Very rough draft of what I've currenly been working on:
One
I'm going to lie. This a fact. I do not mean this in a paradoxical way, don't go trying to double guess if my initial statement is, in it's self a lie, I'm not that kind of person. Okay so that last part was a lie, I am that type of person. An arsehole. I would be misleading you to early to make you believe in any way that I am, was or ever will be a nice person. I can be nice but for the most I follow the path of least resistance more reliably than electrons though a wire. I feel I am digressing, something you will have to get used to along with the fact that although these words are my own they will have been filtered though a series of people who know my words better than myself and who know which of these words you'll want to hear and which you'll feel better not seeing. But to the point. I will lie. We all do it, any one who claims otherwise is only misleading themselves. Most of the time I try not to lie outright, often it's my memory working in a creative role, other times it's me hiding things I don't want you to hear. More often than not it will be primarily to seem cooler than I am. This is a feat that requires little effort.
Let me try this introduction to me again. Hello I am someone. There is a good chance I've never met you. I'm sure if we met we would be awkward at first then become fast friends. Then we would no doubt have some form of falling out which will make it difficult for our other friends and one of us would end up worse off for the deal. Things you need to know about me?
I lie, as I have tried and failed to explain but I'm sure you get the general form and shape of this statement.
I'm not a nice person. This is not because I live in a mountain that looks like a snake and kick puppies, more that I don't believe there are that many people who are honestly a positive influence on this world.
I'm not half as smart as I think I am and not a quarter as most people assume I am.
I like comics, fantasy role play and computer games, not because they are art of a sign of higher intelligence but because I'm childish and like games. I am not a child but I have seen no reason in this world to put away childish things, in fact it seemed we are encouraged to become more childish as we age. I may explain this, justify my self, later but I honestly can not be certain.
I have enough knowledge of most things to bluff my way though without a natural twenty being rolled. This does not mean that I will always do so, I learnt long ago you can normally get further with people when you play it dumb.
You'll no doubt learn more of me as I write down the things I plan to tell you but that will be enough for you to hum along to the tune and manage a touch of the chorus as I sing the song I'm here to sing. One last thing though. Nothing you read here has been thought out beforehand and I have no plans of going back on my self. This is a story that is not a story, think of it was a diary of my life and mind written in a style that will jump from the current to the past, from the relevant to irrelevant much as we all think from day to day. If you think you want to know what I am if not who then I ask you to read on. If not then you've either wasted a fair few quid, some of which will find it's way into my pocket or I've claimed more than I should of your life than I should have. I'm not sorry. I regret nothing.
Two
Since a young age, lets say six for the sake of numbers, I had a problem. I found I was good at most things I tried. I never really excelled in a single area but never really found anything that really challenged me. When I say good I do not mean I was competent, I mean I was noticeably skilled but never the best. I did find a few things, which to this day, I am not good at. Darts is a great example as it helps explain further my initial point. There is a trick to darts. I have no idea what that trick is and have been unable to have it explained to me but I know there is a small technique that has eluded me my entire life. I have found this true of most things in life, that there is a trick. Most of the time I will discover it rather quickly and be able to understand it exceptionally quickly, other times I know the trick but can't understand it.
This, I suppose is where my troubles began. When you know how to do something but can't quite understand why problems arise. When you can lie your way out of these problems the issue can start to become dangerous depending on the lie you tell. I will give you a single, harmless instance of when this was a problem. When I was working as barman I quickly rose though the ranks of bar life, from glass collecting to being a pump jockey to making cocktails to running the bar. Because I was fast and able to cover my tracks people around me assumed I had a clue what I was doing, people who had created a complex lie to justify the work they did, believing that there is some true skill in pulling pints in a cheap bar in Leeds. I quickly saw the whole industry for what it was, a lie. I could serve three people on a busy night and still make people believe I had worked harder than all of them. I started to get comfortable in my own lie just as I was put in charge of the shift I worked. The small management tasks where not a problem, ordering and shifts are nothing but painfully simple mathematics which I almost take pleasure in pretending are complex as others seem to believe them, giving credit to the lies they live by, allowing them to correct my mistakes deliberately made and laughing inward when they corrected things that where not. I found a small pleasure in this role, it was easy money and made me sociable with people outside of the few I considered friends. However my lies caught up to me. If you are expecting a story where people realised I had bluffed my way from glass collector to a shift manager in under a month then your frankly out of luck. Even if people had noticed they wouldn't have said anything or more likely admitted it to themselves, they would then have to face the illusion they had spun around there lives for what it was. No, my down fall was with a trick. I had worked out how to change a barrel though logic and once watching a new employee show me he knew how. I thought I had the knack for it, that I knew this simple little system in this simple little job. I had been lazy, I had assumed that after I gained employment with a small white lie on my application form that a job staffed by the dregs of society and fellow students who seemed none too smart that the systems would all be the same. Pulling a pint turned out to be no true effort, it seemed that years of standing at the other side of the bar had taught me all I needed there, cocktails where simple enough when you considered how low class the establishment was and how easy it was to please women who had already drank enough to last them three nights out with simple bottle spins, half the time I didn't even need to add the alcohol, they assumed it was there and their taste buds had long migrated far enough from the tongue that they considered a kebab food. This in turn resulted in my shift being considerably up on stock allowing me to treat my team to a drink out of my own pocket with out spending a penny. I had made a mistake. I assumed around these simple tasks and simple people that I would not need to learn anything. This was my mistake. I have said before I learn quickly, it was this mistake that made me learn to not make assumptions. It was midway though a Friday night, the pump jockeys had sold enough beer to make it clear I was going to have to get a barrel changed in a short moment. It was then I casually realised, while arranging to meet a rather attractive young lady later that night, that I didn't have anyone who could change a barrel for me on till much later in the shift. Caught in my own lie I went to the cellar. I can change a barrel, I would prefer not too but I know how, Christ a monkey could do it with little to no training. I should have waited. I should have made sure I paid attention to my little trainee. I was stupid. Sometimes I think of how lucky I am. Not thankful of my mind or my life style, just of plain how much luck I seem to have when it comes to staying alive. So far in my life I should really be dead or at least extremely disabled by at several major incidents. This was number four. The first of my adult life and it did scare me, it was my fault. I blamed others at the time but ultimately I knew it was me which is why I walked out and never came back. If you learn only one thing from me, learn this. Check that when using anything mechanical that you know how to check it's safe for use. One lose screw could have been the end of me, a screw I should have known to check if I hadn't assumed. People often talk about their lives flashing before their eyes. This didn't happen, if it did it was obscured by the high powered fountain of beer gushing from the broken attachment. I have often thought I would lose my life to alcohol but at that moment I believed I was going to join the ranks of urban myths, the splattered barman. To this day I have never bothered to find out if a keg can explode when depressurised in such a way. I doubt it but I have never doubted the handle I saw when the fountain of 5% larger had come down enough for me to see the world without a filter of hops. The last time I checked if a plastic and metal handle can imbed itself into hard wooden plank then it would have little trouble with my skull. A quick moment of calculations reviled that it must have passed no more than a hand width from my face on its merry little flight. There is something humbling about standing in a pool of beer realising you should be dead. That maybe should have been something I considered more but I live without regret, instead I learn. I Never got the night out with the young lady, I do think that arranging the details of a date when you smell like the slops tray is not a good idea. I realise now that I didn't have to leave that job. That it could have happened to anyone. Another thing to know about me, when I learn I leave.
