Break-ups, hook-ups, and the rules of dating..according to me.

So my fledgling relationship just crashed and burned in a truly cold and clinical way - as per my usual intellectually sociopathic realistic approach to life. I am at the moment hollow. Don't know how to take it really. But I wanted to commit my thoughts on WHY it ended because I think it ended correctly, as much as I hate that it's over. Personally wise we were a good match. We understand one another's humour, and got the little in-jokes. Life was good.

And then real-world issues began to creep in. And these issues were of no one's making. Merely facts of life. I have come to realize that at least 80% of my time is spend on another planet. Whether it's on a starship, slaying dragons, or fighting my friends on the Deathstar I am a Grade A nerd/geek-a-saurus. If you can't handle hearing about how cool the event was of seeing Praxis already exploded in the latest Star Trek film, then you don't begin to measure up to my level of geekness. If your idea of a good card-game is 52 cards of 4 suites, then you're in the beginners box at a 'low level' card game that I play. My grandmother used to say I should learn bridge. It was a real game. I did. It isn't. It's slow, boring, and not really that difficult. I was politely told at the bridge club by someone who'd been playing bridge for 5 decades, that she'd never come across someone who played bridge so aggressively. Ha! She'd never been attached an an elvish weenie deck on a Tuesday!

Anyway, my friends - whom I love - are all geeks/nerds or a combination there of. I am happy to say that the majority of people who allow me into their lives are all total loons, and not a single one of them is close to normal. But this world that I live in, for all it's neurotic fantasy, is a very difficult one to break into. In fact, unless you've been at it since the Return of the Jedi, you're not likely to get it.

Now the flip side of the chaos that is my existence is that 'normal' human social life. Get together, talk shit, watch a movie, have a social braai, drink, talk more shit, maybe go clubbing, dance, talk shit, drink, go home, and call it an awesome time. I have one question for them: Who won and did he take a head as a trophy? The answer invariably is no - don't be silly. But this is a world that many people crave, and the majority seem to live in.

So when the boyfriend and I began to explore one another socially (and yes I mean that plutonically you sick puppies) our worlds collided. Visiting art galleries, food markets, and being social with friends. Which whilst diverting in their novelty contained no threat of simulated violence, not an iota of Ork cooking, and the only Romulan I saw the entire time was a transvestite buying stupid chairs. So when boyfriend was introduced to my group, he was immediately thrown into the position of being King Kong and having to take over Tokyo. This is considered beginners fare in my world.

Needless to say both of us were demanding repeats of those nights... or not so much. So I ended the relationship but asked for the friendship to continue. Was this just me looking for an 'easy' out? Not at all. I really like the guy, and really enjoyed our social time together (The sex was good too but being downgraded from boyfriend to fuck buddy is somehow worse than boyfriend to just friend isn't it?). I enjoyed chilling and talking shit about our worlds and our lives and our jobs. But I cannot and could not see how in a relationship it could possibly work. The Geek and the Cool may be friends but never raise a family.

And this idea stems from my reasoning that my boyfriend, my partner, my life partner, should be my Best Friend as well. Am I so shallow that I cannot see anyone who isn't on the same geek level as not Best Friend material? I have had many days to sit in bed after my surgery and ponder why I need my best friend to have similar interests to me. The simple reason is I don't really find people who do not share my interests... interesting. Diverting, charming, quaint, and distracting may be words I use, but those do not describe a best friend.

I want an equal. I want a titan from the geek world. If this is too much to ask, then so be, I shall be single all my days and die alone... well not alone because I want my death to be turned into a reality TV show, but that's not the point. Why should I settle for a compromise of interests. And don't give me the lecture on 'finding hobbies you can both grow and learn in'. Fuck that shit, I have fifty hobbies already, and I don't do hobbing halfheartedly.  I'm all in or all out. You know me. Besides I already have a hobby in the majority of the sci-fi and fantasy markets, I don't see what's left...

Anyway I wanted to list a few dating rules that I will now be following to the letter:

Date 1 - Informal meeting. Questions to be asked - General geek knowledge. (and wanna go back to my place... hur hur hur)
Date 2 - Informal meeting. Questions to be asked - Specific geek knowledge.
Date 3 - Meeting. Meyers-Briggs test and 5 love languages test to be completed and returned next day.
Date 4 - Meeting. Results returned and compared. Specific geek knowledge tested for spot learning
Date 5 - Meeting. Boardgames and gaming with social group.
Date 6 - Meeting of his friends. If these are not socially awkward individuals with unique hair styles and approaches to clothing use, terminate meetings immediately.
Date 7 - If everything has gone according to plan, all tests passed, then marriage.

I don't think these are bad rules. We did a similar thing in high-school and it worked wonderfully. Admittedly it was designed to keep people OUT of our group, but it worked. All I know is that life continues, and the questions are:

1 - What do you want out of a relationship?
2 - What do you NEED out of a relationship?
3 - What do you want out of life?

Now as the difference of Want and Need - I want a boyfriend who is a sci-fi geek genius. I need a boyfriend who will sometimes tell me no, who will curb my spending, and who will bring me down to earth from time to time. But maybe that's also a want, and what I need I won't know until I die and can read the script plan of my life.

The point is for thems that are in a relationship I hope your partner is your bestest friend, and thems that isn't, it occurs to me that my simple 7 step guide or should I say guyde? might help make life decidedly easier.

Happiness

So I am currently on cloud nine. Life is awesome people. I have been very intent on leaving the country for some time and battle plans were in the process of being drawn up. The realities of South Africa were dark. Politics, stupidity, and the human fuck-up factor were rated very, very high. But then I learned that I would be debt free in July. Like 100%. I will own a car. I will have lots of cash at the end of each month to build into something. If I leave and head to another country what would I gain? I would be full of debt again. In a strange place, and without the support of my wonderful friends, and albeit distant family. I would be alone. Would the opportunities be better? Perhaps. I'd find a job where I could flourish and learn and grow.

