The last two decades of life have proven to me that I have lost a lot of my own long held naivete about what are now considered foolish notions. I have lost the magical ability to feel any sense of desire for current examples of contemporary women both old or young. Not that it matters to them at all as I know that all women in our time are perfectly happy that the tyrannical yoke of unwanted male interest in them has been lifted from their shoulders and now is permanently erased! Thank god that men can universally embrace their feminine side of demonstrating quiet passivity in public while women may freely strut around exercising their long suppressed aggressive inner nature’s at will without any dominant male society interference or censure. Misguided males have been institutionally exiled to watching dated mental masturbatorial Hollywood epics of women indentured by romance provided by men that only possesses an inherent ‘macho’ male paternal sensibility. The exterior world run be the strict rules of mentally inscribed institutionally governed and workplace enforced principles of dominant feminism.
Of course, this is not the type of world that has any attraction for me! That is totally my own flaw of advancing chronological age. A flaw akin to a previous penchant of being charmed in a way that only women from a long ago bygone detestable era could be. Charmed by the misguided virtues of inherent their care taken in sensual appearance supporting a flirtatious nature equal in overt interest in the other gender. One that inspired the rougher sex to bring flowers or open car doors or show up expecting a frequent unoccasioned kiss might fire up the emotions of that desirable female that fell prey to making him the center of her world. That bygone sense of natural symbiosis when, bereft of lurking LBGT Disney Corporation modern fairy tales, Prince Charming’s courted icy Snow Whites bringing life back to them with a simple passionate heartfelt kiss. Foreign Legion bound Gary Cooper’s could not erase dispossessed French cabaret singers who then might follow them across the burning desert sands in bare feet. All the old poppycock that took away from one’s future haigh paying job or career independence. And saw some men portrayed in the cinema as only wanting the lasting gift of once more wearing a pair of golden earrings to share their remaining lives with smelly unwashed Gypsy maidens as half ‘gadsi’. Foolish notions indeed!
Most contemporary women are unburdened by the lost art of attracting men, of course. Thank god it only now involves dressing up like once was referred to as a slut to ply easy drinks from the exemplary broad shouldered tight abbed man of their choice at the local bar. Ones from recent generations having been properly schooled in the preparatory scholastic environments of childhoods spent in daycare environments with ever commanding Politically Correct female ‘minders’ provided as surrogate ‘mothers’. The fathers far removed living distant from the singular parented household by some pivotal point in time as a lasting lesson that male female relationships were never meant to be permanent only convenient. All this while their saintly mothers enrapture daily existence with the fact of the burden of them them making the unimaginable sacrifice in somehow maintaining both career and motherhood. Young boys growing up properly mannered to understand that they are not important as their own female siblings in a world that values only the promotion of a form of diversity that does not include them or any of their ‘amle’ aspirations. Young men being so much happier now that any impediment to sexual gratification need not be burdened by anything more than demonstrating being handy to a desirable woman or readily available when it is time to pay the check. And of course, when the whim for intimacy strikes their female companion being amenable to the guidelines of sexual satisfaction that favor her. Things are so much better now than in those dark times of before when both sexes never were sure of where they stood in the thoughts of another! When they had to take the risk of exposing their true feelings in hope of some mutuality of life purpose that was not so easily reckoned or accountable to future security. Charles Dickens might have cast his darker tales like Oliver Twist or Great Expectations in a more favorable light if those times had been as equally enlightened as things are today. How far we have all come!
We all may be prisoners of our own reality, hence on so many occasions, boredom. I for myself now so many years later past a more active life of the comings and goings of others. The fringes of society more often my stamping grounds as it has been for he introductory decade to that indecisive period known as ‘middle age’. These circumstances do not come about simply as a matter of an accident occurred in the moment but as part of a gradual wearing down process based upon events that in hindsight seem to stack up like a row of dominoes. A child’s game that seems in the mirror of that thing called habit to line up into a continuity of encounters that one’s own personality controls almost unconsciously, but not quite. The memory of the open burner of the stove or the paperclip near grooves of the electrical socket are never to far from conscious thought.