Three
This may be the perfect moment to explain luck and how it effects my life. First I think it would be wise to explain where I stand on the issue of religion. As a child I was a devote Catholic. I managed to go to the best primary school in my area as a result of my religion. I was taught by nuns, the last year group of my school to be so. I was not abused by them, nor touched by the priests and this is not something I would ever claim for the sake of dramatic effect. In fact I enjoyed my religious up bringing. I was an alter boy and my family where supportive of what they saw as the gifted child of the family. I led prayers and rosary, to this day I will visit a Catholic church for mass when I crave something familiar. I was ear marked to join the priesthood and was considering such when I had, not so much a crises of faith but a total revelation at the age of nine. It came during a morning episode of the show Charlie Chalk. For those not familiar with this excellent show it was about a clown who lived on an island, I believe it was from the same people who made Fireman Sam, Postman Pat and a show who I can only remember the name of the central character being Bertha. I was never a fan of Postman Pat. His life style seemed to far removed to me and I always wondered why he was allowed to bring Jess along on his rounds. Fireman Sam I had a soft spot for, which to this seems to manifest as a love for the Welsh accent but I still have no idea why the ginger haired child was never taken into care as his mother clearly had no control over him. Right enough of BBC children shows for now onward with the point. My watching the afore mentioned shipwrecked harliquin was a rare thing indeed as he was allotted the morning gap in the television schedule after the early Children are not normal people but at the tender age of nine I had already discovered I like sleep and as such would stay wrapped in my blanket until the final moment. This day was different. For some reason the moment my eyes opened that day I was fully awake. I'm sure you have experienced it before, not shocked into alertness nor slowly waking into conscious but a switch from sleep to awake with no seam. I dressed, took my book from under my pillow and made my way to the sitting room. I sat. After a few moments of being unable to get into my book (which I want to say was Dragonlance but can't remember for certain) before the realisation that by sleeping late every day I had never tried to read with no background noise, the near silence was something that I suddenly hated, now I love silence but then it stopped my reading, crime of crimes. So it was on with the Sony Trinitron and out gushed the multicoloured, nay, Technicolored eye candy of the 1980's. I sat back book forgotten and allowed the show to do what it was designed to do, entertain me while reinforcing Christian morals in my mind. I do not know if this episode was the case of my later reaction, I can't remember the content of the episode, only that the white faced buffoon was doing his tumbling about the island as he always did and there was some form of problem that was solved though people from diverse background coming together to conquer a common ill though pulling together under the name of Christ, I mean Charlie. Maybe this unbeknownst exposure to what I interpret as an example of the Russian movement of Fools for Christ, and yes I am that pretentious, is what sparked my experience which I will know go on to explain. The time came for me to go to school, something I always enjoyed as apart from writing I was given a free hand by my teachers to study much what I pleased within the subject, knowing I would become listless if forced to study things I had already mastered. Writing was an exception as my handwriting to this day makes even the scrawl of doctors believe I am writing in alchemical codes and my spelling and grammar only support this theory. It was before the days of dyslexia being a common diagnosis and it was simply thought I was slow in this one area, which I still seem to be, believing that learning though repetition would cure me of my problems, if you knew the number of times I have hit F7 during this story already you would realise it did nothing for me.
So the day began as all days do with a prayer to God almighty, Christ the Saviour and the Holy Ghost who does something or other akin to religious gaffer tape. A quick pray to Mary the Mother later, which I was already questioning as iconicism much to the distress of the Sisters, and it was on to the learning. Clearly I had undergone some form of change between waking and starting the work set to us as a Sister asked me if I was feeling well as I seemed withdrawn. I responded that I was fine but feeling strange at which the Sister sent me to the nurses office to see if there was anything wrong with me. I walked to the nurses office alone as I knew the way well, despite my strong faith I had often found my self in fights with other boys. I knocked and entered after a period of silence as I knew the nurse preferred us to be comfortable while we waited. I clambered on to the sick bed, and I do mean clambered as I was extremely short for my age, crossed my legs underneath me in a comfortable fashion and looked out the window at the unremarkable spring day. The nurse entered and greeted me warmly asking what was wrong, I explained in a way that explained nothing and she informed me she was going to see the Sister who had sent me. I returned to the sport of window gazing as I had all the posters in the room memorised when it started to rain. I like rain. Rain has always managed to inspire joy in me no matter if I am outside or inside, but today was the first time in my life I saw where rain fall ended. The line between sunshine and downpour was apparent, a clean straight line, one side a warm spring day, the other a beautiful torrent of water. It was at that moment I noticing I was first understood something that would effect me for the rest of my life. The sight of seeing something happen in one location but not another sparked the realisation that people where no different. I suddenly started to see the world though others points of view. I saw the moments I'd seen that day from others eyes. My mother and father seeing me up early and ready to leave, the Sister noticing I was somehow different in my outward appearance, other children seeing me and what they would think from this and how it would differ from child to child. That the same program I watched that morning was seen by thousands, for the concept of millions was as sex, each with different ideas and interpretations of what they saw. This cascade of thought was interrupted by the nurse bringing me my book and telling me to take an hour and see if I felt better after this rest in a world not of my creation and supplied me with a cup of squash. I took her advice and after a period immersed in the world of dragons and failing magic which managed to place my new thoughts in the back of my mind. Around a week later I realised that I didn't believe in God. Seven years later, after looking into every religion I could find I started to call myself an atheist. Now this is not why I am the way I am but it's important to realise I do believe in luck as a concept which is at odds with my religion.