But then I thought - I have a job where I am the top creative. Everyone asks me what I think. I am beholden to my bosses who are in a very real sense very kind to me. And indulge me but give me limits. I am free to explore ideas outside the normal realm of any other job I've ever had. I am financially free. I am surrounded by the most awesome people. My friends put up with my oddism's like champions, and at times encourage me!

I have a great place to live, great people to share my space with, a supportive and not too intrusive job that I love doing, and in all fairness a great country to live in. Why the fuck would I want to leave? So really this is just a post to say - hey everyone one of you! I love you all, thank you all, and I hope that you too are in a place of happiness!

And yes, this blog is subject to instant change if I hear another word about municipalities not making audits, eskom, SAA, JZ, or - AHHH FUCK. Thank you. Thank you very much. That's it. I'm leaving. North Korea, here I come.

2 Weeks in and still thinking...

Well it's been two weeks since I started the 'Don't Think, Just Act' campaign inside my brain. It's rather interesting when applied to work as well as to self. In two weeks if I have spent 4 hours total playing computer games it is a lot. On the other hand I have spent 11 hours in a gym. I have also been far more productive than ever before.

I find it interesting that as long as I don't think about going to gym (plus the boredom, the pain, the lingering aches) I can go easily. And once at gym there are certain machines that I hate. I literally feel that I am not gaining anything from them at all. I avoid them. I do the machines that make me feel like I am working. Rowing for example is my new favorite toy.

I discovered my love of Squash through a friend, and although I still rate it as an awesome way to work through tension, frustration, and to get the heart rate up, Rowing has - for me - tangible feedback. The rowing machines are in front of the pool (at the gym where I work) and if I close my eyes I can feel the splashes of water, smell the water, and because of the machine almost feel my little boat skimming over the water. It's almost surreal. At the moment I can row 2 kilometers in just under 10 minutes. I did 3 kilometers in 14:40 the other day so I am doing something right.

I have also noticed that although the old Ballenden (my grandmothers genetic pool) genes run strong and my stubborn streak rears it's head, I'm far more open to other peoples ideas. I doubt anyone who knows me will agree, but those who know me very well will notice.

I saw, and was encouraged by the number of other people who have taken up gyming or at least a healthier existence at the same time as me. Whether this is due to the blog or the facebook or a NY's resolution I don't know but I would be interested to hear how it is going on their side. What their motivation is.

Mine is bizarrely strong. Not because the weight is literally falling off but because I can do it. It's not impossible. I think the really tough times are approaching though as for 2 or 3 or maybe 4 weeks the brain can be quick strong, but the equal impulse of strength can also cause the house of cards to collapse very quickly. But being aware of this neurological weakness I am prepared... I hope.

A friend of mine commented that Free Will is an illusion. I agree - to a degree. Whilst humans cannot willingly choose certain things under normal circumstances, the illusion that a choice exists is very important. It is what drives us. Without it, chaos and anarchy would surely follow. And so - whilst I am healthy and of sound mind, I can believe that my invented freewill can override my natural propensity for sloth.

And speaking of sloth, I don't think I can name many friends who are 'slothful'. Good on you all! And uncharacteristically perhaps I am not going to end with a challenge or a question but simply: A meaningful and heartfelt thank you to all my friends. My Jozi friends leapt with open arms at my healthy approach, and my Durban friends have been and always were supportive of any health choices I made. And of course my Howick buddies I love you guys.

Have a great Sunday - now get out there and be active!

Stop thinking...

It has taken me almost 5 years of blog writing to get the point of this blog. And I think I now finally have it. It's thanks to friends being persistent about one thing: I think too much. One of my best friends has been saying it for a decade. I know and love those of you who are thinking: Wait - he thinks? Really? Would never have guessed. Well yes. Ha ha.

Now stopping thinking isn't obviously an answer, as humans we have to think. We have to make plans. And we have to have exit strategies. We also need to understand the world around and so we need to observe and interpret. Good. What we don't need to do though is talk to ourselves about thoughts that are neither constructive nor useful. Huh? What I am talking about is something I've been talking about for a long long time, and have occasionally hinted at here and there. But I've never put it together. Like the man who invented microwaves but never built a microwave oven, I've had the idea called the Dancing Men and the Circle Theory since I was in my early 20's.

Quickly - the dancing men are thoughts you have that distract you from your original idea. "I really need to focus - but tomorrow. Today I can relax, there is plenty of time." That's a good example of a dancing man. They don't say no, they just delay and put off. The Circle theory is a dark place and all of us have been there - it's the cyclic logic of I should, but I can't because then this will happen, and then that will happen, and then I will lose that... it's not worth it. You talk yourself around in circles on a big decision (or a small one) and never end up doing it.

OK so now what? I have had these ideas for years. The solution of course is to listen to the dancing men, look at the circle, and then decide if their excuses and objections are real. If they are not, if they're mere projections of future or other totally non-determinable actions on behalf of another human being, then they should be ignored. At least that was the old idea. Well I think it's still true. But that doesn't mean there is a solution...merely a resolution.

In order to really achieve something one not only has to overcome ones inner thoughts, one has to continue to overcome those thoughts as time goes by. And base line - one has to act. To actually do something. And continue to do it. Ignoring all the thoughts that fly through the head. In other words, go back to the old saying of: Just get on with it.

I am going back to gym. Stop laughing, or grinning with that 'all knowing smile'. Several of my friends have asked me - but what's different from the multitude of times you have tried before? My intent. Instead of going because I want to be healthy, or because I want to look like a greek god... and not Dionysus as I presently do...  Those are empty desires. I don't really care about my health insofar as as long as I am breathing today I am good. And I don't need to look like any other god except Dionysus as I get action all the time... So those wonderful little thoughts and dancing men and circle theories can play havoc on my hyperactive mind.

