The Philosophy Of “Fuck It”

In the words of a good friend of mine:

“God says ‘relax.’ The devil says ‘fuck it.'”

I don’t believe in God nor the devil. I don’t think there is a will or reason behind anything at all. Everything is chaos, I think. What happens is merely the result of an infinite number of conflicting forces. The one that overpowers the opposition gets to make its mark. The rest cease to exist.

But let’s think of Satan for a moment. In the story, he challenged the creator of the whole universe. The one who made both him and everything else. He gave up being what he was, and for what? Because fuck it.

I don’t admire the devil. If he existed he’d be an utter douchebag. But I have genuine respect for the courage it takes to give the finger to the maker. It cost Satan everything he had, and sentenced him to the pit. And if given the choice, I bet he’d do it all over again.

“Fuck that guy,” I can imagine him say.

But the devil is an imaginary character, and most real people aren’t like that. The determination needed for flipping someone off for good isn’t easy to come by, and tends to weaken if not funneled properly. We are creatures of habit and nostalgia, and drastic steps don’t come easily. When given the choice between acceptance and defiance, acceptance is often picked first.

And why wouldn’t it be? Accepting something usually means minimizing costs. Minimizing damage. Choosing compromise to save oneself discomfort. When getting backed against a wall, surrender seems like a better option than bashing the bricks out with one’s face.

Well, I say “fuck acceptance.”

I refuse to be enslaved. I refuse to compromise with things I consider absolutely and completely wrong. I refuse to nod my head and show proper respect when I am given none whatsoever. This attitude is difficult to maintain and requires constant reinforcement, but it is 100% right and proper.

Existence is so full of complete and utter shit that we’ve gotten used to the smell. We live in it, walk in it, eat it, and when the time comes to clean up we even bathe in it. Everything sucks, now and forever. And just when you start to think that a particular thing isn’t a turd, it turns out to be an even worse one. Only you were so used to the smell that you didn’t notice in time.

But this is the way of things. One can’t boycott shit in a world of shit. What one can do, however, is boycott the unnecessary shit. That is doable, if not easy.

Fuck it.
M. T. Miller


Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines

Jeanette Vampire Bloodlines Malkavian Crazy Game Sexy Hot Asylum

Insanely sexy. Or sexily insane.

I love Bloodlines.

There is no other way to phrase this. This game is the love of my life.

If I could somehow father children with Bloodlines, I’d make five. And I can’t stand kids.

There comes a time every year or two… someone else would call it reinstalling. I call it a honeymoon. I don’t give these events numbers. Our love is forever.

The next honeymoon is near. I can tell. The quotes, beats, and scenes from this immaculately written and directed game keep springing out of my subconscious whenever I let my attention slip. It’s been too long. Bloodlines wants me.

And who am I to disappoint her? Why would I even want to? She has given me some of the best moments of my youth. Jeanette, Jack, Velvet, Beckett… these are old friends I’m talking about. Friendships should be nurtured.

Despite my passion for her, however, Bloodlines is a game. And I like to think that games are valued for two kinds of components: the hard and the soft parts. It’s not breaking new ground to say that the hard parts of Bloodlines (i. e. the gameplay) are lackluster.

But this is okay. To love is to love the imperfections.

And I love Bloodlines to (un)death.

M. T. Miller


No one likes endings.

Whether it’s the end of a film, a book, or (tragically) a life, the point at which something changes from an “is” into a “was” is something we uniformly dread. And why wouldn’t we? We’ve likely enjoyed whatever it was that’s ended.

But endings are crucial. How many works of art have been brought down by a badly executed ending? Or the lack of one, for that matter? How many lives have fallen to ruin because of something inconclusive from the past? Far too many.

An ending is the means by which we give sense to a thing. The way a life ends inevitably sheds light on the way the deceased person had lived. The manner in which a hero’s journey concludes is probably its most important part. Even when an ending appears contradictory to the whole thing, the result is always the same: closure.

The mind needs this. The heart needs it more. It would be cruel not to provide it.

That is why I dislike most pieces of media that seem to go on forever. On and on they trod, producing one half-assed product after another. Plots that keep pulling their punches. Characters that do not die, because who’d want to piss off a paying fan base? And the trend keeps getting worse.

If the Assassin’s Creed series had ended after gaining momentum, as opposed to becoming a vehicle for one derivative game after another, people would speak fondly of it. Instead, it’s viewed as an expensive (yet profitable) joke; a juggernaut with no real weight. This is the future of everything, unless we choose to embrace endings.