Four
I may finish that story later. I may not. I said before, and this is the only warning you'll get, that this is going to be an experience in my chain of thought. I was bored of explaining my self so I took some time to my self. I'm worried about being a white European male. It's not like I have a real cultural identity. I'm a young white English man, heck I can't even say British. I find it strange my auto spell capitalised English for me but not british. As you may have worked out I grew up in the 80's. A few moments with Google and Wiki, the friends of the ignorant, and you may even be able to work out when I was born. The 80's where odd. Looking back they seem like that last hour of the party where everyone tries to get away with what ever they can before they're kicked out to walk home in the cold. People still seemed to plead ignorant to the fact that "drugs fuck you up" and people where allowed to do what they wanted under the justification that they could. While I was born in the 80's you can say I am a child of the 90's and it's quite likely I will agree. The 90's are a study in people saying sorry. The 90's was women acting like men and calling it equality. The music was good, Belle and Sebastian, Super Furry Animals, Sleeper, Cake, Elliot Smith, Bis, Portishead, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Arab Strap and everyone else I listen to. It was the first generation of teens who had to say "yes coke is bad for me but you know what, it's fun!" a generation with out an excuse. A generation of white men saying sorry for stuff they didn't do and would never do. This tangent is here for a reason. I'm drunker than I should be. Well that's one reason the other is British parliament passed a law today which reads as "If a while person is in an interview for a job and a less skilled Black/Asian the Black/Asian man MUST get the job". Now I see no issue in making sure a job goes to the most skilled person but to actively encourage employment based on positive discrimination. Now I have to state that the law is not geared toward all minorities, just Black and Asian. It has made me chuckle before that there is often 'Black and Minority' training days at jobs I have done. What is funny to me is the idea that with in the group referred to as 'minority', which is an accepted term, persons of IC3 skin tones have to have a special pedestal within this group. Bullshit. I live in a time where racism is used as a trump card to avoid trouble or make money from the courts and the fears on companies.
I must add here that I am not a racist to my knowledge. I do not believe everyone is the same, mainly as that idea is quite clearly wrong, people should be treated according to their backgrounds as far as is possible. I have actively campaigned against racism, although testing on the Harvard web site has prone me slightly bias toward white people. I could tell you I have lots of Black/Asian/Mongolian/Polish/Welsh friends but truth is I don't. And you know what that's more than normal. I was raised as a white English male, I like indie music, comics, role play and computer games. These are all areas where the majority are white people of western European decent. I'm sure if you took all the names and backgrounds of people I was ever friends with and compared it to a national average of diversity in friendship circles I would come up as average.
However I feel I must return to the point of this diversion of modern life before I return to what makes me, me. I'm worried that ethnic culture in the White British male is now defined by class in which there is no common bond. Now I am not a man to suggest something without a solution so here I go. The Welsh are strong in identity as they are a small nation, with a cool language and a laid back way of life, the Scots are artist, creative and smack heads, okay that last one was just thanks to Trainspotting. The English need to be all overtly polite, with good hair and be slightly condescending to all other races when things need to be understood. Or we could become people hoping to be Black American, using the word 'axed' instead of 'asked 'and kissing our teeth, but then most of London seems that way at the moment.
In honesty England needs to take pride in it's achievements and stop saying sorry all the time. Yes our ancestors did some bad shit to other people, yes the BNP are a group of fuck wits who have stolen the flag in there own name, yes football is a load of toss that has given us a bad name but for the sake of all that is holy, stop allowing other cultures to dictate your own. England is the bastard nation, it has absorbed every culture who has sort to conquer it or join it. England is flexible and that is it's strength. This does not mean thanks to the internet that we should bend over and take every other cultures views. I will remind you that people come to a culture that isn't there own for a this is a reason, surly this is reason alone to retain something. England is rapidly becoming a theme park of America, this is the equivalent of parents starting to dress and act like their children, a general embarisment to everyone involved. I will not bait America, I will say I'm not a fan of some of the things they are responsible for and disagree that a country formed of a series of states each with completely different laws should be allowed to be referred to as a country or compete in sports as such. But then I have problems with all countries, it's not just the states, England's lack of a true identity, the Irish selling their culture and soul to be the EU's needy little girlfriend, the ignorance of Australia to the fact they have an important place on the world stage, Frances insistence they can do as they like, I could go on but I shan't.
Five
I am a surprisingly shy person at heart. I mentioned before I was short when I was a child, I was also not very attractive. When you couple this with my intelligence and my outspoken nature it's no surprise I didn't have a girlfriend till I was 18, and that was short lived. At 16 I finally hit the growth spurt I had been promised and in the space of a year grew to 5'10". My features finally started to manifest, the mothers who called me a handsome child where proven right, people started to take interest in me. I was not a sporty child but I was active, I liked to swim and my body, although a little too thin to be called toned was considered a good trait. I developed check bones and a jaw that American seen to find attractive in their world leaders. My voice, a rumbling baritone, finally fit my look. I was a young rakish man, dark glowering eyes and scruffy hair made me carry the look of a restoration poet. There was a small problem however. I had no idea I had become desirable, that suddenly I was attractive and that my views and forward manner of debate and confutation school of intelligence where seen as a rebellious. I still laboured under the impression women only spoke to me to broaden their own views. At the age of 16 I was invited to my first 'girl/boy' party, which was quite late. I met people I had never known existed and got drunk with friends. I had been exposed to alcohol from a young age and did not see the point in drinking to excess, I did however take up smoking with a flair, avoiding light cigarettes, smoking Lucky Strike and Dunhill International from day one. The fact I was always one of the most sober people at the parties I started attending and my constant supply of fags assured I gained a reputation of looking after people when things went tits up and I did, never taking advantage of the advances of the young ladies I looked after, I didn't bad mouth people and would often find myself the centre of conversations. The last part I due to my hatred of dancing, well more of dancing in public, I enjoy movement but I faced at a young age I'm a white man, nature will only allow me to dance if there are strict rules to follow and a woman holding on to me to make up for my forms lack of grace. Yes this is another skill that has managed to evade me in life. At 16 I lost my virginity, it was not the high point of my life. Like so many people it was far from perfect, it was with a girl I had only just met that night, she was quite attractive but not the sharpest person I had ever had the joy of conversing with. I not going to say I wish I'd saved myself or that I would change it, it happened for a reason. I discovered that day that I don't really enjoy sex all that much. It's fun and I take great pleasure in giving other people pleasure but in honesty it was not the amazing event I had been led to believe it would be. I know full and well a number of you are thinking 'then your not doing it right', your wrong. Although that thought has gotten me into bed with people before, it seems nothing draws the attention of women like the belief they can do something no other girl has managed before. The same has often been said of men, how there is a desire to be first, that mans greatest aim is to deflower any and every experience, with women it seems to be the desire is to do it right. I will not dig into the gory details of the night, I'm not that person. I will tell you I worked out the trick behind sex quite quickly, it's an area I excel in. Back to the point in hand however, I am shy. I am now aware I am attractive an accept it as a fact but it does little to improve my ability to approach women. I know I can hold conversations with skill and ease, that I have a look that makes me attractive to most women and that I present myself in a way that reinforces my style. I am still unable to walk up to a woman I find attractive and stat a conversation unless I am introduced to them. I seem to be a throw back to the days when dating and relationships where more formal. My only saving grace is I tend to be approached more than average by people I find attractive and more often than not will end the night with them. This brings me onto relationships. I wish I was half as good in a relationship as it seems to be expect I should be. My history is of short relationships with a single exception. I am a solitary man, I like my own company and to this day believe a day spent reading and playing without leaving the house is a well spent one. I hate going to restaurants, I'm a good enough cook that I can make a range of meals extremely well. I dislike cinemas, I prefer to watch films alone at home. I don't see the point in going to look at a things I can discover by accident. I love theatre but I can only go alone if I want to take any pleasure. I gain no pleasure from sitting outside doing nothing but changing my skin tone and have no real desire to travel. Ultimately I'm not a very social person, I need a rather large amount of time to my self in which to entertain myself. I go to clubs mainly to listen to the music I might not hear otherwise. While I do enjoy company I am not an advocate of 'doing stuff' to distract from the act. When I want human contact I want just that not a shared experience. In short I am not a good boyfriend. Add to this that my head is easily turned by beautiful women. This is another important thing to consider, I like pretty things but in people it needs to be accompanied by intelligence. If there is one thing I can't live with it's people who are attractive yet have no substance beneath the faade. This may sound odd coming from a self confesed arse hole, but if you say one thing about me it should be that I do have depth. As I have said I am easily distracted, this make finding a woman that will put up with my unsocial nature and keep me entertained a difficulty I am yet to conquest. Although you must consider the fact that the main way in which I meet my partners is in social situations, by the very nature of my requirements it is unlikely I will ever find such a woman in these situations. There was however one girl.
