A date...with my 13 year old self

I have a date tomorrow night. Now this may not come as much of a surprise to those of you know have read my previous blogs, where I may come across as a bit of a whorish nymphomaniac (he said coyly after only having had sex once). But this one is special. It's my first real date with another man that hasn't been based on a digital dialogue. He is in fact the first flesh and blood person I shall ever go out on a date with, using non-dating technology. Yes I managed to find me a live one that was somehow attracted to my hook (god that's a terrible analogy... but what choice do I have?) in that great big fishbowl we called the real world without the use of a digital net (see I needed the fish reference to finish my Internet dating thing...). 

It was one of those romantic meetings - our eyes locked across the darkened room. I went up to him, scribbled my phone number on some flyer for some film organization and left. Just because it happened to be in a theatre, and he happened to be asking for people interested in joining a script writing association (hence the need for my number, email, and details) had NOTHING to do it. And so we met a couple of times with mutual friends. Now what has become of First Man some of you might want to know? Well FM tried to call me the other day - right in the middle of filming. 

I am a terrible monster when I'm making a film. I'm dominant, aggressive, abrasive, and focused...OK so I may be this monster most of the time, but more so when in film-making mode. I was abrupt, curt, I may even had said - yeah, fine, cool, chat later. Anyway, no correspondence from him and I believe he may now be on some oil rig somewhere. He will remain always FM and if he comes back, well, sorry FM but we now have TDS...tall, dark, stranger? It sounded more romantic in my head, now it sounds like some kind of mental abnormality (no she's fine, she likes sticking her finger in the socket, it calms her... she suffers from TDS). No, I'll need to find some other name for him. I haven't yet asked permission from him to use him in my blog so for now, let us called him: Eros. 

But I digress. My blog isn't about the date. It's actually about a meeting with myself at age 13. Tonight when I was vacillating between calling Eros or simply letting it pass (a friend had urged me to take a chance - my self esteem being fairly low[although rising constantly due to this wonderful interest Eros has displayed and others have assured me {although I'm sure that they are merely being friendly and polite - which is why I like my students who are anything but, but they are candid and honest about their hatred of my clothing/hair/choice in music... I've forgotten which bracket I'm in?}]) I'm lost. Let me start again: Tonight whilst building up the nerve to phone Eros I was awash with such a wide range of emotions I could hardly contain myself. 

I'd done some work for Carte Blanche (a hard hitting journalism TV show) and was heading off to drop off the finished product. The whole drive my mind was in turmoil. Thanks to my therapy (see previous posts) I have now been able to identify good thoughts from bad. My mind was full of bad thoughts masquerading as good thoughts. This was what ran through my mind, the eager 13 year old, and the somber 29 year old:

13: OK, so X said we were both interested in each other. That's a good thing. 

29: What if X was only saying that though because X thinks we should be interested in one another? Or if X just wants to see me try, and get rejected? 

13: Don't be silly, X wouldn't do that. Would X? Why? What on earth could possess X to want that to happen? What possible gain does X have from having that happen? So can we rule out X has ulterior motives? Yes. (My brain is a savage nasty creature sometimes, I love you X as wonderful person don't hate me because of my brains paranoia) 

29: OK, back to the question of to phone or not to phone? If I phone and the answer is no - I will feel stupid because 1. I asked, 2. a fat fucker like me should know better than to expect Eros to lower himself to my level, 3. Eros was drooling over another Adonis (so was I but my drool  was the distant self touching later kind of drool, Eros would most likely be able to touch Adonis if he so chose). So three very good, very solid reasons. Don't phone. 

13:  But what if Eros says yes? 

29: Why the FUCK would he say yes? List three reasons, I dare you. 

13: One - I'm funny. 

29: Big deal, fat people farting is funny (so is alliteration apparently, sometimes I wonder about my brain...). 

13:  Two - I'm intelligent. 

29: So's Bill Gates - wanna screw Microsoft (if ever there was a Freudian slip)? 

13: No. OK, how about this: Three, I'm charming, kind, honest, and generally a nice human being. 

29: Oh you mean like the 10 000 other gay men running around Durban? Sorry, that's a 

prerequisite, not an additional bonus.

13: So then there is no real reason to phone?

29: Not unless you want to feel really, really, stupid.

It's at this point in my conversation that I think I ran a red light. Or someone else ran a red light and I hooted. I think that's what happened.

So then the conversation shifted to what I like to call: Deviousnessness. I tried to work out a way that I could call Eros and ask if he wanted dinner. If he said no, I'd quickly amend to say that I wanted to meet him to chat about the script I'm writing, and that others would be coming as well (and then frantically phone others). If he said yes he'd lover dinner, I'd push a little more until I had established that he was either interested or not, using the script for the film (something he mentioned he was interested in helping out with) as a safety. 

That helped. Then the mind - our old Professor Mature - came up with a corker: What if you get together, have a wonderful time, and then break up? Are you prepared to tell someone that you don't love them anymore? Are you prepared to finish something that you start? That was a sobering experience. Until I realized that it was Prof. Mature at work. I mean imagine not starting a relationship because you thought you might have to end it some day, so avoid all that trouble later on by never starting! What the Fuck? Thankfully I had arrived at Carte Blanche and hand over the work. So then I drove home quickly, my mind racing with deviousnessness. 

