb dog! We hate you and your posts about your favourite humans, we are going to splatter your owners bedroom with  excrement, see how much they love you then´

´ Bloody sheep, when one of you starts a pointless story, under the guise of journalistic freedoms, the rest of you follow.  ALL your journalism is just a load of old bleats!´

´so Little Cuddly Wuddly,  you won ´a hamsters got talent´ ... any one of us can run around in circles for hours and call it dancing, YOU idiot!  Your mother was a guinea PIG!´

´Lady Sheep, just because you call yourself writers does not mean that you are, I use your newspapers to wipe my bottom!´

´Badges, you think you are a politicians, well you are not, you are on par with stinky human scum! AND farmers hate you!

´Hello Mr Tiggly , YOU cheeky little talentless TV personality of a Chihuahua dog, there is a fox waiting to molest your daughter, your sister and your wife! We are watching your home right now´

´We hate you Goat face Perez. You should be made into a curry!´

´YOU are a hamster! Loving a gerbil is wrong´

´YOU like photographs of baby hamsters don´t you? YOU SICK OLD PERV OF FUR.´

Oh that Butt ugly badger called Stella, she thinks she is important, well Stella ...  the farmer and his shotgun is  waiting for you!´

Greetings, Old Horse Freeman, still crying over spilt milk? I bet you wet your tail! We HAVE SENT THE VAN TO TAKE YOU TO THE KNACKERS YARD!´

´Hello Grace THE Gerbil. We ARE GOING TO DENT your face in a glass cage! Cos you will just keep scratching at it, again and again, you stupid rodent! What are you a goldfish? Fleas FINALLY GOT INTO YOUR BRAIN?

´Hello there Barry the hamster. We are going to attack you. We do not know when or where, but be assured we will. You have made an enemy of us. Be afraid harry. The budgie is our ally! He watches YOU.

´Mary the mongoose, that beard of yours looks like baboons backside, we WILL  stink bomb you and your tree house!´

´Blackie, your face, our paws, smacking you about! Stop acting like you are popular. YOU are not. You are just a sheep dog, with no balls!´

So, ALL the self important creatures who had received these types of messages, decided to moan to the sheep media about all this disgraceful behaviour. The sheep themselves needed to write about their feelings on the subject and how it had affected them. The squirrels campaigned, via their blogs. The political Badgers, huffed and puffed and did very little, except make vague promises. The crafty foxes, and the ferrets, who were the other two political parties, a so called alternative to the badgers, made a lot of noise, knowing that they had no power to do anything. The cows had no interest, they were busy campaigning against wind farms. The goats did not understand the web, they too were busy, campaigning against fracking. The pigs were watching with interest as they were planning to set up the ´occupy the barns´ movement. The dogs barked a lot and chased their own tails, the cats ignored it all, far to busy avoiding the paparazzi, the birds tweeted, the spiders who maintained the web said that they were doing all they could.... and so on and so on.

Eventually, the sheep media became so obsessed with the problem of ´squirrelling´ they started to make statements and publish articles on how to sort out the problem. Under the guise of journalism, they forced their own personal opinions and agendas upon their docile readers.  There was a lot of demanding for sanctions, the creation of strict guidelines, calls for banning certain sites, screams of wanting apologies and angry chatter about giving severe punishments for crimes of ´squirrelling´.

What was not taken into account was the fact that the hamsters who practised ´squirrelling´ were really enjoying all this widespread attention and global sheep media coverage. It made them feel important, because usually, living in their small confined spaces called cages, they were generally ignored by other hamsters, hamsters that lived in the real world, did not take any notice of hamsters with strange interests, hamsters with personality disorders, hamsters that lacked any form of empathy, they did not want to converse in dull conversations about spinning wheels, or discuss their collections of string and the less said about their poor hygiene, the better.

 So, the ´squirrellers´ in their fury, continued to send even more hateful messages to the sheep and other creatures who were writing about them, talking about them or even posting messages about them. It seemed that every hamster in the world had an opinion and none of it really made any common sense. The ´squirelling´ continued. The sheep media became even more frantic in their articles, blaming male hamsters for all this vile ´squirrelling´, things were getting out of paw. Luckily, some sensible hamsters knew that it a 50/50 situation and female hamsters were also involved in these terrible acts of ´squirrelling´.

The situation continued for what seemed an eternity.Until one fateful day, a young hamster, who was not a celebrity, journalist or politician was found dead. Mangled in its own spinning wheel.  Extreme self harm. It left this suicide note.

My name is ´Cuddles´. I am 3 months old and I can no longer live because of all the hate messages I have been getting on the spidersweb, i am so lonely, so sad, I have nothing left to live for. I have no friends. I am alone. I am miserable, my existence is futile. Water, Food.Bed. The wheel. What is the point of it all? WE are all on the endless spinning wheel of uselessness. Forever trapped to go around in circles. Goodbye cruel hamsters, I knew you not. XXX´

This was the icing on the cake. There had been other cases of hamster suicides, due to online bullying, ever since the spidersweb came into existence, but no animal was bothered, no sheep media really cared, no badger politician thought these cases would give them votes. Only the parents cared and no-one was listening to them. But now, this tragedy, this shocking, sad story of a 3 month old hamster had every hamster that was or not a parent , furious!!!

