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?
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Sunday, July 1, 2012
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?
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?
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
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?
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?
Monday, May 7, 2012
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...
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...
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
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...
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...
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
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?
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?
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