Angry, frustrated, afraid, hurt, torn.

I'm furious. Seething. Filled with contempt. Bitter. I'm betrayed. I'm let down. I'm self loathing. I'm a coward. I'm emotionally freewheeling. I'm angry. I'm sad. I'm confused. And I don't know why. Emotions have never been my strong suite. I lie to people to protect their feelings. I lie to people to protect myself. But I can't lie to myself. Not often. Small things I can. I can convince myself of a memory. Or an idea. But I can't beat myself into submission. I'm too strong. To quick. To thinking. And yet for all that power I am stuck in a loop. A vicious nasty feedback of fury, loathing, cowardice, anger, loneliness, bitterness, self deprecation, self deception, self denial, self enablement, self defeating, self inspiring. I am fine. Emotionally neutral. Sailing through the world, wrapped up in creativity and mental freedom through mental exertion.

And then something happens to shake that self delusion. And I crash into my emotions like a yacht into a hurricane. I get angry. I hold onto the anger, I feed it constantly through mental replays of the situation. I then don't deal with it, and so internalize it, and make it grow and fester until I am so detached from the object of my anger that the only way to deal with the anger is to wrap it up around the object and throw it away. Pretend it never happened. Bury it. Find a creative problem to drown my thoughts in, to squash any ideas that focus on the anger and the hurt. Until it happens again. And it does.

Right now I'm seething over an action some friends did. It wasn't directed at me, it wasn't to spite me. It was just them enacting their own frustrations and anger. It affected my world through. I saw it as an attack. As a giant FUCK YOU. I was being shafted by my friends. I felt betrayed. I felt angry. And then I felt a coward. I couldn't say anything. I couldn't raise it. I couldn't broach the subject. I still can't. This fucking writing is my passive way of expressing it. I am a coward. Too damned scared of what might happen should I express how I am feeling. Why? What possible outcome could there be? How horrific could it end up? Instead I alienate my friends. I drift away. Become obtuse. Until finally the friendship is stifled under a pillow of silent loathing.

And yet, the more I see it from their points of view - which I'm projecting as I haven't spoken to them - the more I realize that their actions were focused solely on their feelings. Feelings they were unable to articulate. They couldn't share either. They couldn't open up and tell me how they were feeling. My rage, my frustration, my sense of betrayal is ebbing. I wasn't betrayed. I was part of what I do all the time. I witnessed isolation. I was in a sense witnessing my own self, reflected in their actions. Perhaps that was why I was so angry. I was frustrated at their frustration. I was afraid I AM afraid that I am like them. Stuck.

OK. So I just chatted to the one person. Via gmail talk. Well chatted is the wrong word. I typed. I explained my frustrations. I told him what I was doing - isolating - and I told him I was sorry. I feel better now. Now just for the other one. That's going to be hard. She doesn't have gmail talk. I can't hide behind my screen. I guess I'll have to do it face to face. Oh dear non-existent deity help me.

I really have run out of blog. Having spoken - via via, shut the fuck up I know, but baby steps right? - about my  anger towards him, I'm now oddly calm. I feel better. Relief. So. Maybe talking about how I feel honestly is a good thing.

What do you do? Be honest.

Fear and Loathing in Joburg

We were burgled. Someone broke into our apartment, snuck around the house and took small items. Then stole the front door keys and let themselves out. They did have the courtesy to lock the front door behind them - you never know who's out there right? Insurance has paid out, I've got better stuff than before the robbery. My cards will... in time... be replaced with up-to-date photos. I sorted out my passport which I'd been meaning to do for ages. In all a win right?

So why is it that every little sound makes me jump out of my skin? I visited friends this weekend, and didn't feel safe in their homes either. It's that tightness in the chest, the clenching of the heart as it begins to rapidly beat, the sound of blood in the ears, the sweating, the panic, the fear. The burglars have hit seven apartments in as many weeks all in this area. The cops brush it off as a spree before Christmas. They say things like - be thankful they didn't slaughter you in your sleep. How comforting.

Any yet the only way I get to sleep is by quaffing sleeping pills. Then in the morning I am so drugged up I can barely keep my eyes open at work. Unless I'm active I just want to sleep. And yet at night, sleep is furthest from my mind. Should I change my whole world and become a night person? Sleeping during the day and only moving about in fear during the night? No of course not. That's silly.

So what can I do? Just get over it? I can't. My stupid mind is so active, so fast, so quick to point out that that small noise could be a metal skeleton key in the lock. It could be the tick of a burglars wrist watch... perhaps the one he stole from me. That sudden breeze, which in the heat is a comfort, now is the gale from without let in by the front door opening to let the murderer within...

A million noises set off my nerves and my mind in a million directions. A dear friend spent the first week staying in my flatmates room (he was away) just so I could sit in my room knowing there was someone else in the house. How silly. And yet how effective! I've just had a terrible evening. I was watching some show, and the door buzzed. Fear, panic, hide! But I answered it. It might be a friend coming over to stay.

It wasn't. It was a voice. Someone slurring and offering smokes. He claimed he had the wrong number. Did he? Or was he simply testing to see who was home? And if so, maybe he thought I wasn't home, and now has decided to seek revenge. Is tonight the night that I learn that the Jews were right? I thought my private hell would be a lesbian jelly pit where everyone spoke Afrikaans and smelled vaguely of blue-cheese. Now I know what it will be: A massive dark house filled with doors and open windows, and shadows trying to creep in. I shall live eternity wishing they'd just kill me and be done with it. Said shadows may be lesbians who only speak Afrikaans compounding the terror.

Tonight I am not going to take the drugs, but put a radio onto static hiss. I'm hoping the sound will block out all but the loudest of burglar like noise and allow me to get some sleep. Any ideas on how to make my imagination shut down for the night so that shadows stop turning into assassins? I could watch a whole season of Glee and see if that helps...

But what I want to know is: Where is this fear coming from? And why am I afraid? If someone breaks in, points a gun at me, am I so afraid of death that I am able to induce such panic and phobia? Seriously? What do I fear? Being raped? Being cut and sliced? I don't think so. It would hurt, but it would be over fairly quickly I imagine. And I'd get compassionate leave...

So what is it? Well perhaps that's what fear is: The unknown. I don't know what I'm afraid of, but I know it's out there... whatever it is. And when it gets here, my fear will be justified. How stupid. This emotion was evolved to prevent us from heading towards big scary animals? Or as a by-product of imagination... in which case my gift is my curse. Sigh. I must just get over it. Fucker. Get over it.

What do you do when afraid? Do you - like me - wander the house naked with a sword in one hand, cell phone in the other? Turning on all the lights and quadruple checking that all windows and doors are sealed? Only then to retire to your space and sit listening for the sounds of another body? Even as I type, my chest is tight. Loosen up. Breath. Relax. Take a deep breath and exhale. A little better perhaps.

Well until next time...

Sloppy precision...

Firstly I didn't realize that it has been five months since my last post. How truly remarkable. I would like to say it was because I've been happy and enjoying life. I'd like to say that because it's true. I've been working for a new company and the work has been remarkably different, curious, and above all else, fairly free for me to do what I do best. And yet this evening I had a little moment in the kitchen.

I am one of the least precise people I know. Or perhaps I should say I'm one of the biggest apathetically generalist solution finders I know. That's a hell of a title. But when I think about how I operate - how I go about solving problems, or in fact solving life I seem to always look for the most basic solution. I'm not lazy, at least not by other Humans standards. I put hours of work into subjects that most others would put in only a few. At the same time I only put in say twenty hours where some of my friends would put in say fifty.

I find a working solution and am satisfied. I might brush it off with a - well look I didn't spend an awful amount of time on it, and it's working so sure its fine. If we spent another week we could maybe take it from working to great. I don't get phased. I might be a little disappointed in myself for not pushing further but that blows off of me in a matter of hours. Or I look at the 'slap-dash' solution that I've come up with and conclude that it's just another failing of mine.

