So what REALLY inspired this blog? It sprang fore from one subject area and mushroomed into this notion that generally, in this society try as we may, we all conform to one sect or another. In one word what birthed this was WOMEN (pun intended). Specifically my adventures and misadventures (for want of a better phrase) with women; some of my feelings and rants about my self inflicted pain has allowed me to more venomously vent on other topics (the mental health worker/scholars may refer to this as transferring); but my pet peeve remains, WOMEN.
The oxford concise dictionary defines a vice as an immoral or wicked behaviour; an immoral or wicked personal characteristic; a weakness of character; a bad habit. Someone once refered to my "distribution of love" as a character flaw. I beg to differ. By that definition is philandering (by the way there is a gender bias in that definition) a vice, a necessary evil, just an ugly word given strength by women (perhaps threaten by the possibility of losing that bastard they worked and waited so long to get and maybe have groomed him to be the desirable bugger that he is now) and bolstered by the high pitched voices of the men with their balls tightly gripped by the women in their lives or none of the above.
My relationships and extra relationships over the years have brought me much physical, emotional and in some instances spiritual pleasure; but they have also brought much emotional pain and spiritual deprivation.
I accept that I have control over my actions, but at times; who am I kidding most times I disregard any notion of consequences to my primal desire to feast on the willing
flesh of a desirable woman. Damn!!! that sounds primitive and animalistic. But that's how it sometimes feel. There are other times when I would connect with some one on a deeper level and it's not all about getting in and getting out. The evolved more intelligent human, which I am suppose to be says show some restraint; like these anti-drug PSAs. "Just say NO". But then there is this other side the more appealing side like the NIKE commercial. "JUST DO IT"
It is the latter slogan and my inability or rather unwillingness to do the former which has brought me and the people in my life so much pleasure and pain. Most women in the western hemisphere would say shame on you; along with the usual rhetoric. To them I say, I don't give a fuck with what you say/think. There I said it.
At a point of much turmoil and unnecessary drama in my life; of course of my own deVICE, but heighten by the tropical systems in my life (aka women, sometimes tropical depressions, waves, storms and at extreme, hurricanes; but always with ample warning of the impending disaster). I made this analogy of women.
Women are like air. Some are like that clean, prestine air found on some undisturbed mountain side, so crisp you can't wait to wake up in the morning and take it all in, fill your lungs with every molecule; you feel alive. After some time of this it loses its novelty, but you remain with this clean mountain air because it is what you have come to know and we are scared of change. You will eventually die in peaceful boredom, content because you have known nothing else.
Then they are some women who are like that cold yet life altering thin air at the highest mountain peak. It's an adventure to reach that mountain top to take in that air, but the air up there is so thin and cold you can hardly breath, you just might die from the thrill. But it feels so good.
And of course there are those who are like the air of the smog polluted metropolitan countries. They're neither as thrilling as the mountain top (just enough to give you a buzz) or as dull as the mountain side (enough to keep you from slipping into coma); but they have they own idiosyncrasies. This air is neither clean, crisp, thin, cold or prestine; but you need it.
The thing is you must breath, we need air to survive; be it quickly or slowly every breath of this glorious air will contribute to your inevitable demise. It is up to you to pick your VICE; passive contentment, reckless adventure or disconcerting necessity.
Perhaps this analogy is extreme, at the very least debatable (i.e. the importance placed on women in my life); however it is not half as interesting as women themselves.
When these thoughts crowd my brain I am often reminded of the lyrics of green day's "basket case". There is a room reserved for me at the islands mental health facility. HA!
nk I am rounding a corner. One of my fellow sheep commented that my recession can be attributed to my addiction to my hallucinogen of choice; it was liken to high grade weed. You know the thing with being high is that you must come down off of it, but life without those momentary highs would be drab and melancholic. So I guess it is a simple preference to be high and try as much as possible to stay high. Perhaps the unwanted side effects of the high would be the blackening of my soul like the gums of those chronic chronic smokers; and an inner emptiness that can be seen on the outside.
If I were a religious man I would turn to prayer; there is the alternative of being spiritual, but there is only some much scotch I can drink and that in itself solves nothing; I could seek higher peace and blaze up a fat one, but then I must come down from the high. So I write. It seems to at least place a muzzle on the cacophony and reduces it to a painless whimper.