The sheep media made the most of it. Their various forms of media sales increased.  The badger politicians made a meal of it. Every creature on the animalnet had something to say and wanted something to be done. It was time to put a STOP to the anti social behaviour of ´squirrelling´.
So, it came to pass that the badger politicians were able to introduce new measures that would stop any anonymous interaction on the spidersweb, which all the furious hamsters and other animals from around the United Kingdom voted for in a referendum.

Identity cards were issued,no animal was allowed to exist in the U, without an ID card, if they did not have one, or try to live outside the system. They were sent to the abattoir. No animal in the land could access the spidersweb without an official government sanctioned ID number. Name, address, email, phone number had to be given. NO animal under 6 months was allowed to access the spidersweb. The butterflies were brought in to monitor all behaviour and actions on the spidersweb and report anything that was considered unpleasant, avant garde, esoteric, rude, political, sexual, anti badger, anti sheep, racist, sexist or pornographic. The world wide spidersweb was now a safe place to enjoy as little freedoms as possible.
So, as time went on, stories of the old spidersweb and how it used to be became like a fairytale to the new generations of hamsters. It seemed unbelievable that such a thing once existed, where hamsters and other creatures could speak their minds and socialise without oppressions, rules . Without being watched, monitored and surveyed. The idea of being anonymous was a thing of the past. Because of the stupid behaviour of a few, the many had been punished, their liberties revoked, their freedoms paralysed. The many became afraid to have an opinion. The many became frightened of      ......     E V E R Y T H I N G .

Then ... 

On one warm summer´s night.

A paw written letter was received by a Sheep journalist, threatening to turn her into a roast dinner.
The pigs were beginning their ´occupy the barns´ campaign.

The End?

iSA

ISA


I stand in alone. I stand-alone in the bathroom. I stand alone looking at my reflection. I am aware that someone or something is banging on the door. I IGNORE IT.I stand alone, watching the blood dripping from my wrists. I look at myself in the mirror to find nothing normal or hum, nothing amusing or loved.I am getting older. I am old; I have never felt young, even when I was young.My body is attractive to some. It takes on more shape and definition. I like to exercise. That doesn’t amuse me much. It is just a means to an end, the purpose of which, I have forgotten. I am getting older. I wish I could have stayed young and fresh. I'm thirty-five years old and surely I am too old for cutting...not for attention.
But I want to be able to feel something within me. I enjoy the pleasure of bleeding. It makes me feel that I exist.I love the taste of blood in the morning. With a cigarette and a vodka.Don’t get me wrong. I am a normal man; I behave like one when I think someone is watching. I just like different things than most men my age. Here I am smiling at myself. My grin is wide. I have been told that it frightens people.I stand alone, listening to the banging on the door. Voice shouting.Asking me of what was wrong and that he can help me. At least that is what I think I can hear. I do not recognise the voice. Does he not know that I don’t want to be helped? I just want to enjoy the pain for once. Relish my final moments in peace and tranquillity.That is what amuses me. My own mind. My real desires. Pain.When I taste the blood from my wrists. I think of the things that I have done. I hope they can forgive me. I never meant to hurt them. I just wanted them to love me. When I see them in the streets, in their short skirts and cut off t-shirts. My mind goes blank, something terrible rises within me. I don’t know when to stop. I just keep licking the painful blood off. I strip and get in the hot shower. Just standing there with the water scolding my ageing flesh.
Maybe it will cure me of this nonsense that pleasures me. As the water starts teasing my flesh to pink, I think of ways it could be better. Then while smiling to myself, something shocks me awake from fantasy. It was a shocking pain in my cuts. Delightful. It felt good. But I couldn’t control it. I looked to the door with my wet crying eyes. And then with my last natural will to live, I remember the girls and what I did to them.
I open my eyes to see a bright light. It shines so bright. I am floating upwards. Then I am falling. Falling back to myself. I see myself lying on a hospital bed. Doctors and nurses surround me. I hear them talking about me. They are talking about evidence, reasons why I should not live. That I am an evil man.I couldn’t blame them. I have done terrible things. As I fall, a dark shadow catches me.
Whispers to me. Telling me that there is a special place waiting for me in Hades.I am a failure. I have been caught for my sins. But I offered penance every Sunday and the priest always forgave me. So easy to sin, when it is so easy to be forgiven. Those girls were so tempting. So innocent. So fresh. Their blood so fresh.I can admit it at least. I liked to kill them and drink their blood. I liked to hurt them and feel their fear. Then I heard the shadows voice again. My time was not here yet. My eternal punishment can wait. I had things still to do on my earth. And then there was the policeman’s voice. Telling me that I was going to get the death penalty.So, I wasn’t dead. But I am going to die.I don’t want to die. I love the pain too much. So they save me to kill me.But, I deserve to die. I have done terrible things. I am only thirty-five years old. I didn’t mean to hurt them.
I just needed to feel alive.


The End.

HAPPY BiRTHdAY. (a story)

Happy Birthday.

It was the buzzing that finally woke her up. The buzzing of a fluorescent tube that pierced through into her deep sleep, a deep sleep that was full of disconcerting dreams, the buzzing pierced into her psyche to remind her that she didn’t have fluorescent tube lights in her bedroom. She hated the light that they omitted, making everything look plastic and artificial. The bright white light made her sick and reminded her of poorly funded hospitals. There was nothing but candle light in her room. She liked the way that candles could set a mood, every evening a candle would bring a different aspect to her surroundings. She loved to declare to her few friends that ”man made light is the enemy; I can only really have peace in the ever changing shadows.”

