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Taking on big business demands a crucial understanding on how simple big
business is and then the lifestyle scams that keep us entertained. Start
with your bank and telecoms as if you would need to secure it yourself.

I’m sure a community credit union is sufficient for operations. Big financial deals are
probably done in person to ensure freedom from monitoring filtering or interference with a cryptographic currency such as bitcoin for digital transactions in and across

The wall street journal is almost certainly a bank in itself as their information network is vast and to have that much scope on the industry must mean they regularly make and monitor transactions that would be meaningless to publish as most probably is the Financial Times.

Investment in a business is not about stock and shares just offer them a cash investment and ask for a return. Interest rates are a real solution to debt, they punish deters and reward savers, it’s that simple. Foreign currency is usually a topic of amusement in Politics given that British Citizens never buy British, the exchange between banks is individual and decided broadly, sometimes. All that currency needs a relevant return business model per a jurisdiction we do business with.

I believe bitcoin, a cryptographic currency is an internal banking system used to ensure uniqueness of all assets in a bank and part of the inclusive banking system, slower systems may yield clues for lack of adoption. If investing in a company start at £1 million at least that wouldn’t be much anywhere in England for a sustainable business. Share’s are the penny theatre and nothing gets done, you got your ticket no one is listening.

It is hard to start a business in the modern day and you should be supporting the Conservative Party. They are offering us all a way into rational politics. When you look at national debt what does it look like except currency transactions with foreign jurisdictions not seeing a return investment. It’s not about taxing Apple or Amazon it’s about offering an alternative.

The Conservative Party seem depressed and dejected that we aren’t taking this fight globally and promoting the best of British. They are probably proud of the green movement it’s foundations are a modern equivalent to their own struggle to keeping the peace and making the land work for everyone.

It’s not that easy to make money in business. Consider them farmers, it is one of the most lucrative markets in the world but getting into every supermarket and jurisdiction is a challenge that is almost impossible to fathom let alone maintain. The opportunities at every logistics hub to sieve the profits makes Africa poorer than you think. Western union is important to the community and they parity check friends and family with transactions back home.

Banks have to regularly make transactions at multiple businesses to ensure freedom from skimming and crucially something more insidious which is the closure of banking infrastructure from other banks using set theory to close down rivals and their ability to check transactions especially across jurisdictions. What do I mean?

If a bank has customers that are not being skimmed and they shop locally and on the Internet. Companies such as Visa and Link ensure industry standard Unique Identification. The fact those companies exist is due to a long fight to seize infrastructure, it’s not just an adoption of a standard payment point.

Banks need ways to constantly set the exchange rate between banks and opportunities for banks can be opened with something as simple as a penny purchase by a customer. Especially if they are able to submit receipts or at least archive them. Scanning of receipts is important and should be done not just for expenses. It’s just prudence.

Banks rise and fall based on their customers spending patterns and inter bank transactions. For any bank to adhere to pound to pound transaction standards would rob them of an ability to edge out a rival. Just like foreign exchange rates, consider it a snub at a one world currency.

The bank you choose needs you to shop everywhere especially at small amounts, big transactions are ripe for sniping. A bank can become bankrupt just because people spend money at another bank which is almost every transaction. This can mean buying a chocolate bar at a “foreign” petrol station, maybe Birmingham is foreign enough for you to understand that this happens internally within a nation and currency and not just across borders.

Some people may get giddy when making big purchases both in favour of their bank and against it just because of the exchange rate, that purchaser panic should be a sign your bank is not faring well. Accounts always match in the end but banks can change the rate of exchange at any time. You might even see your circumstances improve if you bank with a bank used by local businesses. This is probably why the transactions take a few days to clear as banks are trying to ensure favourable rates for doing business with other banks.

If you are worried about the rich the best figures from Microsoft seem to indicate nothing out of the ordinary with an absolute top level wealth globally of about 50 million for an individual. As for billionaires, I think they are bankers just living the dream for a few moments especially if their body is being held in collateral for Biometric access to the servers. It must be a wild ride given all of those transactions. Given this article we might be able to understand the difficulties in doing business in the modern age and holding on to our money.

If you think banking bonuses are too big then think of the kinds of profits that can be made bank to bank and the mathematical muscle needed to secure a transaction.

Public facing open comms, how did we wait this long?

Turning over a new page was a call to obey, I didn’t with consideration wish it away.

How many ever lurk at the end’s of the earth and wonder who managed to press send while digging the dirt?

