WillWybrow.com

I never got a chance to complain about Halloween last time it rolled around when ToolChronicles was running. I just never got a chance to finish writing, and one can’t very well complain once it’s over. So, here we go.

As fun as dressing up as scary or just brightly-coloured fictional beings is, do you really want to be the parent who can’t recognise their child for the multitude of coloured masses swirling around him or her when the town paedophile comes around the corner, also dressed up and indistinguishable from the amorphous child-pool? Well, all those years of teaching them not to go out after dark and not to speak to strangers will help them out of such a situation, right? Especially after you’ve just sent them out in the dark to knock on the doors (yes, that’s to actively go to the houses of strange people) and ask for sweets (which you should always accept from strange people you don’t know, especially if it means going inside their house or car) from people they may or may not be familiar with. Well, congratulations Mr. and Mrs. fuckup, you’ve put your child in danger.

When children come to my house on October the 31st (one of the worst days of the year, even given that you’re allowed to threaten children with a bloody knife and not get locked up), I eat them. I offer them sweets from a big bucket which has a bear-trap inside, and when they reach their little arms inside, SNAP! I drag them into my house and cut their throats, leaving them upside-down in my Butchery Room to drain of blood. On good years, you can make a haul big enough for the whole 52 weeks until it rolls around again. The freezers are packed come November, and it’s like Christmas has come early! Other years when the fish aren’t biting, you have to actually go out and hunt them, taking out the rifle and “Child Call” whistle, which, when you blow into it, plays a soothing myriad sound of children laughing, and it calls other children to you. When they’re looking about, left and right, for the sound of their comrades having fun, that’s when you strike.

DIPLOMACY

Last week the members of Flat 9 had a “run-in” with some of the members of Flat 11, who were a bit put out that our more vocal residents had been disturbing them in the night.

It was a fair request that we tone it down in the early hours, and if you know certain Flat 9 members like I do, you’ll know that no request is too fair to be argued with. But with a little well-placed diplomacy, I think that potential unpleasantness was averted quite successfully.

Remember kids, a diplomatic person is a long-lived person.

I wasn’t going to write one. But I had high expectations. And I expected Saw IV to fall below my expectations. But not only did it exceed them, it shattered all of them. The flat had a Saw marathon a few nights ago in preparation.

It was another blinder from those clever folks at Twisted Pictures. How did the bed-bound, near-death cancer patient and his little assistant get everything done to the standard of young Jigsaw? Ever wondered? Well, they obviously had help.

If you’ve seen III and not IV, you already have seen the dark and heartless third component to the Jigsaw team, you just don’t know who he is yet. And if you’ve seen any of them you’ll know that there’s going to be a massive twist come the end of the film.

It follows so much of John’s early life. Once again, it doesn’t portray him as the ‘bad guy,’ and while most people are going to still be stuck in the mindset that he is the villain of the series, I will stand by my argument that he is the hero. A tragic hero, it must be said, since the loss of his life at the end of III was a tragedy.

What more can be said of the Saw films? We get to see more clever traps and inventive engineering. We get to understand Jigsaw’s feelings towards his subjects. We walk alongside Officer Rigg as he steps through his own trial, tested by Jigsaw to help him overcome his obsession with saving lives and to understand that some people cannot be saved, or must be saved by others. Or themselves. We follow him through his challenges as he hopes to locate the still-missing Eric Matthews, whom he believes is still alive despite a six month absence.

Meanwhile, said Detective Matthews and another homicide agent, Hoffman, have been captured by a new face to the films. Is his story the same as Amanda Young’s? Was he recruited by Jigsaw after successfully escaping his test, which we see at the beginning?

Also still we see two federal agents, galvanised by the horrific murder of Detective Kerry, dip into the Jigsaw world. They are confronted with the wake of Rigg’s passing, his trials and the trials of yet more victims.

And, perhaps most importantly, we see Jigsaw’s story. His history, his life and his rebirth as a saviour. We are shown his relationship with his ex-wife Jill, his acquisition of a workshop and his first test and test subject. Thrown in along the way are characters from Saw II - some of the subjects from the house have historical contact with Jigsaw.

Finally, when we think all the ends are tied off, there comes a wave of realisation. It isn’t over. Rigg’s test comes to its conclusion and with it is revealed the last piece of the Jigsaw puzzle. The story ends with one man, a man staring at the dead body but hearing still the voice of Jigsaw, the last man untouched. But Jigsaw’s promise is still to be reckoned with, for even from beyond the grave he has the power to test those who do not cherish their lives. Jigsaw’s assistant thought he was off the hook, but I have a feeling* the game has only just begun…

*Read: Saw V… there’s got to be.