My aim this time is to prove that I am the master of my own thoughts. I am impulsive. You all know that. I do things on the spur, buy things, engage in things - that I'm very fond of. Others I am sluggish and slow. Why? Because my mind is free to act as it so chooses, using my excitable emotions as a justification. There is very little Guy thought of this and then acted accordingly and with self control. It's mainly - Shiny! Must have or I die. Isn't that incredibly weak?

But it is more than just impulse control. It is also anti-impulse control. What is the opposite of impulse? Planned? Except in this case it isn't planned either. It's the ability to know what should be done, but not do it because it's easier not to. Lethargy. Not acting because it's easier to not act is now my nemesis. How dare my brain center around the concept of not acting is better than acting? I can see the evolutionary survival tactic - it motivates one to find easier ways of adapting (less energy expenditure). But as a human being with the capacity to realize that I have this natural trait to tend towards inactivity if I can I must therefore rebel against it!

So 2013 is all about proving that I am stronger than my genes. Mentally I shall not accept myself until I am the master of my thoughts. But how then do I avoid a dancing man syndrome that I know I suffer from: Out-thinking the problem and so forgetting about the problem and not solving it? By finally following the advice of my dear dear friends: I will stop thinking. About the little evolutionary things -

This is my new not-think default chain of thought:

It is easier to sit at home and play mindless PC games than do something active. True.
The gains in a PC game are minor problem solving logic development. True.
PC Games are a form of escapism which is essential from time to time. True.
Doing something active is beneficial to thought process, health, physique. True.
There are no physical reasons why spending time being active is dangerous. True
There is no reason to spend so much time behind a PC. True
There is no reason to not be active. True.
One can do both, just less of one and more of the other. True
Being active is boring. True.
1 hour of boredom a day is not worth a heart attack, stroke, or being out of breath. True
Being bored is an inability to entertains one own self. True
I should be capable of entertaining myself for a single hour. True

Everything here is true. There is not a single solitary reason that is false. Except:

I'm so buggered after that day of work I just want to go home and unwind and not do anything active. Why? You just said being active is boring, being bored is a great way to unwind isn't it?
I'm so tired I just want to sit and not do anything. Playing a PC game is doing something, watching TV is doing something. If you're mentally tired then being Physically active is better for you then sitting not being active.
I am physically tired. For what reason? Sitting in one spot all day? Get out there and shake it out. Or is it from being active and running around, being active? Yay! Goal achieved. Take a break - go for a swim.

No there is no reason I can come up with apart from weak-mindedness as to why one shouldn't go to gym and be active. Anything less is literally me failing in my ability to call myself an intelligent human. Please note that this does exclude things like addictions, psychological issues and trauma's etc. Those are different and should be handled with care. This is purely looking for excuses to not be active. Looking for thoughts that are negative, and totally unfounded.

So I have two missions for 2013. My new motto is By Will Alone. By will alone I shall start to think about things worth thinking about, and to stop thinking about things that must get done and just fucking do them. I am in charge of my own damned mind if nothing else. It will answer to me, or I am a failure and a little grey blob on a windscreen somewhere that is just a bag of useless impulses.

The other mission is also a test of Will. But that's for another blog.

As usual I have to ask you: Will you join me in beating yourself out of being lazy just because it is easier?

Final Punctuation

"Guy do you know what the sound of an unborn baby sounds like?"
"Guy where is your spleen?"
"If you play ping-pong on-board a ship and it is heaving in the waves, does the ping-pong ball sway with the ship?"
"Check-Mate."

Tuesday marked the end of a life that I knew, albeit not closely or intimately. I cannot tell you when he was born, or where, what his favorite colour was, or why he chose to live where he did. What I can say is how if affected my world, and the world of his son, my very best friend. Growing up in a world where sexuality wasn't yet someone one would shout out, being afraid of male figures in general, and just wanting to avoid contact with adults, made life for me rather difficult. Holland, as I'll term him, though it would probably come out more as Mr.Holland, was an imposing figure. Loud, brusque, direct, and stupidly smart, he did not stand on the conventions of typical colonial British niceties.

Dinner at the house of Holland was initially a dreaded period. For one of the remarkable traits Mr. Holland and his wife had instilled in my friend and his brothers, was the aptitude to eat fast, redirect questions towards guests, or counter an argument proposed by Mr. Holland with such alacrity and clarity of discourse that I would mumble and shrink and try to ignore Mr. Holland's gaze. But slowly by measured exposure I learned that the question wasn't a test of intelligence, but rather a means to instill questioning of everything from the mundane to the extraordinary.

I would like to say quickly but I think it was more like over a period of five or more years I learned to actually enjoy talking Mr. Holland. Engaging in discourse, testing idea's, and seeing if I could perhaps know something that the old man didn't. I knew he could be ferociously strict, and didn't give ground on principles, but that if the question was academic in nature, I was safe. And if I could talk to Mr. Holland, I could talk to anybody. The legacy that he leaves behind in my little world is one of questioning, asking, accepting, and not being afraid to engage others, regardless of their physical statue, or personal presence.

Mr. Holland also marks the death of the last of the original high-school friends fathers. Over the last ten years each of my four friends has lost a father. I am the only one left with a father. Death could be said to be the final punctuation, the full stop of life's sentence. But we know how the story goes, after a full-stop someone always has more to say. Another sentence is written. Oh it may contain hyphens, colons, or other random bits of misused punctuation, but generally, it goes on.

And my father and I go on. When I chat to my friends most of them talk of finding closure, or finding some kind of peace. Cancer, for all it's evils, sometimes has a silver lining: most of the time there is time to say good-bye. If my father was about to die what would our conversation be? What would he and I talk about? Well what do we talk about now? What is there to talk about? What legacy has my father left me?

This is complicated. Because the legacy is mixed. On one hand it is a legacy of emotional distance which makes it hard to form relationships. One the other, it's an aptitude for resilience, adaptation, and rebounding no matter what. With emotional distance coming individual strength. We both can survive alone. We don't rely on other humans to help us (from the sense of surviving). I rely heavily on my friends from emotional support and my mental well being, but I don't rely on humans for my own happiness. Occasionally I slip into needing someone else to be there, or desire it, as with a few posts ago, but when it doesn't happen, the resilience, the rebound, the adapting kicks in and I move on. Most humans do I guess. I just seem to care less.