What’s the delay on a particle meant to keep life in hope ordered today? We might wait it out with a long and quiet stay.

Turn the page and rinse a few more, I thought the patterns were concrete and there was no store.

Send it on for the chance to be lead and try another tact with the breaking of bread. Balance keeps us fed.

So many posibilities to try to be and shelter under the waves of the diamond sea. Was that just an everyday and me.

These things drift and ebb along, the path’s ferry lead the notions of a backwater wrong what were we meant to do break out in song?

How did we ever turn out this way? What was the message written and chance to stay away? What kind of help do we ever let rot and get got or are we forever left in regret to wish it hid not?

Someone knows it’s falibility in mock clothes and the weavers not impressed by the chance to suppose.

Some people orgasm and go on with their day but who ever try to sit in and stay locked in a tent the wrong way wondering why my new friend would wish us away?

I suppose thoughts in mind have been signalled as unkind, ones that would want to wash away the man in mankind. Learn to lead those left behind.

How did it ever come to pass that these people should take on knowledge and fast. Trying to ripple on the gilded glide I heard you had the same dent in pride.

Didn’t we both have a concern the same way we hoped to finally learn. I would say these things are segments of divided time because shelter is a state of a clarified mind.

Did you want to soak up the song and signal another fight fraught with temper and the resentment lingering long? I offend but I know I’m wrong.

Has your acting been pressured by something that isn’t supposed to be beautiful, summer washed and forever and eternally long.

Perhaps another language and tounge in this language they weave and run, some patterns can be shouted and eventually sung.

I wish I could offer you the chance to hear the beat of a real drummer and drum. We lose the meaning of intertwined poinency and drift onwards in methodical mediocrity just to come.

When in reality I would like to just sit and remenice about savouring the dawn rise and a new kiss.

I want to be this way and will make it a goal to stand firm and not in sorrow when tired and old learn.

We may not be alone but how do we ever hold on when sold. Courtship at home when some people move through the stars and are shown ours nothing but the chance to be from afar and cover blown in unmarked car.

I don’t want to force anything that can’t be, I hope you would offer exactly the same to me.

Dreamer in a wake floating on the page as I take I should have hoped for silence and not a new dawn break and day.

Did we divide up the responsibility? It could well be mine. How are your people and your three to define?

So you lurk and I just wonder how I lost hope for the sanctuary of something concrete and celebration of a perk. I’m really not but words drip and jerk.

These aren’t the droids you are looking for I thought you might try again do you know when a new traveller makes a new friend?

All you scope and scour are we rid of the lead in and on rope. Do we see the passing of a new self proclaimed pope?

I hope I didn’t overstep the mark trying to take a problem to task. Some things just aren’t meant to last.

How can I ever comfort you when I’m kept at arms leangth too, flight data and a see through.

Perhaps divine, an afterlife required for the next year for your kind? I would hope for something sublime.

What about those that are just that way inclined? Bending light around shape and shimmering storms figures passing through doors. I look and then I look for more.

Are they always an aid? Ancestors of the day. Purgatory, perhaps paid to watch and stay away.

There was one who thought it true, life coming back as new. In my mind people think back too.

How do we honour tradition and offer certainty to the weavers cloth? How do we know when we know only the patterns in threads knot?

Comfort, or concern raised by wolves might be a slow burn. Learning to be that witch isn’t all that hard and can be, quite a turn in silks and two tone symmetry.

How do we adapt to the signs and ages of time why are some traditions buried in turned page and rhyme. I would have to offer something to a reader who knew the true meaning time a period painted blue and everything cycling in rewind.

Did you ever hope to be rid of me? I would say the same perhaps with glee. We can just focus on our own time and all that time can ever be.

I wouldn’t want to impose or to offer any new drip on clothes, problems come from focusing only on sanctuary and to suppose.

I would gladly just be me amongst my peers not the chess game that counts away the three. But some losses were lost in tears that won’t meant to be.

We have technology but it’s task isn’t to impose. To be we built everything we could see and suppose. Still holding value in the bend and branch of tree hanging only clothes.

New is a hard lesson for all I would hope to rush home and hide to stall, my long dark and tall. I sleep amongst the trinkets of a life that should fit the patterns of all and kitchen chop of knife.

Silver sun, rising above rung and turning the tide to ebb on one. I shouldn’t it should be free to run.