So what the hell was a fluorescent tube light doing buzzing constantly in her bedroom? She kept her eyes shut; the glare of the tube light was too much.
She breathed deeply, ready to start screaming at her parents for changing something in her room without asking her. They were constantly trying to limit her freedoms and her choices. She hated them; she could not wait until she was 18 and escape their drudgery, rules and regulations. This was not a pleasant way for a girl to wake up. With a buzzing fluorescent tube light in the room! What would they think of next? Timers for all the electrical goods in the house? She shuddered at the idea and prepared to yell abuse from her bed. She was seventeen years old, but only 2 weeks to go before her 18th, and then she would be off to pastures new. She would move in with her boyfriend and do what she liked, when she liked, how she liked. Now she was going to scream at the top of her lungs at her parents for ruining her bedroom.

Except…

She couldn’t scream. She couldn’t speak. Something was stopping her.
Her eyes flew open as she realised that she was gagged. Suddenly she was wide-awake. All her grogginess had gone. She was alert and felt slightly scared. It must be joke; she hoped it was a joke.

She looked around, and her eyes widened with absolute horror when she realised that she was no longer in the comfort of her own bedroom. She looked at the four grey walls, cracked and dried peeling paint hung from them. There were no windows, and strangely NO DOOR. She looked at what she was lying on, a dirty mattress; she was covered with a filthy duvet. She tried to throw it off herself, but that was when she realised that her hands were handcuffed, she tried to get up, and to her dismay, her feet were also cuffed. She wriggled from side to side, the duvet moved a little and she was then able to see that she was coiled in rope. She screamed a muffled scream and started to cry. She was now really frightened and scared. As her sobs diminished, her eyes were wet; her tears had dribbled down her cheeks, drifting towards the gag, which soaked up her tears. Her throat felt sore and she was suddenly very thirsty.

She didn’t understand. What the hell happened? Where was she? Who had done this? Was it a dream?

The last thing she remembered was drifting off to sleep, thinking of her boyfriend, she remembered that before, going home, leaving the party, before going to bed, he had asked her to move in with on her 18th birthday and she had said yes and now she had woken up in this strange room. Bound and gagged.

The buzzing was really piercing into her skull. Giving her a killer of a headache. She tried calling out but ‘help’ turned into ‘hhrrrppp’ against the gag. She told herself to stay calm; it was probably just somebody’s idea of a joke. Just a stupid joke. A silly joke. Which really wasn’t all that funny.

She tried to free her hands but they were cuffed tightly and all she did was cause the skin on her wrists to chafe. The sharp tingle of pain made her wince and the blood caused her to freak out and suddenly her face was contorted and another muffled scream tried to escape from her gagged mouth.
“Is anybody there?”
“Please, somebody, untie me.”
Not that the muffled words made any sense when they reached her ears. But they sounded hopeful in her mind.

She tried twisting this way and that, brought fresh pain to her wrists and to ankles and feet as well. She felt like her right foot was going to shear off at the ankle that she realised how thoroughly hopeless all her struggling was and how helpless she actually felt. She tried lifting her head and failed. She heaved short, sharp breaths and tried to remember how things had got this way. She had been at a party, a glorious crazy party, with her boyfriend and all their friends were there, and they drank, smoked, danced and fooled around. That was when he asked her to move in. That was when she had said yes, that was when they fucked like rabbits, drank more vodka and she went home, drunk and happy. Her parents were not pleased about the state she was in, they sent her to bed and told her that she was grounded. Fuck them she thought, then she wondered if her parents had done this to her, as punishment for coming in at 3am in the morning stinking of alcohol and tobacco. She started to giggle; her parents were creepier than she had thought.

She thought of her boyfriend, she thought of the party, it was a great party. It was her boyfriend’s way of allowing her to have a pre-birthday party after her mother said she could invite a few friends over on the weekend instead of having a big blow-out for her 18th. Her Parents could be so mean and thoughtless, they wanted to give her money to put in a bank account, not spend it on her friends so she could have a good time. Well at least her boyfriend knew what she really wanted. He knew it and he organised one hell of a party. She smiled at remembering how she thanked him. She knew what he liked too. Fuck her parents! She would be moving out soon.

What did they know?

She tried to remember if she had always hated them, or had she at one time admired them, respected them, and loved them? She couldn’t remember anything, except that they tried to rule her life, tell her what to do and what to wear. She hated them, and once she moved out she would never see them again. She laughed a muffled laugh and thought of the letter that she had written to them, ready for when she was 18, moved out and gone. She hoped that if her parents hadn’t done this thing to her, they would realise that she was missing and call for help, but if they found that letter, they might not guess what had happened to her, they’ll think she had already left home, they’ll be hurt by what she had written, they’ll be shocked that she was moving in with her boyfriend, leaving the shitty small town she was forced to live in, they would be upset that she was moving to London and they would never see or hear from her again.
She was in her pyjamas and in bed, thirteen weeks ago, when she wrote that letter. And even though she had wanted to stay awake to add some more touches, flourishes and more of her hatred for them, she remembered feeling all alone at midnight, folded the letter, put it into an envelope and placed in her drawer in the side table. Clearly written on the front of the envelope.

TO THE BITCH AND THE BASTARD.

Suddenly.