You see I tend to look at what I've done and almost always resignedly say: I could have done better if I'd put in more effort. I'm such a looser. This self doubt is not healthy obviously but it's how I've gone through life. I think I know why. If I can always fall back on - I could have done it better - I'm never really proving my true capability. In other words I don't prove I'm actually not good. I prove that I'm quite good, or that my solution is not too bad, but just in case I might not be capable of achieving good I never strive for it. My speedometer on my car says 200 km is the fastest it can travel. I never take it above 140 so as far as my car is concerned it's capable of more but it just hasn't been pushed enough.

I can only imagine that a basic psychology behind this is linked to my father not wanting to teach me how to play sport (this isn't true. He quite possibly did want to teach me but was either away trying to make money to feed me, or perhaps didn't want me to have his sporting life etc. I don't know I haven't asked him), and me sucking at sport as a kid. So as a kid I felt - I don't have worth. Then my grandmother constantly pushing me by saying that I could do better entrenched perhaps in me this feeling that what I was doing wasn't really good enough.

Now couple that with my closest friend always telling me that I never finish anything from the majority of my puberty and you get someone who is well... me. If that is a casual chain that's true. Does this mean that I can now unlock my true potential, focus on a topic long enough and really put in 110%? Or does it mean that although everyone around me, and me as the spirit, might think I am capable of more when I'm really actually not? 200 kilometers is merely an ideal and like my little car I'm actually only ever able to reach 140, effort or no.

And if I have found my limit is it really a limit? I mean we're talking about a limit on human capability. In my case human imagination and ingenuity. Can one limit that? Can one even measure that? Is this the typical type of angst ridden meanderings of 'creative' based humans everywhere? I don't know. And to be honest I don't care. I will continue to come up with ideas and thoughts until I die, or loose my mind.

What I'm interested in however, is what is the impact of me not really bothering or being capable of putting in 110%?

For starters when my emotional life gets complicated I typically terminate it. Then dismiss it as just being something that was bound to happen. Of course I'm human though so termination of those relationships is always repercussive (new word - its the active tense of repercussion) insofar as after the logical apathy has faded the longing for that humans relationship is sorely missed. So should I warn people - listen if I start to like you and I reach a point where I can't deal with my emotional state and tell you to fuck off please don't be offend I'm just psyched that way?

Most of my friends know that I say I can walk away from friendships and not care, but I do, after a while and the logic has wandered off to play with some other puzzle and I'm left to myself. Is there a way to solve this? Is there some kind of answer? Do I simply have to realize that I need stronger willpower. I've identified an operational modus when emotions, when intellect, when creativity is threatened, now when I reach that point I should just push on?

Except that for nearly 20 odd years I've been apathetic to 'fighting the good fight'. I don't have a lot of will power. It's taken me years, years to get to a point where I am seeing the light at the end of the financial tunnel. Standard bank should send me a 10th anniversary of debt card, and congratulate me on being one of their most loyal debt repayers who never seems to get out of debt.

I'm smart, I know what I should do with my money. And yet my willpower crumbles at the slightest creative thought. Oooh pay off a credit card of decades of debt or ... shiny! Make a movie, fund an expedition, start building a suit of armour, write a book, resign from job... whatever.

This lack of will power is my greatest fear for myself. I was once worried that I'm was going to be a depraved sex fanatic, but I think I've worked that out of my system. I was exploring my sexuality and although there are one or two things left to explore, I'm fairly stable now. I think. But for a while I was secretly worried that it would become an all consuming passion. A friend once predicted it - once you start down the garden path, forever will the penis dominate your path. It nearly did. But now my biggest fear is that I won't ever gain control over my impulses.

But perhaps I shouldn't. Leonardo Da Vinci, (and no I am not putting my abilities on the same level as his), I'm simply pointing out that he left almost 80% of everything he started unfinished. He drifted from project to project, starting with feverish desire and then cooling off as some other passion over came him. I do the same. Every company I work for I start off as a maniac, reinventing systems, pushing the boundaries. Then I get bored and go somewhere else.

Did Da Vinci have my same concerns? Perhaps. Except he wrote his blogs in a book and in code so perhaps he was an introvert and not really interested in other's ideas. I wonder if being afraid of never being able to settle down is something that I should worry about really? Financially of course. It's a disaster waiting to happen. Emotionally oh good lord it's one tricky son of a bitch. Long term relationships will exist if I meet incredibly patient people. Who will put up with my loss of interest and then resurgence and loss and resurgence and loss... But is that fair to potential partners? Or should I preface my dates with: Warning may act bipolar emotionally towards you over the course of the next 50 years. Just suck it up and remain interesting and I'll swing back after a couple of months of isolation. That's asking a bit much.

But work wise it keeps me moving in different directions and helps companies make big strides in new directions, which makes money for them, which means I will always be useful. At least on that level. Will I ever be satisfied with life? Nope. I'll have never put in 110% to something but I've have done about 210% things in my life. If I am hard-wired or hard-scarred as may be the case won't that mean that I'll die satisfied that I was curiousositically (new word deal with it) engaged all the time and so will by my definition have been satisfied my whole life?

What about you dear reader? Are you stupidly completionist? Do you seek to solve each and every problem in the smallest detail? Or are you like me? White-washing the Mona Lisa simply because its easier and if you put a red square in the bottom corner (that's mean to have different uneven lengths) its got some artistic merit...

And my word what kind of nightmare must people suffer through who do want to do things 110% correctly and by the book? What nightmare must I be that hurricanes through the world leaving sloppy bits everywhere and not really caring? And are there other cases? People who find specific problems require ultimate focus and dedication whilst other problems can be generally brushed aside? Are they the really balanced ones? Or just really boring?

My politics... I had to write it...

So South Africa. That democratic rainbow full of wonderful people working together in harmony for the betterment of mankind. You know where I could go with this right? But sadly the truth is that South Africa is doomed. The iceberg is hit, and the band is warming up. How long it takes to sink is only a matter of decades. I realized this sad fact this evening whilst reading an article on the future of South Africa. I totally disagreed with the articles conclusion.

The basics of the article: SA has bad policies and people in power and needs a course correction. I agree. How can one not? However it said to fix these problems all we needed to do was change the present policies with good ones. Nope. Wrong there. The problem is not with the policies. The problem has never been with the policies. It's always been, and always will be with the people. This is perhaps a culmination of my many months of blogging as dramatically dull as it may be.

Have I not over countless essays spoken of how it is the people, the individual, who creates society, and it is the society that dictates how the nation functions. This was typically on the scale of socially acceptable behavior, but it can be extended quickly and seamlessly up to government and policy. After all the government represents the people right? Well it's supposed to do that, but even the American's can't get that right. Hell the Greeks only made it work when they reduced the voting population down to men who were citizens, and had tons of cash. And then it didn't work that well...

No in fact the problem with South Africa, as indeed with most of the world is what we're all presently experiencing: Apathy. And if we look at it, if we decided - as I feel we must do - humans go through cycles. Great loops of history repeated time and again can be seen. And for all our advancement are we not the same humans as those who built the pyramids or the first train or the last Zeppelin? Humans haven't changed. Only time has. And our technology. For all our neutrological understanding, for all our great quantum answers, we are still Human. Take a human from the past as a baby, and raise him in the present and he will be perfectly capable.

So what does history tell us? Oh woe and alack - tis nought but suffering and darkness. Punctuated by moments of greatness where man strives to be higher than he has been. And I'm not just talking about skyscrapers or the moon. But we, dear reader, are on the wrong side of one of these great moments. A book I've just finished re-reading asked why were the Victorians so damned industrious? Why invent geology? Hell why invent all the sciences we have today? And why the steam-engine? Why take over the world?

It was done before (well maybe not steam trains). It was done in considerably less time before. And I believe it shall be done again in the future. OK so now this preamble is done. I've established that humans are humans and we go in cycles. At least to my mind.