I got home and quickly delayed things for as long as possible by asking my flatmates about what I should do. The advice was, as I'm sure you'll agree, odd. 

"Sniff him."

Yes, I also said - excuse me? I beg your pardon? 

Sniff him. His breath or his arm pits or his balls. I had to sit down at that point, my knees had folded. Only after much discussion did I realize my flatmate was being facetious. One might as well go around sniffing people for all the guess work one can do before actually just asking. ASK and ye shall get an answer. Something my students seem to not understand. So one could sniff, one could develop devious ways, one could beat around the bush, one could talk to 13 year olds, it all boiled down to one final answer: Phone him or don't. But either way fuck off with all your cerebral masturbating you're interrupting the news. 

So I phoned. All my devious plans dribbled out of my ears, all my sniffing ceased when he answered. The 13 year old inside my head giggle as the 29 year old and Professor Mature turned pale, went weak and began to blabber..."Heya... would you like to get dinner sometime?" After that there was some backwards and forwards sword work until finally he asked:

Eros: May I ask a pointed question?

13: Sure. Ask away. 

29: (I'll lie, fake, prevaricate, obfuscate...)

Eros: Are you asking me on a date?

29/Professor Mature (13 bound and gagged under one arm): Well I might ask that question, but only if I knew the answer to such a question to be a positive and not a negative. For if it was a negative I should deny having ever asked such a question.

Eros: I would not believe your denial.

13: No. Yes. I'm asking.

And so we set it up. God just reading that he still wants to see me? I wouldn't want to see me with that kind of pretentious self sucking shit! 

Now you've been very kind reading this far. So let me round off with some thoughts on this whole thing. The excitement I'm feeling now, the nervous sweat, the lack of mental focus (as per this entire blog), must be felt by every human on the planet? Surely we all go through this at some point in our lives? And I know tomorrow at work I'll be fairly useless. Thinking about what I should wear, what I should say, what I should order, where the fuck to go in the first place... has Eros read this blog, realized how much of a fool I am, and decided to tip cold water in my face the best possible moment (classic bad thought in the guise of a realistic thought)? And then as I drive to Eros's house (I have directions) I will be in a near hysterical state. Is there not some better way? With online dating one gets these sorts of things fairly clearly sorted out before meeting. There isn't this phone calling hype that we generate. Just emails, messages and so forth. At least that's been my experience. Can't we date via document, signed and agreed upon, with check boxes as to what we like, don't like etc?  

Now what really scares me is that every 13 year old on the planet is going through this. At 13 I was worried about Captain Jean-Luc Picard and the Ferengi Alliance, WWF wrestling, and getting the Internet. I was not worried about dating, or loosing focus on the world because of a dinner plan. Perhaps I should have. No point in regreeting... sorry I have to point this out, with a replacement 'e' for a 't' regretting the past becomes regreeting the past - going back and living it all again. This is a deep discovery I'll write a book about one day. Anyway - I guess I understand now why teenagers are such nervous, skittish, self absorbed creatures. I may be coming one myself. In which case is this my mental age? 13? I think so perhaps. And now of course, this flu which has been going around, has got to my nose, and as I sit here, snot is welling up inside my head. How FUCKING ROMANTIC. I'll have the snails for dinner. No, I just sneezed on the pasta. If it's not zits, it's snot. I'm doomed! See I am 13 again, thinking snot would make a funny finishing joke for this blog. 

Let me leave you my beloved reader but I ask you to cast your mind back to your first experience, and remember for just a moment or two how stupid, foolish, and giddy you got, and then think of me, poor, little snot-monster trying so delicately to impress whilst snorking through my pasta. 

Self Doubt...

I'm vexed. Greatly vexed. I'm perhaps even a little depressed. I tried to take part in the Durban 5 Minute film festival that was held a week ago. It was insane. 14 days to make a 5 minute film. I made an 11 minute film. It's the best work I've done. My students helped me. It's the best work they've done, and I'm very proud of them all. However I am still irked.

I'm irked because I set out to make a 5 minute film, and ended up with eleven. I wrote eight pages, and couldn't drop it to five. In fact it increased to ten. How daft is that? The last competition I entered was for a 20 minute film. Mine ended up nearer to thirty. Here I am purporting to teach others how to write films and yet I myself cannot complete such a simple task as sticking to five pages.

And so I am put out by my own inability. What it raises inside my own mind is capacity. Do I have the capacity to actually produce the goods, or am I simply one of those: 'those that can't do, teach' people? Don't worry dear reader, I'm not. As far as I'm concerned. I cannot be. I rebel at the thought. I refuse to accept it, even if it might be true.

I realize that I am often too eager when it comes to productions. And thankfully I am lucky with this festival. There are two challenges - one in May, and another in June. So I have one last chance to make it right. Or do I? Well what this raises is yet another question: Why do I need a film festival to make films? This is my dream isn't it? This is why I resigned from my old company - so I could make films, my way.

