Q: What if you could switch off your feelings?
Scroll down for Chapter three
Chapter one: Sever-e
The burnish of brass reflected the tongued flames of the fire in the grate. Golden orange, flickering against an absent wind. Unsure of whether to come or go. What would it do next? Glow brighter or die down to smouldering embers. Red or black. All depended on the fuel and what you did with it. Red or black.
I stared into the fire and found temporary solace. I identified with the fire’s journey; the raging roar at full throttle, then the smoky sadness of remorse when it was all over. I never knew which state I was going to be in. No idea how to control it. No one to instruct me. Had nothing. Was nothing. I switched off the screen and watched the fire disappear.
Not quite nothing… I was dating someone. A girl. She wanted me. I think she did. She seemed to whenever I gave it to her hard. Never around for the softer things though. Always gone by the time the sun came up. Off to her big job. While I waited for the sun to set so I didn’t feel like such a loser when cracking open the cans.
I wasn’t a complete waste of space, although I often felt like one. I was actually quite good at this performative masculinity thing. Physically strong so that no one attacks you and mentally strong so that you don’t attack yourself. But I did. Constantly. I overthought everything …forever doubting myself… from my responses on the M£NS group chat to the number of likes I got on my latest post. I didn’t earn enough, I didn’t have enough, I wasn’t enough.
Resist the slave mind. Speak your truth. Mind over feelings. We were inundated with mantras but all they did was make us feel even more inadequate. That hollow, deep down feeling that rumbled up at times. I saw it in the eyes of my brothers. That glint. Walking tinderboxes. All trying to suppress their flames so as not to draw attention to themselves.
Since the uprising The Administration had come down on offenders more severely. With prison spaces limited, they had to simply cut. Sever the amygdala of the perpetrators, disabling their limbic systems, switching off all feelings, especially anger. Sensectomy they called it. Effective. Irreversible. Lucrative.
You saw them in the streets - the severed - their heads encased in bubble-like helmets, an adaptive screen of their facial features forming a protective screen between them and us. To begin with the severed couldn’t interact with society. They had been unable to engage, a shell of their former selves. But thanks to HoloVision their personalised and desired responses were now played out on their screens, as if nothing had happened to them. The Administration had ordered thousands of these units the moment the technology had been unveiled. Now the helmets were causing a stir in the private sector as many were voluntarily coming forwards, fearful of their own emotions.
It was definitely a deterrent. Who wanted to end up as a bubble head? I didn’t but afraid that I would. My anger was getting stronger. I’d pushed it away countless times but it was resisting. Nothing that a few more push ups and bro-casts couldn’t fix. But the more I listened to the podcasts and scrolled through my socials, the stronger my feelings grew, fuelled by the resentment that I was beginning to feel towards our ‘better halves’. When had we become the weaker sex? When had we given away our power?
I watched as my mother came in with my washing, neatly pressed and put it away for me. Since he left, I had become the object of her obsession. She liked looking after me and I didn’t have the heart to suggest otherwise.
Why couldn’t my girl be more like my mother I wondered as she came back late one night drunk from an office party. I could feel the heat starting up again. Why was she so late? Who was she with? The fury intensified as she ignored me, tapping away at her phone. Will you look at me when I’m talking to you, I boomed. Flames ignited.
It happened in a flash. A whoosh of fever. I grabbed her neck. Wanting to squeeze the anger out of me. Needing to squeeze it all out.
Darkness engulfed me and for a second I felt calm. Even bliss. The deepest, blackest colour surrounded me. And then I was back. Flat out on the floor. My girl lying next to me, clasping her throat, gasping for breath. What happened, I panted. I had no idea how I had come to be on the floor. You did it again, she said calmly, so I had to spike you.
I had heard about these new spike pens. Same science as the sensectomy. Instant black out but temporary. The police were giving them out to women, trying to stem the surge in violence against them. I liked it. I liked how it made me feel. Quietened the flames.
She pulled herself up and paused by the doorway. I’m not sure we should see each other anymore, she said. I’m sorry, I mumbled, I didn’t mean to. You said that last time, she whispered sadly. I meant it. I wasn’t violent. I wasn’t a bad person. No, I cried out. I could feel the panic welling up inside me. I couldn’t lose her. Not because I cared about her deeply but because I couldn’t bear the thought of standing on the cliff’s edge with the other incels. Getting a girl was such hard work these days. I wasn’t going to let this one get away without a fight. Metaphysically of course. Besides if anyone was going to end things, it should be me. I stood to embrace her but she held out her hand to stay my distance. No, she said forcefully. If you’re serious about me, I need you to keep your anger at bay…chemically. Spike yourself daily, however many times you need. It’s not like I’m asking you to get a sensectomy. I’m just asking you to turn yourself down. The effects wear off after a few hours and your emotions will return. Just dampened. It's simple. Besides we can’t go on like this. You can’t go on like this.
I took a deep breath. I thought back to the calm I had just experienced. The quiet. The cool. And I wanted this fire to stop burning. Stop before it stopped me. But the fear. The fear of the unknown, of taking the first step towards the bubble made me hesitate. Once again I could feel my emotions building. I hated that she was giving me an ultimatum. How dare she call the shots. What was I to do?