So if my father and I have a conversation its one of pleasantries. How are you, all fine, busy, life happens. My world and his are so different is there a common ground? Do either of us want there to be? I am sure my father, who openly supports who I am, and how I am, might like more, but he doesn't know how to express that. I don't his father taught him how. Would I like a father I could turn to for advice on quantum mechanics or how to build a lightsabre? Yes. But then is that a father or just a friend?

Do I want a father whom I can turn to with emotional issues about how I am feeling, why I am sad or why I am happy? I don't see the need. I have my friends, myself, and my blog. As bizarre as that sounds, writing here relieves more pressure than ranting to a family member.

So what is left? Doing things we did together when I was young? Being in one another's company? That very rarely happened. In fact I don't have very many memories of 'good times with dad'. No sepia tainted afternoons spent quietly being together doing things. My father was either away working furiously to pay for my existence, or just very busy and so couldn't spend time with me. Besides I was pretending to be Skeletor, or Prime Evil, or Shedder, or any of the villains in the cartoons I used to watch, and didn't really give a fig about sports, manly pursuits (except for sword fighting), or women - which were and are his bywords.

We didn't ever connect. His interests are very different from mine. His approach to life is the same as mine. Make a plan. Survive. Find friends/lovers. Move on. Never stop. In that we are identical. Which I suppose brings the question around: What is family for? Growing you up into a human until you are about 20 or so. Then family becomes the support from a distance - generally. The phone-calls for help, or for direction. For reassurance or for comfort. At least I suppose that's what it is for.

But is it a family if the calls are merely to hear the voice? Merely to get a truncated news update on the going on of a life that is as foreign as phoning a Chinese noodle maker and asking how their day went? How involved should family be? Is the old aphorism blood is thicker than water mean anything anymore apart from being chemically correct? Should I reach out to my father, try and engage in his world? Should he force himself to start reading Star Trek novels? The answer came the other day: I am on whatsapp, and my father isn't. He prefers phone calls, I prefer whatsapp. And that's the last time we spoke. I won't shift into his world, and he won't shift into mine.

One of the other traits I picked up from him, was that the self is more important than the others. His actions have always seemed to be in survival of self, not others around him. He is a good and kind person, but only as far as he can be. When the ship is sinking, he's in a lifeboat. I am the same. I will help. I will try. But if push came to shove, I'd be one body back from the cliff edge shoving. So I won't give, and neither will he. I suspect it's because we both know there isn't really anything worth giving for. Different worlds, different ideas, indifferent interest, with the tenuous link of DNA.

What are the prospects for finding someone worthwhile in the future? For finding that singular point around which we both agree? Something to unit us? In 25 years of cognitive awareness I have not found or seen or glimpsed a single common interest. There is just too much of a difference of mentality with a mix of too much similarity in operational approach to life to warrant deeper connections.

Is this a sad state of affairs? Is it miserable that this is the mindset of father and son? Perhaps only of son? I don't think it's sad. I think it's life. Some families grow up around a super strong family nucleus. Others, like mine, grow up around a blown up one. Scattered in all directions without a central core. Is it naive of the molecules to try to rebuild the proverbial atom? Or is it impossible? An illusion at best? I am eager to see how things play out. Perhaps my father and I will surprise one another and modern technology will allow us to open dialogue on mutual terms, and to see something of a relationship grow forward. Or perhaps it wont and in thirty or forty odd years when I am seventy and my father is ninety we may have a breakthrough. Until then I don't think either of us really wants to try to hard for fear of finding that there really is nothing at all...

So Mr. Holland whatever you might have been to however many people, you were an engaging man who inspired at least one person to believe in what he says and fights until he is proven wrong. And even then to fight a little bit more, just for the fun of it. Whatever awaits you - be it oblivion or heaven, reincarnation or hundreds of bored virgins, I wish you toodle pip, you won't be forgotten.

Too much? Too little?

It is a hard line to think about a thought such as might be fluttered about by idle neurons along the lines of: Is too much too much? And how much is too much? And how much is much? As a species we love to give things values. The race thought it a miracle when we came up with 1 - 10, and hell, thought the world complete when someone realized they could quantify nothing with a 0. So everything we do is focused on this idea that there is some kind of universal value. We know the speed of light in a vacuum (notwithstanding blackholes, dust, or other bits and bobs that slow it down or speed it up), and we know how old we are individually (notwithstanding the bizarre desire to be younger or older than we actually are). And we can know the age of a tree by killing it and making sure it doesn't get any older whilst we count rings in the hopes of finding some great revelation. But how curious is it that as humans when it comes to the important things - the things that would actually be of value to have err... a value, we become as vague as a vague thing that isn't really there but could be if it was a Tuesday... in summer... and an afternoon, just after a rainfall, when Jupiter is fucking Uranus behind Mars. Or something like that.

Think of all the phrases - Too little, too late! Everything in moderation! Just a touch! Put in more effort. A pinch. A ball hair's width. Till it feels right. Apart from telling us absolutely nothing, we feel guilty for not going  that extra mile (after how many to begin with? And is it a land mile or a nautical mile? Platinum bar corrected or not?). But then as if that wasn't enough (which would be how much exactly?) we then complicate the issue by judging things based on random numbers. He ate six whole bars of chocolate. And? I want five teaspoons of sugar in my tea. FIVE? We take numbers and try to use them to arbitrarily control others actions, or influence our own. So eating five bars of almond chocolate is extreme? According to the people who are allergic to almonds more than 0 bars is extreme. According to someone stuck in an crashed plane on a glacier with only bars of chocolate - it's a rationing meant to last out a month of foodless hell. I want my hair short. How short? Touching shoulder length? Barely breaking skin?