I didn’t want to leave you worried as I am. Alone may be the best course to keep speaking to people accross the sea. To be not my own might could be too much unless we can step aside to fight. Take it as company and passing pride and offer me the chance to die.

The truth of the reality of human symmetry is the only real reason to be is we. Try to complete the picture and see, raise our own, showing kindness to those that get chewed to the bone. I would want something positive not patterns shown.

How does the potent experience of subjectivity ever learn to sit in such patterns of symmetry? Just a companion and family friend, raising the roof once again.

We can’t be entirely on our own so we try to make sure there is a place to be. How do we dial or take on a new friend’s company in style keeping us repeating again in sympathy and life long trial.

Tired tricks and flips on the rock the real reason is to not, seek shelter with a tangible friend and try to write again, in passing we can learn to always be friends.


Why wait for the pain to come again, debtors prison and the chime of another lost to blame.

You weren’t looking after your needs and ours why do we pay you to sit and sour.

Three times a day the bell tolls and I grow plump and look old.

Ignorance was bliss and while I didn’t understand a first kiss I had some company that would be dearly missed.

Science lays the foundations for absence of pain but my hurt is the absence of shame.

I was in joy and candor and wondering daily how the bread breaks on the infants toungue there has to always be something in the bright light of sun.

Water, water known, no one knows that purification is a stable point in life’s shows. I cast it away to chase every day that feeling that seeps so beautifuly away.

Temperance and motivation are the same you break the bread into two and shoulder the blame the hurt is always and the release is a joy achievemnent isn’t the celebration of the terminally coy.

When we sink into our path we have to remember to push against the cart because comfort isn’t lifes only laugh.

As we sink in to the patterns of relief and challenges of such struggles sheath within our own push is our own win.

Context and emotion define the stop and opting out is a tired and blood soaked knot of time. I would offer you some companion on the paths of fear but in reality they have their own joy and cherished pain to cheer.

When you try to underpin the world with your toil and grime what are you supporting and which crime was mine.

Some would say the bigger evil is the unknown and I would offer the same question to those who rule the knots and push the wind blown.

Undercover and rapturous greed is it in personal growth or natures steed.

How many can we ever hope to sink in the waters of such chaos and still hope to rise above the storm. Knowing my known and the hope for the same in all people who walk without blame, our ignorance is our shame when born.

Wreastling with the self to put away inner wealth is a common struggle and not a matter just for hidden stealth.

How many of us really ever know the tone of true beauty and the answer of weavers patterns shown.

It can feel an aweful lot like work and not just to hold together a riddle it’s the parts of a puzzle that shrink and dribble, find us a new home amongst the quiet and sizzle.

Abandon and niahalism isn’t the same I wouldn’t take away alchohol for blame some people need to know they are on a rich path but it’s one that has a price and not an obligation or task.

The doctor knows the hurt and the shame of those who end up meeting chaos again but what scars are real enough to know and which are there to cope with every life’s blow.

I hadn’t hopped to offer a maintance of joy but the reality is in the new coy. I won’t and neither with my boy.

Turning on ourselves to hunt for an offer of hope is silver and knotted in wheat sheaf and braided rope.

But as we turn to face yet another day we have to be sure we know our trouble and pay. So many lost themselves to luxury and indulgence in excess others chase it like a click of heel and dress from night to quiet dawn of day.

In reality it’s a known quantity in the dynamics of pleasure and shame I need something to find pleasurable patterns in my brain.

I had cemented the glee what do I chase what do I see.

The real demon in our midst isn’t the mary or jane or flick of wrist the same, it’s in the scars we can’t kiss and swallow us in shame.

So we take the path to escape the toil and task as others hurt to see us feast in truth at last we have to find our ground and grind and learn to temper what we find.

They turned their backs on the seed bearing plant and offered us the evil of a sweet and cherished laugh, people throughout the years have found comfort in company and amongst their fears when they can shake of and peel back the years.

Jump starting the process with a new find, trying to redefine time is a sordid task of stop and start on the farm because the hope is to never need such things but fast and mine.

When we loose our track and become under attack for the small pleasures and the offer of crack, we have to ask what evil are we trying to cast away, the bounty of the hurt we try to wash away.

Suffering comes in it’s own signs and suns, can we ever deny the crop of our past when young those who tempered sorrow with tears when begun.

There is no absolute or rise that keeps us in crib, sheet and cries, but the pleasures have a similar balance and shame how are we suffering and what do we know of others the same.