Six
It has always amazed me that people are so willing to project what you want them to upon you. I am aware of the works of Freud and Jung on the issues of projection but it still astounds me to see how easily people can be manipulated. All one needs is the ability to alter minor aspects of ones persona. I have known other people who do as I do, I have not know others who do it as I do, in truth if I did meet someone else like me I would hope I would never know, thus is my art. I will tell you of a girl I knew. I did not like her, she also tried to play the world as a game. Women have a slight advantage in this game from birth.
Men are easy to control when you have breasts and a reasonably attractive face, western men are hard wired to look at women as if they are inferior, I mean this in no sexist manner, the sheer amount of media in the public domain that supports this and reinforces the belief is overwhelming. We have hundreds of years of literature that took it as accepted, the majority of the great works are written by men, for men. In the world of art the female body is a much explored subject, more so than the male nude. We have had uncountable movements in the art world, the majority predating feminism or indeed the concept of equality. The male genitalia is not attractive and it is only a few who will say there is beauty to be found in the cock, although it is worth considering that in the world of architecture that the phallus is king but this is a separate issue due to the way we perceive buildings. It is only though deliberate weighting of text that we can find strong female characters in the world of theatre predating 1960 and even with this forced reading of such work the seems are visable. Nora from A Dolls House can be shown to be strong as can the likes of Cassandra but is still apparent that Nora is not in true control of her own fate and that no matter how the vision of Cassandra is portrayed she is still the architect of her own downfall without the rules of the Poetics applying. Film is worse, even in the modern day the majority of women are portrayed as less than useless even in the so called 'chick flick' where the average female protaganist is reduced to her neurosis which is never conquered. Worse is the attempt to empower female co-stars in action movies by granting them a single skill where they surpass the male lead. A prime example is in the modern Bond films where we find a two dimensional beautiful character being skilled in computers which only acts a small stand at the back of this cardboard cut out making its faults stand out all the more only reinforcing the fact these support characters are less than James Bond, even with slight faults. We are still seeing the past of actresses as prostitutes in full swing in the world of popular film. The day Disney introduce a strong female lead is the day this aspect of our lives will start to change.
Men see breasts disturbingly often. Just in the past day I have see them in every media. I awoke to boobs in the tabloid press while passing a number of life style magazines that featured the female form in a number of featured articles, if one considers Lucy Pinders bedroom secretes an articles. I bored a train which was quick to inform me I can have cosmetic surgery to make my breasts more attractive. A quick stop on the morning 'wake up' shows and I know how important it is to check my tits regularly for all manner of problems. I set to work to have a great big pair of knockers trust upon me via my email, I'm quite sure I never signed up for a news letter featuring a 'daily babe' I can download to my phone, which thanks to my love of out dated phones I am blissfully free of. My day continued, exposed to the latest fashion designed to make me look down. The I go home and M&S is present to show me exquisite form of a number of models and past pops stars in little more than bras. This is Marks and Spencers, a name I grew up with that held connotations of an elderly aunt dressed from head to toe in a floral pattern. How times have changed.
I believe I have made my point how my sex is encouraged to see women as nothing more than walking frame of sex. The problem is not this however, we have been told since the 80's that women are not objects of sexual desire. Ah the joy of conflict. I am encouraged at every step to see sex in the world yet my imposed moral compass tells me I am not to do so. As a result when approached by a woman who knows how to use her form as a tool, I enter a conflict. I want to look, I need to look, I long to have the right to view her form but I can not risk being direct. As a result I enter into a subservient role that I have no way to identify and therefore control. This instantly allows a woman to control a man. As for other women, well it seems that the society of women is based on pretending to like each other so manipulation is easy even if the effect doesn't run as deep as it would with men.
I have become sidetracked, the point I was making was quite simple, the lady I mentioned had an easier trick than I had. She was not skilled in what I do, she had a skill to give the effect that she did the same. I recognise the irony I present, I have said I am some what a master at pretending I can do something I can not, she is doing the same. In this case there is a difference however, I approximate skills, she mimics. To be short to mimic is to mock. This girl had no knowledge of the power she held or even of what she could achieve with it. She was a amateur, in this there is a problem. A truly skilled person makes you believe there is no trick to greatness. They will make a subject look easy, approachable to all while exposing the skills at the core of your art.. For theatre to fail all it requires is a few to show the basics to the untrained eye. Watching lower level football will show you what the greats do well, making it seem easy. Mine is an art form. I learnt the skills that now serve me so well and by doing so mastered them. To introduce a fraud is nothing short of clearing the smoking and pointing out the mirrors on which I rely. In short she threatened my skills with her tricks.
Now unlike other areas of skill we can not believe her lack of tact in showing my skill would inform others who are like minded. I can not tell you why Pele was a great footballer, only that he was. I know the skills he used to become great as I can see in a raw form in the lower runs of the English le
ague , I can admire what it takes for him to do what he did. My skills do not work this way. The moment someone knows what I am doing my lack of breasts ruins what I do. His single hostile reaction to the realisation he has been manipulated allows all to realise I am playing a game, a game where I have skill. The moment an unskilled player enters the sooner I am realised and unlike other skills it means the game is over. Now, women play my game with skill, I will never know if this is innate or if they are aware, if it is the second I must assume they speak not as to expose me is to expose a life time of tricks. However if they are aware of the games I, and many other men play, then why do they agree to play along.