Long tedious days fraught with monumental aggravations tends to make one take the course of a quiet evening before the television hopefully before an old movie whose scenario is far removed from your own. Take the fantastic nature of the plot of Hitchcock’s, “Rebecca” with its intervening layers of different genres of gothic romance, psychological drama and offbeat romance. A vehicle that in my own case brings sleep to the eyes somewhat rapidly yet continuously engages the mind in cotton like drifting borders of somewhat awake to partially asleep. It is somewhere within, that one experiences both present and past in a concoction that is oft reshuffled. Transported to like same situations where characters from the past long gone still linger as vital and real as if they still existed on a daily basis in waking reality. The movie droning on in my ears as the location of my bedstead changed to the possibility of three separate locations from the dusty kingsized legacy of dead parents to an air mattress on the living room floor of the parents of an early childhood friend overlapping the decor of the couch in an old tired ranch house family addition from a now estranged girlfriend. The narrator’s voice droning on throughout. My laggardly thought process in parallel to it as one would expect in a movies auditorium exercised in whispers between crunch of popcorn kernels. This lace tying together the various eyelet holes so that conversation of both movie and inner dialogue become simpatico and part of other odd dramas cooked up by the id using all these stated puzzle pieces.
The blue glow of the television flickering in the barely lit living room of someone else’s house providing hospitality on the knife’s edge of acceptance. A husband coming home decades later to find the grown up version of their son’s childhood friend sleeping in their house with the wife in the kitchen being a nervous proposition for all. The corollary reminding one of their own past foolishness in dating a Persian girl who in the light of recall had some perverse fetishes that required the peril of discovery. Something that for her in the new land of the USA unlike back home in her religiously intolerant land shinning female desire required such things. The taste of the lash upon ones unprotected skin during intimacy from that point forward becoming a necessary ingredient in their sensuality. Discovery by family members of her engaged naked in coitus mere inches within the shadows from an open door of her bedroom being her kick. For those as aged as myself the alternate being equally problematic as doing the nasty in the front seat of a parking lot late at night physically too challenging to inspire much ardor. I have to suppose that the sex lives of the male preying mantis or their fellow male black widow spiders are charged with an exceptional degree of orgasmic enthusiasm followed by the inevitable fatal cynicism? The dimly illuminated vision resident in the hollow less occasioned spaces of my mind of my partner’s less charming orifices demanding service still lurking like the mandibles of a much larger and voracious carnivorous insect lover.
There is no rest it seems in a life fueled by such visions of the past now matter how nervously reawakened the loins may be charged with by this sort of experience. The mismatch of what one expects from either side of what the consider conventional determining the viability of the relationship. In my own case, those kinks of being interrupted by old jilted spouses or irate Muslim family members brandishing sharpened kitchen cutlery just not my thing. My own sort of excitement in the bedroom disappointedly being too Episcopalian or Methodist these days. Yet as mentioned the mind can wander. We are all animals after all. Long after the possibility of the fit excuse of further procreation we are driven on to consider the repetition of the ritual without any realistic hope of biological success. Another form of mental construct of ongoing recreational fantasy that all hold so dear of that bygone yesteryear, I suppose?