And who comes up with things like: sleep with 10 women in a week and you're a slut. Sleep with 1 all your life and you're faithful. Science has proven that men are designed to sleep with as many women as they can afford to keep alive. Women are designed to trick all men who sleep with them, that their seed spawned the baby which now needs looking after. By definition of species survival guide book rule 101 - sleep around, spread the seed, and survive. The race evolves a little and suddenly rabbits become monogamists with deep seated feelings of shame when they have a brace of bunnies with Bunty from warren 3B just down the drag. So why oh why do we need these silly rules?

And who chooses them? Well we do. We allow ourselves the become wrapped up in our own devices and end up wondering why the hell half our country can marry six women and be happy, and the other half can barely live with one for five years without divorce and alimony. Well it boils down to: One half has a different numbering system than the other... I say 10 is good, but 12 is bad. You say 4 is good but 6 is bad. Both decisions were made based on the idea of what 10 and 4 and 12 and 6 mean. 4 is lots compared to 1. 10 is little compared to a 1000, but huge next to 0.00001.

We don't really know what these random things are either. If I say picture 10 people. That's a good sized funeral by modern standards. Now picture your school hall during assembly. 500 people? 1500 people? Now picture a stadium of people. 50 000 people. That's a lot. And that's about as big as we can go. Our brains just pretend to be able to think of more. What's the difference visually (and here's the clue) between 10 000 people and 100 000 people? Nothing. So how small is a micron versus a nanometer? For that matter is a quark any bigger or smaller than a planet? Well depends on your point of view (clue 2).

So what we as humans do is look (clue 3) at one thing, and then compare it to another. And then we make shit up. If one Zebra eats this much grass, all Zebra should eat this much grass. Why? Because a system we have developed to help us work out how much stuff we're seeing kinda says so. Really... think about it... marry one person. Why? Because one is intimate and close. Really? But can't I love 5 people? No. Just one. Errr... why? Because everyone else does. Oh.

Numbers actually mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. We have some. You have some. More or less. That's all it should be. You want some wives, I want less. Or more. And that's where the judgement should end. And I certainly shouldn't be made to feel guilty because I want the most. Why shouldn't I have the most? Because we should share. What? My more than yours becomes equal to yours because ... err... the Simon says? Fat people have more clothing than thin people. They have more atoms too. Bigger people breath more air.

We see things and then try to work out how these things fit into our numbers idea. We work around things that can't or don't have numbers (lots, more or less, roughly), but we assign some kind of number-like idea to everything. Isn't that just a little foolish? After all, if I am assigning different random values to things, how can we possible agree? So then one of us must prove the other right or wrong. My five warriors fuck up your five thousand warriors... or something like that.

Perhaps it is time that we move outside the numbers game? And start to look at life in terms of less and more. Two simple little words that sum up thousands of years of mathematics. I am more happy to day than I was yesterday because I realized that all my worry about numbers was a waste of existence. And I am less likely to give a flying fuck about anyone who says I sleep too much or drink too little, or don't have long enough hair. I sleep more than some, but less than others. I drink less that some but more than others. And my hair is longer than some but shorter than others. Not a single solitary one of those statements is judgmental, a form of persecution, or a negative comment. All three statements are totally true. Totally accurate. And totally without ego, pride, or malice.

Doesn't that sound like a better place to be in? So for just a single 24 hour period try the think of the planet and all the amazing things in it, in terms of more AND less than yourself. There's the key though, the statements cannot be used in isolation. More and less. I have more money than some, but less than others. I am more happy than some, but less happy than others. Together they create harmony, singularly they create murder, suicide, and an end to the beautiful things...

THE BOY IN THE BED

Where are you from boy?

Smiles in the morning, someone’s yawning

Hands, fingers, touch;

Thoughts and words, flying birds

Coffee, sugar, Smoke;

Why are you here boy?

Hard sex heavy breathing, Heaven heaving

Heart, Mind, fuck;

Avo on toast someone’s ghost

What do you want boy?

Complexity, simplicity, quantum;

Confusion versus clarity, no-one’s charity;

 Desire, Love, Restraint;

When will you leave boy?

Don’t.

New me new look new approach

OK. So this past year has got me thinking: Younger guys seem more interested in me than older guys. Don't know why - nothings changed. But hanging out with the younger folk has made me look at them in a different way. They're smarter about certain things than I ever was. What thousands of Rands cost me in therapy to understand one of my co-workers got in 2 minutes. Anyway the question posed was:

Why do you wear what you wear?

The answer was surprising in some senses and logical in others. He wore clothes to portray who he is, and what it wants he will do. The who he is part I get. I will go into what I thought I should wear based only on this idea. The second part though did make me pause. What he will do. What he will do? Well some days he dresses to work (a beanie, loose clothes), other days he dresses to be social (smart casual), and some days he dresses to neither work not be social but to express his mood.

Now my wardrobe is trendy, sophisticated, and perfect. MWahahahahahahaahahahaha. I laugh with you. My wardrobe is that of a 60 year old man. Occasionally I might dip down into the mid 40's. Once I hit the right age by mistake and felt terribly silly. My wardrobe is upon reflection exactly what I want people to see and by seeing assume I am. I want or wanted people to look at me as being knowledge full, totally serious, and totally capable of doing anything that comes out of my mouth.

Run a show. Producer an awards ceremony. Create animation in less time than it takes for a polar bear to fuck a seal. Look at me in my serious clothes and agree to everything I am saying. I am not 30. I am 45... I am old. I have experience. I am capable. And in almost all cases this is exactly what people do. I also wanted people to not look at see a sexual being. But to see someone who might have a little wife at home and occasionally have polite sex on a Sunday after tea at 10. I think I achieved this too. Most people assume I have kids.

But I never dressed to say what I was going to do for the day. Be social or be a worker. Be a boss or be a creative. I did have a flare sometimes. A bright shirt, or something, but also slightly serious too. A hint of personality but nothing too great. At home of course I wear a dressing gown, shawl, and in summer nothing. When friends come over it's whatever I can find and that's clean. There is very little thought. Occasionally I might decide - I want to be aggressive today so I will wear red. Or - I need to be passive. So purple. But its a colour not a style.