So back to South Africa. We've entered an age of information. I love this. I think historians will look back in a thousand years and call it that Age of delusion. Or perhaps the Age of Stupidity in the face of great Understanding. Perhaps they'll remark that at once it was man's golden beginning, and also his largest collapse. I have one or two people whom I admire greatly for being movers and shakers. I have a lot of people whom are cogs in the world. They make it run. I know a lot of people who do not care how it runs.

They're called plebians. In fact they should be called - the majority of the humans on planet Earth. Some of us marvel at the planet and how it works. We stare in fascination at mysteries far beyond the average humans experience. We shudder as we watch history repeat itself. We attempt to better ourselves through knowledge and understanding. It was a craze in Victorian England to 'better oneself'. It helped give rise to general education, and to social upliftment policies. But then humans lost interest and collapsed into what we now call a class-less society. In Victorian England you could not be considered 'upper class' if you were not educated, well read, and in general making the world a better place.

Without class distinction why should I put any effort into being exceptional if Joe Bloggs can be mediocre and still achieve the same? This is the problem of America and Europe today. Social grants and policies allow the average to erode the status of those who would strive for greatness. And whilst a monetary social elite has formed, it is not the elite of Victoriana. It is the common man who has seen a weakness in the market and made his move. Breeding of course has nothing to do with in - in my opinion.

But without some incentive to improve apathy becomes acceptable. When the only important thing is the labels you wear, who cares what floats around inside your head? These are in general terms by the way. There are still thankfully millions of people who are dedicated to improvement. It's just they're the ones no one is listening to. Because the masses don't have time, and don't have a need.

And in South Africa this is what is sinking us. Under the veneer of the money that is being splashed around on projects like soccer stadiums and so forth is a system of acceptance due to ignorance. The average South African doesn't question or think or try to resolve issues. They accept what is told to them, and will blindly follow until they find themselves forgotten in the masses. And for a lot of people this is what they want! Why rock the boat? If it's not sinking, who cares where it's going!

This acceptance and fate, or of circumstance is exactly where the invading Visi-goths, Goths, Huns, and other tribes found themselves after sacking Rome. They didn't need to improve what they had. And when things collapsed they had no means of fixing them, and in general an apathetic 'Oh well' didn't inspire restoration. Indeed the Dark ages are aptly named for man entered a dark period. The only thing invented from scratch in the dark ages was the Ox-Yoke still in use today in some parts of the world. A single invention. Wow.

South Africa is charging into this dark age arms open. The mega-corporations are pulling out all the resources they can before the end. It can be seen. Banks are opening their doors to smaller and smaller customers in an attempt to secure the last of the clients before South Africa sinks into oblivion. The problem is unlike the dark ages of Europe - which dragged on for almost 600 years - we have external agents who have learned how to manipulate and guide collapsing nations. Is there a glimmer of hope? Can we defiantly denounce historical imperative?

No. The only thing that allowed this country to get into the place its in now is the changing attitude of the people who live in it. The masses when from submission to expectation. The minorities went from improvement to resignation. With no one trying to make anything better any more, and everything just sucking away at the resources in expectant hand-outs, eventually the implosion will happen. And with the people of this country only interested in promises of a future, only interested in persuasive policies that appear to benefit themselves, there is no way to save the governments approach.

Business can try to alter policy, but and here is where the global problem comes in - it only looks to change policy to further it's financial goals. Man has always been about money, but in the past money was real. It was physical. It had value. Today money doesn't exist. It's in a constant state of flux. Forever changing, shifting, altering form, gaining value or loosing it, it is no longer something tangible. As humans chase intangible items does it not become apparent that we have bought into the idea of the Emperors new clothes? This cloth we all want to buy and are willing to do anything to get it, is of our own imagining.

How bizarre in this age of information that we are no longer even chasing something real anymore. But something entirely fictitious? Only humans can be that clever! So the driving force behind the betterment of self is lost to the eternal search for the fountain of finance...

South Africa is fucked. It's people are too thick to realize they're going along with it, have no interest in improving their understanding of it, and in general are happy as long as they have fire, food, and shelter. I say gas them all. And I'm not only talking about the black people. I'm talking about the white people, the green people, and the purple people. Anyone who doesn't want to know more, to improve upon existing circumstances, or who is too lazy to want to find better ways. Lets remove them from the planet!

We didn't get this far because we stopped trying new ideas or changing old ones. I'll be damned if I see the human race plunge into another dark apocalyptic age! I need my American spelling-checker damn it. And I wouldn't get laid as often without dating sites. And my mind needs to be inspired by great art, angelic music, and awe-inspiring films. I need my technology to keep me going! Don't destroy all of this, don't let the planet forget our greatness simply because its too boring to learn new things!

We must rally and designate a country for ourselves, with nuclear power stations and digital storage banks buried kilometers below the surface. We need colonies of intellectuals who are inside glass domes to preserve that which has made us a great species, capable of creation. Otherwise, fetch my club cause when it's time to be barbaric and stupid, I've got a couple fuckers who gonna realize that without my intellectual laws and codes to stay my hand, I'm gonna start my revolution one fucking skull at a time...

I want to die... Why?

Sometimes when I'm sitting with someone just watching their mouth flap open and closed, and hear the drone of pointless words falling over themselves in an effort to spew out some old idea, I wonder what the person would do if I suddenly stabbed a fork into their arm? Or if I took the tea-pot and poured the boiling water onto them? Would they leap up screaming? Would they recoil in shock and wonder what just happened? Sometimes I just want to punch them in the face to feel what it's like. To see that look of total betrayal that their eyes would reflect.

And when standing at the edge of a tall height I sometimes wonder what it would be like to just jump off. To crash through the air and then suddenly stop. Would there be pain? Or the relief knowing that the struggle for survival is over? Would the sensation be so exhilarating that I forget my grim purpose and enjoy it? Or would my super-powers kick in and I sail off into the sky finally liberated of my earthly bonds?

I image that the first day-dreams - of committing wanton, senseless violence is an expression of frustration and boredom with whomever I'm talking with. Or more correctly being talked at. The second - wanting to jump off very high places to see if perhaps I can fly - is I suppose a fantasy that will hopefully never be realized. And yet my latest short film that I've penned is all about someone committing suicide. Admittedly there are extenuating circumstances, but the truth remains:

I have written two films about a rent-boy who is forced into difficult situations and must choose. I have written two films in which a young man must make a decision between killing himself or struggling on for survival sakes. In almost all the films the main character is mostly naked. In this latest one - he's completely naked. What's up with my head and why am I consumed with this idea?

I can immediately dis-spell the idea that I want my characters naked because of the erotic element or because I feel it's the only way I can get close to a naked man. I've got a fairly regular sexual partner who fills all my err... needs. So why this naked theme? Could it be an expression of vulnerability? But why do I feel vulnerable? I wear my vulnerabilities as armour. Perhaps I'm afraid that those vulnerabilities are nothing more that illusions, hiding deeper ones. If so the only deep fear I have left is that I am actually a charlatan and that people will one day see through my abilities and see me for what I am: An impostor who is lazy, glib, and just a little self absorbed. And as much as I try to project a sense of intense activity it is of the lazy kind, or if not the lazy kind then the self indulgent kind.

And if I persist and tell myself I am not lazy, am not glib - well perhaps some are true but I've dissociated with self esteem so long ago that its false praise that I add to my list of errors as opposed to rebuking the errors. So a vicious little circle there. As for the self-absorption - is that a by product of a divorce? A rough childhood of uncertainty? I think it's a combination of self reliance, coupled with an innate stubbornness, mixed with a shot of ethnocentric belief (my own culture), all clumped into an intellectual puzzle. A fuck-up in other words.

But I digress... nothing new there then.

What of this choice of rent-boy? Why a recurring theme? Is it guilt? Could it be? I don't know if I could believe it. You see in my past I've approached two rent-boys. Not for my own gratification. But for use for others. The first was when I was set up to take photo's of this friends 'boy'. He wasn't a boy. In fact he was a fairly ugly 40 year old dressed to look like a 20 year old. It was rather sad. To make matters worse he couldn't get an erection. He was degraded. I was ... rather unimpressed. The end result was a boring afternoon and then a rather sad collection of photo's. I don't believe he made much of an impact on my world. Apart from perhaps setting me up for my next experience.