Nothing is constant. Regardless of the amount of faith or certainty one has in something, there is absolutely zero guarantee that it won’t end. Perhaps it will be satisfying. Maybe it will be abrupt and as unpleasant as it can be. Everyone prefers the former, but even the latter is better than an empty, gaping nothing.

“A thing isn’t beautiful because it lasts,” said the Vision. Which is all kinds of ironic. The MCU will probably last longer than the solar system.

I for one choose to embrace endings. It is the only sane thing to do.

And thus this post ends.

M. T. Miller

Keep moving

The average life expectancy of a human being is about seventy one years. Reasonable, right?

It should be, if not for the fact that we lose so much time. Work. Sleep. Acts that nurture the spirit-housing machine. These innumerable obligations gnaw at the precious time we do have, leaving us with very little chance to sit back and enjoy the journey.

Oh, there might be alternatives, but are they even worth considering? A life without money is no life at all. Unless you’re a fan of insanity, sleep cannot be avoided. And a neglected body has a tendency to not last very long. Aside from not being very pleasant to inhabit.

Indeed, the mere act of existence often seems like an endless race with something horrible and relentless. Do this. Do that. Oh, you don’t have to, but you’ll be sorry if you didn’t. And the more ambitious one is, the more these so-called options keep piling up. This is not a choice. It is nothing more or less than an illusion of it.

And here’s the thing: that is okay. This planet is not a nice place. Everyone and everything must fight. No exceptions. Living beings die by the millions. Billions. Some thrive, and have to keep struggling. The dull, watered-down routine that civilization has provided us might be soul-sucking, but at least it comes with some degree of certainty. Not counting wars, a human being getting killed is an exception; not a norm.

Yes. We have replaced good old battle for survival with a battle for prosperity. Except that everyone wants that, so few can have it. Like a bunch of hyenas, we gather around a large piece of carrion, and try to eat as much as we possibly can. Or we’ll be sorry we didn’t.

But this respite is over in an eye-blink. Our appetites are insatiable, and we have to keep moving. Someone would call that agony. I call it progress. Both individual and collective.

We have to be the best we can possibly be, or we will be no more. This goes for society as a whole, and for its individual members. It’s not pretty, but few things are.

I myself would not have it any other way. Perhaps someday there might be an actual alternative, but don’t hold your breath. It tends to slow one down.

Keep moving, my friends.

M. T. Miller


Ascent has broken through 70k words. The more I add to it, the more I end up liking it. I think the end result is going to be an amazing ride.

But this is only part of today’s post. The rest is about focus. Ooooh, shiny!

Back when I published my first book, I thought the second would come naturally. I thought I’d just sit down, and the words would flow like an avalanche. To a degree, I was right. Initially, content exploded onto the digital pages. I was unstoppable.

Then, real life happened.

As deadlines and obligations tossed me around like a ragdoll, all I could think about was “how the hell am I going to write this thing?”

With great difficulty, it turned out. I wrote in a Café. I wrote in a bus. Sometimes, I even wrote in my own home. This lasted for several months. Of course, the disruptive nature of these places (yes, that includes my home) had made those chapters far less cohesive than I’d like them to be. So there had to be edits and rewrites. Some more cut material. And the pace kept slowing down.

Fast forward a couple of months. I sit in my place, alone after years of not being alone. Now is the time to give it my all. I sit before my computer. I crack my knuckles. Magic happens. The words flow as they never did before. Events take shape; not as I’ve planned but even better. And all the while, I keep hammering that keyboard.

Focus is divine.

It took me three weeks to write Risen. In contrast, the last ten days had me adding as much material as the entire length of Risen to my second book. Knowing this is empowering because it tells me what I am capable of. Knowing this is humbling because it tells me just how many opportunities I’ve missed in the past.

But that way madness lies. To think of all the things that could have happened is to throw in the towel. Nothing breaks a person faster than regret. Nothing slows the mind and bends the body worse than musings about coulda woulda shoulda.

Circumstances and failures are inevitable. What is not inevitable is victory. And what this victory requires is focus. Tossing aside the unimportant and unworthy, and just doing what needs to be done. One step at a time, no matter how small or insignificant.

Nothing else is worth one’s time.

Do not get humbled, my friends. Get focused.