Now I know clothes do not make the man. But I also know that clothes tell the story of the man. (Or woman OK.) Working in film I know this very well. Clothes tell us a great deal about someone, and should tell us a great deal about their character too. In a way mine does this - however subconsciously. Lets take a look:

His lifestyle:
Here is a serious person when working, but a totally irreverent slob when at home in his own space. He isn't married. But he isn't well groomed either so perhaps just a sad little lonely person. Hence being serious about work. His hair is short and scruffy but not in a styled way. It's just un-brushed. Again no loving partner to look good for. And no reason (hopeless or just not interested) in finding someone else either.


What does he do:
He is perhaps a doctor or lawyer. Maybe a teacher. Wait - he's wearing unpolished shoes. A teacher then. Or maybe a lecturer. 


What is his character:
Serious. Focused more on his subject than his personal image. He's fat so perhaps he's a drinker or an eater. So he doesn't handle stress well. Or boredom as he fills his mind with food or drink or both. He is not exciting. He certainly isn't unique nor independent. He is reserved. Perhaps right wing. Definitely a conformist and not an out the box thinker. 


Character in the film:
The lecturer who gives a little guidance to the student, certainly not the lead. Unless it's about a man who is about to loose everything and has to survive or die. An unremarkable human without much of a story. Possibly very knowledgeable about say the history of china imports to Holland in the 1700's, but certainly nothing topical today. 

Is this my film? Really?

So what do I want it to say? What do I want people to see when they look at me. Well first I have to define who I am. I need to rewrite my screenplay. That old lecturer needs to get a life. So like all good character development theories go we need some basic keyword descriptors.

Name: Guy Campbell Sclanders. (sounds interesting. it's a mix of French/English  Scottish and fuck-knows)
Age: 31 (hmmm difficult. Is he young at heart or old at heart?)
Sex: Male. (orientation: Gay. Ah... stereotypical or not?)
Weight: 122 kg's. (he's fat. Why? Is he lazy? Is he a glutton and if so why?)
Race: White. (dull but ok, we need to accept it.)

Now some background info:
Born in a farming community but raised by British standards. Broken home. Studied film. Hid his sexuality until he was 28. Stayed in Durban by the sea. Had a group of friends and would role-play or computer game network with them. Didn't go out drinking (why? he was afraid of loosing control, and it wasn't expected of him - why? Because upbringing said adults didn't behave like fools. Because father did and acted like a fool according to British standards.). Didn't try drugs (why? same as before) but also because didn't need too.

Grew up loving cold, stern characters because they didn't need to deal with sexuality. Grew up admiring older people who had overcome their sexual requirements and didn't discuss it. Focused on history and imaginary worlds as they were safe and interesting because of their definitive values. Moved to Johannesburg liberated after therapy and coming out. Began exploring sexuality. Discovered the trials and tribulations that go with it. Still exploring.

Social info:
Wide group of friends. All non-scene individuals with alternative interests or geek based interests. Some trendy but generally divergent. All highly intelligent. Some socially adjusted. Others just learning how to. Usually the lead instigator of all actions that the social group did. Decision maker within the group. Makes acquaintances easily by having broad knowledge of many subjects. Close friends take longer but do form fairly quickly as our hero is socially open.

Goals:
To be creative. To make things of value. To contribute to society's understanding of self. To further knowledge. To entertain. To educate. (interesting group of words here. Nothing about social needs). His new goal is to be more social in terms of relationships.

Difficulty:
Relationships require individuals with whom one can have a relationship. Also a relationship requires attraction. Attraction is based on appearance initially. Socially hero can meet people and befriend them. But cannot find long term partner. Its either wardrobe or personal goals / attitude preventing this. However given that friendships have been in place for almost 20 years wardrobe seems the immediate answer.

So our hero's film then in about changing his appearance. Finding out who he is becomes the critical factor. So some keywords will help here:

Gay (but not stereotypical) - jewelry of some kind / piercings
Big (socially) - hmmm bright colours. Bold designs
Creative (artistically) - unique designs or signatures
Knowledgeable (experienced) - career related clothing / icons or pictures relating to subject
Young (31 is) - looser fitting clothing, younger iconography in designs
Out of the box/challenging - strong contrasts in colour and texture / piercings or tattoo's
Not mainstream - no designer labels
Serious - a little professional neatness or reserve - jacket or slightly formal finish (a tie perhaps?)
Sexual - playful design / slightly risque approach to imagery
History/Origin - British motif perhaps / red's, blues' and whites, or greens given farming background.

So perhaps a serious look might be greens,blues, and whites,  whilst a causal look might be reds and blues. But always loose fitting. Always slightly silly, always bold. Covered with a single serious item.

Will this rewrite our lecturers story? Will it allow him to achieve his goals? Who the fuck knows. One must just watch the film...

What does your wardrobe do for you? And how does it do it?

Relationship or surrender

So this whole idea about relationships. I have to ask: Is it a relationship or is it a surrender of self of the some greater dual-good type monster thing? Do I want a relationship? Do I want to sacrifice my time for someone else? I know I've asked this before in many blogs and have always wondered about the outcome. I suppose the question I should really be asking is: Am I relationship material?

I look at some relationships which have a huge amount of give and take. Although both parties seem quite happy to give and take from time to time the amount of divorces and collapsed marries and partnerships out there is staggering. A few days ago the FB was being hit hard by the whole meme of: In my day we fixed things that were broken, not replaced them. Blah blah blah. People were shit scared of what the neighbours might think and how it might affect their social standing.

Today social standing is far more about where you had coffee, who you work for, and what car you drive. We don't really care about what you do behind closed doors. At least so it seems. But back to relationships. They're nice to have, I mean coming home to someone who cares about you and who can hold you and be there for you must be awesome.