Keeping your head down and rising above life’s fears should be a struggle amongst the pattern of peers but up up and up the same denies the beauty in the drift away, into natures love and the chance to finally say.

By the hope of some passing offering and dove and break from above.

Knowing pain is to know the opposite and the same and to be happy with the tasks that tire mind body and confusion of brain.

There is a cherished wish by those that know natures bounty and wish each of these offerings comes with a kiss and thus the mistress we choose is known and we are known to use as it offers us yesterdays news.

I can’t begin to burn through the blame we have to know our potential and the same.

Awareness of the still night air can come in the caress of long lock of hair and mothers longing stare, wait, there are people under the stairs.

Someone once said, are you getting in or out of bed? It’s important to ask as there seems to trouble in your patterns and words spoken when said. Who was it and was it always meant to last? He never went beyond the normality of shame and an occational lets play your stange and beautiful game. What was never supposed to be, clinging to gifts stuffed under flag waving christmas tree.

How soon is now, were we meant to move on to another venue and pain, dialougue dries up with the ink of an unwritten name.

Ordering lists and wringing out the wrists I should let them decide but it denies there was ever a real and meaningful kiss. Some people solve the solutions in their minds eye, but knowing is part of the pathway to lets try.

When I left the only task forth on the list the emptiness of never being able to think or hope to wish. The trials of the day didn’t ever compute or link the logic as astutly as the signaling of a full and forgotten kitchen sink, try again and hope to admire, enough to at least sit still and not cower.

My waste was left to flout the concerns of real sentiments and doubted burns. Were you ever really here or just trying to see straight through obaque and sheer. The black scolded on to the frame, what were you hoping for a new paragdigm to a tired and played out game.

Expectantly, hold up, hold on. You had this on wrong. The truth is constantly repeating in the reply of every show and song, don’t think, it will take far too long.

As the wasted years wash over the penciled over tears. Promises that could have been clear. Try again and work in the beat and rhythm of wrong just try your hardest to find the right in a life filled in your endless song.

Can we realise that the end of impartiality might mean more you and less trouble with me. Who do you care for or is it just aesthetic transparancy. I need some guidance because I default to implicit symetry. Desperation from the truth in all things, love but why wasn’t silver cast into gold rings.

As the tired patterns of will, won’t and walked away in shame, as I tire I begin to drain. I really would give you everything I could ever own in name. Tinkets that lost their tact when the truth came through in down pour and thunder crack. Please use your head and just accept as fact.

Lingering on every decision that might lead me to salvation and shame walking away from the real truth is my own attempt at blame, robbing the right the their preference and game. They shout, exactly how are you tortured the same?

Love left the leafs to float from felled and falling tree. Air caught the taste of something that really could be. I don’t know how lucky I am, frozen in the empty waste and desert sand. Please just accept and try to be a real man. You once were and they used to kitten pounce and purr. While real men kept themselves open and ready to stand by more than “sure”. You really can’t hear and know your own shame? the songs ring out exactly the same and tired refrain.

Look up and take charge no one can ever hope to ask or lead you on far, when did you last feel the love drift in jouney and shine of another star. There is hope in such reality don’t just sit and wait it out, there might actually be somone who is willing to fight for the chance of doubt.

We know, you don’t, so, try not scream when you shout about being low. Real truth is sold through celebration and the knowledge of the implicit nature of the word no.

Taking the time and planning ahead, was I supposed to be rumbling, tumbling instead.

Throw me around, fine I land in filthy empty bed and the pain can keep me focused on the patterns of real things said.

Take a moment to think, what did I want from the scrub of kitchen sink, something to power through what needs and must and to rise up with someone I should be able to trust.

His games fair enough I see. The struggle with the stall, so many patterns already knocking on the next door.

I had hoped for some sense of security, another grade and dan, but in reality as soon as it came up I backed off and ran.

No please, don’t, I hate the degree bought shirt, another validation for a mind bred on logic and the taste of grit and dirt.

Rising up to climb the same means trying and trying again. But I really don’t aspire to be the rotted out brain.

I would need something completely new a chance to toe into shoe. I’m here now clutching at poetry and not you.

So many adventures to be had and the emotions to rise above the glad. A reward for not ever casting away, that twitch filtering out all I should say.

So many need something to the passing of time, to rise above the couch and not cling to coach to say, I tumble every fucking day.