He was a good looking Indian bloke. He wanted me to buy him clothes, shoes in fact. Because shoes could not be taken away and used to buy alcohol. Taken away by his father. His own father would take money from his son. To finish off the deal the guy was super keen to start in the gay porn film I had aspirations of making, but if I was doing any straight films he'd love to be involved because he wasn't gay. I think my first true short film was all about him - I, Whore. But I don't think it exorcised the demon fully.

So now I write another short about a rent-boy who likes doing it. Likes selling his body. Only he gets caught up with a psychopath. A psychopath who wants the rent-boy to kill himself. And to achieve this he degrades the guy. Not physically... not at first. But through humiliation and time. My question is - what drives someone to suicide? I've never really seriously considered it. Oh occationally I wonder if when it all stops whether it does actually stop. Or are those bloody bastards right and its eternal damnation? Because if it is eternal damnation it'll go by pretty quick. Eternity is timeless so time has no meaning. If you just suffer a lot for a long long long time, then you'll suffer a lot for another long long long time. Eventually it'll all blur into meaninglessness.

I do not believe that would happen. I believe you'd end. Cease. The world would weep, would mourn, would rage and say stupid things (as I have done after a death of a friend), would ask why, and would in time move on. And that would be it. A minor number in the history books. All your concerns, fears, and regrets would be over. And yet even in the moments where I've looked at death and thought - perhaps it is easier, my mind has rallied and said yes but...

So in this short film I look at how much do you take and what must you loose before you give up? I firmly believe that most humans have the power to keep themselves going by keeping their brains alive. Oh sure when you're ninety your body is pretty fucked, but if you're active, who cares. Machines can keep most things going. But if you sit back and wait to die, your mind shuts down and 'forgets' shit. Next minute you're dead.

But that takes 60 years of life first. So not a likely way to get someone to kill themselves. Another perhaps would be to give them a terminal disease. Again though it's a the mind that will either make the most of it, or give in. The key here is not external pressures but internal fortification. The stronger the mind, the more engaged it is, the more it wants to live. The less likely it is to perish.

So how do you erode the mind? How do you make the world a meaningless husk? Apart from cutting out all stimulus I think the best way to make the world meaningless is to remove that one ingredient which we share with some animals: Hope. OK so no real revelation there. Take away hope and all is lost right? Well yes. But how do you take away hope? Surely there is always hope?

I don't think so. I think there is a line - on one side is immense hope. On the other is total hopelessness. People get pushed to the line and faith and belief help keep that line from being crossed. For those of us without those comforts dogged stoic stubbornness is required. But when that line is crossed there is very little by way of getting back across it into the land of hopefulness again.

I look at the suicides in my family and all have been - from what we know - at the point where the last shred of hope has been kicked away. After that it seems very easy to end life. Almost as if once hope is removed death is inevitable. Is this true? Hope equals life? How horridly religious. Because hope is often a total load of crap created by over-active imaginations piling 'what if's' onto the table until the table is lost in this sea of possible salvations. Take away those salvations, those what if's, and there is a load gun with a single bullet.

So why do I care so much about rent boys and suicide? Do I feel that I should save all rent-boys? Or that they are hopeless and its a great tragedy? Do I somehow feel like a rent-boy who is in a hopeless situation? I do not know! I am frustrated that I do not know. Or is this deeper and I perhaps fear that I am hopeless and have just constructed a glass dome of false hope over the gaping maw of oblivion?

Is that it? Am I just lying to myself that I have hope? In my darkest hours do I secretly feel all is lost, but rally by placing false what-if's around myself? And do I know this? And that is what scares me? I suppose my darkest fear is that I am in fact nothing. I don't make a dent in the world. I die and no one really cares. But why this focus on death? Why this urgency? Oh god is this a bloody 30 years of existence and what do you have to show for it crap thing? Stupid stupid stupid.

It's late and I'm stuck in a self absorbed ego trip. Bah! Humbug! And Fuck it! I make movies about naked men in difficult situations because I get all mushy and wanna give them a hug when they finally break and reveal themselves to be scared little boys. Is that because I am a scared little boy who just wants someone to say it's OK to be scared shit-less about the sheer enormity of the universe and how little we don't know and the futility of existence...

Am I just being a 5 year old who's worrying about world politics when in fact he should just be playing out in the garden? Huh. That's interesting. Perhaps I should learn to just have fun and forget the reasons for doing so?

What do you dream of? Is it testing the laws of reality by punching people or jumping out of windows? Is it figuring out why you'd want to die? Is it worrying about world politics?

Huh...

Who are you?

I recently worked on transferring a documentary that a friend of mine made about some old Indian guru person. The documentary was interesting. It raised a very, very, good question and I'd like to see if you can answer it, truthfully.

Who are you?

Who am I for that matter?

I'm a gay man, white, English. I'm an atheist. I am an historian. I'm a lecturer and a film maker (in the sense of video). I am overweight. I am witty. I am a son. I am a brother. I am a grandson.

That's not who I am. That's what I am, and the labels I've attached to myself. Or have let others attach to me. Since I present such a broad canvass it's not difficult for them to do so. Now these labels are all transitory. And transitory means that one day they may end, or that they never began with me, but were acquired later like some kind of excess baggage after shopping in the duty free zone of life.

I am a gay man. Really? All I have to do is sleep with a single woman, or admit that I find the female form arousing and that title is no longer mine. I can no longer use it to define myself. Sure, I'd need to be drunk, or perhaps just in one of my curious moods. I'd loose the one title and pick up another one - bi-sexual. I could never go back to being pure gay. I've already slept with same-sex partners and liked it, so the door on Hetro is closed forever.

I'm white - that's true. And to change it is difficult... or is it? Internet communications probably account for 40% of my social networking. Most of the people I talk to I've never met. I could be any colour and they don't know it. And, should the world turn dark because I go blind, or I meet someone who is blind, then my colour is irrelevant. (Pity more people can't realize this fact).

I am English? For a given value. Even that's a self imposed title. I speak English because I was born into an English speaking family who taught me English as my means of communication. Biologically, and mentally I wasn't born English speaking. I was born with the desire to communicate. English happened to be the first idea that was forced into my head.

I am an atheist. Until God walks upon the Earth, or I change my mind. I wasn't born unbelieving. I wasn't born believing either. Although it's impossible to convince a Christian of this (or any other religious person) if you'd been born in Calcutta/Central China/Outback of Australia/Peru you wouldn't be the believer you are today. It's a silly argument but from all practical points of view it's true. Also if you were born 3000 years ago your choices would have been very different. For sure at the moment now, with your alignment to your chosen icon of worship you feel as if there is no other alternative. Run the clock again and you'd be surprised. Or I would... but I doubt it. Nonetheless believers change.

As for my careers those are constantly changing. Sometimes I lecture, sometimes I make shows. Sometimes I don't do anything. Sometimes I look and wonder if I shouldn't change to something else. A job is not you. It's an activity humans invented, and one that you participate in. I'm fortunate insofar as I happen to love my jobs, and participate willingly. Perhaps I've bought too much into the system? Anyway, jobs are transitory. They are not who you are.

I am overweight. I'd like this to be transitory, but until I get off my ample ass, I am not likely to be able to redefine myself as skinny. However the physical is all transitory. A good looking boy turns into a handsome man who turns into a proud gentleman who crumbles into a decrepit fossil (unless his name is Sting or Sean Connery).

As for the roles - Brother, son, grandson - when my parents die, I'll no longer be a son. I will be a parent-less son. A Widson perhaps. Widoson? And should my sister perish before me - then I'll be a widobro... or something. It's a dark thought but it's a thought nonetheless. Should I ever - universe forbid - have offspring my role would be father. Or Widodad if an accident should happen.