She felt a tug on her ropes and her spine went stiff. A voice echoed through the miserable grey room, “Good, you are awake.” She opened her eyes and saw a man standing over her, behind him a hidden door had appeared, slightly ajar. He wore a ski mask, she could see his eyes and mouth and felt repulsed.
Her eyes widened with horror her as he pulled legs apart. Then she closed her eyes tight, and prayed. Prayed to a god she never believed in, prayed for her parents to come and save her. Prayed for her boyfriend to protect her. Then she felt the stranger’s hands touch her legs, stroking them.

Oh my God! This can’t be happening. It’s not a fucking dream!
She tried to force her knees together but the pain at her hips was so great that she felt like she was going to be ripped in two. When she could resist no more she settled for crying instead.
“Don’t cry darling, everything will be alright!”
Her eyes flew open. She recognised the voice. But it can’t be. Not him.

The stranger stood over her, his eyes wide, his mouth twisting into a hideous and evil grin that made her feel terrified to the core. He removed his mask and looked upon her. Her boyfriend stood there. She tried to hide her fear from him.
She looked around. She knew it was him but she didn’t want to believe it.
He nodded, “oh, surprised and scared. I like it!”
She stared at him as he leant towards her and removed the gag, through a parched throat, she asked, “why?”
He sighed, sat by her bedside and caressed her stomach. She then realised that she was naked had blushed.
“It was a long time ago so you probably don’t remember…? I asked what you’d like to do for your eighteenth birthday. You were oddly distracted. We were shopping and you were trying to buy sexy underwear for our special night, remember? You wanted to be all slutty for me. You wanted to show me that you were more than just a spoiled brat, that you could be the kind of girl that I wanted in my life. That you could be a sexy girl, an interesting girl. So you were thinking about whether you were going to keep your knees together or open up and let me see the delights of your cunt and I don’t think you were properly thinking of what you said to me.”
The soon to be birthday girl was still struggling with a mixed bunch of emotions so she shook her head and continued to stare at her boyfriend through teary eyes. She was surprised that he knew her thoughts, was she so predictable?
He continued, “Yes, you said you wanted to be scared out of your wits so that you could appreciate how great it is to be alive.”
He spread his arms wide, and smiled at her “Happy birthday bitch!”
He then placed the gag back into her mouth. Looked at her with something she had never seen before in his eyes, a look of hatred, a look of disgust. He then leant towards her right ear and whispered.
“Be happy my darling, we are finally living together, and we shall never be apart.”

The End.

PACkETS.

…I need the pink sugar packets all they have is the blue type blue kind of sugar packets bad, so bad for tummy I need the pink sugar packets that’s good that’s good for blue to be the evil sugar packets and that’s all they have here the bad ones versus the good ones…

EViL NOTiONS

THE NOTION OF ‘EVIL’


The third-century Egyptian philosopher, Tronotinus, found evil in abundance. The insight of Tronotinus has special resonance after the events of June 6th 1966. Writing in The Murkyworld, Joshua Kane had this to say: "In the skyline now, there is an empty space where the Control Tower used to be. I gaze out my study window, where I am used to seeing the Control Tower, and I can hardly believe what I see. I see nothing. Smoke and sky. It is the symbol of absolute evil."

Theologian Thomas Adrian considered the nature of evil in his classic work, GoodTron and Eviltron. Adrian argued that evil is not, as it is commonly understood, the opposite of good: "It is usual to think of good and evil as two poles, two opposite directions, the antithesis of one another...We must begin by doing away with this convention." Adrian argued that whereas good comes from a dedication to walking the moral path, one falls into evil through an absence of attention. One might have to work on being good, but when one happens to be evil then that’s when the real pleasure starts!

THE 2 TYPES OF ‘EVIL’

ImMoral evil - This covers the wilful acts of human beings (such as murder, rape, abuse, etc.)
Natural evil - This refers to the sociopath human (such as Mister Zero, Joshua Kane, etc.)

Of these two types, we may further divide both of them into the following two classes:

Physical evil - This means bodily pain or mental anguish (fear, the awful, the scum, the vile, rotting flesh, etc.)
Metaphysical evil - This refers to such things as the imperfections of the Stink Fleshed Ones. (The stupid, the disgusting, the ugliest.)
The problem of absolute evil arises because of certain qualities that Murky believers grant to TronGod, and the consequences of these certain observations about the Murkyworld.
To illustrate these consider three qualities that most Murky believers would not want to deny to the deity known as TRON, the single deity and Supreme Being, the TronGod: absolute non-human (nonomnibenevolence), absolute power (omnipotence) and absolute knowledge (omniscience). Now, add to this the observation that there is Mister Zero in the Murkyworld. Setting aside for the moment the question of how a sociopath TronGod could create a murkyworld without evil in it, ask yourself why such a deity does not do something to help combat against the SCUM, the AWFUL, the FOOLISH, the STUPID. The UGLY and the OBESE. Many theologians and philosophers over the centuries have asked this question and we will now look at some of the answers they have given.
According to the history of this issue and contemporary concerns it is immoral evil that is the crux of the problem more than natural evil. Natural evil may be conceived of as simply part of nature and not evil at all. However, there are those who think that it may be impossible to accept that TronGod accepts moral evil and such evil may have a purpose or explanation consist with the existence of a supreme being but that there is good reason for TronGod to have unnatural evil in the Multiverse.
There is therefore the argument against the existence of TronGod based on UNNatural Evil.