However coming home to the same person, with the same thoughts... really it's just friendship with sex. And a bit more investment I guess. But I invest as much in most of my friendships as I would a relationship. At least I am as open in a friendship as I would be in a relationship. If my friends where to ask me any question, any question at all I would answer truthfully and fully.

My career would not benefit from having a spouse who works in the same industry. Although having an in-house cameraman literally in my house - would be awesome. But unless he is as fanatical as I am about work he might get a bit tired of constantly shooting art movies on the weekends. I know of a few industry couples who work, and a few that don't. But that's not so much of a relationship as a working partnership isn't it?

So what about the shoulder to cry on and the support? I have my friends. What about the useless hours spent on during the flirting phase? All that nonsense that one talks about merrily for days on end during that initial hook-up period? Well it must all die out eventually. I mean I don't remember my grandparents sitting on the porch looking into one another's eyes and saying things like: So what you doing? What's your favorite colour? Blah blah blah. Most of the time it was - Who farted? Oh Kieth you bloody ass, bugger off!

So the spiritual connection? I don't have one. I have an artistic connection. I have met a few people who mentally and spiritually/ creatively challenge and excite me. But perhaps don't outside of those arena's do much for me. Should I be looking for a multi-partnered relationship? This is Bob, he's for when I'm feeling arty, this is Bob - he's my cameraman, and this is Bob - the shoulder to cry on. Oh and this is Bob the bastard. We just get together to scream at one another, vent our frustrations with the world and have amazing make-up sex with.

No. I don't think so. Although the Zulu cultures do practice this...

So then what? Am I asking too much from one relationship? Should I be looking for someone who is not all of the things that I am totally interested in? Should I find someone who has some interests in what I do, and who has some hobbies that I am not interested in (otherwise his interests are my interests and that defeats my argument shut up and die). Should we both get together from time to time for social activities and hobbies/interests that are mutual but respect one another to be apart for others?

If so where is this geek? Does he even exist? Well I exist so one must argue that he technically exists. Perhaps as another species? Is there a Labrador out there who's keen on Roman history AND the Romulan/Klingon alliance of 2240? Perhaps... perhaps not.

But if there isn't - should I then accept second best - which would be say - someone who isn't sexually my type? (Gasp - a woman? Interested in Star Trek AND Greek gay history?) Or someone who doesn't have much interest in sci-fi? But what's the point?

What have you done?

16+ some is not a threesum...

So after chatting with some people I have had to rethink my approach to the 16 year old problem of the 16 year old. There seems to be agreement that it's alright right, in fact, rather romantic for the 16 year old to sleep with other 16 year olds. The argument is that it's a natural exploration conducted in innocence and mutual discovery. However it is not alright for an older more experienced man to sleep with a 16 year it. It's sleazy and goes against nature... I disagree with this statement. I think it's an archaic (as in under 110 year old) thinking. However I also see a point, however much I might dislike it:

As an older figure I am obliged to suggest to the 16 year old the better course of action. To remain chaste until the right moment blah blah blah. What do I say? That the general opinion is that one should only have sex after marriage? That isn't going to happen. One should wait for the right time? Perhaps. Although would I be a better adjusted person if I had had sex earlier? I'm not going there again. Refer to the previous blog. It's blah blah blah.

So what I have decided is that I should not have sex with this individual until he is ready. Which was in his mind yesterday. Who am I to decide. How can one? Where is the objective, non-religious based, non-tradition based, unbiased, honest answer? There isn't one. I don't care who you are - you can argue until you're blue in the face. There is not a single shred of viable evidence. Kids who are raped at 12 turn out fine. Kids who don't have sex until they're 28 end up setting light to their balls.

Someone objected on the level of becoming angry. Later I discovered there were personal issues involved in the argument. Whilst it did not invalidate how he felt about the subject, it did remove his objectivity. Should I be the hand of tradition and reinforce something I do not believe in just because everyone around me says I am wrong based on nothing but their own traditional indoctrination?

No. I don't believe society or tradition is correct.

However I do feel that I should do everything in my power to guide and nurture the spirit of this young man. I think sex would get in the way of that. His actions would be guided by getting penis, not by self development and learning. I think if it's one thing I am devoted to is learning and self development. So I shall mentor, coach, advise, and just be a friend. If then after some time he still feels he wants a sexual relationship, then I will examine my feelings for him.

Perhaps he will have moved beyond a sexual object and will have become something more. Am I advocating that I am bowing to social pressure? A little bit. But also I am not so arrogant as to assume I know how to make Humans better simply because for the last 100 years humans haven't got it right. (A strong case may be made that they've got it terrible wrong with warfare escalating from small scale to total planet fucking up, murder, rape, stupid crime is up, and mankind has collectively turned into a hypocritical mess more so than ever  before in my opinion).

This is my Lolita. Am I ready for it? Nope. But then again who is?

Is 16 too young? And do sheep count humans?

It's been a while folks. Lucky for you I guess. Well things have been a bit shaky. The break-in really tore me up. I wanted to see a shrink. Then she told me how much. So I moved my bedroom around and now sleep soundly. Yay for Feng Shui. But that's not what I wanted to talk about. Life has been great. Friends have visited me, we had a wonderful time. Bills are paid. I was getting laid kinda regularly. All sexual issues seem to have vanished - which is great too.

And then it started. Out of the blue no less than 4 - 4 under the age of 22 years - super hot guys contacted me. Let me make this clear. Contacted me. Sought out my profile with all my pics of myself in all my roundness. The first is a super cool guy who is 21. Sweet, great in bed, and a gamer. How awesome is that? The second, a 20 year old a lawyer wanna-be. A really interesting fellow. But a drug-addict. The third was a petulant and difficult creature. He was 20. The fourth is proving interesting insofar as we're supposed to meet this coming weekend. I don't know if that will happen because...