There are many fables passed along through the millennia to our current centuries of certain conundrums that are insoluble yet pressing to the relations that all humans as a species suffer. Some make sense in a geographical sort of way as the need to nest with one’s polar opposite with the coming Spring each year. Some offered at dinner table debates as with the topic of the time at which the hunter gatherer turned agrarian. Or in cloister of ones’ man cave after dinner when the ‘better half‘ of the sexes split up for a more earnest transfer of detailed information the men sit cigar and brandy bound to ponder tall tales of their exploits teasing about the details of mankind’s oldest profession. To this end I am reminded of an incident of the mind within which both I and my best most trustworthy alter ego found ourselves in contradictory situation over the male foible for the soothing of that pernicious ever-present call for satisfaction of the loins. Pertaining of course to the equally ever-dangerous practice of looking a little too lovingly at the grass next door as it seems to grow in the territory of one’s closest neighbor. How much has been written of such regrettable situation since noble blind Homer stumbled across such hi-jinks two and a half millennia preceding? In the case of my own less epic history this failing being happily engaged in by my fellow. The two plus two of it posed lingering in my mind upon a particularly inhospitable night’s sup. One at which both he and his stunning paramour were joined for the evening by myself and a newly discovered companion. The two women at my table were distantly familiar with each other as acquaintances at work. And as such congenial to the max but ever safely distant in their relative spheres of emotional influence. The workmate of my friend’s soulmate equally lush and brunette though free spirited in a manner knowing few boundaries of the kind that oat sowing males are particularly fond of. The nature of the evening spent inhabiting a four spot of a local watering hole that provided relief from the relentless downpour outside. The hours wearing on in safety from the external deluge ultimately leading to a marathon convivial drinking by all of safely removed from its wrath. As bodily tolerance for such bouts of imbibing both body and spirit of John Barleycorn was in my own case ever stretched thin I found myself making excuses for the necessity of an early departure. A short task to ferry each to their own dry destinations.
It was very early morning after being physically sequestered in alcoholic stupor when I awoke much later in my corner of his two bedroom apartment to find him in a tizzy reeling dreamily about the bedroom running back ad forth by himself at a dizzying pace. He busily set about making adjustments rumpling a bed and planting other evidences suggesting his recent habitation. My inference of this odd behavior leading me to believe that his long enfranchised ‘steady’ would be bereft by way of this vitally physical documentation of his recent absence. It was difficult for me to comprehend the necessity of all these actions? That was until he let slip that the very same brunette that had spent the night across the table from us had unexpectedly expressed an interest in no uncertain terms conveying that she had taken a special liking for him. My sense of connection to this particular woman being somewhat hazy and now problematic I found myself taken aback by his demonstration of an unfettered willingness to engage in such a gambit? Something that I would have naturally assumed he would be fully aware would ultimately turn out to become fatal to the future of his primary relationship? As such I found myself upon his bed in the dilemma of who to side with in what would inevitably be an irrevocable conflict when his prime arrived. There is something of that classic mentality shared by both man and canine who despite the inability to express commiseration in a common tongue with both knowing that they have been guilty of having committed some unforgivable transgression. Something that connected to a similar power held by the female of the species in a particularly characteristic ability to detect such infidelities. Though my companion seemed more in the moment and oblivious of I found myself suffering this weighty dilemma on his behalf. The more that he frivolously bounced about the room replacing burned out light bulbs and strewing his clothing about creating the illusion that he had remained there uninterrupted since his arrival home, the more grief struck I became. What would I tell her when she would cast the first stony look in his direction signifying with unearthly gravity that she knew? She knew!
Yet from this universe of guile came rushing an absurd notion! Something that had not initially occurred within the confines of my own scattered brain stem. Something that the lizard brain portion currently enervating my friend into this waiting harbor of hurt would be incapable of realizing. A perception of reality that up to this point had not transpired for either of us. But was now so suddenly crystal clear. I picked up my face off the bed to look up around the room. My heart pounding as if I had been engaged within the rigors of an intense bout of extremely taxing exercise. There was now no hint of my fraternal friend now turned nemesis. The confusion about the room wrought by his mischief seemed inexplicably familiar. The pair of pants laying rumpled beside the bed. The shirt tossed over the chair in the corner. THEY WERE MY OWN! I startled when I began to realize like puzzled pieces falling backwards in empty space presciently into a proper solution. A blinding flash ignited my brain as I heard the hinges of the bedroom door swing open and I spun about as if caught in the cross hairs of some final fatal danger. For an instant the face of the brunette flashed across the face of the blonde before the doorway. The blinding vision of a goddess of desire of a type that so many better men before me had fallen before all throughout history. I stood there presenting a comic sight in boxers and T before her as an expectant smile formed upon her face undiminished. She walked up to me with an unexpected confidence of a she lion that was completely arresting. “Darling!“, she smiled as her arms slid around me to pull me into her embrace. “I’m so sorry I made you wait up for me so long but I had to drive Betty home after I dropped you off.” She took a step forward and I heard her purse drop hard upon the floorboards. My conscious mind reeled as I gazed deeply into her twin blue pools of dead earnestness. “What in the Hell was I thinking?“, I thought. “It was so nice that the three of us had the opportunity to get together for dinner this evening!“, she cooed. She now staring deeply into my eyes with a convincing innocence as females often do when they poke and probe for the proper most expected response. “No, no!“, I replied with an unexpected sense of earnestness behind my voice. “It is so much nicer though that it is only just the two of us alone now!” I settled back into the magic of the moment of mutually shared ecstasy of two loving animal embracing. Realization come to fruition that my ‘friend’ had after all been simply been a manifestation of my own very pernicious dream.
