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?