One
I'm going to lie. This a fact. I do not mean this in a paradoxical way, don't go trying to double guess if my initial statement is, in it's self a lie, I'm not that kind of person. Okay so that last part was a lie, I am that type of person. An arsehole. I would be misleading you to early to make you believe in any way that I am, was or ever will be a nice person. I can be nice but for the most I follow the path of least resistance more reliably than electrons though a wire. I feel I am digressing, something you will have to get used to along with the fact that although these words are my own they will have been filtered though a series of people who know my words better than myself and who know which of these words you'll want to hear and which you'll feel better not seeing. But to the point. I will lie. We all do it, any one who claims otherwise is only misleading themselves. Most of the time I try not to lie outright, often it's my memory working in a creative role, other times it's me hiding things I don't want you to hear. More often than not it will be primarily to seem cooler than I am. This is a feat that requires little effort.
Let me try this introduction to me again. Hello I am someone. There is a good chance I've never met you. I'm sure if we met we would be awkward at first then become fast friends. Then we would no doubt have some form of falling out which will make it difficult for our other friends and one of us would end up worse off for the deal. Things you need to know about me?
I lie, as I have tried and failed to explain but I'm sure you get the general form and shape of this statement.
I'm not a nice person. This is not because I live in a mountain that looks like a snake and kick puppies, more that I don't believe there are that many people who are honestly a positive influence on this world.
I'm not half as smart as I think I am and not a quarter as most people assume I am.
I like comics, fantasy role play and computer games, not because they are art of a sign of higher intelligence but because I'm childish and like games. I am not a child but I have seen no reason in this world to put away childish things, in fact it seemed we are encouraged to become more childish as we age. I may explain this, justify my self, later but I honestly can not be certain.
I have enough knowledge of most things to bluff my way though without a natural twenty being rolled. This does not mean that I will always do so, I learnt long ago you can normally get further with people when you play it dumb.
You'll no doubt learn more of me as I write down the things I plan to tell you but that will be enough for you to hum along to the tune and manage a touch of the chorus as I sing the song I'm here to sing. One last thing though. Nothing you read here has been thought out beforehand and I have no plans of going back on my self. This is a story that is not a story, think of it was a diary of my life and mind written in a style that will jump from the current to the past, from the relevant to irrelevant much as we all think from day to day. If you think you want to know what I am if not who then I ask you to read on. If not then you've either wasted a fair few quid, some of which will find it's way into my pocket or I've claimed more than I should of your life than I should have. I'm not sorry. I regret nothing.
Two
Since a young age, lets say six for the sake of numbers, I had a problem. I found I was good at most things I tried. I never really excelled in a single area but never really found anything that really challenged me. When I say good I do not mean I was competent, I mean I was noticeably skilled but never the best. I did find a few things, which to this day, I am not good at. Darts is a great example as it helps explain further my initial point. There is a trick to darts. I have no idea what that trick is and have been unable to have it explained to me but I know there is a small technique that has eluded me my entire life. I have found this true of most things in life, that there is a trick. Most of the time I will discover it rather quickly and be able to understand it exceptionally quickly, other times I know the trick but can't understand it.
This, I suppose is where my troubles began. When you know how to do something but can't quite understand why problems arise. When you can lie your way out of these problems the issue can start to become dangerous depending on the lie you tell. I will give you a single, harmless instance of when this was a problem. When I was working as barman I quickly rose though the ranks of bar life, from glass collecting to being a pump jockey to making cocktails to running the bar. Because I was fast and able to cover my tracks people around me assumed I had a clue what I was doing, people who had created a complex lie to justify the work they did, believing that there is some true skill in pulling pints in a cheap bar in Leeds. I quickly saw the whole industry for what it was, a lie. I could serve three people on a busy night and still make people believe I had worked harder than all of them. I started to get comfortable in my own lie just as I was put in charge of the shift I worked. The small management tasks where not a problem, ordering and shifts are nothing but painfully simple mathematics which I almost take pleasure in pretending are complex as others seem to believe them, giving credit to the lies they live by, allowing them to correct my mistakes deliberately made and laughing inward when they corrected things that where not. I found a small pleasure in this role, it was easy money and made me sociable with people outside of the few I considered friends. However my lies caught up to me. If you are expecting a story where people realised I had bluffed my way from glass collector to a shift manager in under a month then your frankly out of luck. Even if people had noticed they wouldn't have said anything or more likely admitted it to themselves, they would then have to face the illusion they had spun around there lives for what it was. No, my down fall was with a trick. I had worked out how to change a barrel though logic and once watching a new employee show me he knew how. I thought I had the knack for it, that I knew this simple little system in this simple little job. I had been lazy, I had assumed that after I gained employment with a small white lie on my application form that a job staffed by the dregs of society and fellow students who seemed none too smart that the systems would all be the same. Pulling a pint turned out to be no true effort, it seemed that years of standing at the other side of the bar had taught me all I needed there, cocktails where simple enough when you considered how low class the establishment was and how easy it was to please women who had already drank enough to last them three nights out with simple bottle spins, half the time I didn't even need to add the alcohol, they assumed it was there and their taste buds had long migrated far enough from the tongue that they considered a kebab food. This in turn resulted in my shift being considerably up on stock allowing me to treat my team to a drink out of my own pocket with out spending a penny. I had made a mistake. I assumed around these simple tasks and simple people that I would not need to learn anything. This was my mistake. I have said before I learn quickly, it was this mistake that made me learn to not make assumptions. It was midway though a Friday night, the pump jockeys had sold enough beer to make it clear I was going to have to get a barrel changed in a short moment. It was then I casually realised, while arranging to meet a rather attractive young lady later that night, that I didn't have anyone who could change a barrel for me on till much later in the shift. Caught in my own lie I went to the cellar. I can change a barrel, I would prefer not too but I know how, Christ a monkey could do it with little to no training. I should have waited. I should have made sure I paid attention to my little trainee. I was stupid. Sometimes I think of how lucky I am. Not thankful of my mind or my life style, just of plain how much luck I seem to have when it comes to staying alive. So far in my life I should really be dead or at least extremely disabled by at several major incidents. This was number four. The first of my adult life and it did scare me, it was my fault. I blamed others at the time but ultimately I knew it was me which is why I walked out and never came back. If you learn only one thing from me, learn this. Check that when using anything mechanical that you know how to check it's safe for use. One lose screw could have been the end of me, a screw I should have known to check if I hadn't assumed. People often talk about their lives flashing before their eyes. This didn't happen, if it did it was obscured by the high powered fountain of beer gushing from the broken attachment. I have often thought I would lose my life to alcohol but at that moment I believed I was going to join the ranks of urban myths, the splattered barman. To this day I have never bothered to find out if a keg can explode when depressurised in such a way. I doubt it but I have never doubted the handle I saw when the fountain of 5% larger had come down enough for me to see the world without a filter of hops. The last time I checked if a plastic and metal handle can imbed itself into hard wooden plank then it would have little trouble with my skull. A quick moment of calculations reviled that it must have passed no more than a hand width from my face on its merry little flight. There is something humbling about standing in a pool of beer realising you should be dead. That maybe should have been something I considered more but I live without regret, instead I learn. I Never got the night out with the young lady, I do think that arranging the details of a date when you smell like the slops tray is not a good idea. I realise now that I didn't have to leave that job. That it could have happened to anyone. Another thing to know about me, when I learn I leave.