So how is it that in the space of a year (because that's how long it's been) I've only made one short film? Two weeks ago? How did that happen? How has time shot past me so quickly? What happened to making films in December? How about January? All gone past, without so much as a script being written.

I begin to realize dimly that this is what happens to us. We get lost in this quagmire of shit called work. Work designed to allow us to live. But we're not living, we're working. And we're working to ensure we can carry on working. And then when we do do the things we love, we have such high personal expectations we begin to hate them when we fall short. I'm not sure if I'm alone here, but I think I am on to something here.

When was the last time you did something just for yourself, over an extended period of time? What was your last great project? Or are you living the dream? Are you running around doing what you set out to do, and not wanting to do anything else? If you are, then great. I'm envious. But if you are just grinding cogs to make it through the cycles, where or when does it end? Is life all about a few snatched moments of joy amidst weeks or months or years or toil?

My film is all about this question. Because the answer - to my mind - is yes. That is what life is about. We struggle, we hurt, we suffer. And sometimes we laugh. The laugher is all the sweeter because of the other. We define our victory and joy by our suffering and loss. Nothing new here. Man has known this paradox for millenia. So what is new? To me what is new is that I now realize that those moments must be savoured, and not missed. In otherwords my dear reader:

"We all make sacrifices, we all do; we just need to make sure we're making the right ones."

Those of us who don't sacrifice something of ourselves, who don't prostitute our abilities to others in exchange for a few moments of joy - are themselves without joy. How can you be happy, if everything you've ever wanted has been handed to you. Define the joy of struggling to achive soemthing, if you can just buy it. There is no value without struggle.

This is something nature offers us, by way of survival of the fittest. Only the stripy zebra's escape. The boring ones - the plain ones - get eaten. What is my point? Do I have one? Do you have one? We all have dreams and goals, hopes and desires. Yet most of us seem to forget them in exchange for basic existance. But basic existance is meaningless without oppsites. Suffering without respite, isn't suffering any more. It's just existance. Joy without loss isn't joy, it's just existance.

So the next time you suffer a setback, or a joy, savour it. Relish it and look at how you can turn it around so that you can then use it to define your next moment. Someone once said: A man is defined by his actions. I agree. We are defined by ours, in particular our actions towards attaining joy, regardless of the vexing suffering that we must pass through first. Embrace the suffering, it'll lead to greater joy later.

So here is this weeks challenge: Think about a 'personal' goal. Bend your will towards getting it, no matter the cost. This challenge is only valid for something that you will need to struggle to get. Now, go fight for it...

Sex... at last... shit.

Well it has finally happened. My ultimate fear, my ultimate concern is now officially over. And I've discovered something new about myself. And I've discovered something that I didn't know, and now I've found all sorts of new things that I didn't want to know. I also now know I don't know what I thought I did, and everything that I did know, I now know wasn't useful to know. Oh and I also know that I'm a total addict. OK for those who are slow, I had sex on Saturday afternoon at around 1530. I only know the times because the cafe we were eating at closed at 1500.  That was also around the time that the neighbours who can see directly into my flat closed their curtains, since I'd forgotten to close ours...oops.

Anyway I wanted to share a blog with you, my dear readers in the hopes of entertaining you, but also in my endeavours to keep myself as open as possible, and perhaps the share some insight into the world of gayness; a world, that I, as you know, am only really starting to explore... Don't worry this isn't a post about men sticking their penises into bottoms, sucking coc... wait. This is...um... 

WARNING - FOR THE FAINT HEARTED READ NOT ON. GO AWAY AND THINK OF HAPPY PLACES. FOR THE TOTALLY INSANE READ ON. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

But seriously I am only going to touch on the curiosity of the event, not the jiggly bits. Oh and I have to quote this, because someone said it about my blog and I'm proud of it: Reading your blog is like watching a car crash happen. You don't want to, you know you're going to regret it, possibly vomit a little, but you just can't help yourself. You just have to...

It began as a few innocent messages on gaydar. That 'Virtual Whore House' as someone once called it. Which is interesting, and for the most part accurate. 'No Pic, No Response'. In other words, Fugglies need not apply (Or the technologically backward hunks out there). Now my policy has always been that if there is no physical meeting (in the Platonic sense) after a couple of weeks, there is no point. Emails, although initially fantastic, ultimately die out, and the relationship, for all the time spent, is worthless. So I was amazed when - and I use the word with pride - a top-drawer stud asked to meet up. 

Well, First Man as I've dubbed him - he could be argued as being Gods first and best creation - happens to been interested in a lot of things I am, oddly enough we share a love of certain TV series, films, and a dislike of women. We don't get breasts... Anyway we met for lunch. Or rather an amazing chocolate cake. Next time you're in Durban give me a shout and I'll take you to this little out of the way place. We chatted, there were a few awkward silences, which after a while I began to feel comfortable with oddly enough for me. We then left, they close at 1500. Standing outside there was some small talk about meeting again etc. Then somehow we got onto the subject of our afternoon plans. I had none, and neither did he. Apart from picking up some friend of his a little later on. So we thought we should do something. 