OK - so the witty part. That's actually who I am. It's not something that I chose, or something that can be taken away. Sure you can lock me in a cell and hope that my mind rots, or torture me and try to burn it out, but I am intrinsically funny. Whether it's biting humour, cold satire, direct attack fuck-of funny, or subtle undermining sarcasm it doesn't matter. It is who I am. Why do I do it? Because it brings a little joy into the world. It makes me and people around me feel better. Pity it's so fleeting in times of crisis. If during a crisis I can remember to bring a little joy into the world then the world doesn't seem so bad. But I often forget.

By now the sharper ones of you will have run through your lists, rubbed out a lot of definitions for yourselves, and will be arriving at a fairly short list of qualities:

Funny

Artistic

Creative

Spiritual

Loving

Dedicated

Sexual

Isn't it a curious thing that these qualities all revolve around one thing? A single word? Happiness. To be funny is to bring happiness. To be artistic is to express emotions (possibly happiness) to be creative is to derive joy and happiness from the act of creation, to be spiritual is to seek happiness with the universe, to be loving is to share happiness, and to be dedicated means to one is committed to bringing about something - hopefully happiness. Sexual is all about happiness.

Oh and yes I can see all those eager hands rising with opposition to my statements even as I sit here naked and type these words. But happiness is of course most humans goal. There are some out there who feel that happiness is lost to them, or that it will be found in money or in God or in a shoebox under a bed. Those things remind us how to find happiness but they are not happiness themselves. Money makes it easier to exist on the planet, and the more you have, the easier it is to take time for yourself and your inner happiness. But it cannot buy it.

Happiness does not exist outside your head. Your head can 'forget' about being miserable for a time (My job is to do that often through TV and other distracting media), but it cannot be lied into being happy. We're strange, strange creatures - with the capacity to realize a simple truth, but with the total incapacity to act upon that truth or to accept it. Bizarre.

People have been reporting that I've become very calm and laid back over the last couple of weeks - on almost all but the most distressing problems. That's because I've taken a moment to look for the happiness. It's not easy. Or should I say - not to look for the happiness, but to allow it to happen. You can't find joy. You can experience it. And you can only experience it if you let yourself do so.

So who are you really?

Pierce this mother fu...

It has been a couple weeks since my last blog, which was a sombre affair. I felt it was time to bring in something light. I wondered what it should be? A penis? Breasts? A comedic recount of some embarrassing affair? Well no, none of those things seem right. Unless I talk about all three of them! Yes that sounds like a plan! But whose penis, breasts, and embarrassing affair? I suppose in the interest of life, and since it is MY blog I suppose it should be mine... sigh.

Although this does all link in nicely... but that's just my genius ability to string different pieces of shit together into a fairly likely series of events, now if I can just find a job that lets me do that... and no politics is not for me. Imagine me running the world... hmmm.

I digress. OK - back to penis breasts...

I've always been one of the conservatives - in terms of public appearance - and in terms of how people perceive me. Not in the way that muscle anodonii do, but in the sense of - if people look at me will they see a creative intellect or will they just see a schmuck (don't even think it... don't!). But then I got a tattoo when my first semi-long terms emotional bond partner moved away. It was a disgrace to the family. My mother was overwrought - I think I did a blog about it.

Then last year I got my nipple pierced. Why some might ask. Well I'm one of those people who enjoy a certain amount of pain during sex. Yes, I don't understand it either apart from the neurological chemical cocktail it releases. Anyway - suffice it to say: If I experience intermediate pain my sexual experiences are that much greater. Now I've not slept with hundreds of people yet... but of those I have slept with a goodly number have enjoyed a little pain, and an almost equal number have enjoyed no pain at all.

We're not talking a beating following by a blowing, but mild pain, a bite, a smack, a nipple twist... whatever. Now I'm also sleeping with a sub-set of humans (no not a subset of species) which are typically more deviate or shall we say open-minded. Now if you lick someone's nipple the following can happen - a rush of pleasure, or sweet bugger all. I'm one of those people who feels nothing. However if you nibble a nipple, or twist it, or grind it, some will feel a discomforting pain, some will feel little, and some will feel pleasure. And I don't really understand why.

When my nipples (this by the way is the part about the breasts, which is a bit of a stretch but my man-boobs count ok) are attacked in any form, I do feel a pain, but it's an intoxicating pain. I want more. When I go to the dentist I do not want more. When someone stabs me with a needle - I do not want more. And if you bite on my fingers, toes, or other bits, I'm not interested. Just the nipples.

Other guys find the nipples dull, and prefer to have pain inflicted somewhere else. The ear for example. My ears are there to hear a moan or a scream, not to be sucked on, used, or pulled. But I digress. So what I found was that my one nipple with the piercing was much more sensitive, and the pain/pleasure that much greater. A couple weeks ago I had the second one pierced. Sex after that was amazing. I wanted it, but felt great pain, and so wanted it more.

This isn't emotional pain, purely physical. Emotionally I feel closer to the person who's managed to punch my buttons (ha haha ha... Oh come on, that works on so many levels if you think of punching as nibbling, and buttons as... sigh. If I have to explain it's not funny. Just laugh and get it over with). So it's been a good thing. I also shifted from a small little bar to a ring with a small ball on the end. Now if I wear a T-Shirt it looks like I have 4 nipples (nipple lovers may start drooling!). So I have to choose my public clothing carefully.

There is one other body part that could do with a piercing... but it's one hell of a commitment. Unlike nipples which like ears will heal over quickly and into almost undetectable scars, a Prince Albert is far more damaging. I've recently encountered two penises with PA's. One was modest, and the other was a wedding ring with a giant knob on the end (I couldn't resist). Both wearers said it was the best thing they could have done, and gave immense pleasure.

So I went onto You-Tube to watch a PA being installed. Yeah gods it is apparently the most painful part of the human body to pierce with one exception. The Clitoris. Women are always trying to be one better - more pain, more suffering, more pleasure, more orgasms... Anyway it looks really really painful. I don't think I'll do it.

However there is a part of me - the sexual part, which happens to think it looks really amazing, and certainly from the outside, feels amazing. There is a part of me that would love to do it. There are several other committees in my head though who are lobbying against that idea. And loudest one is the: Your body shouldn't be violated in such a manner! Sticking bits of metal in it is wrong!

So I've paused the think about why. We stick all sorts of things into our bodies, and have done so for... well since Org first decided wearing the teeth of his kill through his nose, ears, penis (the penis has been recorded as being pierced since records of piercing began). But in modern society it's considered taboo! Not just taboo but if you are pierced you have to go and join the other freaks - the goths, deviants, and degenerates.

Although it is becoming more accepted, piercing still remains a very 'off' subject. I believe the biggest reason we don't like piercing or tattoos for that matter is because of the permanency of the thing. It's like having children... only they grow up and you can kill them if you get bored. Piercings and tattoos (to a lesser degree) are there for life or until you get bored of them and kill yourself. It's the biggest life decision humans can make technically. And I think that frightens a lot of us because it requires us to commit.

There is also something to be said about the beauty of the human form, and I for one will hold the beauty of the male form as high as I can. And the beauty of the un-blemished body is as natural as we are. However there is also a beauty in the body altered. Is it as great? I don't know.

I haven't got the embarrassing bit, I lied. Sorry.

But for you - the question is: What does piercing mean to you, and in your darker corners inside your head, do you want them or admire them? If so why do you not allow them into light and is the excuse that it'll affect your job really real, or just a safety catch?

I am apathetic about apathy

Apathy. This is the greatest evil human-kind has ever encountered. In my quest to uncover that which makes us truly different from the animals, I believe I have found it. People used to say that we dream, and animals do not. Wrong. They used to say we make us of tools. So do many other creatures. They said it is because of our complex speech. Wrong. They said it was because we have the ability to imagine. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

We are different from the animals of this planet because we have the capacity to rebel against our apathetic natures. Animals appear not to do this. Birds compete with one another for building impressive nests, but they don't improve from year to year beyond the basic idea. We don't see Swallows building condo's in Hawaii. But humans rage against acceptance and the mundane. At least, that's what we're supposed to do.