Bitter old hags look on the young with poison rags you have everything I might have had. But knowing the same denies that we have to check our position and frame. Climbing the ladder at this age isn’t the only drain.

Denial of the rot that took hold, how I bow and leave everything foretold. I wither with a life that doesn’t grow gratiously old.

I had wanted the dance class but probably screamed no, what would the boys say when I turned to swing my hips and show. One walk on the catwalk to please, I cast away everything I would really need.

Pitter patter to sever paper leaf fort, mary and another jane that hoped to hold me again. So when I walk out I have to ring true, I have to be something that completes me in you.

I lost what I had for the sake of an ache and desire that was scripted and bad. Life didn’t surface in even the most promising of fad.

So I stand on my shaken ground and turn it around, life left me writing it all to ambient sound.

Code points and symetrical hiarachies, the folder full of want and should have to be, trying to circle the knot making under the sun soaked tree.

I wasn’t unhappy not in the real want, I just knew I should be something more perfect than another locked font.

So they tore it out and left me with the patterns of the sea, here, hi, it’s clerical symetry.

I know I back out of every offer of doubt but I don’t want to flail and shout. Promises of patterns and locks on the turn style door. If you wanted us I could afford and would pour.

I found a home that understands, perhaps another will find me a plan but I’m not just begrudging that tired and withered desert sand.

Fitness program, fighting form, celebrate as we circle the storm. I need it all true and don’t want more blue, I want something that I can sustain and renew.

Coloured pettles fall, I might be able to stall. Mincing my mend and offering a pattern to times bend, stretching was a real dancers friend.

So I know you keep it in check but one pattern doesn’t have regret, a rhythm that I can hope to sustain and set.

Celebration was a tired and strange walk, patience and a chalk drawn hawk. I’m not looking but looking is to lurk.

Crowds at the patterned frame as decibels ring out once again I would like to offer everyone better and the same.

Upside down my brain really turns to furrowed frown I could hardly ever sit when moving on solid ground.

So spot the twitch knot and take another hit I have to temper the time to sit. Sequencer short and the hope of a real property bought, friends that can take in nature and iron out the hurt.

I was needed to move, fair enough I can compute but tumbling again offers me nothing I can sustain. Travels to the far flung reaches of a washed out brain, missions started out of exitement not shame.

So we are and can and drive ourselves to desert sand whats our plan to segment the same, by grace of truth in scripted frame. I would hope I could one day do more by logic of logical brain.

In reality I’m just cycling the same old patterns that don’t know the prospect of hope or how to say or show.

Lives I once knew where a possible reality, you.

Feminity comes in so many forms and I lost your’s to the cost of comfort and security but some women also want parity to the toe in toed in boot and shoe.

Not mine but you knew.

I’m a wreak it shouldn’t need to wrestle the check, I turn over only in balance and regret. Lost a new man to stroke and pet.

Lets dance the rhythms again they scowl there too, toe into wrong worn out shoe.

Sequencer frame, refactoring yet more pain. I’m not above the offer of better and blame.

So many know their calling and cause but in reality I want to understand all. Feeling pretty seems to be a matter of more, not just to regress and stall. I want to rise above the stress, to turn carelessnes into real caress.

New haunts and the chance to try something new, fair enough but we need money too. Burger bar, pushing from afar I know I need to try to reach for some silver coloured star.

Something to say I achieved again, when nothing came from comfort of truth in friend. I lost myself to the chasing of non existant pleasure and men.

Instant wealth shouts, what reality do we doubt. I really need to know to travel and take in the sea. Every change in ever changing misery.

I wish on some refrain, but perhaps a guy seems to rule my brain. What do I say and you the same?

Most real progress comes from hard work sustained daily over long periods of time and is experienced for the solidarity and love of what you are doing both for you and everything around you.

Subjectivity is the curse of humanity.

Have you ever had some news arrive that just evoked a waking dream? I have and it was clearly news about new horizons and new opportunities. Traveling often brings about this feeling. We are overwhelmed as we touch down in a new country or take a drive by the dream like haze of something new.

I noticed a unique example of this phenomena in news footage. When George W Bush received the news that the twin towers were struck on 9/11 he sat in that classroom soaking it in. The book he was reading was irrelevant to him but what would his analysis of the experience really be?

Perhaps he thought it a divine sign about family values and the justification to a religious crusade? Tony Blair may have had a similar experience and I wonder about his conversion to Catholicism. Sometimes there is nothing divine about very human experiences representing change.