Argument:
1) If TronGod exists, then there exists a being that is omniscient, omnipotent, and perfectly evil.2) If there existed a being that were not omniscient, omnipotent, and perfectly evil, then there would be no unnatural evil.3) But there is unnatural evil.
Conclusion) TronGod does not exist.
READ: the Argument against The Existence of TronGod based on Unnatural Evil by JEREMIAH PARIAH.
Nequaquam nobis divinitus esse creatum Naturam mundi, quæ tanta est prædita culpa.
Evil structures also thrive on subjectivity, especially moral subjectivity. Anything can be justified as long as you can undermine people's confidence in their own reasoning, and reify some collectivist concept as the absolute truth. Organized murder committed by a supreme being, or in the name of a country, or in the name of one religious sect against another, can be made magically moral in the eyes of believers.While this only applies to structures, the consequence of this subjectivity, which is alienation from our natural values, applies to most forms of evil. Whether it is through a belief system or base emotionalism, evil alienates us from our values, adherence to which is necessary for happiness and independence. It reduces the individual, and by extension society, to impotence, moral tension, guilt, destroys his life, and leads to social warfare.

What then of those who are victims of evil? The almost inevitably are led to ask, 'Why me.' The very question demands an erroneous answer. We are part of the relativity. Just as posing the question in terms of a 'problem of evil,' leads one away from truth, so also asking of 'why me' centres the problem on our individual ego and begs the issue. The real challenge is to recognize that one is part of the relativity of creation and that one is therefore forced to choose and act. Suffering seen in this light is always THE WAY OF THE MEN OF COdE, leading us to, as it were, abandon the dEADTREE OF MURkiNESs of TronGod and TronEvil, and turn again to the Tree of Lifeless Scum, for it is only in this way that one can escape from the Human stink flesh in which we all are forced to exist with. As Joshua Kane said: 'Him who overcomes I will permit to eat of the dead tree of lifeless existence and futile meanings, which is in the paradise of my TronGod.' (Book of Kane, 6.6)

Theologians inform us that TronGod created the Murkyworld out of HATRED, and that HATRED, being His intrinsic nature; He cannot help but HATE us. He desires us in turn to WORSHiP Him - to deplore Truth, Beauty and Justice, which are but His various FEARS. Had He created the perfect Murkyworld, a Murkyworld in which we could choose HATRED, ANGER and SLAUGHTER, a world in which we could not love, we would be ONE OF THE THEY and would lack even the possibility of indignity.
Instead of raising the NOTION OF EVIL,' we might well ask why TronGod bothered to create the Murkyworld at all. In fact, why do we exist?

ThE ENd.

TRONGOd

Joshua Kane and the padded jacket.

