My Comments On Pro-pedophile Activism

I was asked by a friend of mine as to what my comments were on pro-pedophile activism, of whose existence I learnt only when she spoke about it. You see, such a thing does exist. As bizarre as it may seem that the law-abiding population of this planet has let such a group grow into an activistic lot, the pro-pedophiles have an explanation of their own to justify their voices. Just as homosexuals battled religious zealots by asking them to question their preconceived notions about God’s wrath upon Sodom, pro-pedophiles ask us that when men can be attracted to men, and when women can be attracted to women, why can’t men be attracted to little girls, and why can’t women be attracted to little boys? Now, I don’t want to answer that question because I don’t want to dignify it by doing so; and, I will never be able to understand that, when it all comes down to an argument, how these people are going to convince us of their argumentative validity – especially via an answer to the question of the inherent naivety our children possess, and of which how they will always be construed as taking advantage? Sexual orientations and sexual preferences are something like Newtonian mechanics – you can’t apply it to very small things. The questions you ask when you see a man kissing a man will project either agreement with the norm or disagreement. Whatsoever it may be, it will always be based on what the society can come to accept or not. The state, as represented by law, exists only because conflicts must not arise within the same species, because only when one man is at peace, the others will also be. Pro-pedophile activism, IMO, must always be discouraged as a concept so blundering in its roots because the children of today will only constitute the society of tomorrow; they can be relied upon as people being able to opine sensibly and judge fairly only when they become adults. Pedophilia is a one-sided decision-making process: the child is never in the loop, and more often than not, the child will never be able to construe the implications of the act and the consequences which will come to shape its future (read: Stephen King). Such an idea reflects (in an abstract way) the violation of the Right to Free Thinking.

In my even more frank opinion, I think they must be lined up and shot.    

My Totalitarian Society

I am falling in quality. The writer in me is dead. I don’t know when or how he died. He just did. And I miss him. I spend time these days listening to music. My sleep cycle has been distorted. I am losing more and more classes by the week. I thought it would get better, but it is only getting worse. I can no longer wake up in the mornings. It is as though I am beginning to abhor the rays of the sun itself. I spend more time with a smaller and smaller group of people. Unlike before, I don’t want to run around in large groups all the time. I am liking being alone. Especially in my room, with my books and my food. I shouln’t have purchased food. I shouldn’t in the future. I have been listening to the same song for the past 10 minutes. I like the song. I don’t know what half the words mean. I once had a friend. He taught me how to listen to the lyrics of a song along with its music. Since then, even though the music was bad, I would listen to a few songs because I liked their lyrics. But now, again, I’ve lost my interest in the lyrics. Only the music. My old collection of good-music songs is lost. It happened when my laptop broke down. I am now spending useful time these days trying to find new-music. I found one a few days back, the one I am listening to. It is surprising how music can affect your thoughts. It tells you what to think and how. It gives you a cinematic feel. It raises the curtains without so much as a whisper. The actors tumble out onto the stage, with the only promise of a good exit. That too if only they put up a good show. And that they do! I like it when a movie plays in my head. I can be in a big, fancy theatre, with the whole room to myself. Or probably someone else with me. Not a girl, not someone to hold hands with. Only to see what his or her reaction would be to being alone in a big, fancy theatre. With a nice and mushy movie playing. My dreams in the night are like this. Or not my dreams. The few minutes I spend awake just before falling asleep, thinking of something to send me to sleep. I like the big, fancy theatre. Maybe it is my demise. I spend so much time awake in the theatre watching a movie that does not exist, I spend my mornings sleeping. It doesn’t matter how many alarms ring – I switch them all off – or how many people bang on my door – I tell them I am already awake and getting ready – I always sleep till noon. I have no time to write my book these days. It was all going well till my laptop crashed. I lost 200 pages then and there. It is not a good feeling to start anew on the dream of your life. 200 pages is no small thing. Two of my friends helped me get back on track. One of them said shit happens, the other said it was what I deserved. One encouraged, one discouraged. It was a perfect combination. I like having challenges that others can’t solve. I had a  Sanskrit teacher at school who once told me about a devotee of Krishna. The devotee, he said, prayed to the Lord everyday, asking Him for all the challenges one could face in life, and along with it, the mind to tackle them. That is a perfect prayer because it is not selfish. It is deserving of a devotee to be blessed like that. The challenges and the mind to tackle them. I only wish the rest of my classmates had listened to him, the Sanskrit professor, with more interest and sincerety. I listened to him with interest and sincerely so. Those words became my prayer. But, at some point, you lose track of what is a challenge and what is not. Everything becomes a challenge, and your belief in Go becomes fanatical. You become a religious zealot. You think God is touch with always, and he is testing you always. You begin to think you are special, one of a kind, while you are only becoming more and more mad. In the end, which is I think the beginning of this madness itself, you become shunned. Your mind collapses into your body. You become a materialist. Your faith in God is saturated with meaningless prayers. You look for pleasure, for entertainment. When that happens, you negate the existence of God. You call him a scoundrel for screening all these pleasures of life away from you. You ask him why it is your apparent duty to worship Him when he has done nothing for you. He, obviously, will not seem to answer. You will look for newer and newer faiths. Newer realms of pleasure. To err is human, and therein lies the end to this tale. To err. We err. I do. I know you do. I know he does, and I know she does. Everyone does. It is natural to do so. Which is why we have given perfection the title of godliness. It is a surrender. Society, today, is a growing farce. When everyone who is part of it is a fake, how can the society itself be real? Would you call a zoo full of plastic animals a real zoo? Isn’t it a toy zoo? I think it is. The society is fake, a duplicate. It has become a simulation. You can only use it to see Utopia. But the real Utopia can only exist when there are real people in the world. As long as there are no real people, there will only be a fake Utopia. Fake politicians will fight for fake governments. Fake diplomats will argue over fake agreements. Fake soldiers will wage fake wars. Fake teachers will teach fake subjects, and fake students will take down fake notes. Fake people will have sex and give birth to fake babies. Yes, I do ask you not to dispute the innocence of a just born child. but, if a child is destined to be brough up in a fake society, I do not believe in the fake innocence the child will come to bear. Sometimes, people deserve to know the truth. So many movies are made. Good movies. These movies have such strong messages against totalitarianism. But they fail at one point. It is not governments that are totalitarian. It is the society. It is a fake society that knows it is fake. It is a deliberate debauchery. The people know they are not for real. It is not a totalitarian government we should be afraid of. The threat is the totalitarian society.  