Social media infers involvement from the audience as well as its audience minded authors. The idea of the image as unique has been watered down by both the fluid advances in technology. It is not so much important as to ‘who’ takes the photograph as it is who choses the image. Maybe someone who has just picked it off the internet and intercut it in a production of their own? Feats of cinematography that were once the province of Hollywood are now in the hands of hobbyists. The ability to generate revenue is at its peak with worldwide based sites that offer weekly views of everyday life from faraway cultures. The underlying awareness shared being that there are no absolutes as harangued by the traditional news media’s longstanding grip on reporting. Control these days being exercised by profiling a site by content actively with hired gatekeepers and passively with word and image recognition software’s so that the most politically disruptive are cleaned from popularity and subsequently sent to the bottom of Hell at the back of the search terms in line. Thus popularity becomes a game played by the ever changing arcane rules of search engine optimization SEO. Where the ancient Greek heroes like Theseus had to find their way out of the matrix to escape the Minotaur those seeking Internet immortality must the same sort of threads to follow in order to be known. The game is a maddening combination of endurance of spouting out creative and intriguing topics then capturing to the level of popularly agreeable modern technology savvy production standards repetitively past the point of normal human exhaustion. The holy grail of subscribers and hits counted for a post hopefully leading new converts downy he road to the Jerusalem of contribution towards the self-inspired altars of Godhood by leaving donations on one’s Patreon account. The traditional rat packs of entertainment corporate media fame are diluted to the point that phalanxes of new talent can only hope for a brief season of notoriety before being replaced by a new set trying to ride in upon the mercurial carpet of trends being pulled out of the last batches’ temporal success.
The most recent times that reside in the virtual present tense however have seen a push back. As with all things public there is a rise and fall in both novelty and popularity. Very large social media sites that have changed their focus to manipulative forms of Socialism are seeing a drop in their subscribers. The official reaction to geopolitical events in our current millennia having gutted the concept of a Fourth Amendment in no one having any measure of privacy any longer due to omniscient technologies that collect and collate every detail of one’s life transmitted electronically not going over so big with the general public. The passive attitude of the general public in the ‘take it or leave it’ paucity of the highly controlled job market meaning that to work with any continuity one must surrender their rights to the body corporate. These organizations continuously mutating like cancer cells devising bizarre methods of evaluation and imposing arbitrary requirements that only lead to making daily life more impenetrable in terms of putting aside time as in the past. The ability to communicate in real time with a phantom community of virtual acquaintances replacing the availability for informal human contact. Emotions being culled into short spurts of text that depending on familiarity demand immediate response. Those ancient times once planned for taking vacations in more exotic locations supplanted by a YouTube channel’s entrepreneur doing the exploration for you while you get to sample cuisine intimately in close up with satisfaction provided by the hosts facial gestures and the inevitable thumbs up.