I won't go into details, but I do not have much of a self esteem when it comes to sexual acts, so my mind was racing like hell for the nearest interesting experience I could think of (not even thinking about sex). Nothing came to mind, but First Man was eager to spend more time with me. I couldn't let that kind of offer pass. So I suggested coffee at my place and we could make plans from there. It was at this moment that a part of my brain got nervous. What should I do if he was to make a move? The other half of my brain immediately broke out into fits of intense laughter at such a thought. But the idea was there. 

To quote for one of my favorite films: 

WOMAN : Would you like to come to my place for a coffee, or just to fuck me?

MAN 2: Um... Coffee would be nice.

God sometimes I wonder about myself. Anyway, we get to my place and my flatmates are out. I make coffee. We sit on the couches, me in my usual place, First Man on the long couch. Chat revolves around things like DVD's etc. Then he asks to see - my stomach. It is a well proportioned affair. Provided you like portions to be basketball sized, and the colour of the full moon. Oh and hair. Not thermal underwear thick, but enough that it could be waxed. 

My brain panicked. I tried one or two dismissive quips, but he was insistent. So, for the first time in my life, well since the belly dancing incident of Standard Six, I showed my gut to another man. And he liked it. From there it became a - I'll show you mine, if you show me yours type affair. 

Nipples. I have never had mine licked, nor have I ever licked. But I shall again. Heck, any body part is a bonus in my books. But there was that, the kissing which I think I understand and have found one particularly pleasurable technique involving sucking the tongue, but when the groping started... my world began to spin. Then when First Man lead me to my bedroom, my brains essentially closed shop. I was in some kind of dream. Here was the amazing specimen of man leading me - a healthy example of excellent fat distribution - into my bedroom. 

I shall not go into the various things that we did, suffice it to say, we did all the normal gay sex things. Now, I've watched my fair share of porn. OK, I'll admit. Porn and I have had a long, long relationship. 14400 modems have downloaded porn in black and white for me. So I would have guessed that I 'knew a thing or two'. Nope. I remembered a few principles: keep the teeth out of it, start slowly etc. But most of it was totally forgotten. 

Now, unlike most normal heterosexual sex where one is the vagina and the other is the man, in gay sex this is sometimes negotiable. Well, for years I have always thought that I'd be the mounter. He who inserts. Not this time folks. I was mounted. It was as unpleasant as one can imagine. I felt like throwing up, screaming (OK, I actually did that). I wanted him out of me - the pain seemed to race up across my guts and into my chest. I wanted him to stop. I thought - this is it. I'm going to tear in half. I'm dead. They'll find me, two bloody halves in a couple of weeks time. At the same time though I wanted it to last forever. And I want it to happen again. And again. And again. And the loss of myself - to this world of pain, of pleasure, being merely a puppet, a thing to be fucked - was a total turn on for me. I am a control freak in some senses, mainly those involving myself. Not in the bedroom. There I am the student, not the master.

A friend of mine tells me that parts of our brains shut down during sex. I now believe that. 

Herewith follows an apology to all my sexually active friends: 

"We, that is to say, I, herewith offer to the full extent of my faculties and capabilities a most heart-felt and intellectual retraction of my statements about you, your partner and your sexual action - that of not using a condom. If my statements about 'how stupid can you be' or 'you dumb fuck what where you thinking?' caused you, your offspring, you unintended offspring, your parents, your grandparents, yourselves, or your pets with sufficient intellectual capacity to read or understand those words, that I am really, truly very sorry. I was wrong."

As things were getting serious I asked if there was a condom around. Now, my room isn't exactly geared up for sex. No handy towels, toilet rolls, creams, gels, or condoms floating about. You don't exactly need that kind of stuff when you're on your own... except for towel... fuck off you get the point. Anyway I asked if there was condom. First Man breathed heavily on my neck and murmured no. But he was safe. I know I am. Mrs. Palmer doesn't have AIDS. Now, a sensible person would have then opted for a non-penetrative release. A Sensible person would have stopped. I was a fat man about to be fucked by a god. The Sensible git could go take a cold shower for all I cared. So I had unprotected sex. I'm off for an AIDS test in a couple of weeks time, as that is the window period I think. Not because I don't trust him. I do. But because what if I'm wrong and I got it from a needle somewhere? I've had many liver tests in my life. 

And so it was over, and there was some mess about, which he had to clean. I did not orgasm. But it felt as if I had, the best I've ever had as a matter of fact. It felt as if the world was over. I did not care. I was beyond heaven. We lay together for a while before his memory jogged about his friend waiting to be picked up. He'd only been waiting an hour and a half. Not that I could give a fig. And so it was over. First Man than hoped to be allowed to return. I was about ready to marry the man. He has gone on a fishing trip down the South Coast, and may return this weekend. I may, or may not see him, that's up to him. I hope, I really, really do, that I see him again. I've already warned most of my friend: if he does come back, I shan't be seeing them. Most of them have already given me permission to forget any plans I've made with them, bless them all. But to be honest, the Queen of England could ask me to tea, and if First Man thought he might be around, the Queen could go fuck a corgi. Strange how I, I the man, the gay guy, swore I'd never allow my relationships to change me, or affect my friendships. I have thrown that one, along with safe sex, not sleeping on the first date... etc out the window. Am I a bad person? Am I weak person? The Victorian thinks so. Me, personally, I don't. I can now SEE the intangible. Or maybe I'm not thinking straight.  

