Lonely Guy

Sunday, 29 September 2002

i’m a lone­ly guy, no doubt about it. it is my choice and my con­se­quence. but when­ev­er i de­cide to try and do some­thing about it, the stu­pid mat­ing game that must be played makes me sat­urnine. i am a man who does not like to bandy about emo­tions and i am not a man who is will­ing to in­dul­ge in care­less trysts to sat­is­fy his lusts. i am al­so not a man who will al­ways be hap­py in tandem with his wom­an, eu­pho­ria is ethe­re­al and sub­stance con­sists of mix­ing wa­ter with dirt and mak­ing mud. i’m a cyn­i­cal guy, no doubt about it. it is my choice and my con­se­quence. it is the pro­duct of end­less bouts of beat­ing my head again­st the wall be­ing the un­co­or­di­nat­ed kid no one wants on their team try­ing to un­der­stand the rules of the game while not even in­ter­est­ed in play­ing the stu­pid thing. if there are any wom­en out there who feel the same way, ’tis un­for­tu­nate be­cause the state of ab­jec­tion cre­at­ed by our ex­clu­sion pre­vents con­sol­i­da­tion and di­a­logue by our very sta­tus as Other. archived

i’m as fine as any­one can be about be­ing alone. it is very low main­te­nance and al­lows me to im­prove my­self and fo­cus on what is im­por­tant for me. the prob­lem with be­ing alone is that you be­come too self-cen­tered and self-ab­sorbed and can forget…um, stuff. it is, how­ev­er, re­fresh­ing to be not con­cern your­self with hook­ing up and seek­ing a men­tal­ly over­con­struct­ed love af­fair, even though i still tend to con­cern my­self with both. i nev­er said i could prac­tice my preachy­ness. its much eas­ier to han­dle re­la­tion­ships with wom­en when I have noth­ing more in mind than sim­ple friend­ship.

i’ve come to a con­clu­sion. i want to have my cake and eat it too. i need the feel­ing of a healthy lov­ing re­la­tion­ship right now. how­ev­er, i don’t want any­thing to do in that ca­pac­i­ty with any girl around here. so in com­pro­mise i want a hook-up.

End of the Day

Saturday, 20 July 2002

i like be­ing the last per­son in a build­ing at the end of the day. i get a feel­ing of mys­te­ri­ous im­por­tance, as if i were re­spon­si­ble for main­tain­ing and con­trol­ling some sort of se­cret pow­er­ful project. or, as my feet echo through the hall­ways, i be­come an in­ter­lop­er, dis­cov­er­ing and won­der­ing at the sto­ries held with­in and ex­pressed by the worn and nicked pres­ence of the build­ing it­self. all is qui­et and onl my pres­ence gives life and mean­ing to this place. al­though i am alone, i am at the same time com­fort­ed by the knowl­edge that we have been be­fore, in this space, and my pres­ence makes those mem­o­ries con­tin­ue. every­thing in this place be­longs to me by de­fault as a rep­re­sen­ta­tive of Those Who Came Before.

this does not fol­low me out­side.

even alone in the night, i am sur­round­ed by the ex­is­tence of all and my diminu­tion in the face of the uni­verse is com­fort­ing rather than alien­at­ing. i am of its sub­stance and there­fore a part of it, some­thing which can nev­er be tak­en from me. for even when i cease, i will still be part of It. it re­minds me of two dis­tinct things. 1) the Total Perspective Drive from Douglas Adams’ Hitchiker se­ries, in which the per­son sub­ject­ed to it is shown their im­por­tance com­pared to that of the rest of the uni­verse. It is meant to de­stroy that person’s self es­teem when they see that they are noth­ing but a tiny dot among in­fin­i­ty. 2) the Bhagavad-Gita and Krishna’s dis­cus­sion with Arjuna about how all is con­tained with­in Brahma. So if i’m that small com­pared to every­thing else, but still Am, then that makes me feel warm and fuzzy be­cause i’m im­por­tant enough to ex­ists among all that is out there.

for some rea­son this re­minds me, NeaL, i be­lieve you still have some books of mine…if you don’t re­turn them you will “nev­er leave the­se woods…alive…”

lat­est search string: ‘con­dom filled with wa­ter ass’

two the two ran­dom folks who said howdy over IM last night, i re­turn the salu­ta­tions. but why, per­chance, did you not leave com­ment? 🙂