Well, my shower curtain has “bathroomy” words and pictures on it.

• Shower
• Wash
• Toothpaste
• Steam
• Sink
• Soap
• Shave
• Toothbrush
• Shampoo

What, did you need any more of a premise than that? I was thinking in the shower, damn it, and I’ve decided. Maybe you’ll see more rooms summarised with a single letter in the future. But don’t hold your breath. Or do. Pass out, see what it’s like.

You fucked up, Tom. You made me write out a damn counter to your damn comment and now it’s turned into a full-fledged post. Fucksake!

how do you know we all perceive orange to be the same at all - we could all perceive it slightly differently, just what I call something which I perceive in the same way you perceive dark blue is what you call orange

Firstly, minor, but I was referring to an orange.

Secondly, the point was that we all may perceive it differently, but the very fact we can all recognise it and match it to its generally agreed label (or even if we can’t, we can still distinguish an orange from not-an-orange).

And which potent intellects have “worked on it”? Precisely what developments have been made since we established the “possibility” that we don’t exist and the divergent paths of “we must exist to question our existence” (i.e. I think therefore I am) versus the other, unintuitive branch of “thinking”? As far as I’m concerned, philosophers who waste their minds by sitting around pondering this could have spent their time doing better things, like trying to figure out something which will benefit people.

Here’s a little scenario for you to imagine. Option a: philosophers manage to convince people (and here I shall not use the word ‘prove,’ since such a thing isn’t possible) of what is generally accepted anyway, that they and all those things around them which their intuition and senses tell them exist, actually exist. What an impact you lazy jobless fuckers will have had. Option b: it turns out that none of us are really here. People might stop believing in obvious things, there will be mass insanity and criminality, or people will just get the fuck on with it and not care. If there’s one thing that Christianity can teach us, it’s that plenty of people are willing to build their lives around concepts which don’t exist, so it won’t really be a problem.

I make the claim that “do we really exist?” is a fuckdumb question because it wastes the mental resources of all of these alleged “potent intellects.” It’s a waste of resources of a Windows Vista-esque magnitude.

So there I was, expecting a nice, hardcore hour of learning command-line UNIX commands which ordinary mortals run in fear from. Instead, Mr. I-Don’t-Know-Shit enters the lecture hall and bores us all for twenty minutes talking about his super-special Microsoft Office help course. Thanks a bunch. We’re not going to pay upwards of £75 to take some shitty Microsoft Office test which proves fuck all about your ability to operate a computer. Microsoft Office has a built in search box which tells you morons exactly how to do whatever mindless task you have to do in such patronising detail that it’s actually impossible to not be able to use it.

What’s even worse is that Mr. Dickless had the almost unimaginable gall to explain to a room full of 90 Computer Science students that employers value this kind of qualification.

I’m sure that Mr. Middle Manager and his associates will be very impressed when the nineteen-year-old 6th form graduate applies for his £19k office desk job. But for real jobs where you need half a brain to actually do your work, this is an insult to employers. Come on, a huge national company whose employees design multi-million pound computer systems for even bigger companies are not going to be impressed by “Oh, I’ve got a European Computer Driving License which means I’m even more productive with Microsoft Word.”

Honestly, do they have no respect for us?

I’m going to say it plain, there are certain things you can add to an entire branch of foods (the two branches being ’sweet’ and ’savoury’ (and all you whining “but bread can be both” bitches can just fuck off before you start)) which instantly and unfailingly improve the flavour.

Cheese

It’s a sad day for humankind when the addition of cheese to a meal reduces its taste appeal. Cheese is a vital part of many different meals… coincidence? Of course not. Cheese and anything is always good, even cheese and cheese (hence a cheeseboard). How many other things can you say have snack comprised of two different kinds of the same thing?

Oxo Cubes

This, I think, pretty much speaks for itself. I was stuck for what to have with my pasta on Monday (since I ran out of food), so I put some Oxo in it. It was fucking tasty, and I will do it again.

Garlic

The only kinds of people who don’t like garlic are paedophiles and drug abusers (and vampires*). It improves every kind of savoury food with one simple application.

MSG

There’s no perfect companion to a well-rounded savoury snack than a mouth-sized dose of that fabricated salty chemical monosodium glutamate, or E621. What could possibly beat a blast of that umami goodness smeared all inside your mouth?