Chapter two - Isn’t that what parents do?
It’s the world that’s the problem, not me. They were right when they said that. I wasn’t going to take any shit. Definitely not from her.
Wasn’t in my league anyway. Look at her. Marketing her assets on her socials like some dumb, bitch whore. Looking so pleased with herself. Bet she’s weeping to her friends right now, missing this, crying what a good lay I was, wanting to go down on it right now.
I could feel the heat rising as an image of her raced through my brain, skipping over my synapses, trampolining on my cerebrum and face-bombing my occipital lobes. I took out an AK47 and honeycombed her face. She yowled and fell into my medulla.
I wanted to get rid of them all. Every one of her friends. Constantly on their phones, leaving and listening to endless voice messages in their sing-song tones. Telling each other everything. 24/7. I felt an odd aching feeling in my heart. What was that? I brushed it aside. Where was I… oh yes, the constant chatter. Noise. That’s what my mother used to call it when my friends came round. I must have been five or six…when Sammy and I were best friends. Forever in each other’s pockets. Playing, laughing, care free. But then it stopped one day. When he said it was getting all too much, too girly and gay. And that was that. The end of the sharing. Shut shop.
I could feel a sense of sadness in me, an ache. Like earlier. Shrouded in loneliness. That’s what it was. No one to speak to about the inner workings on my mind, about these deep dark feelings. They would think I was unhinged if I told them. Report me to the authorities.
I was lonely. There I said it again. Lonely. Alone. Mother was still here but she might as well have not been. Ever since I became a man, she’s treated me differently. Told me to be strong. That’s what a man does she taught me. Withdrawing her warmth, her enveloping love and replacing it with servitude.
I could feel a hard lump forming in my throat. I blinked away the tears. What did it matter? No one cared. They wouldn’t even know that I was gone. Or maybe it would make them notice. Feel sorry for me. Guilt, even. Wished they had cared more when I was alive. Would they even know? That I was no longer here?
I needed a wank. Turn on some porn and go for it. So that I could feel. Feel something. Anything apart from this ache. But it wouldn’t get hard, whatever I did, whatever I watched. It just remained flaccid in my hand. Useless. Just like me.
The roar that came out, somewhere deep within, shook the hell out of me. So angry. So vitriolic. I took the glass on my bedside table and threw it against the wall. It shattered into pieces, the shards of glass scattering across the floor. I stared at the glistening pieces. What would it feel like to stomp my feet on them, slash my soles, then smear the blood on the wall, go crazy. I imagined picking up the sharpest fragments, collecting them in my palms and scrapping them across my face. Would it hurt?
What’s going on? Are you ok? My mother stood in the doorway. Aproned and holding a knife, mid-preparation of dinner. I could feel my blood rising. Was she stupid? Of course I wasn’t ok. None of us were. Trapped in our minds, no outlet, no escape from our overwhelming feelings. Bombarded by expectations and idealisations. She was meant to look after me, protect me from harm. Isn’t that what parents do? Their purpose? And him. Where was he when we needed him? Now… I needed him now. I could feel myself losing control, the anger rising, frothing over. I screamed. Like a five year old losing its shit. And I screamed and I screamed, giving in to the crazy. Stop it! I heard her shout but I just carried on, full on hysterics. Fists clenched in rage, blue veins rigid, pulsating. Then the slashing began. I slash, slash, slashed, over and over again until the red of the blood and the red of my anger bled into one. She fell to the floor but I couldn’t stop. I carried on attacking until she couldn’t fight back any more. She lay in a pool of blood, motionless.
I ran. Out of the house and on to the streets where the cold air slapped me and made me stop. I braced myself for the sight of my blood covered hands but when I looked down, they were clean. No knife. No blood. WTF was going on? Had I finally crossed over into the land of the insane?
The release from the relief or whatever made my body purge itself. I threw up over and over again until I could retch no more. What was happening to me? I was ready to explode, splatter myself all over the bushes, drip my guts from the hanging branches. I wanted it to stop, yearned for that quiet that the spike had gifted me previously. I was clearly a danger to myself and others. I needed to get the sensectomy.
But as I opened the door to face the scene of the blood bath, the house was eerily quiet and… normal. No sign of my mother, blood or even the shattered glass. Mum? I called out. Mum? I heard something in the kitchen and ran in but nothing. All fine. Nothing to see here. No crime. No shit lost. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was safe.
Hunger took over. I needed to eat now. Where was Mum with the dinner anyway? A flash of irritation. I found some bread and rummaged around for a knife. No knives. Anywhere. No kitchen knives, no ordinary knives, nothing. Where was it all? What was going on? I could feel the anger brewing, the crazy returning.