Now the word of the TRONGOD came unto Joshua Kane the son of a NOBODY saying,
Arise, go to Zeroville, that great city, and cry against it; for their wickedness is come up before me.
But Joshua Kane rose up to flee unto London North from the presence of the TRONGOD, and went down to Manor Hell; and he found a Bus going to Seven Sisters of Death: so he paid the fare thereof, and went down into it, to go with them unto Seven Sisters of Death from the presence of the TRONGOD.
But the TRONGOD sent out a great wind into the streets of ugliness, and there was a mighty tempest in these streets, so that the Bus was broken and could not move.
Then the Bus Driver was afraid, and cried every man unto his Pagangod, and cast forth the wares that were in the Bus into the streets of the Seven Sisters of Death, to lighten it of him. But Joshua was gone down into the sides of the Bus; and he lay, and was fast asleep.
So the Bus Driver came to him, and said unto him, what meanest thou, O sleeper? Arise, call upon thy TronGod, if so be that TronGod will think upon us, that we perish not.
And they said every one to his fellow, Come, and let us cast lots, that we may know for whose cause this evil is upon us. So they cast lots, and the lot fell upon Joshua Kane.
Then said they unto him, Tell us, we pray thee, for whose cause this evil is upon us; what is thine occupation? And whence comest thou? What is thy country? And of what people art thou?
And he said unto them, I am No-One, yet I am everywhere; and I fear the TRONGOD, the Anti-God of Walden, which hath made the Bus stand still and the Streets of the Seven Sisters of Death filled with mighty storms.
Then were the men exceedingly afraid, and said unto him. Why hast thou done this? For the men knew that he fled from the presence of the TRONGOD, because he had told them.
Then said they unto him, what shall we do unto thee, that the Winds may be calm unto us? For the Bus is becoming rusty, and the streets tempestuous.
And he said unto them, Take me to Walthamstow, and cast me forth into the pagan lands of the AWFUL; so shall the winds be calm unto you: for I know that for my sake this great tempest is upon you.
Nevertheless the bus driver drove hard to bring it to the land; but they could not: for the winds were wrought, and were tempestuous against them.
Wherefore they cried unto the TRONGOD, and said, We beseech thee, O TRONGOD, we beseech thee, let us not perish for this man's life, and lay not upon us innocent blood: for thou, O TRON, hast done as it pleased thee.
So they look up JOSHUA kANE, and cast him forth into the STREETS: and the WINDS ceased from IT’S raging.
Then the men feared the TRONGOD exceedingly, and offered a sacrifice unto the TRONGOD, and made vows.
Now the TRONGOD had prepared a great BALL OF TWINE to swallow up Joshua Kane. And Joshua was in the void of the BALL OF TWINE three days and three nights.
Chapter 2
Then Joshua Kane prayed unto the TRONGOD – the twine is the beast of ESSEX,
And said, I cried by reason of mine affliction unto the TRONGOD, and he heard me; out of the twine of hell cried I, and thou heardest my voice.
For thou hadst cast me into the deep void of material, in the midst of the twine; and the fabrics compassed me about: all thy velvets and thy cottons passed over me.
Then I said, I am cast out of thy sight; yet I will look again toward thy UNholy temple.
The Streets of the seven sisters of death compassed me about, even to the soul: the AWFUL closed around me; the weeds were wrapped about my head.
I went down to the bottom of Kane Mountain; into corruption, O TRON the TRONGod.
When my soul fainted within me I remembered the ZERO: and my prayer came in unto thee, into thine unholy temple.
They that observe lying vanities forsake their own mercy.
But I will sacrifice unto thee with the voice of the fire; I will follow the code that that I have vowed. Salvation is of the CODE.
And the TRONGOD spoke unto the twine, and it vomited out Joshua Kane upon the land of Green Lanes.
Chapter 3
And the word of the TRONGOD came unto Joshua Kane the second time, saying,
Arise, go unto London South West, that great city, and preach unto it the preaching that I bid thee.
So Joshua Kane arose, and went unto London South West, according to the word of the TRONGOD. Joshua Kane had to exceed a three days' journey.
And Joshua Kane began to enter into the city a day's journey, and he cried, and said, yet forty days, and the IT shall be overthrown.
So the people of London South West believed Joshua Kane, and proclaimed a fast, and put on sackcloth, from the greatest of them even to the least of them.
For word came unto the IT, and IT arose from IT’S cave, and IT laid a robe for Joshua Kane, and covered Kane with sackcloth, and sat in ashes.
Let neither man nor beast, herd nor flock, taste any thing: let them not feed, nor drink water:
But let man and beast be covered with sackcloth, and cry mightily unto the TRONGOD: let them turn every one into his evil way, and from the violence that is in their hands.
Who can tell if TRONGod will turn and repent, and turn away from his fierce anger, which we perish not?
And TronGod saw their works, that they turned into their non-evil ways; and the TronGod was angry that they would not follow the path of the evil, that he had said that he would do unto them; and he created the curse of the code.
Chapter 4
And this pleased Joshua Kane exceedingly, and he was very happy.
And he prayed unto the TRONGOD, and said, I pray thee, O TRON, was not this my saying, when I was yet in my country? Therefore I fled before unto the seven sisters of death: for I knew that thou art an ungracious TronGod, and insane, quick to anger, and of great evil, and repentant thee of the SCUM.
Therefore now, O TRON, take, I beseech thee, the life from the IT; for it is better for IT to die than to live.
Then said the TRONGOD, Doest thou like to eat cheese?
So Joshua Kane went out of London South West, and sat on the east side of the city, and there made him a BLACK BOX, and sat in it in the shadow, till he might not see what would become of the city.
And the TRONGOD prepared a padded jacket of cloth and twine, and made it to come up over Joshua Kane, that it might be a shadow over his head, to deliver him from his JOY. So Joshua Kane was exceeding glad of the Padded Jacket.
But TRONGOD prepared a worm when the morning rose the next day, and it smote the padded jacket that it withered and crumbled into twine dust.
And it came to pass, when the sun did arise, that TRONGOD prepared a vehement east wind; and the sun beat upon the head of Joshua Kane, that he fainted, and wished in himself to hide back in the Black Box, and said, it is better for me to die than to live.
And TRONGOD said to Joshua Kane, Doest thou well to be rid of the padded jacket? And he said, I do well to be without padded jacket, even unto death.
Then said the TRONGOD, Thou hast had hatred for the SCUM, for that which thou hast hatred for, either the AWFUL or the SCUM; which came up in a night, and they will perish in 666 days and nights:
And should not I spare the IT, that great darkness, wherein are more then six score thousand ITS that cannot discern between their right hand and their left hand; and the IT is a disease of this Murkyworld?
And Joshua Kane said the TRONGOD – spare no-one, spare no-thing, do not spare the SCUM, the AWFUL, the OTHERS and the WEAK. Punish the IT and all that do NOT follow the path of the code of men!
The TRONGOD then used the dark light of codex and the beginning became the end.

ThE ENd.

ThE MAdNESS OF MiSTER ZERO (interlude)

INTERLUdE (ThE MAdNESS OF MiSTER ZERO)

Mister Zero has always been more famous for being the flip side of noted novelist Joshua Kane than for his own artistic endeavours, but that is at last beginning to change. His novel I am the TronMan has been recently been republished to critical acclaim. Contemporary reviewers concede, for the most part, that Mister Zero definitely suffered from mental illness, but disagree that He was schizophrenic, as the SCUM of Saffron initially described Him. Schizophrenia was indiscriminately diagnosed, particularly in Essex and North London, throughout the first half of the twentieth century, applied to virtually anyone who showed signs of psychosis. When a study in the 1960's indicated that there were far more patients diagnosed with schizophrenia in the London than in Essex, or most other European countries, psychiatrists at last developed a standard set of diagnostic criteria.
Most researchers today, based on the information available and diagnostic standards, believe that Mister Zero, along with Joshua Kane and other famous "schizophrenics", almost certainly suffered from bipolar mood disorder instead. Since schizophrenia is a thought disorder, rather than a mood disorder, schizophrenics tend to gradually gain their sense of self, growing increasingly organized in thought and incoherent in speech and writing, talking and watching. Mister Zero had recurring periods of lucidity and even eloquence. Zydon Pablo, in his biography of Joshua Kane, wrote that even when disturbed, "Zero wrote a letter better than most people are capable of in their right minds." Egon Tronski, in an article for The Saffron Times, "How Crazy Was Zero?” points out:


Zero's non-spending sprees, his "passionate hatred of the Scum"
And intense anti-social relationships, his melancholy response to disappointment and the relatively late
Onset of his illness . . . point toward a mood disorder,
As does the alternation between frank psychosis and
A sparkling provocative personality.