Progress made can be realized through our own labor and can often offer a similar feeling of satisfaction if we are willing to work for it. Before or after is always a consideration to make when living the dream.

If we ever find ourselves exited by a new service, product, job or activity we have to realize that perhaps the magic was at the beginning of the enterprise and now we have to live our ambitions.

Sometimes I wonder if lottery winners who feel the need to go public aren’t just ignorant to the security concerns involved. Maybe they actually didn’t get that dream. It could be something almost quantum, a process that defines our relationship with time and space.

Solutions to very real problems may not have the same kind of allure due to the lack of subjective momentum and change. Rechargeable batteries aren’t nearly as sexy as when they are tied to phones and computers that offer us real opportunities.

Have we ever considered the unseen influences in our decision making. When gambling do we long for the big win or are we content to invest a small stake regularly? Most people feel the allure of something with volume.

People may assume that something such as fame is a feedback loop that once it gains enough momentum it will operate in the public sphere as long as is sustainable. So what about humanity, what was the push for humans to dominate the earth and it’s resources?

If this domination was a matter of consciousness then I wonder what was the volume of consciousness that offered a sizable allure? Is today’s culture really that important that it would yank such a thing into being? The classics of music and literature? Are we drawn to them in the volume that we should be or are we tired of such things now and looking to new horizons?

For each M-Class planet in the galaxy I can only assume there is some common ground. The key word is solidarity. How did humans begin to put themselves so clearly above other species and loose their symbiotic relationship?

If humanoids are out there in the Galaxy then I have to wonder if they exhibit a similar pattern of biology and consciousness. Stepping across the dividing line separating us from the cycles of nature demands something more than consciousness and the simple use of tools.

Chimps and even birds have been documented using tools to varying degrees of success. My curiosity about the wider universe is a hypothesis that perhaps species and cultures gain momentum on earth because they are bigger than global phenomena.

I have long suspected that intuition is a guiding force in our decision making and often feel exhausted by impenetrable illogical human habits. I don’t think these are hard coded into our biology or represent a process of historic reincarnation although both may be indicators of innate ability or focus.

Species that never managed to gain this sort of momentum may be examples of uniquely earth based species. I suspect mosquitoes may be common across the galaxy, remember to cover up…

After moving in to my new flat and finally getting things in order I realised I needed a TV Licence. I have had a licence before at different addresses and also lived without one while not viewing or recording live broadcasts.

I have some issues with set theory, throughout my life I feel I have had an intuitive connection with the people and spaces I’m pressent in.


I was always an observer and shy to speak but I found myself chameleon like addapting to my peers whenever I was included into a group.

Mulling over the three payment dates available for the TV Licence the obvious choice would have been the last.

To pay it as late as possible and keep that extra money all to myself for the short window of opportunity afforded.

But the choice of the 8th stood out and I payed it with an arbertary carelessness. With my chameleon like responses I payed and switched on my TV.

I had backdated the payments and too my surprise I felt very different viewing habits form. I also noticed different shows and channels on offer. As I wathched it dawned on my that the four different payment dates could be profiled into broad groups of people. As I giggled along the The Good Wife like I hadn’t done for years I wondered about the lure of the number 8. Lucking out I realised I had attached to a largely male viewing population, contrasting to my previous flat.

Being transgender means I’m happy to express my feminitity and this group or set seemed to have made thier pick based on something trivial like the “8th”. I thought about the eights of marijuana I used to buy and wondered if some stoner getting thier first flat would pick such a number based on thier habit. A careless aside and in joke. It seemed to be. I had made no such decision although my subconcious may be that maluable. If HSBC are to be believed it’s was a chinese fortune cookie waiting to be broken open.

Taking the time to switch channels and watch it was alarming at how my viewing habits had changed. I even wondered if there was an automated system of prefferential treatment to early payers of the licence fee.

I suspect it’s subtile and in my receptive state it seemed not a part of madness but influence of all my fellow TV Licence payers.

Gleefully I updated my next payment to the 1st of the month trying to think what kind of person pays it promptly and upfront.

Perhaps those on low wages wanting it paid after thier paycheck clears to hold onto their spending power.

But in reality it’s arbatary. Over a lifetime you may miss out on 22 days with approximatley £15 in your pocket. That could mean the world to someone but as these things ware on are we still so keen to cling onto that small sliver of opportunity.

I had chanced upon a similer phenomenon while viewing YouTube and paying attention to the advertisments.