There is an perpetual argument about this realm of online media as to whether it flows though the sewers of the establishment’s superstructure unaided or if it is part of a masterful well thought out plan to direct humanity into new channels of existence. The level of behavior modification required in enormous as it is no longer optional to engage such a static form of virtual existence without engaging the outer physical animal in a strict regimen of daily exercise. Even this is encouraged to be subject to various forms of electronic monitoring from tracking one throughout he local grid via their phones to wristlet’s required for monitoring heart rate and physical peak performance. It would be easy to engage the harangue of cognitive dissonance to the fact that this change in the patterns of human existence are ultimately detrimental in a social sense. The cow has long wandered out of the barn and the barn has since burned down in terms of former more individualistic types of existence where direct contact with another human being is expected. The world has its head and shoulders stuck in the hole and, barring some mass destructive solar event pushing world cultures back to the Seventeenth Century, can only travel forward inward. The technological socialism now allowing for the fantasies of those in charge of the technologies to further impose their vision upon the rest of us. The Totalitarian Utopia of man and machine biologically confused as to which is controlling which. Something that for us few dwindling ‘old foggies’ is an anathema to ponder.
He had met her quite unexpectedly in a place that he had to meet many. A gathering of others mistily much younger that were taking advantage of their parent’s financial largesse to experiment with their eventual degrees in what was the right university. A place that one could put on their list of accomplishments and it expect it to shine for all the decades to come. A place to make all those accepted brilliant in the eyes of others because it was designated as such. And there in the room that all the invitees spent the day was she. Who then, when invited could hope to pass up such an opportunity? He did not plan it but by virtue of their relative age perhaps both felt that they had more to say at their age than all the others who were informally locked within their own set of same. This encounter leading ultimately one of a more personal one some weeks after. The usual polite push pull of conversation ensuing where each was nudged to explain a bit about themselves. As a he, there was no dallying about with the many details intervening between his youth and the current circumstances capsulized from the storehouse of same within which he had currently found himself without. For herself she exclaimed when her turn came, it was complicated. This seance a matter of expressing her current wants, dreams and desires int he context of her many exhausting roles in the daily living of life.
As they had spoken for so long about themselves in these ways he exclaimed that he was glad that there was one difference between them. He had felt that the promise of an attraction had definitely made itself known between them. And he did not wish to trouble it with any declared incongruity. Yet he felt it was appropriate even constructive to declare that he was glad that there was once basic point upon which they say things completely different. Where she saw life around her as complicated he found it simple. How this could be without casually strolling through the traditional mine fields of male versus female might have ben the first thing to come to mind? That particular juncture in the proverbial road where too often one drops a less than subtle hint about some ingrained quality of their own makeup that though a socially sanctioned is essentially overbearing behavior. One facet that might quite naturally cast an unforgiven shadow upon the light of day of the other. A game changer game stopper red warning light saying it was time to bring the meeting to a quick conclusion. The intent of his quip was to infer how in so many things that they had exchanged over the past hours they were alike. Yet like a fork in the road it made him consider how Yin she was to his Yang. The men chopped the thicket of wood just ahead to provide a path. The woman was ever mindful about a hundred concerns following in the cleared pat just behind. This seemed an obvious symbiosis that one might have easily taken for granted. But then again something much more fundamental and enduring then that. A great divide that both sexes had attempted at various times to cross with varied amounts of success. A mountain pass that in the Spring was beautifully pastoral but by the time of Winter became both treacherous and biting.
The meeting was past by much subsequent speculation over the week in the accustomed solitude of their respective daily lives as moderated by their regular schedules. Him leading the field staying a step ahead of an orderly column of expected necessities of his continued well-ordered existence. She chasing about the periphery of the great number of promises and responsibilities signed on to attempt to reign in the ever-present chaos of it ending up being too much. The intervening attempts on his part for further contact as expected perhaps by her own intentions coming with very little encouragement. Perhaps a certain level of ambiguity about how some new association might bring the possibility of the renewal of another unnecessary disaster in her life? The sort of thing that in a woman’s heart would cause a conflict in the maintenance of welled-up former emotions long repressed. should the dam within withholding same risk being blown apart yet again to let their angry pent up waters freely flow? A very dangerous prospect for someone already beset by the weight of so much unresolved past! For him on the other side of town living in a self-imposed severity that only a monk might appreciate his own past was so far away upon an ocean. Though he sail and sail and sail forth in the direction opposite like some mermaid enchantress bound sailor he could not escape its song. The decades past like magnificent cloud filled horizons each unique but in the rhythm of their daily evolution becoming essentially ever the same. A certain level of ennui. His own list of regular duties in each successive endless series of months, the expected masculine manual of arms. The first week of the month being at the ready. The second presenting one’s arms. The third, picking a target and aiming carefully with the fourth being firing en masse! The concluding portion being a slow controlled advance further forward bayonets at the ready expecting the same steady ritual rough treatment from any surviving opponents in return. Simple.