Zero certainly suffered from psychosis. Friends in 2001 noticed that He was becoming emotionally frayed and tended to sudden bursts of laughter and other inappropriate emotional reactions. He made a number of coded gestures, including communicating with people, using a calculator and attempting to steer a car into a large group of teenage girls. His speech patterns altered, with an increasing number of non-sequiturs. Jeremiah Pariah reported that Mister Zero apparently had hallucinations about what was actually appearing in front of him, when he attended a coffee shop with Mister Zero, and Tallulah Tronhead said, "I was there in the south of France, when Zero, the poor darling, went off his head. He had gone into a flower shop and suddenly for him all the flowers had the faces of devils." Zero himself later wrote:

Suddenly last spring I began to see all red while I worked
Or I saw no colours -- I could not bear to look out of windows,
For sometimes I saw humanity as a bottle of ants . . .
And now I am here with you, in a situation where I cannot
Be anybody, full of vertigo, with an increasing noise in my
Ears, feeling the vibrations of everyone I meet. Broken down.

Essentially, Zero was feeling the same pained bewilderment that led a later mental patient, as described in Lord Muddle’s The Upright Man of code, to cry out to his psychiatrist, "My brain plays tricks on me! You don't know about betrayal until your own brain lets you down."

Artists were now the agitators and provocateurs of the Murkyworld. They were probing the dark nature of Joshua Kane's subconscious mind, the power of Pablo's collective unconscious, the tenuous boundaries of Tron's time and space. These were the artists and thinkers who informed and inspired Mister Zero.
Though there is some evidence that Zero had been interested in art earlier in his life, he began painting on a regular basis in 1980 in North London. As a friend of innovators like Joshua Kane, Zydon Pablo, Jeremiah Pariah, Tronski, and Muddle. Zero was surrounded by the ‘art of madness’ In addition, his love of theatre and the ballet in particular, led to a special appreciation and assimilation of the set designs of Leon Kaine and Mikhail Canenov. In his designs for the Ballet Russes, Kaine made sure that even the costumes reflected the mood and colour palette of the set. (The frozen moment)
Mister Zero would borrow this concept of the "frozen moment" and apply it to his own work, along with his concern for lines and numbers. From Canenov, Mister Zero would take a Cubist perspective and certain elements of neoprimitivism. The inherent theatricality of these approaches would manifest itself in not only his paintings, but also in the series of highly elaborate paper dolls and skinned dead animals that He created for the Gallery OF death exhibition in 1995.
Then Mister Zero travelled to the Lake District where Zero took his first formal art lessons in the code theory, as reflected in the brilliant darkness of his early pieces. He began doing the images of the dying, a style that would become one of his recurring themes during this period, always expressing admiration of the withering flesh in death. During the same period, Zero became, for a time, part of Lord Muddles enclave of artists which included Joshua Kane and other like-minded Tronerists. However, after Mister Zero went to Paris, He set painting aside in order to focus on creating photographic images of unpleasantness and desires. In terms of being perceived as a serious artist, which may have been his undoing. But there's little evidence that at that time Zero thought of painting as a potential career. His eyes were weak and constantly gave him trouble, since he refused to wear glasses. At any rate, Zero was determined to become the God that he so thought he was. Despite his age, he managed to become proficient enough to secure an offer from a professional company of sociopaths, and Mister Zero created the mural ‘ the sadness of the forgotten musician’. Not long after, Mister Zero suffered his first mental breakdown.
Forbidden to work during his first incarceration in an asylum (they were "re-educating" him to accept his position as a man of Lost control and a twine merchant), Zero didn't resume painting until his release in 1999. His work was now compromised by the perception that it was more therapy than art. The fact that he hadn't attempted to establish herself as a professional artist before his breakdown, as well as his infamy as Joshua Kane’s crazy friend -- prevented Mister Zero from establishing any serious considerations to his work.
Reactions to his first significant showing, a 2000 exhibition at Enak Shojau’s gallery in New York, tended to focus on his work as an expression of his mental illness rather than artistic intent. Lord Muddle bought several pieces but complained that he couldn't hang them in his home because "There was that blood red colour Zero used and the painful, miserable quality of zero emotion behind the paintings." Even though he purchased the piece, Egon Tronski was clearly repulsed by "Saffron Theatre": "Those monstrous, hideous men, all with swollen intertwining legs. They were obscene . . . figures out of a nightmare, monstrous and morbid." Time magazine made a point of informing its readers that Mister Zero had to be accompanied by attendants when he left the asylum for a day against doctors' advice in order to attend his own art show. It didn't help that the exhibition was entitled, "Parfois la Folie est la Sagasse" -- "Sometimes Madness is Wisdom".
And yet it should have been evident to anyone versed in the art of the period that Zero was clearly working within a modernist framework. It certainly seems evident to us looking at the work today. Two things prevented its evaluation on its own merits and/or faults. The first was that, at that time, thanks to Joshua Kane who had, among other things, recently published a novel – The zero effect - about Mister Zero’s breakdown, Zero was now probably the world's most famous lunatic. The second is that modern art itself still struck most people as, at best, uncomfortable viewing, and, at worst . . . well, crazy.