Sugar

Sweet things are a little more complicated to get right, that’s why there is only one of these in my list. That’s because you get different kinds of sweet (think of the differences between cream-sweet (like chocolate) and fruit-sweet, inside which you get sharp fruit (like orange) and soft fruit (like banana), where only some will mix well with cream-sweet things (which is why you get banana milkshake and not lemon milkshake)), so it’s harder to find a universal improvement. But here is one: good old-fashioned glucose. Why have something sweet when you could have something even sweeter? Exactly, there’s no reason.

* Thanks, Becky.

I emerged from my seminar this evening and stepped out into the chill, autumn sunset, and I had this feeling.

When we’re young, we don’t appreciate at the time the things we experience that will embed themselves in our memories as reminders of the time when the world was, along with us, innocent, and freedom was our domain. Somehow, the crisp autumn air of an evening has done that to me, and it was with the sweet scents of the night I turned my face skywards and drank in the glowing orange clouds and the softly graded sky, fading gently into the deep blue of night.

Always they used to come with that silent but prominent pang, the knowledge that we will never ever truly be free again. Sometimes, that pang is tinged with regret, when we are having a tough time of things, or if we wish that just for one day, we could dive into those memories and take them back, relive them one more time to fully appreciate the glorious moment of being alive. But today, it was different.

Today, it was easy to look back. Some things have passed and will never ever be again. They are experiences we can not repeat. But that does not mean we have to look back with lament. Today I looked back with satisfaction. Being here, alongside so many others and yet so independent, I can see the previous chapters of my life, closed and stored away for good, and I can see the freshly turned pages, almost blank but for a few notable lines inked in at the top. It’s time to take up the pen once more, and start on what is going to be the most important story yet…

It really makes me angry that “scientists” and “psychologists” think they can categorise and define love. It’s as if they want to turn the word from a description of a feeling to a sequence of chemical changes in the brain. It’s like they want to devalue everything we feel.

Firstly, they can look at all the “effects” of falling in love, chemical changes in the brain and other physical effects, but how come they haven’t created some sort of general rule or guide that predicts how, when and who? Because it’s a metaphysical concept that has nothing to do with any “science,” it’s just there and uncontrollable. Why can’t these people face it that there are just going to be some things which are impossible to understand?

Secondly, they cleverly use certain things as buffers to stop you stomping on their faces when you shatter their “theories” with counter-evidence. These buffer words include various noncommital phrases like “most people,” “usually the case that,” and “it’s widely considered.” Well, there’s nothing concrete there, so why don’t you fucking keep it to yourselves?

There are even people who dismiss it altogether. They say that love doesn’t exist. Now, if it were a depressive cynic who believed the worst all the time, it’s understandable, but come on - if you’re going to make a claim which is that blatently false and back it up with absolutely no hard evidence, do us all a favour and put your head in a blender first. Don’t worry about the mess, someone else will deal with it.

How about we try something new next year? If, by the end of the year we don’t have all the answers to every question, we should kill all researchers and philosophers (especially the latter) and just ask me. I’ve got an e-mail address, just drop me a line and say, “Hey, Chronicler, what’s the meaning of life,” or “why do we get cancer?” or “how can we stop global climate change?” In fact, whatever you want. Let’s just play the “Chronicler Knows Everything” game, just for one year. Go on, do it. I guarantee it will make everyone’s life easier.

This week’s word is:

SUPPRESSION

The reason I’ve picked this word is quite simply that some people might have a problem with the speed at which certain truths are confirmed and connections established.

What I mean here is to ask this question: why, if two people feel a certain way about one another, should those two people have to suppress their feelings if they haven’t known each other for very long?

The answer, of course, is that there is no real reason for the two people in question to wait. Just tradition, or custom, or habit. Just because other people need to wait and see if their instincts prove sound, that may not hold true for everyone. Some people trust their initial feelings because they can trust themselves. Of course, this won’t make any real difference to the people who are already set in their media-driven mindset, but maybe there’s no hope for any of them, and it’s best to let them be. For others, I will be reinforcing an ideal you already hold - if you are wise enough for your feelings to be accurate, you’re encouraged to defeat this evil. For the third kind of person, those who don’t know what to think, hopefully you’ll have a new angle with this, and when you see one of these people who did act on instinct and is happy with his or her decision, you’ll remember who told you it can work.