Whilst I was reeling drunk on all this young flesh running around looking for me, a really witty and great 30 year old pops up. We've been on two dates. He's cool. So the others might get moved aside. Well that was until Friday when a ... wait for it... 16 year old got hold of me. Legally there is nothing wrong with sleeping with a 16 year old male. Today's society however says something different.

Or does it? At first I thought 16? Half my fucking age? Don't be stupid. Then - as I am want to do - I asked why? Why does it feel wrong to want to sleep with a 16 year old? I wanted to examine this. The funny thing of course is that whenever ones looks below just the surface one finds amazing things. The idea of being a man at the age of 18 is a new one. Well new for Humans anyway. No more than ... that's it folks about a hundred and ten years or so. For the majority of mans existence the age of 14, 15, 16 and only rarely 17 was the age when a boy became a man.

If one looks at sex, well that's a whole can of worms right there. Marriage used to happen from about the age of 13 or 14. That's interesting. Why do we delay now? Why wait until 18 or later? Well in a lot of the older cultured countries the age of consent is fixed to the age of marriage. 13 is still considered legal in a few countries. Curiously the age of consent rose from about 1850 (14 years) to 1890 (15) and finally only in 1910 (18) and then in 1920 (21). In Japan its 13. In Iceland it's 14. Interestingly the Vatican state doesn't have a value... I guess it would hinder most of the sex in that 'nation'. OK jabs aside. Oprah reported on her show about seven years ago that the average age of sexual intercourse between individuals was around 14. Go Iceland.

South Africa poses an interesting mixture of cultures and so brings the Victorian penis based idea of sex into the vagina of the Nguni people. The result is a bizarre mix of the nuclear family being father, mother, mother, mother, mother, mother... or father, father... or mother, mother, or mother, or grandmother, or older sister, older brother... There is no doubt HIV has played havoc with our families. My mother told me how they now patrol the corridors of the grade 7's looking for couples engaged in all sorts of things.

When I was in grade 7 I was worried about err... well... I wanted to be with my best friend all the time. I wanted to learn how to play D&D. I certainly didn't think sex was exciting. I had a few erections, didn't know what to do with them, and so spent a few frustrating afternoons looking at my hard penis. Then I would get bored and go play with Lego.

Grade 8 or standard 6 for us older folk however was when I first heard words like cum and jizz and when I had my first ejaculation. God it was awful. I was in the bath, in a bubble bath I recall. I was soaping my erection, perhaps a little too vigorously. It felt weird. Ticklish almost. Then I convulsed and bow wow blew... I know I slipped backwards and crashed into the water. It was horrid. And yet... became an instant success. I practiced every day...

Anyway by the age of 16 I had a dildo, I knew who I wanted to sleep with, I had downloaded black and white porn pictures of men doing naughty things, and I knew all about it. I was destined however to spend then next 12 years coming to terms with all those thoughts. So I swing around back to my original question: Why does a 31 year old man sleeping with a 16 year old man seem so strange? Why this gulf? Should the 16 year olds blindly fumble along with one another? Should the 31 year olds console themselves that the days of youth have long since fled?

Are we ageist? I guess the same thought must be turned on it's head. Would I sleep with a 60 year old? What about a 50 year old? A 40 year old? Ha! Got you there. I have slept with a 40 year old. It was fun. Although a little intimidating since he had way more experience than me. Although if the average age of sex is 14 in this great nation of ours, an 18 year old has had as much experience as I have. Does that mean I'm really on an 18 year old sexually? With the mind of a 31 year old, the attitude of a 40 year old, and the temperament of a 25 year old?

Then I think - am I being a 'dirty old man'? Well firstly fuck you. I'm only 31. Secondly the 16 year old got a hold of me. Now should I know better? Should I politely back away? So I ask myself this question:

If I was 16 and I have some hot 31 year old who was available for sexual exploration (and I think we can all agree I am up there with Livingston when it comes to exploring sex) would I as a 16 year old have said no? Would I have been ruined? Destroyed? Turned into a sexual predator of young boys? Apparently the answer is no - I did that all on my own... Truth is I am not attracted to young boys. This 16 year old looks 18 or so. I don't like kids.

Then I got to thinking. As a 16 year old my biggest fears about sex were not knowing what the fuck was going on. Hell even now I still am as nervous as a schoolboy when it comes to being naked around people. If I had had a mentor - a teacher - who would nurture me and show me how to do things - like have fun, protected sex, to overcome the stigma of it all, wouldn't I have turned out a better person?

Imagine if I'd come out of the closet at the age of 16. How different would my life have been? 12 years of sexual frustration and emotional angst gone in a flash. Is that why I am such an ardent proponent of sex education in school involving actual sex? I don't know. What I am not convinced of however is the long term implications of it all. I would hope that the 16 year old would form a kind of intimate bond with the sexual guide, but would ultimately at the age of 20 or so go off an safely explore the sexual world in which we live.

There might remain a bond, perhaps like that of an older brother. This isn't a new idea by the way folks. In Papa New Guinea the tradition is still in place for the 13 year olds to drink the semen of 18 year olds to help their own semen production. It's not gay, it's just semen swallowing... anyway I digress.

If a 50 year old shacks up with a 20 year old one automatically assumes midlife crisis twit with a money grabbing whore. Well I wonder so much anymore. Perhaps it's a 50 year old virgin and a 20 year old granny who just happen to fit. Or perhaps he's just a horny old toad and she just like bagged sex. I don't know. All I know is this: Sex is way to complex to think about. I say - just do it. Legally of course.

What do you think? I know some might argue for sex after marriage. That's a bit unfair on the ratio of  women to men. Some just won't find marriage partners. Some might say - five years. No more or less between the ages. I used to say that. My mature 40 year would argue that. But then this hot 16 year old called. My 18 year old is arguing most strenuously. And of course my 31 year can see both points of view as being totally silly.

What do you think? Would you sleep with someone half your age? Or double your age?

Oh and do sheep count humans when they sleep? Of course not, humans don't jump over fences silly. They probably count the number of sheep-dogs they can catch and skin alive...

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...