I had taken a gamble and began to see the rows of four videos as representing different audience types. Those most amused by Bondage or the lack of it, disipline or the lack of it, sadism or the lack of it and masichism or the lack of it. After selecting a video the grid of nine options seemed to repressent sexual prefarences. from left to right top to bottom they seemed to be pitched at, cis women, cis men, parents, gays, bisexuals, lesbians, transgender people, intersex people and queers of various kinds.

Perhaps Google had found a way to best placate your viewing by formalising or randomising the grid. Keeping you watching and hoping for your own peer group.

But as I have found on the internet services there are constantly evolving and mutating. It’s hard to get a stagnent snapshot. Appart from deleting your logging out and deleting your cookies you don’t have much choice but to have your viewing instantly affect your future viewing.

Cookies are used to profile you based on almost every interaction and many sites cross over via advertising contracts and social plug ins.

So for a chameleon I was struck with a rather fundemental question. Who am I? If my peer group affects me in my real world behaviours and abilities and the interent seemed to be a training ground for tight nit peer groups. What was the future for an observer who just wants to know what makes people tick.

My asexuality, the gravity well that I call my sex life denies a lot of the common interactions people must be familier with. Although I failed to socialise with women I did find my transgender identity. I begin to wonder if I ever paid my TV licence on the 1st or the 15th, both my best guess women. The BDSM model seemed to be mirrored with a FMFM (Female, Male, Female, Male) viewer personality type.

At school we are taught to read and to colate evidence for various tasks but out in the real world we are free to do as we please, within certain limitations.

If we failed to profile the choices we make we neglect the power of the human mind. Many people make decisions in the monet on intuition not fact and the set theory that encases us may be making those instinctive desicitions for us.

Do we really need X, Y, and Z? Or is our consumption based on an intuition that we either bind stand over with disipline or wield over others. Perhaps we all choose the 22nd to have that fraction of our net worth in our pokets for a little while longer but next time you make a decision try to think who is really driving your decission making. If we ignore our doctor for the sake of our own and already won cognative games then will we very likely end up the product of our most base instincts.

As a possible Asexual I worried where these would take me. Am I hollow and devoid of respect for human life that I would immerse myself in viceral experiences. Most of these scare me more than they should. Not having sex successfully leaves me vulnerable to the emotional rollercoaster of possible experiences.

The human sexual experience is supposed to be formed foremeost in the mind, the greatest erogenous zone. And perhaps as a still single 34 year old I have just tired of ever trying to explore the kinds of relationships I need.

Taking the time to find a partner shouldn’t be this desensitised but perhaps it is. I may be cursed with the desire to experience life and not direct it.

But as I look back at years of internet observations and TV watching I realise that the world around me always told me how life is and when I couldn’t experience it I was in confusion. Lured into the culture of sex but somehow always outside of it.

As I look at the artifificial and easy to define peer groups on facebook, twitter and any online community I wonder who will be dictating the world to me. When in reality I’m difficult to reach emotionally.

I would be the first to question the ethics committie in any goverment about the brainwashing of our children but in reality they are choices we make every day.

I just don’t think I was empowered enough to express myself as a youth above my peers. We probably all face a time like this in our lives when we have to take responsibility for what we put into our bodies and what we produce. The food metaphore seems adept as apart from drugs is one of my few pleasures. But restrictions and dissipline keep me on the border clinging to an almost health BMI.

I don’t have much to look forward to in a day but a bowl of porridge and a cup of fresh coffee just about does the trick.

Intelectual and creative persuits help me find some sense of wonder in the world and although I should be the bitterest of people to still be an approximation of a virgin at 34 I realise that I have a lot going for me.

While I may not have the disipline I certainly have the curiosity about the paramaters that define our world. If I’m willing to share them you may discover something interesting about yourself.

When you next sit there idly changing the channel think of me. Trying to find my peer group but failing at the first social hurdle. The dynamics of a relationship might look clear on paper but untill you have been in one with the crushing emptiness and disapointment and only the thinly veiled exitment of finally fitting into society you won’t know what it is to dream.

The music I listen to blurs into genre and pattern symetry and the words pass me by. I can focus and pluck out a few lines about some forgotten lover but in truth I really don’t know.

The patterns of human behaviour that I see around me BDSM/FMFM, LGBTIQA are all blur.

I’m smart in some form but not one that is tangible besides didn’t I have to learn almost blind to human emotion?