The International Screw Up Society

Screwing up is not easy. Many think it is, but it is not. To screw up, it takes a lot of commitment and conviction on the doer’s part. Even though we have Murphy’s law (if anything can go wrong, it will) on our side, the ‘Side of the Screw Ups‘, the chance that that something will go wrong at the precise moment when we’re working on it is miniscule, which makes people like us a rarity. We are a group of forgotten heroes who undermine the efforts of billions of people single-handedly. We can do anything from ruining a peaceful morning in a placid neighbourhood to setting off bloddy wars between two nations that have been at peace for thousands of years. You cannot see us on the roads, wearing a cap that has ‘Screw-upper’ emblazoned on the forehead. You cannot find us in the Yellow Pages. Google cannot track us down online – in fact, if it were for us, Google wouldn’t even exist. Your complaints to anybody, written or otherwise, signed or otherwise, forced or otherwise, can’t aid you in anyway in tracking us down. We are from every country, although it is a common opinion amongst us that we don’t represent our countries. We don’t have uniforms, no communication networks, no code words, no secret gatherings – we did once, but I’ll come to that later. We come. We see. We conquer. In fact, that is our motto. Julius Caesar flicked it from one of our men. I think this piece of information also tells you we date back to thousands of years.

Just as in any other secret society, we don’t know the complete identities of our fellow men – i.e. for reasons more than one. However, unlike in any other secret society, our recruitments into the society are completely voluntary. If you want to join, you join. Our doors are open day in and day out, and there are registration fees, no rituals, no voodoo crap. In fact, you inadvertantly become a member when you screw up. We have no satellites in space, no CCTVs rigged into your household, and members from other secret societies will never ever be sent out to kill you. Even as I write this, I don’t think you, the reader, get the largesse of what I am trying to say; so, let me give you a perspective. We are so secretive, Dan Brown knows nothing of us. Nor does Walt Disney. Nor does Galileo. Nor does Jesus Christ. Like I said, forgotten heroes.

During World War II, because of the extreme chaos that also seemed all-pervading for a stretch of six years, a screw up became inevitable. Not only did many people do it, but they did it repeatedly. The inherent value was lost, and people no longer cared if you screwed up or not. This idea negated the principles of our existence itself. Even though this was not the first time such an idea had been ideated – just imagine the number of battles the people of this world have fought – it was unnerving because of two reasons:

1. The dawn of the 20th century was of momentous consequences not because of the chronological analogies, but because it happened simultaneously with industrialisation. Man had begun to build machines that would surpass his skiils and efficiency by integrating his own intelligence a thousand times over. The world became smaller as faster transport began to be built, and telephone, radio and television reduced the time taken for information to traverse the edges of the earth. In such a time as this, the value of a screw up soared. Soared? It shot through the skies! If a screw could happen in this century, then it would be legendary. (Right then, Hitler had a nightmare about Jews)
2. The second reason is simple – it, in fact, followed from what I said earlier and what was described in the first reason. In a time of good value, we don’t need bad tidings.