Three
This may be the perfect moment to explain luck and how it effects my life. First I think it would be wise to explain where I stand on the issue of religion. As a child I was a devote Catholic. I managed to go to the best primary school in my area as a result of my religion. I was taught by nuns, the last year group of my school to be so. I was not abused by them, nor touched by the priests and this is not something I would ever claim for the sake of dramatic effect. In fact I enjoyed my religious up bringing. I was an alter boy and my family where supportive of what they saw as the gifted child of the family. I led prayers and rosary, to this day I will visit a Catholic church for mass when I crave something familiar. I was ear marked to join the priesthood and was considering such when I had, not so much a crises of faith but a total revelation at the age of nine. It came during a morning episode of the show Charlie Chalk. For those not familiar with this excellent show it was about a clown who lived on an island, I believe it was from the same people who made Fireman Sam, Postman Pat and a show who I can only remember the name of the central character being Bertha. I was never a fan of Postman Pat. His life style seemed to far removed to me and I always wondered why he was allowed to bring Jess along on his rounds. Fireman Sam I had a soft spot for, which to this seems to manifest as a love for the Welsh accent but I still have no idea why the ginger haired child was never taken into care as his mother clearly had no control over him. Right enough of BBC children shows for now onward with the point. My watching the afore mentioned shipwrecked harliquin was a rare thing indeed as he was allotted the morning gap in the television schedule after the early Children are not normal people but at the tender age of nine I had already discovered I like sleep and as such would stay wrapped in my blanket until the final moment. This day was different. For some reason the moment my eyes opened that day I was fully awake. I'm sure you have experienced it before, not shocked into alertness nor slowly waking into conscious but a switch from sleep to awake with no seam. I dressed, took my book from under my pillow and made my way to the sitting room. I sat. After a few moments of being unable to get into my book (which I want to say was Dragonlance but can't remember for certain) before the realisation that by sleeping late every day I had never tried to read with no background noise, the near silence was something that I suddenly hated, now I love silence but then it stopped my reading, crime of crimes. So it was on with the Sony Trinitron and out gushed the multicoloured, nay, Technicolored eye candy of the 1980's. I sat back book forgotten and allowed the show to do what it was designed to do, entertain me while reinforcing Christian morals in my mind. I do not know if this episode was the case of my later reaction, I can't remember the content of the episode, only that the white faced buffoon was doing his tumbling about the island as he always did and there was some form of problem that was solved though people from diverse background coming together to conquer a common ill though pulling together under the name of Christ, I mean Charlie. Maybe this unbeknownst exposure to what I interpret as an example of the Russian movement of Fools for Christ, and yes I am that pretentious, is what sparked my experience which I will know go on to explain. The time came for me to go to school, something I always enjoyed as apart from writing I was given a free hand by my teachers to study much what I pleased within the subject, knowing I would become listless if forced to study things I had already mastered. Writing was an exception as my handwriting to this day makes even the scrawl of doctors believe I am writing in alchemical codes and my spelling and grammar only support this theory. It was before the days of dyslexia being a common diagnosis and it was simply thought I was slow in this one area, which I still seem to be, believing that learning though repetition would cure me of my problems, if you knew the number of times I have hit F7 during this story already you would realise it did nothing for me.
So the day began as all days do with a prayer to God almighty, Christ the Saviour and the Holy Ghost who does something or other akin to religious gaffer tape. A quick pray to Mary the Mother later, which I was already questioning as iconicism much to the distress of the Sisters, and it was on to the learning. Clearly I had undergone some form of change between waking and starting the work set to us as a Sister asked me if I was feeling well as I seemed withdrawn. I responded that I was fine but feeling strange at which the Sister sent me to the nurses office to see if there was anything wrong with me. I walked to the nurses office alone as I knew the way well, despite my strong faith I had often found my self in fights with other boys. I knocked and entered after a period of silence as I knew the nurse preferred us to be comfortable while we waited. I clambered on to the sick bed, and I do mean clambered as I was extremely short for my age, crossed my legs underneath me in a comfortable fashion and looked out the window at the unremarkable spring day. The nurse entered and greeted me warmly asking what was wrong, I explained in a way that explained nothing and she informed me she was going to see the Sister who had sent me. I returned to the sport of window gazing as I had all the posters in the room memorised when it started to rain. I like rain. Rain has always managed to inspire joy in me no matter if I am outside or inside, but today was the first time in my life I saw where rain fall ended. The line between sunshine and downpour was apparent, a clean straight line, one side a warm spring day, the other a beautiful torrent of water. It was at that moment I noticing I was first understood something that would effect me for the rest of my life. The sight of seeing something happen in one location but not another sparked the realisation that people where no different. I suddenly started to see the world though others points of view. I saw the moments I'd seen that day from others eyes. My mother and father seeing me up early and ready to leave, the Sister noticing I was somehow different in my outward appearance, other children seeing me and what they would think from this and how it would differ from child to child. That the same program I watched that morning was seen by thousands, for the concept of millions was as sex, each with different ideas and interpretations of what they saw. This cascade of thought was interrupted by the nurse bringing me my book and telling me to take an hour and see if I felt better after this rest in a world not of my creation and supplied me with a cup of squash. I took her advice and after a period immersed in the world of dragons and failing magic which managed to place my new thoughts in the back of my mind. Around a week later I realised that I didn't believe in God. Seven years later, after looking into every religion I could find I started to call myself an atheist. Now this is not why I am the way I am but it's important to realise I do believe in luck as a concept which is at odds with my religion.