Don’t get me wrong I have feelings. Glitches that overwhelm me about once a year. I still long for the chance to cry.

But I’m not bitter, how could I be. I’m just trying to make sense of an assumed symetry. I’m proud to be a Feminist and wear whatever I want but peer groups have rules. With my facination in art and computer science I appreciate freedom and rules and the rules within freedom. Jung said “In all chaos there is a cosmos, in all order a secret disorder” and I would have to agree. Through the noise of the city and all our social haunts I’m never sure of my place. I don’t want to stand alone but also I fear lossing touch with my fundemental sense of self.

The self that knows the moral maze and wreasles with the challange of knowing without always feeling.

So I find myself open and free and the only real structure and decision that dictate my life come through me. Am I tired of hacking away on donated laptops at my local Hackspace will I make a new push publish my poetry or work it all into a film. If my focus can allow all these projects may still flourish.

But if you ever loose your guiding light think for a while about those that have none, we manage to do OK. I’m not bringing into this world more mouths to feed that the planet can’t sustain and just the chance to understand is enough.

I may make it out of my gravity well, perhaps the set theory was all wrong. Who pay’sfor thier TV Licence on the 1st?

Who could have ever understood what sex was when it is a subjective experience and I was refusing to accept the evidence piling up at my door. I was unaware of self. My life has been on hold for almost thirty years and these three concepts define my life and are beyond my control. I wasted most of my life looking  almost everywhere for answers rather than facing up to the truth.

What was I supposed to be told by another what was I supposed to say to myself to comfort me when the culture around me was soaked in the culture of sex and the objectification and repression of women.

Where ever I went I was bombarded by the mundane truth of everyone’s experience of gender and sexuality. How could I redefine it when I wasn’t prepared to accept the context of my experience.

When I did realize my gender identity and the potential of my sexuality I still assumed that there was something wrong with me. I wasn’t able to function at the same pace as every one else or in the same forms. I was excluded from almost every cultural and social experience because my experience differed so greatly from everyone else.

Why I experience life like this is a mystery. Some people might think I have been unwilling to engage in the activities associated with gender based or sexual activities. Perhaps my medications are interfering with my biological functioning. Whatever happens it is a deeply depressing problem to have to face. I would never choose to isolate myself from culture and society like this and I would never wish it upon anyone else. This doesn’t mean I’m embarrassed by this or ashamed. I don’t think this means I should be excluded from the general discourse in society nor vilified.

How could I ever be comfortable shopping for clothes and expressing myself when I didn’t feel comfortable being a woman. The judgments made about regular girls were like a iron fortress preventing me from experimenting or expressing my gender identity. The pressures from almost every aspect of society to have some kind of formal sexual identity including chastity which is sadly not the same thing are a pressure on the lifeblood of human experience. I looked almost everywhere for a form of gender and sexual expression that sadly never bore fruit. I’m deeply ashamed of my compulsive obsession with pornography and am amazed I didn’t realize sooner or begin to look to the darker corners of the internet faster.

I am transgender and an asexual bisexual. If you want to make up your own mind about such a statement without doing research or by just asking me directly then you are so doomed to defining my subjective experience by your own. We are not all the same nor made the same. This process has destroyed my ability to be a part of society because people still hold me up to their own standards. I do sometimes get aroused but it is such an isolated experience that it can’t itself be a guide to my social interactions. I may yet have some fulfilling sexual experiences and more importantly experiences that help to celebrate what it means to be transgender asexual and bisexual.

For most of my life I have been hoping for some sense of solidarity and the ability to celebrate my achievements and to to help define my direction and goals. My life experience has driven away almost everyone I hold dear and the more they hear to more distant they become. They are still under the illusion that I can be defined by a mental health diagnosis or by my own failure to express myself.

Please try to understand that being this way does not mean I am intrinsically happy with myself. I celebrate all that I am and have achieved but the world around me continues with it’s predominate norms. One day someone will be able to put aside their prejudices to understand how confusing growing up this way can be and can begin to make some sort of allowances for my needs. Simple needs like those of company and intimacy. I know that love is still a real emotion I feel and perhaps one day someone can stop making assumptions about my needs.

Everyone in the LGBTIQA community has at some point been defined as a sexual deviant by someone. We do deviate from the norm but that doesn’t mean our innate experiences are defined as wrong or problematic. The far greater evil is assuming that we have to conform to an experience that does not respect our subject experience of it.