M. T. Miller


“You need to get out more.”

If you’re navigating the endless currents of the internet sea, chances are you’ve heard that a fair share of times. Whether it comes from friends, relatives, or a random wisdom-sponge, the phrase is eternal.

While the opener is always the same, the retort allows for a lot of creativity. Regardless of what one says in response, however, the conversation-starter tends to react predictably.

“You’re missing out on life.”

Well, who isn’t? Unless you’re stinking rich (in which case I want to know your secret), most of one’s time is spent making ends meet anyway. Chasing deadlines. Waiting for payments. Learning something new so you can add more deadlines. Repeat. Compared to the total number of hours in a day, moments of respite are brief. And then some joker comes and tries to tell you what to do with your free time. Why?

Options abound. Anything one can think of, one can find in some form. Films. Books. Games. Stories of all kinds. The real world barely has a chance. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I get out far too much, and I force myself into more physical activity than I will ever need. But the way I choose to unwind has always been my own. And it will always remain my own.

I have visited Venice as Ezio Auditore. I have robbed Camorr with Locke Lamorra. I have stopped a god of mischief alongside Scarlett Johansson. And I will do a lot more. Until visiting Taj Mahal becomes cost-effective, the virtual and the imaginary will always be preferable to the so-called real. And I have no problem with that.

Compared to the content, the emotional density, and the level of engagement I can squeeze out of a particularly well-crafted piece of media, a regular night out is a dreadful bore. What are the other options? A crowded place with music so loud the bass drowns out my voice? Getting drunk out of my mind? A great equalizer between me and someone with absolutely nothing to say. No, thank you. I’ll stay at home and entertain myself. Everyone feeling the same way is more than welcome to join me.

After all, life is what we feel. Is it any less real if it’s someone’s creation? I don’t think so. After all, a good chunk of the world believes that someone consciously created it.

Create your own worlds, my friends.

M. T. Miller

Reclaiming the Lost

The title of this blog obviously refers to the Nameless and his amnesia. But there is more.

Loss is a universal theme. Everyone has to deal with it. Most of one’s life is spent dealing with some form of loss. And every life is eventually lost.

Something is there, and then it isn’t. Its disappearance might be sudden, or it might just fade. It might come with a warning or be abrupt. Regardless, the result is the same: Loss.

Every moment in one’s life is laden with loss. Even the happy ones. There is no exception. The best example would be the birth of a child. A wondrous opportunity for the baby’s parents, but with a twist: their lives will never be the same again. Finances will become tighter. Spare time will become nonexistent. Intimacy will suffer. Gain and loss.

Even winning the lottery comes with its share of loss. The lucky winner effectively trades in their old life for a new one. Likely a good trade, but something is still not there after it is done.

All stories feature loss, and the best use the subject to bite us hardest. The more it hurts, the more vividly we remember the characters, their circumstances, and everything that happens. This literary device has been around forever, and it isn’t going away anytime soon.

It isn’t even limited to stories. Take Dark Souls and the like for reference. Mere video games, right? Sure, except they like to take things from the player. And because they punish everything so brutally, every death and every screw-up is remembered vividly. It is addictive in the most ridiculous and unbelievable way; an ode to the eternal theme of loss.

But not everything is so dark. As loss follows gain, so too does gain follow loss. Sadly, this is not always apparent. Indeed, most (myself included) dwell on their misfortune for so long, they miss their opportunity to take something back. And a missed opportunity is nothing short of tragic. It is essentially a failed trade. The equivalent of being forced to pay taxes for a house one doesn’t own.

Bad stuff happens. By all accounts, bad stuff happens more frequently than good stuff. And it takes things from us. But those things are not really gone. They have merely changed form; shifted into something else. Every opportunity that would not have been possible without loss falls under this category.

A man loses his house in a fire but gains monetary compensation. A wife loses a husband, but is left with memories and experience; perhaps even a better man somewhere down the line. A soldier loses a limb but gains a book deal and a whole lot of cash.

Of course, not every trade is good. Some are great. Others are poor. All are better than just being robbed.

And this, I think, is important. Loss is inevitable. It is something that hits all of us, all the time. Often when we are not even aware. But we need to be aware. We need to see what we can get out of it and grasp it firmly. Because otherwise the moment will pass, and all we will be left with is loss.

That is what “Reclaiming the Lost” means.

Be strong, my friends.

M. T. Miller