So this brings me back to sex. Now that I've had it, I have had my eyes opened to a new world. I walked around the Pavilion seeing light cascade off of walls onto floor panels, feeling textures on seats I'd never bothered about before. But in the past my eyes would follow a good looking bloke for a second or two, and then turn away; and my thoughts used to be - gosh good looking chap that. Wow. Someones lucky. Now, I ogle away, running my mind over his body. Feeling the skin on the tips of my fingers, my lips, my tongue. I cannot help but remember the feel of First Man's great body, and go all giggly inside. The world's worries are so far detached I don't care. I know this euphoria will not last, but so far I've had the best two days of my life. 

What I've learned is that my body is a powerful weapon, a powerful weapon against my mind. No wonder people use it so often. Up until now, my mind has been my driving force. Now it's met it's match. But here is the thing: this one act has unified them. They have a single goal: Get more. Forget mental linking, forget interesting personalities. The brain/body craves more flesh. Should First Man turn into a ghost and move on to another conquest (I hope not, and will turn into a Christian if it would help so I could pray to a god that he doesn't) I know I will turn my focus onto finding more. A replacement. What I also know is deep, dark, danger lies that way. Fucking or being fucked just for that euphoria is much like taking a drug. After a while it won't have any effect. But large parts of me don't care. When the effect no longer happens, we'll die, be reincarnated, and hope for the best. It is a terrible wonderful place. 

I have also had ZERO focus for the past two days. My mind is constantly wandering back to the place, the sights, the sounds, the smells, the tastes. I have found it very difficult to focus. So if it is hard for me to focus, a 'mature' 28 year old with the mental constitution of a Victorian, how are 14, 15, and 16 year old kids supposed to deal with it? I don't doubt my students now when they talk about not being able to do their work. If any of them are out there having sex (and a large percentage seem to be) then I don't blame them. 

So I can only hope - on the one side - that it becomes the banal, the end to a good day. And doesn't remain the holy grail, the all consuming passion that it is at the moment. If, and I say this whilst looking at a long distance orgasm machine on sale on ebay, if mankind ever works out a means of virtual sex simulation that comes even close to the real thing, the world will carry on spinning, it'll just be very, very empty. We'll all have died of protein deficiency or something...

Ps. I am using a post script because I wanted to end on the protein deficiency joke. But I'm not finished talking. What I want to know then, of those of you who have been fucking, or being fucked for the last ten years or more, do you keep it new and exciting, is it routine, do you need different partners, how do you keep it alive? 

PPs. I also want to know what is so sacred about sex? To me First Man, will always be, The First, but should he move on, I shall as well. I don't feel there is a special bond. I feel I can comfortably walk up to him (First) and touch his dick, something I don't do to those without permission (the bond), but it's not some life shattering soul mates type of thing. I suspected there would be deep emotional bonds? Perhaps this is just the last remnants of my Victorian Professor trying to keep me safe? I don't know. Or perhaps I do feel them, I am just to afraid to say them, in case they turn into smoke?

PPPs. I'm finished now. I hope you all have a great day, and I hope you all have sex tonight or soon. The cute ones amongst you, I'm happy to help oblige in that case... :-)

To play or not...

Today I got a taste of the future of gaming, and by god does it taste like shit with a capitol SH…IT. I have two games that I want to play. One is online, and the other is or rather said on the box – requires internet to install. Now working in the film industry I know all about copy right and so forth and so on, and I understand that in a bid to ensure that their games are not copied and distributed computer software giants are resorting to online security checks. Fine. I support that. I’m a proud member of STEAM, PUNK BUSTER, XFIRE, SEGA, ACTIVISION, LIONHEAD, the list continues.

Today it has taken me nearly an hour to launch the one game. Steam likes to update itself, check to see if Mother Theresa has risen from the dead, download a few porn (Heterosexual no doubt), scratch it’s digital balls and then decide to update the game. I remember when it used to take 30 minutes to load a game. It was called the COMMODORE 64, and the game was on cassette tape. Oh and that was nearly 20 years ago. We’re going backwards? Or is South Africa not keeping up? Well certainly on the net side of things I know SA is behind. But hopefully in 2010 that will change.

So then lets look at the other game, the one that has taken 5 gigs of downloads, two weeks of updates and two reinstalls. Lord of the Rings Online. Now I don’t mind paying R150 a month for a game like this. It updates regularly, I can play with my mates and all is good and well. Or so you’d think? They recently changed their billing company who are now separate. OK, well I haven’t played the game for a while now, but sure – I’ll give yet another company my digital DNA (name, addy, credit card etc). Except that before I’d even seen a hobbit’s hair foot, the website cheerfully tells me to phone the UK because my card and account has been blocked.

No reason, just blocked. Phone the UK. Guess what – the number doesn’t work! Hahahahahaha. OK, so I look for my land line telephone (it’s usually lying next to the ADSL router which is permanently connected. Can’t find the phone. Turn the house inside out, upside down. No phone. Either my flatmates have shoved it up their asses in some bizarre sexual version of broken telephone, or the maid has tossed it out, or simply put it in the cupboard with the dishwashing liquid… brb –

-no, not there either.