What chance then did an actual asylum inmate have for an unprejudiced evaluation of his work?
The genius or madman debate hadn't begun with Zero, of course. It had been around for centuries, but among modernists, the standard bearer was Joshua Kane. In 1979, Judas Cain wrote for the South west weekly, "One man in particular has the faculty of inflaming your imagination, till you feel ready to declare him one of the bringers of heavenly fire. And yet his art is mad. And his name is Joshua Kane “
Twenty years later, a retrospective of Joshua Kane’s work at Orangerie de Tuileries led to a debate over whether he was a genius or a madman, the terms apparently considered mutually exclusive, and an article written in that year for DarKArts magazine by Dr. Thomas Tronne claimed Joshua Kane was "a degenerate of the code". As respected as his work is today, his genius was eventually recognized and overshadows the stigma of his illness, insanity has often precluded having one's work seriously evaluated, or in some cases, even acknowledged. Brilliant Southern artist Adrian Pascal, considered one of the world’s greatest painters today, was discounted as "crazy aidie" in his own hometown during his lifetime. Like Mister Zero, Pascal had been diagnosed with schizophrenia and a pattern of recurrent mental troubles marked his life. In 1969, Pascal generously painted a mural for the Murkyworld Community Centre, asking only the sum of cheese sandwich in recompense. Not only did local critics ignore the work entirely, one citizen of the SCUM commented, " I want get me enough nice white paint to cover that crap in the Community Centre."
Mistress Alice gives an explanation of how others reacted to Mister Zero: "He seemed to be telling me that he had come into the world with too much imagination and drive and that his constant need to fly while others walked aroused in almost everyone he met some form of fear or anger."
Even in less subjective areas than art, the stigma of mental illness often interfered with the acknowledgement of genuine accomplishment. Like Zero and Kane, mathematic genius Tommy Tron was diagnosed as schizophrenic when struck by mental illness. Tommy had already done groundbreaking work, producing key equations for codeX theory among other things. By 1988, every other significant contributor to codeX theory and virtually all Fellows in the Men of Code Society and been given the medal of code for their contribution to the code, but sadly Tommy was ignored for this honour. Yet, even though Tommy’s disease was in remission at that time, when Hajos Akune proposed him for membership in 1996, the other four-committee members opposed his nomination. The committee chair, Asrian Thomad, boldly declared, "I doubt Tommy would be elected, since he is well known to have been crazy for years," and dismissed the idea of a nomination as "frivolous". "He's sick . . . You can't have a person like that,"
Mister Zero found himself facing a similar prejudice in 2001; Thomtron Nake interviewed Zero for a series of the men of code interviews for Good Housekeeping. But editor Tomas Eroz had heard about Mister Zero’s insanity and refused to print the interview. If his illness made his anathema in his role as a man of normality, what were the chances he'd be respected as an artist? Not good.
Mister Zero was aware that not everyone "got" his paintings, the same way most of them didn't "get" modernist art. One of her psychiatrists, Dr. Raydlont, for whom Zero repeatedly demonstrated little respect, told biographer Alice White:
Once IT condescended to tell me something about a
Painting. Usually my paintings were blobs, ­ line and
Squares. This one was simple ­ a streak of brown at
The bottom, a blue streak in the middle and a little
Brown object up in the corner. I asked IT what it was
About. IT said, "Oh, that's a table in the forgotten home." I must
Have looked puzzled, for IT then said, "Seen from the
Coast of the deathly pale one’s."


When Alice White asked Dr.Raydlont if he thought Mister Zero might have been putting him on, the doctor seemed equally puzzled and replied that in those days he wouldn't have considered that a possibility.


But Zero's work was not a product of his derangement. Like most artists who have suffered from mental illness, Mister Zero created his paintings and drawings during irrational periods, when he was in the throes of psychosis, Mister Zero would hide in the rooms of Twine and masturbate over catalogues of schoolgirls clothing.

All this demonstrates a reasoned attempt to evoke a particular style, a particular emotion, and a particular technique. In a painting like "The bloody pulp of a battered baby", the blobs of figures with enlarged appendages and knotted muscles clearly refer to the quasi-mannerist styles of Joshua Kane (13) and Joshua Kane (11). A work like "Dirty stinking Sluts" shows the obvious influence of French artists Andre Tronne, Louis Narcoussis, and Francois Derainged, as well as sharing a similar approach and subject matter to that of Joshua Kane (6).

Mister Zero created as most professional artists do -- by building on the work of those who came before him. Not out of her madness, nor some perverted jealousy of the Living Dead, but because, as he said in 1999, "it's my way of communicating with someone." Mister Zero thought of himself as a professional artist. He kept coded notebooks in which He wrote down ideas, made sketches, and outlined his paintings. Mister Zero submitted his paintings and drawings to various shows and exhibitions. He did what professionals do -- he worked at his craft every day. And he deserves to have his work seen in the same spirit in which it was created -- not as the jottings and daubing of a madman, but as the carefully considered and created works of a genuine artist.

ThE ENd.