Four
I may finish that story later. I may not. I said before, and this is the only warning you'll get, that this is going to be an experience in my chain of thought. I was bored of explaining my self so I took some time to my self. I'm worried about being a white European male. It's not like I have a real cultural identity. I'm a young white English man, heck I can't even say British. I find it strange my auto spell capitalised English for me but not british. As you may have worked out I grew up in the 80's. A few moments with Google and Wiki, the friends of the ignorant, and you may even be able to work out when I was born. The 80's where odd. Looking back they seem like that last hour of the party where everyone tries to get away with what ever they can before they're kicked out to walk home in the cold. People still seemed to plead ignorant to the fact that "drugs fuck you up" and people where allowed to do what they wanted under the justification that they could. While I was born in the 80's you can say I am a child of the 90's and it's quite likely I will agree. The 90's are a study in people saying sorry. The 90's was women acting like men and calling it equality. The music was good, Belle and Sebastian, Super Furry Animals, Sleeper, Cake, Elliot Smith, Bis, Portishead, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Arab Strap and everyone else I listen to. It was the first generation of teens who had to say "yes coke is bad for me but you know what, it's fun!" a generation with out an excuse. A generation of white men saying sorry for stuff they didn't do and would never do. This tangent is here for a reason. I'm drunker than I should be. Well that's one reason the other is British parliament passed a law today which reads as "If a while person is in an interview for a job and a less skilled Black/Asian the Black/Asian man MUST get the job". Now I see no issue in making sure a job goes to the most skilled person but to actively encourage employment based on positive discrimination. Now I have to state that the law is not geared toward all minorities, just Black and Asian. It has made me chuckle before that there is often 'Black and Minority' training days at jobs I have done. What is funny to me is the idea that with in the group referred to as 'minority', which is an accepted term, persons of IC3 skin tones have to have a special pedestal within this group. Bullshit. I live in a time where racism is used as a trump card to avoid trouble or make money from the courts and the fears on companies.
I must add here that I am not a racist to my knowledge. I do not believe everyone is the same, mainly as that idea is quite clearly wrong, people should be treated according to their backgrounds as far as is possible. I have actively campaigned against racism, although testing on the Harvard web site has prone me slightly bias toward white people. I could tell you I have lots of Black/Asian/Mongolian/Polish/Welsh friends but truth is I don't. And you know what that's more than normal. I was raised as a white English male, I like indie music, comics, role play and computer games. These are all areas where the majority are white people of western European decent. I'm sure if you took all the names and backgrounds of people I was ever friends with and compared it to a national average of diversity in friendship circles I would come up as average.
However I feel I must return to the point of this diversion of modern life before I return to what makes me, me. I'm worried that ethnic culture in the White British male is now defined by class in which there is no common bond. Now I am not a man to suggest something without a solution so here I go. The Welsh are strong in identity as they are a small nation, with a cool language and a laid back way of life, the Scots are artist, creative and smack heads, okay that last one was just thanks to Trainspotting. The English need to be all overtly polite, with good hair and be slightly condescending to all other races when things need to be understood. Or we could become people hoping to be Black American, using the word 'axed' instead of 'asked 'and kissing our teeth, but then most of London seems that way at the moment.
In honesty England needs to take pride in it's achievements and stop saying sorry all the time. Yes our ancestors did some bad shit to other people, yes the BNP are a group of fuck wits who have stolen the flag in there own name, yes football is a load of toss that has given us a bad name but for the sake of all that is holy, stop allowing other cultures to dictate your own. England is the bastard nation, it has absorbed every culture who has sort to conquer it or join it. England is flexible and that is it's strength. This does not mean thanks to the internet that we should bend over and take every other cultures views. I will remind you that people come to a culture that isn't there own for a this is a reason, surly this is reason alone to retain something. England is rapidly becoming a theme park of America, this is the equivalent of parents starting to dress and act like their children, a general embarisment to everyone involved. I will not bait America, I will say I'm not a fan of some of the things they are responsible for and disagree that a country formed of a series of states each with completely different laws should be allowed to be referred to as a country or compete in sports as such. But then I have problems with all countries, it's not just the states, England's lack of a true identity, the Irish selling their culture and soul to be the EU's needy little girlfriend, the ignorance of Australia to the fact they have an important place on the world stage, Frances insistence they can do as they like, I could go on but I shan't.
Five
I am a surprisingly shy person at heart. I mentioned before I was short when I was a child, I was also not very attractive. When you couple this with my intelligence and my outspoken nature it's no surprise I didn't have a girlfriend till I was 18, and that was short lived. At 16 I finally hit the growth spurt I had been promised and in the space of a year grew to 5'10". My features finally started to manifest, the mothers who called me a handsome child where proven right, people started to take interest in me. I was not a sporty child but I was active, I liked to swim and my body, although a little too thin to be called toned was considered a good trait. I developed check bones and a jaw that American seen to find attractive in their world leaders. My voice, a rumbling baritone, finally fit my look. I was a young rakish man, dark glowering eyes and scruffy hair made me carry the look of a restoration poet. There was a small problem however. I had no idea I had become desirable, that suddenly I was attractive and that my views and forward manner of debate and confutation school of intelligence where seen as a rebellious. I still laboured under the impression women only spoke to me to broaden their own views. At the age of 16 I was invited to my first 'girl/boy' party, which was quite late. I met people I had never known existed and got drunk with friends. I had been exposed to alcohol from a young age and did not see the point in drinking to excess, I did however take up smoking with a flair, avoiding light cigarettes, smoking Lucky Strike and Dunhill International from day one. The fact I was always one of the most sober people at the parties I started attending and my constant supply of fags assured I gained a reputation of looking after people when things went tits up and I did, never taking advantage of the advances of the young ladies I looked after, I didn't bad mouth people and would often find myself the centre of conversations. The last part I due to my hatred of dancing, well more of dancing in public, I enjoy movement but I faced at a young age I'm a white man, nature will only allow me to dance if there are strict rules to follow and a woman holding on to me to make up for my forms lack of grace. Yes this is another skill that has managed to evade me in life. At 16 I lost my virginity, it was not the high point of my life. Like so many people it was far from perfect, it was with a girl I had only just met that night, she was quite attractive but not the sharpest person I had ever had the joy of conversing with. I not going to say I wish I'd saved myself or that I would change it, it happened for a reason. I discovered that day that I don't really enjoy sex all that much. It's fun and I take great pleasure in giving other people pleasure but in honesty it was not the amazing event I had been led to believe it would be. I know full and well a number of you are thinking 'then your not doing it right', your wrong. Although that thought has gotten me into bed with people before, it seems nothing draws the attention of women like the belief they can do something no other girl has managed before. The same has often been said of men, how there is a desire to be first, that mans greatest aim is to deflower any and every experience, with women it seems to be the desire is to do it right. I will not dig into the gory details of the night, I'm not that person. I will tell you I worked out the trick behind sex quite quickly, it's an area I excel in. Back to the point in hand however, I am shy. I am now aware I am attractive an accept it as a fact but it does little to improve my ability to approach women. I know I can hold conversations with skill and ease, that I have a look that makes me attractive to most women and that I present myself in a way that reinforces my style. I am still unable to walk up to a woman I find attractive and stat a conversation unless I am introduced to them. I seem to be a throw back to the days when dating and relationships where more formal. My only saving grace is I tend to be approached more than average by people I find attractive and more often than not will end the night with them. This brings me onto relationships. I wish I was half as good in a relationship as it seems to be expect I should be. My history is of short relationships with a single exception. I am a solitary man, I like my own company and to this day believe a day spent reading and playing without leaving the house is a well spent one. I hate going to restaurants, I'm a good enough cook that I can make a range of meals extremely well. I dislike cinemas, I prefer to watch films alone at home. I don't see the point in going to look at a things I can discover by accident. I love theatre but I can only go alone if I want to take any pleasure. I gain no pleasure from sitting outside doing nothing but changing my skin tone and have no real desire to travel. Ultimately I'm not a very social person, I need a rather large amount of time to my self in which to entertain myself. I go to clubs mainly to listen to the music I might not hear otherwise. While I do enjoy company I am not an advocate of 'doing stuff' to distract from the act. When I want human contact I want just that not a shared experience. In short I am not a good boyfriend. Add to this that my head is easily turned by beautiful women. This is another important thing to consider, I like pretty things but in people it needs to be accompanied by intelligence. If there is one thing I can't live with it's people who are attractive yet have no substance beneath the faade. This may sound odd coming from a self confesed arse hole, but if you say one thing about me it should be that I do have depth. As I have said I am easily distracted, this make finding a woman that will put up with my unsocial nature and keep me entertained a difficulty I am yet to conquest. Although you must consider the fact that the main way in which I meet my partners is in social situations, by the very nature of my requirements it is unlikely I will ever find such a woman in these situations. There was however one girl.