So I can’t use Telkom to call the UK. Now the reason why I’m trying to call them is because three weeks ago this happened. And so I sent them an email – as they suggest. Fuck all. Not even an automated response. Nothing. So I wrote to Codemasters (makers of Lord of the Rings Online) and complained. How was I supposed to give them my R150 per month if I couldn’t even resolve why I wasn’t allowed to sign up? Their response was swift.

“Regretfully we are not licensed to operate in South Africa and so cannot provide support.”

Regretfully I bought their FUCKING GAME in a South African store. To me that means, if you ship if to a country and take people’s money, you license yourself to provide support. But anyway… so today I tried another credit card, after going through the shlep of creating a new free email address (won’t allow my username to even enter a different card… just blocked), go through the whole D DNA thing again, and what happens? Guess? You got it – FUCKING BLOCKED – AGAIN! A different card! I give up. I bought a game and I can’t play it. And the people who sold it to me – won’t help me. And the people who made it – deny it’s their problem. Where does that leave me?

Wait – it gets better – it leaves me trying to write my blog about how frustrated I am. EXCEPT THE BLOG THING IS FUCKED!!!!! And yes I’m using multiple exclamation points because it’s necessary. The blogger I use loads up to the sign in page, and then sits there. So I’m writing this in word pad (a good, tried and tested fucking program that doesn’t need fucking internet or STEAM or anything to work). I will, when the blog site is back and running, try to upload this. If not, I’ll go cut my fingers off for something to do and be mildly entertained by.

Good bye cruel digital world… like you give a fuck.

I was having dinner with two friends the other day. Two friends who are at opposite ends of their lives in terms of change. The one friend has a stable job, owns a house, has a car, and knows what he wants from planet Earth. The other just got his girlfriend pregnant, lives with the in laws to be, and has a part time job. In six months time that little critter is gonna pop out of the mother and turn his world upside down. His social life is about to change forever. I have another group of friends who - although they have planned for their spawn - will also change their lives forever. And then there is me, who was supposed to go on a blind date the other day (it was canceled by him and moved to this weekend). I've never, ever, ever been in a relationship that I've taken seriously with intent. So my world is going to change as well. I've noticed that no matter how much one says: Oh, it'll still be the same, nah we'll both join you - you'll see. And I've seen. Couples - no matter how wonderful they are, and I know a few - are just that - couples.

Their psyche has changed, and their loyalty as well. It makes social engagements a little trickier, as now you have TWO peoples calenders to align. For as much as couples like to do things on their own, they're more inclined to do things as a couple. In short what I'm driving at is that once someone becomes part of a couple restraints appear (intentionally and unintentionally). Now that causes change. Big change, in many small ways. The couples with kids - well, their offspring become the most important part of their world, and rightly so. Everything else is merely a wonderful distraction. As for those in relationships doing things alone seems empty without the other.

What's your point I hear you groan? Well my point is - this dinner conversation I was having with these friends. The bloke who's life is as stable a rock was concerned over a statement of mine:

"Friends change and move apart. That's life. We go with the flow to be happy, and that flow invariably shifts. Why should we try to keep old friendships alive, just for the sake of friendship?"

What I mean to say is that I don't feel that one should need to 'work' at friendships. I've heard countless people say: oh you have to work at them (friendships and relationships). My question is why? Why should I put in any work to something that is supposed to be there ostensibly for enjoyment? I mean we have friends because initially they entertain us. Then we move into the close friendship role, where one then starts discussing idea's, dream's, hopes etc. Finally our really 'close' friends we use as sounding boards for our life's big changes. We seek advice from one another. If you ask me it sounds like we look for people whom we can then use to help us with our OWN lives. I know people will say there is more to it. But is there really? If a friend of mine says he's struggling financially. I'd offer him what little money I had, and I'd offer a room in my house. But once the phone call was over, I'd think - poor so and so. And that would be it. I'd move on to my own problems.

So when a friendship naturally starts to drift...I say bon voyage. When my friends all have kids and they have their little kid's parties and fears and phobia's, they'll develop their own friendships with other couples with kids. And they can all share in the delights of their kids. I don't like kids. I don't find their actions funny, interesting, or remotely entertaining. If I did like kids maybe it would be a different post. But sadly I don't. I don't relate to them. But should I expect my married friends to be interested in my world? Sure - they're still humans. Do I expect them to interact in my world? No. Maybe once or twice a year, when the kids are at grandma's. Because I sure as hell don't want kids in my house. But I also expect them to assume that I'm interested in their kids. Read above - I'm not. Why should I be? Just because they're my friends kids? Who cares? They do, naturally. I don't. So when we go out to dinner, and the kids are there making a noise, or being kids, or being perfect I'll have to adapt. I can't refer to that mother fucker bitch lesbian who lives down the road. I can't extol the virtues of decapitating a son-of-a-bitch and bleeding him like a pig. I'll need to be restrained. For the sake of the kids? At least I would be, regardless of parental decision.