But yet not so simple at all? For in the interim days while walking in a strange neighborhood down a side street he was hailed. A tire strung high attached by a rope to the overbearing limb of a very large old tree came swinging unexpected past his head as he crossed an intersection. Instinctively he pushed it past him and continued back to the avenue and in his returning path found a large oblong cardboard package laying open in the street. Within much to his shock was a naked headless body of a young beautiful woman. A woman that he had once known. Perhaps his former wife of three decades ago? Or further back still, his first sweetheart? To his amazement he noted that the body below him was very much alive with a fancy colorful ribbon tied about its throat. The presentation of it thus suggesting some hastily opened present found under the tree at Christmas. This presented a critical dilemma to him as given the obvious identity however confused, his own former vital connection meant that he could not just abandon it in the street. Yet how could he explain its marked incongruity of a naked female corpse that lived on seemingly blissfully unconcerned that it had no sense of direction or wont of purpose to propel it from that very spot. It was obvious as he took its delicate hand in warm embrace that he was tasked to lead it somewhere. Though where or what consequence it might bring upon him being a growing question. The sight of them as a couple walking down the avenue him leading this ever-animate headless effigy by the hand beside him would be shocking enough to anyone that might encounter them. Would that he had some form of cloak that he could wrap about her to soften the impression! It seemed that fate forever played this sort of maniacal game with him. Whenever after a long Winter of the freezing of his own emotions was in jeopardy of thawing to the reprise of the possibility of a pleasant Spring some absurd situation would be sprung upon him. Though he hated to admit it! Especially in light of the previous conversation of the earlier week, his life was once again, complex!
Back in the Stone Age when I dragged around a club
walking in blue jeans tightly pinching my boxers
back then when desire was unfurled in a howling vortex
an unknown woman’s gaze a Minataur like stare into her eyes
Way, way, way, way, way, back . . . when?
Retour à l’âge de pierre lorsque j’ai traîné autour d’un club
Marcher dans un jeans bleu pincer mes boxers
À l’époque où le désir était déployé dans un vortex hurlant
Un regard de femme inconnu, un Minotaure, comme un regard fixé dans ses yeux
Chemin, chemin, chemin, chemin, chemin, retour. . . quand?
It was sad when she had told me that because of me should would never love again. Sadder still when I realized after so many years of solitude and recrimination that I believed her! Suffering is considered heroic when it is in print of course. The actual portion that little boys love is the acclaim they may one day achieve for their endurance in same. Little girls ever conscious of a pinprick. For myself I tend to surround myself with the exotic forms of paper in print topics of drama that recounts real life experience. How can that stack up to the communal fantasies that all are expected to live by? To relish being judged by your attentiveness to the current fashion that you venture out of the door dressed within? To be admired for the intricate knowledge of the toys that you ride about town or go on vacation with? For some, the ability and opportunity to fashion such things from scratch? How so? How can one say I am without getting crowded out of their own proposition by so many that if you had anything extraordinary that was worthwhile to the present conversation in the popular realm would crowd you out? Real suffering is a solitary exercise devoid of any possibility of obtaining outside help or sympathy. Even for the toymaker’s, also known as your parents, you are stretched too far and at a fair distance from the solution. If you wade too deep in quicksand you will sink into its mire and cease to be a problem for the rest of the waking world. Then and only then, you get the benefit of total experience.