And so, the Screw Up Society convened for the first time ever. In order to conceal from the general populace the sheer numbers that would come together, we did two things. First, we changed the name of our society and registered ourselves as the ‘League of Nations’. Second, we asked every country to send in a team of ten representatives. We gathered together in a prominent city so it wouldn’t attract too much attention (gathering in an unknown city does, don’t you think?), and we sat and talked for days together. The press was swarming around our halls all day long for the whole time, and all they had to say to their bosses and the people was this: (imagine a lady’s voice – and her emotions as well) “The League of Nations, which convened a special meeting this week, has representatives from all member nations. Although they have been inside for hours now, there have been no updates as to the status of their talks. As France is increasingly exposed to the dangerous threat of a German blitzkrieg, the leaders have been silent in their actions. Only time will tell.”

So there! Under the glare of so many cameras and twice as many people, the Screw Up Society held its first and last meeting. If only the outside world had known the gravity of the situation then and there, it would have been a different world that we see around ourselves today. Anyway, by the end of the meeting, we had come to a desicion: one of our members would be placed as a mole within the German ranks in order to undermine their war efforts. Although this is a simple solution, the hours we spent cooped up inside were spent in deciding who the spy would be. We had finally settled on one William Joyce, who would thereon be referred to as “Lord Haw Haw” (his code name). Joyce was succesfull for a few years, until the day he double-crossed. The Germans tracked him down, and just as they were about to shoot him, a RAF warplane bombed the region. Joyce escaped with a scar on his face, but couldn’t evade the British for long: he was finally captured on the Germany-Denmark border in the town of Flensburg. His voice betrayed his identity to the soldiers. 

Although no SUS member attended his execution a few years later, his wife, Margaret did. Since attending the funeral itself was a political screw up, Margaret became one of us and, officially, one of us did attend the funeral. But hey, all’s well that ends well. I narrated this little story to you just so you could form a mental picture as to our greatness and power – both of which we never misused. We only did what we should have, and because of our steadfastness in our beliefs, it was always what we could have.

Note: The Pugwash Conference and NATO are some other groups that constitute SUS members. Although these groups did come together for meetings and stuff like that, they were never recognised as full-fledged meetings because they didn’t compare in size to the LoN conference.

We were there!

However, you will notice an aberration here: if I am one of the SUS, why am I even talking about these things? Well, the answer is this: when Osama Bin Laden piloted those planes into the WTC in NY, we received a distress call from one of our overseas members. Seemingly, a small section of the SUS had gathered for the evening in order to celebrate – September 11th was the date of the first SUS meeting – in the upper floors of WTC Tower 1, when the plane crashed into them. Then, when they expected the aircraft to blow up, one of the SUS men exchanged winks with the pilot, and pressed a button the wall. This set of a series of explosions within the building that brought it down. An investigation followed, through which was uncovered the fact that the SUS had itself been infiltrated. After this, a second meeting was convened in secret. But, this time, there was a difference: we did not all sit down in a big city and talk for hours. Instead, we made the SUS pseudo-public, i.e. we exposed ourselves and our intentions through a secure channel to leaders of nations from around the world, and made them an offer: we would need to use a part of their country’s land for our secret operations, in exchange for which the country’s government would receive exclusive information – the kinds which none could come in possession of. The deal was finally brokered with Indonesia, and East Timor, generally thought to be the last country to secure independence, became our international headquarters. 

And this document, lady or gentleman on the other side of this screen, is important. It is important because you should know that we are trapped. This document is, I think, the only surviving distress call our leaders have sent out. Indonesia is strangling us! They are perfecting everything, and our men and women are returning home from work distressed and despairing. Please help us, whomsoever you may be. We need to be able to roam the streets again. An improving world, they say, has no place for people like us, and they execute us when we disagree. I have told you so much, and I think you will agree when I say that life is interesting only when one screws up, and our organisation, our beloved SUS, stands for that and that only. If you read this and believe in this, please pass it around. Help us today, and we will help you build a better tomorrow.

– George W. Bush