But what about the friends who don't change? What about them? My mother hates change. She derives her sense of self worth by how much things haven't changed. I have friends who don't seem to change. Always constant. One of them changed his job the other day, in a massive leap of faith he quit his existing job and found another. Damn was I impressed. For years he hadn't changed. Then suddenly. My point is - people change. It is a requirement of existence on this planet. Those who actively seek to go against change, usually end up with lots of cats in a house alone. I don't know why. I on the other hand embrace change. I openly flaunt change, seeking to develop new idea's, myself, and my existence, and I write these blogs to hopefully inspire change in others.

So when I look at friendships, as one friend pointed out - I've never had to look for friends. They've always found me. In heaps. I have lots of friends. But when I look at those friendships, I am incapable of feeling sorrow when they end. And I don't feel any justification for keeping a friendship running when the two friends have nothing left, except history. Sticking together because of history is to me a sad and miserable existence. It means you're friends because of what happened in the past, not because of what's happening now. That is an incredible view point. If I'm not having fun now, what is the point? Hoping or trying to force fun to happen in the future? Because it happened once before in the past? I'm sorry but that's just silly.

So this blog then is a question to all of you out there - what is friendship, and what does it actually mean to you, and why do you cherish it? Why do you mourn it's loss or 'fight' to save it? Because I don't know those answers. To summarize:

Friendship to me is mutual entertainment. I make you feel good, and so do you. I push you to change, and so do you. It means to me the ability to be entertained by you, and for me to feel good that I've entertained you. I cherish it because I like to be entertained, and I like to entertain. I don't mourn it's loss because there are 6.5 billion people on Earth and I'll find someone else to entertain, and be entertained by. What we had was great, but that doesn't mean it will never happen again with other people. And I don't fight to save things. If they end, they end. I accept it, and move on. Because if I don't - well nothing will stop, care, or well... everything will still happen. It's the same attitude I have to death. My grandmother died. I was... put out. I wanted more information from her, I wanted to spend more time with her to learn her stories, and hear her insights. But that was over. So I said good bye at her funeral and that's it. I didn't mourn. It was just over. Move on.

A friend said I'm a stark realist. I like to think so. I spend enough time deluding myself and pretending not to care about money, my health, and my own talent that I don't have time to then fight or hold on to the past. It's over, and here's the key - it has no, zero, less than nought, bearing on the Now. A friend lost is gone. They cannot help you now. Thus I ask: What is friendship to you, and why is it so important?

The orgasming whistling duck of Withelingweath...

I am currently listening to Pietr Ilyich Tchaikovsky's 5th Symphony. It's one of the most beautiful  things I've ever heard. It's subtle, violently passion, bold, timid, daring, scared - playful, serious. It's fucked up, down, left and right. It's awesome. I can't help but whistle along, because screaming would worry the neighbours. It floats around on some kind of mad, maniac, zephyr in my mind making me feel calm, peaceful, joyful, hopeful, wild, free, creative, and makes me want to burst with energy. At times I find myself holding my breath, waiting for the explosion... my head to burst into a billion balls of light and for my soul to mix with the music and turn into a super dragon of pure holiness and burn through the fabrics of reality into the heavens of quantum and there to become one with the all glorious eternity of the perfect sounds of all the other liberated souls. It makes me write like this... 

Why?

And why Tchaikovsky? I mean The Beetles wrote some good stuff, and you can't help but like Madonona... and who could forget 'These are a few of my favorite things'? But it's specifically opera and at the moment Pietrs work that has my soul moving. And this worries me. These amazing passions that stir up within me, that build to such climax - is this my soul? Or just intense human emotion - connecting to what? If it is my 'soul' dancing in pleasure, by god - literally - I'm fucked. I don't believe I have a soul. But then how do I explain my intense inner feeling of wonder, contentment, excitment and joy? What is being contented? What is being consoled? My mind? Am I sitting here marveling at the way in which the lead violin is not to strong, or the way the brass hit the notes with perfect clarity? Not that I'm aware of. It's the pervasive 'soul' of the music that is doing something to my inner self. My mind is being affected and I don't know why. I'm not going to stop it, in fact I just turned it up. MY GOD THIS FEELS GOOD. GOOD! Blast your music deep with me... see I can make listening to music read like sex. But its not about sex. It's not about a physical. It's a non-physical thing, a vibration in my head (literally) that seems to set off the right chemicals. 

But not in others. 

Why?

What music do you listen to, and have you have any of these kinds of -awesome, god-touching, soul creating - moments. Come to think of it, has any experience (apart from a church experience) touched you in a deep and personal way for real reason? Share with me, I'm curious. My ears burn with the music, my mind sings with the noise, my heart beats with the drums, and I'm cleanesed. Of what I don't know. But I've never been touched by music like this before either. And no, I'm not drunk, on drugs, or just finished paint stripping the bathroom. The music is just fucking awesome. Someone with knowledge on this stuff please tell me why - I know the old saying: Music to sooth the savage beast... and I've been labeled a Hutt so I guess I qualify but... damn this is intense.