Wiki has this to say:

Apathy (also called impassivity or perfunctoriness) is a state of indifference, or the suppression of emotions such as concern, excitement, motivation and passion. An apathetic individual has an absence of interest in or concern about emotional, social, or physical life. He or she may exhibit an insensibility or sluggishness, also. The opposite of apathy is flow.^[1] In positive psychology, apathy is described as a response to an easy challenge for which the subject has matched skills.

It goes on to list the various ailments which can cause apathy:

Often, apathy has been felt after witnessing horrific acts, such as the killing or maiming of people during a war. It is also known to be associated with many conditions, some of which are: depression; Alzheimer's disease; Chagas' disease;Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease; dementia; Korsakoff's Syndrome; excessive vitamin D; Hypothyroidism; general fatigue; Huntington's disease; Pick's disease; progressive supranuclear palsy (PSP); schizophrenia; Schizoid Personality Disorder;Bipolar Disorder, and others. Some medications and the heavy use of drugs such as heroin may bring apathy as a side effect.

There are a ton of disorders there that I have never even heard of. Who the fuck was Korsakoff? I thought that was a helicopter... Progressive Supranuclear palsy does not in fact come from being exposed to Kyroptonite, or nuclear fall-out.

I have long looked for fundamentals that make us different. Passive, aggressive, neutral, male, female. All of these help define us as Human's, but it is the approach to life that defines us as a species. Of all the animals in the animal kingdom, we were the only ones who said: FUCK YOU PLANET.

Dinosaurs died, mammals grew big, then died. We, will most certainly die, but most likely at our own hands. No other animal can claim that honour. We decide how we operate on this world. We have struggled long, hard, and fought like ... well humans ... to achieve our place as rulers of the globe. Or did we?

Some of us did. Most of us didn't. At least, those living below the poverty level, in 3rd world countries, and in under-developed places where tourists from those who did go to spend two weeks taking in the local culture. The sad thing is that nations rise and fall, and societies rise and fall, and it appears the apathetic nature of man surfaces and submerges too. It's as if people just give up.

Take Greece for example. Once they fought bitterly, developing fabulous new approaches to life. Battle, struggle against human nature, violence, peace, democracy, autocracy, all bubbled and boiled for several hundred years. The same thing with the Egyptians. Then almost over-night the entire nation just gives up. Where was the tenacity of Alexander when the Romans invaded Greece? The 300 were dust by the time the Italian army invaded Greece during World War 2.

The USA is dominant not because of any other reason except the will to dominate. The British have a stoic form of anti-apathy in the form of making sure that the 'Right thing is done at all costs'. Where is the German Hitler of today? Signing negotiations, getting by. Trying to make the world a better place by putting sanctions in place.

Empires do not crumble because of anything else apart from apathy. When we no longer care. When we stop being human, stop controlling our fate, and just 'go with the flow'. Zebra's have mastered that technique. So have all the other animals on the planet. It's fairly easy. Give up, surrender yourself to the universe and stop trying to better yourself. Congratulations. You're officially just an animal. You eat, shit, breath, and die. Maybe you reproduce. Who gives a fuck. Not me.

But if you made the effort to be better, to improve, to develop, to change the universe, in other words you lived as a human being - struggling and raging against the whole system, then I care. History doesn't document the lives of the apathetic. Here is a 45 minute special on Pierre Du Luc. He grew up in a village of no importance. He could have become a nuclear physicist. Instead he took the easy option, and grew cows instead. He married some bint, they fucked passionately to begin with, and then perfunctorily until he gave up in his 60's. He enjoyed wine, warm butter, and toast. They had kids. Then they died. They inspired no one, they developed nothing, they changed the world because they took up space on it.

Had Pierre tried to figure out how to make his cows grow faster, bigger, stronger, different colours, or tried to paint his fields on canvas, hell, even if he'd tried to make his rickety gate work just a bit better - he would have been a man of consequence. Instead he chose to just live.

Squid do that all the time. And probably have more fun doing it.

But, I hear you complain, surely not everyone has to change the world. What about the little grey people in between the great ones? Alexanders great, great, grandmother is an unknown, and yet her contribution to the planet was significant. Absolutely, except for one thing: Did she know she was going to help the planet and humanity in that way? No. She was a lazy, fat-arsed cow who lived, and died, and her genetics made it into someone who took what they could, and tried to make it better.

Ah but surely not everything and not everyone needs to be made better. Why can one not be content with what one has? Certainly! I thoroughly encourage you to adopt this line of reasoning. But please, take all your clothes off, and fuck off into the local forest and live off the land. After all, if you adopt that attitude in the 21st centuary, surely our ancestors have the same right to adopt it in 10 000 BC? If we, as humans sit back content with the world, it will begin to revert back to the way it was. And we shall have to go back to the way we were... Ook ook?

Evolution works by allowing things that are better suited to the environment exist. The environment changes all the time. Every second of every minute is a change. If you do not evolve better ways of dealing with the environment, then you are done in the evolutionary chain. It means there is a predator out there that will eat you up, and shit you out later. But surely what predator is out there now? Criminals? No. They're just being proactive about their lives. Struggling to make a solution. You who are burgled, are not struggling against them. (Bullshit - when last did you upgrade your electric fence, sensors, and door locks? Oh when they were first installed a couple of years ago. The burglar has evolved, you have not...).

The entire human race is running to get somewhere - anywhere but where it is. That's called life. We want to find a safe spot where we can eat, shit, and die at our own choosing. Animals haven't got a proactive choice in the matter. Humans do. Which is where apathy comes in. When we give up, when we just accept life, and struggle to just eat, shit, and die - and not through our own choosing because well... it's so hard, and you don't have any money, and you are not as talented, and blah blah blah... then you are in effect turning into an animal, awaiting death nervously.

I love humans, and the more ambitious, the more willing to learn, to develop, to adapt the human, the more I love them. For a long time I've wondered why I don't like so many humans. It's not because they're stupid, or slow. It's not because they're rich or poor, or fat, or thing. It's because they don't want to change. Don't want to accept a new approach to life, don't want to accept what cannot be changed, but change what can. Apathetic people.

Now we're all apathetic about certain things, you can't fight against everything all the time. But you can fight against most of it. I'm fat. I'm getting fatter. What am I doing to change it? Nothing. Why? Because I'm apathetic towards it. I am however trying to make the world a better place on a daily basis by trying to teach other humans how to live in it. Will I change my fat apathy? I will continue to try every time I see fat-foods. But it is hard. But I shall try.

Now unless you have one of those many, many disorders listed above, you have no real excuse for being apathetic. Just rebel and rage against one thing, one aspect of your life. At least. And if you're not willing to at least try, save us all some time, and fuck off and die. Leave it to the humans to save humanity.

Great Aunt Babs - a life in history

My Great Aunt Babs died yesterday. The brief little farewell I gave her on facebook seemed somehow inappropriate. That a life could be summed up in a few lines especially one such as her's spanning 90+ years demands more I think. And yet I am at a loss on how to talk about her. She didn't like the idea of Great Aunt, I know that.

Of the few instances where I can recalled talking to her as human to human, and not as great nephew to great aunt passing the time, I have a wonderful recollection. It was a New Years day, 2009 I think, and we as a family were all at some lovely country lodge for a slap-up lunch. It was one of those wonderful days where time seems irrelevant and the heat is just enough to make the world seem cozy.

As we snacked on salmon paste covered crackers, after a great meal, we asked Babs what her secret was to life. With a sparkle in her eyes, and a soft smile on her paper white face, she carefully collected her thoughts, and in the most Britishly sedate way she politely unfolded her hands and her long-levity. "I never got married, and so didn't have a husband to have to worry about. With that came the advantage of not having children either. I was my own keeper, responsible for myself, and my actions alone. I did what I wanted, when I wanted." What went unspoken was very clear. She did what she wanted, and when she wanted, but always with the utmost respect for other humans, laws, and living a good, solid life.