Six
It has always amazed me that people are so willing to project what you want them to upon you. I am aware of the works of Freud and Jung on the issues of projection but it still astounds me to see how easily people can be manipulated. All one needs is the ability to alter minor aspects of ones persona. I have known other people who do as I do, I have not know others who do it as I do, in truth if I did meet someone else like me I would hope I would never know, thus is my art. I will tell you of a girl I knew. I did not like her, she also tried to play the world as a game. Women have a slight advantage in this game from birth.
Men are easy to control when you have breasts and a reasonably attractive face, western men are hard wired to look at women as if they are inferior, I mean this in no sexist manner, the sheer amount of media in the public domain that supports this and reinforces the belief is overwhelming. We have hundreds of years of literature that took it as accepted, the majority of the great works are written by men, for men. In the world of art the female body is a much explored subject, more so than the male nude. We have had uncountable movements in the art world, the majority predating feminism or indeed the concept of equality. The male genitalia is not attractive and it is only a few who will say there is beauty to be found in the cock, although it is worth considering that in the world of architecture that the phallus is king but this is a separate issue due to the way we perceive buildings. It is only though deliberate weighting of text that we can find strong female characters in the world of theatre predating 1960 and even with this forced reading of such work the seems are visable. Nora from A Dolls House can be shown to be strong as can the likes of Cassandra but is still apparent that Nora is not in true control of her own fate and that no matter how the vision of Cassandra is portrayed she is still the architect of her own downfall without the rules of the Poetics applying. Film is worse, even in the modern day the majority of women are portrayed as less than useless even in the so called 'chick flick' where the average female protaganist is reduced to her neurosis which is never conquered. Worse is the attempt to empower female co-stars in action movies by granting them a single skill where they surpass the male lead. A prime example is in the modern Bond films where we find a two dimensional beautiful character being skilled in computers which only acts a small stand at the back of this cardboard cut out making its faults stand out all the more only reinforcing the fact these support characters are less than James Bond, even with slight faults. We are still seeing the past of actresses as prostitutes in full swing in the world of popular film. The day Disney introduce a strong female lead is the day this aspect of our lives will start to change.
Men see breasts disturbingly often. Just in the past day I have see them in every media. I awoke to boobs in the tabloid press while passing a number of life style magazines that featured the female form in a number of featured articles, if one considers Lucy Pinders bedroom secretes an articles. I bored a train which was quick to inform me I can have cosmetic surgery to make my breasts more attractive. A quick stop on the morning 'wake up' shows and I know how important it is to check my tits regularly for all manner of problems. I set to work to have a great big pair of knockers trust upon me via my email, I'm quite sure I never signed up for a news letter featuring a 'daily babe' I can download to my phone, which thanks to my love of out dated phones I am blissfully free of. My day continued, exposed to the latest fashion designed to make me look down. The I go home and M&S is present to show me exquisite form of a number of models and past pops stars in little more than bras. This is Marks and Spencers, a name I grew up with that held connotations of an elderly aunt dressed from head to toe in a floral pattern. How times have changed.
I believe I have made my point how my sex is encouraged to see women as nothing more than walking frame of sex. The problem is not this however, we have been told since the 80's that women are not objects of sexual desire. Ah the joy of conflict. I am encouraged at every step to see sex in the world yet my imposed moral compass tells me I am not to do so. As a result when approached by a woman who knows how to use her form as a tool, I enter a conflict. I want to look, I need to look, I long to have the right to view her form but I can not risk being direct. As a result I enter into a subservient role that I have no way to identify and therefore control. This instantly allows a woman to control a man. As for other women, well it seems that the society of women is based on pretending to like each other so manipulation is easy even if the effect doesn't run as deep as it would with men.
I have become sidetracked, the point I was making was quite simple, the lady I mentioned had an easier trick than I had. She was not skilled in what I do, she had a skill to give the effect that she did the same. I recognise the irony I present, I have said I am some what a master at pretending I can do something I can not, she is doing the same. In this case there is a difference however, I approximate skills, she mimics. To be short to mimic is to mock. This girl had no knowledge of the power she held or even of what she could achieve with it. She was a amateur, in this there is a problem. A truly skilled person makes you believe there is no trick to greatness. They will make a subject look easy, approachable to all while exposing the skills at the core of your art.. For theatre to fail all it requires is a few to show the basics to the untrained eye. Watching lower level football will show you what the greats do well, making it seem easy. Mine is an art form. I learnt the skills that now serve me so well and by doing so mastered them. To introduce a fraud is nothing short of clearing the smoking and pointing out the mirrors on which I rely. In short she threatened my skills with her tricks.
Now unlike other areas of skill we can not believe her lack of tact in showing my skill would inform others who are like minded. I can not tell you why Pele was a great footballer, only that he was. I know the skills he used to become great as I can see in a raw form in the lower runs of the English le
ague , I can admire what it takes for him to do what he did. My skills do not work this way. The moment someone knows what I am doing my lack of breasts ruins what I do. His single hostile reaction to the realisation he has been manipulated allows all to realise I am playing a game, a game where I have skill. The moment an unskilled player enters the sooner I am realised and unlike other skills it means the game is over. Now, women play my game with skill, I will never know if this is innate or if they are aware, if it is the second I must assume they speak not as to expose me is to expose a life time of tricks. However if they are aware of the games I, and many other men play, then why do they agree to play along.
VIEW 16 of 16 COMMENTS
squee:
Thank you so much for leaving a comment on my Peachy Keen set! xxx
enola:
phew, that was quite a lot to read but i really liked going through this...