I took a deep breath. Hold it together. I can do this. There must be a reason for all this. A logical reason. Then a chilling thought shivered through me. What if I can’t control myself? What if I actually harm someone? Then again, was giving in to the sensectomy the right thing to do? What if I didn’t have to? It’s the world that’s the problem, not me… right? Why give up on myself when it wasn’t necessary. I was a fighter, not a loser. I remembered one of my mantras…the biggest obstacle to success is your own limiting beliefs. Break free from the mental chains that hold you back. I had to keep going. Didn’t I? I suddenly felt unsure of myself. What was I to do? Do I get the sensectomy?
Chapter three - Welcome to HoloVision
Jung: We need to find support when nothing supports us.
Imagine every wrinkle on your hands as a potential path. Some meander then stop, some just disappear. What would I have become if I had gone on that one… or this one? Which one am I on right now? Is it the right one? I sat on the rigid, clinical bed, gowned, head shaved, ready.
I was about to get my sensectomy. After my latest outburst I had no choice. I couldn’t risk harming someone. Or myself. I heard my mother whisper one night that life was too valuable.
My mother. I hadn’t seen her after that night. She never came home. I didn’t know what to do. It scared the hell out of me. Had I actually done all of those things? Did I… I couldn’t bear thinking about it. That was when I checked myself into HoloVision. Declared myself unfit to be a part of society. That I needed help. I needed to switch off all of my feelings.
The doctors came in one by one to explain what they would be doing. They would open up the inferior horn of the lateral ventricle, exposing the endorhinal sulcus and use cranial stereotactic surgery to target the amygdala. I didn’t really understand what they were saying but I signed documents as if I did. Then everything went white.
A brisk gust of wind. Frost tipped feathers gliding past. The orange of a beak and legs caught my eye. I reached out to grab it, to be lifted away but it was out of my reach. The stork flew off. Leaving me in the mist. Alone once more.
Welcome, a voice called out. I turned around to see a floating flame. It flickered into my mother, then my girlfriend, then back to my mother. Mum! I called to her but the flame went out. We’ve been waiting for you. Another voice, again from behind me. I turned, instinctively, startled, and came face to face with her. The stooping figure of my mother, covered in blood, blue around the eyes, swollen lip, dried up tears forming fan-like channels from the corners of her eyes. Mum! What happened to you? Yes, she replied, what happened to me. My heart froze. But before I could give in to the aching dread she morphed into a figure… of a man… my father. WTF. Why now? You’ve never been there for us before, I snarled. My father opened his mouth but nothing came out. What’s the matter, I said. I’m speaking to you. Look at me, I boomed. Before he could say anything his body went up in flames.
A short combustion, dying down to take the form of a female figure. She was AI-pretty. Red hair. My type. Welcome, she said. Welcome to HoloVision. My sisters and I are here to help you become whole again. We want to congratulate you on your first step to enlightenment. You have made the hard decision of putting yourself forward. You are a new breed of men, wanting change, not being forced to change. You recognise in yourself that you have lost your way. You now want to heal, feel again and in switching off your feelings, you will. Within these bubbled helmets, we will restart and rebuild your emotions through therapy. Continuous therapy. 24/7. We estimate that within ten years you will be ready to go back out in to the world as a new man. However we understand that life cannot stand still and we all have our roles within this world. That’s why we have created these helmets that will allow you to carry on interacting with the outside world in your every day lives whilst having constant therapy from within. The front-facing screens have been designed to replicate the best of your personality and to ensure you make the very best choices that you can.
If men are to heal they must activate from within what they have not received from without. We cannot fix you. You must do it for yourselves. All we can do is facilitate this change. Become the catalysts, as it is in our interest to do so. We want you to feel again, learn to Sen-se…feel for yourselves.
Right now the world is burning out of control. We need more men like you to step up to our programme. Here, within the bubble you will always have someone to talk to, someone to understand you. To teach that we can always change our paths.
Let me show you. She leaned towards me and whispered, you’ve never been there for us before. My earlier words to my father. A bubble floated out of her mouth, followed by a goldfish that swam straight into it. A figure with a goldfish bowl for a head, held up by two hands, with two goldfish swimming within it appeared next to me. The red-haired woman tried to direct the goldfish towards the bowl but it popped its bubble and swam back into her mouth. She smiled at me. One step at a time, she said. These things can’t be rushed.
One day the whole of mankind will be bubbled like you, she continued. There will no longer be femicides or homicides, no domestic abuse, no gender violence. In its place will be bubbles of understanding and fulfilment. Thank you again for choosing HoloVision. Let us begin...
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According to the UK National Police Chiefs’ Council (NPCC) report on violence against women and girls (July 2024) at least one in every 12 women will be a victim of violence every year (=c.2 million women) and nearly 3,000 crimes of violence against women are recorded each day.
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Mental Health Foundation: We all need a little help sometimes and there’s no shame in asking for it. On #InternationalMensDay, here are some of the places that men can turn to, in moments when things get too much.
Shout - text 85258
Samaritans - call 114 123
Calm - call 0800 58 58 58
Men’s Minds Matter - mensmindsmatter.org
Men’s Health Forum - menshealthforum.org.uk
Men’s Shed - menssheds.org.uk
📷: @mr_ai_creator_ai
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