To me she seemed incapable, no... she seemed not to have the need for deceit. Why lie when you have the truth at your back? And when you have seized the moral high-ground not because you feel imperiously entitled, but because it's the right ground to seize. I don't know if she knew I was gay or not. I suspect she would have nodded a bit, and then asked about whether or not I was happy. If the answer was yes, I suspect she'd have been pleased and content that the world was right.

She only admonished me once - for not having my driver's license in time for her to give me her old car. I believe that Babs had a very rigid approach to life, that the right thing had to be done, that the right way should always be chosen, and that no one should seek to do harm to another thing, because well... it just wasn't right damn it.

I can but hope that in some small way I measure up to this grand lady of the past. Her's was a world of World Wars, of political turmoil, and of rapid changes in technology. She was there when the world I take for granted was being forged. I regret not spending one more afternoon talking to her more. At the same time I wonder when I die, will someone think of me and call me a great old person, someone who helped to make the world a better place? Or will people simply turn the page, relieved that the words I have hammered into disjointed place will finally find some peace?

Babs would not have bothered for such things. Who cares who remembers you when you're dead. You're dead, and that's the only thing you should care about, I think would sum up her feelings on the matter. I can't say that I was emotionally close to her, but I think it wasn't that she wasn't emotional, I just think that her generation showed less, and felt more - if that seems right? I know that Babs has left a legacy within me, and within thousands of children, as she was a teacher at Rhodean school for many, many years.

I wonder, what would your obituary say?

Guy Sclanders 1980 - 2011

He lived a fat life full of financial fuck-ups and self indulgent hobbies. Of his friends he had dozens, though for them he seemed to love his work more than anything else. What little time he did spend socially was always occluded by lectatorial recitations of antiquated knowledge and useless facts. Of relationships he had precious few, and those that survived them were grateful for the escape. His death marks a lightening of the planet's total mass by a significant percent, and his remains, thought donated to science, will make excellent grade dog food.

Well perhaps I'm being a little harsh, I'm sure I'd make excellent grade cat food too.

What would yours read? And would anyone read it?

Anyway, farewell to thee Babs, I hope this little blog would please you, and apart from the crudity of the content, perhaps bring a smile to your wonderful old face.

Why can't some people choose...A or B or C or D or E

For as long as I can remember I've always just assumed that what I decide is the 'right' way to go. Oh certainly there have been BIG decisions that I have agonized over for a week or so, but typically no more than that. I get irritated when I can't make up my mind, and frequently turn to this blog to vent my uncertainty, and my frustrations with said ambivalence. But on the whole ask me for my opinion on something, virtually anything, and I'll give you a fairly quick answer.

For a large portion of my friends however this seems to be something of an impossible task. Asked whether to eat at one restaurant or another, it might takes them a dozen minutes to reach a choice. Me... 5 seconds, unless I'm trying to be diplomatic ie. let the ambivalent people have a voice (and invariably get annoyed that they can't make up their minds, or don't seem to want to, and make the choice anyway).

For a long time I've just assumed that for some reason people who don't like making choices don't like doing so because they are trying to appease those around them, and don't want to make the wrong choice. What made this line of reasoning worse for me, was that it was that apathetic approach which instead of appeasing irritated. I realize now it is nothing of the sort - ambivalence is a new psychological field and scientists have done some interesting work in working out some fairly straight-forward differences.

People who make choices quickly (me) feel a pressure to perform, to act. They don't know why - some say: oh because in the developmental stage when inaction resulted in a negative experience, action resulted in a positive, thus reinforcing quick action. I don't know if I buy that, it seems as if we place far to much emphasis on childhood developmental trauma. The inverse is true from those who cannot make a choice, or who feel the need to take things to a far greater level of understanding before choosing.

Now here is where the Human being gets wonderful. We are all proactive and reactive on different levels. The gods (and you dear reader) know that I agonize over certain decisions, typically emotional ones, whereas in terms of making a call when it comes to everyday life I call it at the drop of a hat. And I am sure that my friends who cannot make a call in social life, make them elsewhere... the bedroom perhaps? Or the kitchen. Or the computer game simulator.

And then you get the people who are balanced... don't you always? These fuckers are the ones who make the rest of look bad. Balance is apparently the goal of all humans, but I maintain, and will do so to my dieing breath, it is us, the Unbalanced, the bring life to the world. But I digress. The balanced are those who can take a moment or five, look at as much info as they can get, and then make a call based on fairly good reasoning.

I admire these people, although I have found that these people tend to be very circumspect, and very isolated. They don't seem to want others input. My guess (quick decision) would be that others opinions and answers are tainted or skewed. If so the balanced thinker is then unbalanced insofar as not wanting others thoughts in their heads. I am generalizing but well... generally I'm wrong in a right kind of way.

Is there a way to change how you think? Can the decision-makers learn to slow down, to think about things? Can the decision-avoiders learn to follow their gut more and make on the spot calls? Can the balanced-decisioners (new word) learn to trust others more?

I don't know. I often try to change myself. To see if I can, and to see if maybe I can become a better person. I have long tried, perhaps contritely, to be more amenable, to consider my decisions more, and to let others try to reach a decision before I give my own. I find it incredibly taxing. It is like having a blood-hound tied up next to a blood trail, and waiting for a cat to decide to follow the blood. I am sure that there are cats out there who hate the over-eager blood-hound who never seems to pause for a moment.

And when I have tried to force those who don't like to make decisions to make decisions I end up getting angry at their persistent refusal to do so. And the balanced guys are even worse as they finally reach a conclusion but don't explain their reasoning. They understand it, but bugger anyone else who's failed to apply the pro's and con's and reach the same goal.

Now flittering around the back of my mind is 'How do I make a call?' Where does my sense of imperative come from? Is it pure arrogance? Is it gut (lord knows I have enough of that) feeling? Is it a quick wit? To be honest, I think it is all of the above. Logically I can't see things very quickly, but I do get concepts, and assimilate information quickly. I like things to move forward to I can see the whole picture, but not to spend a long time looking at it. I feel there is a need for a decision. But why?

And what do the non-deciders feel? A desperate need to make sure all angles are thought of and covered before making a choice? But then a circle of indecision as all angles seem to demand a different answer? I think it boils down to two things:

1 - Self Defense

2 - Self Positioning

1 - Self Defense

Not what you might have been thinking, by self defense I mean, the acceptance of defending one's self decisions. If I choose A, I need to be able to, prepared to, and responsible for making that choice. I should have clear reasons for doing it, explainable reasons. I should be prepared to tell others why.

What prevents this from becoming a form of bully/arrogance is also being prepared to change one's choice, and not forcing it down others throats. I frequently have to admit that I'm wrong, but do I do with grace? Sadly I think not as often as I should. But I am open to alternatives provided they are equally well defended...

2 - Self Positioning

If one positions oneself within a group as a follower who provides useful services, but doesn't want to take charge of a situation, then, those who have positioned themselves in authority will take charge. And it will become very difficult for the roles to swap. Those in charge won't understand why those who previously submitted, now want to be in command, and similarly they won't want to relinquish control either (because they wanted to be in control in the first place).

So if you put yourself in the position of an acquiescent that is how others will treat you, which will entrench that position. Whereas if you place yourself as a decision-maker (I initially wrote Leader, and then deleted it because I felt decision-maker was less domineering and more accommodating... do I see decision-makers as leaders? And if so, does that mean that I covert leadership? If that is true, what makes being a leader so important? Why not be a follower? Where does that desire to be seen as 'in charge' come from? Is it that subconsciously I feel that I am not in charge and need to vilification of others to hide from it? And if that is true, why do I not feel like I am in charge? My decisions are my own. I run my life according to my choices... and yet perhaps those choices are more reactions and actions... wow. Blog part 2 methinks) you entrench that position.

I can imagine as we get old and inculcate those positions of dominance/submission we become more and more dominant/submissive. So the time to change is - as it always is - NOW.