Anyway I had to share this with you. So I encourage you - find a piece of excellent music (Tchaikovsky's 5th Symphony!) lock yourself in your room, turn on the volume and let it wash over you. Let it swell around your ears, pour down into your brain and lift you off of this shitty planet with it's shitty problems to a place of perfect noise. I have to stop writing now, it's too much. Catch you on planet mars kids, I'm fucking off.... yeah baby yeah...

Friends and enemies...

I play a game each week called Dungeons and Dragons. It's a wonderful game that tests narrative capacity, improves intellectual response, trains leadership skills, develops communication (if not spelling) abilities... I could go on. Now in this game you have a Game Master who essentially sets the scene for the players to then interact with and overcome (typically the scene involves rescuing virgins from dark towers filled with the forces of evil). Now there are literally hundreds of rule books that describe a multitude of systems that can be employed to bring structure and balance to the game. These rule books contain hundreds, if not thousands of rules.

Recently and not so recently this simple little game of make-believe and group story telling has nearly ripped my friendships apart because one of the fundamental concepts of the game is: The rules are always right, unless the Game Master (GM) decides otherwise (in effect - use the rules till you don't want them/need them etc). The other fundamental is the Game Master is always right. It's his world after all. But something that has always been a major issue in my life as a Game Master is a balance between GM rules, and Book rules. I hate book rules. I really and truly do. I find them so restrictive in terms of narration. It limits the players in what their characters can do, it limits the GM in terms of what he can do. On the other end of the scale though is a game without rules is simply chaos. And different players see actions and requirements differently.

So of late we've been bumping heads - my players and I. Those who love the rules (Rules Lawyers) and those who hate the rules (Rules Anarchists) have been at logger heads. Then compound this with the fact that players misread the rules (both intentionally and unintentionally), apply those rules haphazardly, or in some cases ignore the rules this can cause some major issues. Finally add in a GM aka me who simply uses the rules as pretty pictures and makes up his own anyway. What you get is a potential clash of wills. The Rules Lawyers fight amongst themselves (its amusing to see the squabbles over whether a dwarf can jump a ten foot chasm without being tossed), the Rules Anarchists ignore everyone anyway, and the GM is simply keeping the monsters coming until someone dies.

Not a pretty picture. All those intellectual virtues, those communications skills... collapse into a heap as the kids fight over a +2 or +4 bonus. Finally when you add to the mix vast quantities of caffeine, pizza, salt, sugar, and lack of sleep those tempers shift from being within the game, to without the game. And friendships start to crack. It's the funniest thing. And for a while I couldn't work out why we would prefer a game over a human. Why we blame bad players, and not bad rules. Curious is it not? The conclusion I came to the other day whilst screaming a dear friend of mine over the phone about whether or not a jump forward and down would incur more damage than a simple jump down (who cares?) is that this is the ultimate form of escapism for those of us with the capacity to imagine.

For the game involves/ed using paper, pencils, dice, and occasionally a map. Nothing tangible. The new version of the game now involves little miniatures, but the majority of the play is on paper and in your head. There is the nub of it. In your head. It's a personal experience that you're sharing with others. No wonder we get fidgety over a +2... it's a personal +2. +2 inches could be a whole big difference in the real world, and its more so in the fantasy world. And then I realized as well that there are not only the Rules Lawyers and the Rules Anarchists - but there are also the serious players and the non-serious players. And within those two categories there are two camps. The Serious players are dedicated to the rules first and foremost. The rules, the numbers, the values, are all that matter. Application of those values will in some way give them immense pleasure. The second camp within the serious players are those who play their character for life. They are desperate their this extension of themselves to succeed. And will not vary until they have. Naturally you get people who do both - rules and character obsession.

The other camp - the non-serious guys, play the game because it's interesting to see how the story will unfold for the particular character they're playing. They might be rules lawyers in which case they want to see how far they can push the rules, and how much fun they can have with those rules. Or like myself the non-serious player is there to have fun. He uses the rules in the opposite direction of the fanatical achiever to create characters with flaws, with weak values just to see what happens. And when his character dies, he simply pulls out the next one. For example last night we played, and I rolled (created) two options - a near sighted dwarf or a paranoid elf. I just wanted to see if these could become heroes. The paranoid elf, although afraid of everything trying to kill him, so far, has managed to avoid death.

But what amazes me, and is the actual crux of this post is that whether you're serious or not, a lawyer or not the result is the same: Frustrations in the game spill over into the real world. A slight of honour in the games applications slap the real players. Again as Humans we have managed to create a set of rules that have as much meaning as fairy dust, and those self created rules rip us apart. I'm sure that each of us could go off and write our own rules (hell I've done that three times already in 10 years). Start our own games where we call all play the role of GM.. of god. So is this what we'd call a closed system experiment? A small simple system describing a larger system? The rise of religion? Perhaps I'm stretching the analogy too far, but all I know is that it's really not worth destroying real friendships because of some self created rules...

But then again... why do we do it? Imagination is a powerful thing, perhaps the only thing that separates us from the other animals. After all imagination is what we need in order to develop our skills with manipulating the intangible. So is an attack on our imagination, an affront on our creative mind, then the greatest attack that one can make against man? Attack the only thing that makes us Human? Now there is something to think about...