What are you? In which spheres of life? Quick to decide? Or mired in a sea of indecision? Or balanced but isolated? And is it worth changing or should we just accept these states, acknowledge that the world needs all three types, and be happy that we're not those fucking arseholes who make all the decisions, or the wankers who sit and do fuck-all because well... they can't seem to make up their minds (how did they get dressed in the morning one wonders), or that we are not those cold calculating androids who have as much personality as used condom?

8 in 5...

So now I'm a freelancer. It's 20:27 and I've just 'called it a night'. I am working solid right up until some mates arrive for the weekend, and even then I may sneak in an hour or three when they're sleeping. I have never worked so hard and so furiously in all my life. And yet, tonight when I go to bed, I can sleep a little easier knowing that I've put in a good hard days work, and have really earned my money. Sure I still wake up wondering what the fuck I'm doing and just how I'm going to find the fifteen odd thousand a month I need to survive.

That's a lot of money! But at the same time it isn't. And yet it is. And this is possibly the one quandary I now find myself in. This is purely a mathematical one, but I find the figures are not balancing. In the past they would have, in fact in the past it wouldn't even have been a maths equation. I am of course referring to the dilemma of the 'low paying day rate'. I am billing myself out at the modest rate of R1800 per day. Maybe a little higher if I can see there is room for it, and maybe a little less if it's long term stuff. My lecturing is the cheapest I'll go which is half that after tax. But it's easy work, and I love lecturing.

So when I'm offered an opportunity to work on a computer game to develop material it would, in the past, have been an easy answer. I would have done it without thinking. Now however there are two big minuses to that one big plus of novelty/coolness/awesomenessness. The first minus is that the date rate is roughly what I earn at Damelin after tax. So once tax is deducted from that, it's even less. Again in the past, I wouldn't have thought for a moment about it. The second problem is that because the rate is so low, I can't be collaborative. Initially - to get the job I hired a second animator and we worked on the gig together. It was awesome, and the end result was much better than I could have done on my own.

Now couple that to the fact that should I land a job from someone else on a freelance basis, I get to charge my full rate (or more) the problem grows. How then am I to choose between agreeing to take a job that in four days of work, generates roughly what two days of normal work generate? Do I let it run purely on figures? Do I coldly turn down the work? Or do I soldier on, generating material and blindly praying for no jobs to come in? The old saying: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, is a constantly pecking at my head (for which I feel vaguely heterosexual with all this talk of birds and bushes...)

And this leads me to my next point: How much do you feel justifies your time? Working for myself my personal time is now totally at the mercy of 'the next job'. I don't mind the work, I actually enjoy it. It's a nice neat little puzzle that I can usually solve (unlike my forms of relaxation which is an interesting point). But at what point does one say: Hey my free time is worth XYZ and I'm not going to take a smaller job just so I can make money...

I wish humans came with different power levels so we could see: Happiness, Tenseness, neutralness, anger, boredom, frustration... This would be awesome and would solve a lot of problems. I wonder if we could genetically breed humans with little radioactive level indicators on their arms or something... Just imagine that old expression: read you like a book. OK so it would be: Read you like a nuclear power stations stats read out... but the point is there I think.

I will say this however, I have never felt more satisfied than I have working for myself. Truly setting up meetings, planning events, and then making them happen. And then - and this to me is the key - getting paid for it. Properly paid. None of this bullshit R90 and hour crap that full time offers. (Just wait until the end of the month this blog will be replaced with a whiney 'were's my paycheck' blog.)

So how much is your free time worth to you, and what kind of job satisfaction are you really realizing?

Or to be blunt: Are you truly paid enough to do the shit you do?

Resigned to jigsaw puzzles with a picture?

So I have resigned. Again. A friend commented that it's in my DNA. Another said that I'm a bright lad and will make my way. My internal voice said: What an asshole, you're an idiot. But I've been thinking a lot recently about life and how it leads us, and how we are lead by it, or kept at bay by it. I've been on holiday for almost a month; in which I spent enough time at home to wonder about why I go home, where I met up with friends and had a jolly time, where I didn't meet up with other friends and felt sad, where I had sex in a public toilet for the first time with a stranger (technically it was just heavy petting but hey, it's my scorecard and I'll mark it how I want to thank you very much [ and yes it was stupid and I could have been arrested, and he could have been given a disciplinary warning from his company, and it shouldn't have happened but you were not there, so stop judging me {and yes I realize I have failed that wonderful self-generated 'level of standards' that you're thinking I now sunk below and have started to wonder if perhaps I'm on drugs or fallen off the track or hanging out with the wrong people ... hang on, I've run out of brackets... so this will have to do ~ on which topic, those self-created standards, I encourage you to ask yourself: who is hurt by my apparent lack of adherence to non-public sex acts? ~}]). (Can I get an award for the use of almost all punctuation marks usage in a single sentence?)

Anyway my point is that I've had a lot of spare time on my hands, and since returning to Johannesburg I've had even more time on my hands. It's been filled with a new hobby which I have taken to with my usual other-enthusiasm. That same enthusiasm allowed me to resign from my job - which brought my to Johannesburg in the first place. I sit here pondering why. Why is it that I dive head first into a new job, bringing with it my creative energy which I've seldom found matched in others. I subsume myself into my projects becoming for a few months an arm-chair expert. But just as quickly as I become an authority on say, the Boer War, I loose interest. Just as quickly as the ink dried on my contract, I wanted to erase it and find something else.

This is the exact opposite of my mother. She is obsessed with things staying the same. To her, change is the most terrifying option. I actively cause it to happen, and when I can't cause any more change in a place, I leave, and seek something else. At least in my career choices anyway. Except for one place: Lecturing. I did not want to leave my last lecturing post. I was genuinely happy there. But I had to leave because the money and the option of moving to JHB was too great. I remember saying to my boss: "The irony is, I'm the only one here who actually wants to work here." Almost all my other conversations upon terminating my work place has been "I'm leaving because I've been offered a better job." Even today when I told my boss (again... I've resigned from him before to go off to lecture so it shouldn't have come as a surprise to either him or me), I told him I was leaving to lecture.

I think this is what is called a Vocation.

As much as I'd love to think that my vocation is directing or scriptwriting or have random sex with strangers, I have to admit the one job I've returned to again and again and again is lecturing. My mom made me laugh this evening when she said: I guess you'll have to go back to preparing lectures again... Preparing lectures? Me? Lecturing is so easy that I don't find I need to prep for them. Sure I look at what I'm supposed to teach them, and maybe make a call on which film to use to do it with, or which book to quote from. But it's done in a matter of minutes, because I can see the link. And I honestly feel, as have been told by several students (held over a heater and threatened with cause toilet sex) that I get my point across, am clear, and am engaging.

Should I be sad that I'm not going to direct the next great season of 'Egoli'? Or that perhaps my scripts are ... mildly entertaining but not genius? Or should I rejoice that I've finally pinned down one aspect of my existence that I can say: Yes this is the right fit in my great Jigsaw puzzle that is my life? I think I am. I'll get to direct small things with my students, and I'll get to write a dozen screen-plays that no one will read, but I'll get to mold my students into people who can write, who can direct, who can move into the next level of television production. And that for me seems to be enough.

The rest of my universe however is not so clear, and the jigsaw is still in pieces with most of the edge... most of the edge in place. It's just filling in the pieces now... so why does there have to be so much pink? Perhaps it's a picture of my bottom as most of my life seems to revolve around it and it's ... wow. Even I'm a little weirded out by that imagery. Hmmm.... man found freaked out by own thoughts. That doesn't happen often...

So two questions for you:

1 - Reflect a little on your habits and routines. Is there a common thread? Something that repeats or that you find yourself looping back to? Perhaps instead of pulling away from that, or fighting it, you should explore it? Who knows, you might find you like it there.

2 - Do you ever freak yourself out with your own thoughts? Suffer from a sudden head twitch as your mind throws up some idea that makes you pause for a moment to wonder where the fuck it crawled from? And perhaps feel a little guilty when you realize it crawled from inside you?