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We weren't actually together. Last night there was a break up however. After five months of sporadic dating, there was no real spark or heat between us. I felt that she was nice and I liked being with her. She liked being with me but wanted to feel more. Feelings that only I could ignite. Last night, she told me how I'd noticed the clothes and beauty of her friends but never complmented her on a single point, discounting her breasts. I've been feeling a little sad and a little ashamed to be the cause of her pain and insecurity.
Other people seem to get along with their lives quite nicely. It is hard to tell just how happy they are but I certainly see people talking and laughing, hugging and kissing. All very normal. I am Learning to feel more by identifying that I am feeling something then attmpting to put shape, colour, location, consistency and form on that feeling. This is harder than you might think. Necessary though, to stop my slide into solipsism, which you know can't be a fun place. I am responsiblle for the upbringing of my children. I want them to be happy people.
Internet dating, now theres a thing. I'm straight out of one vague relationship and already browsing for a new. These things take time, of course.I sense that it would be wiser to pause a litte. To work on my issues. Learn to express what I feel, or least feel something. There's a pattern here. The pattern will not channge unless I change it - It's me. There's a million pretty women, waiting out there! This is actually true. Interesting and beautiful women with lives full of stories to tell, I can't meet all of them. But I can meet some.
Facing up to alcoholism is difficult. Everyone knows this. My father died on his way to the pub one afternoon. He fell off a borrowed bike and broke his neck. Aged 69. I've been drinking (not in the usual alcoholic sense, if there is such a thing) for the last 20 years or so, buying wine in varying quantities on a Friday evening then sometimes buying on Thursday evenings, which inevitably meant that I'd drink an extra bottle and extend my weekend by a day. Even though the world kept to its own schedule. I've sort of stopped that now.
More about drinking. Over the last year or so, I was fortunate enough to be able to take time out from working. I have been at liberty to drink as I please, freed from having to be presentably capable at work. I noticed that it was becoming a turn-to in times of boredom. Instead of accomplishing something during my year off, it became simply free time. I suspect that I will look back on it with regret. Nevertheless, it was relatively hangover-free. I noticed a shortening in my temper and patience. My relationships, as they were, suffered also.
Ken had always fallen in love easily. He wasn't surprised to find himself in that familiar turbulent joy on waking with Yuko's arms around him this morning. He had lain smiling, relishing the soft, warm feel of her on his back They later kissed good bye and he had headed back to the base. He was already composing a letter to her in his head. Now here he was, somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, looking for his squadron. This was a one way trip. If he could only sight an American ship, he could still die with a little honour.
Beyond my grandparents, I know very little about my family. My mother has told me that my great grandfather was a left-handed fiddler of minor fame in the Aberdeen area. My great grandmother, "...was a mean woman". That's all I have. On my father's side, I may have aunts but have no memory of them or their families. Having family is important and I now have such a small one. My mother's short term memory gets worse every day. She can still talk in detail of things that happened 70 years ago though. There's a mine of information there.
Yesterday was International Women's Day. It was either coincidence or a subconscious reserve that caused me to not submit according to schedule. Pubic hair imagery was where my thoughts spent most of the day. Wild or absent or dramatically symmetrical. There is no should for how women prune and design, if at all. That's entirely up to each individual. I am entitled to like what I like however. And the hair that I have found most attractive thus far in my life was a thick, black inverted equilateral triangle. Lushly beautiful to behold and joyful to run my fingers through.
About half way up Sweden on the left side of a map, there is an island. Not many people live there during the non-summer months but between May and September the population multiplies ten-fold. I have been invited several times by my friend Nick, who has a house there. It is a serene and peaceful place. Once a quarter, the locals arrange a pub night with music, which people generally make the effort to attend.The pub is some 5km from Nick's house. Too far for leisurely walking so we fired up his apparently new 1976 Zundapp KS50.
It's the strangest thing to teach your daughters how to be violent. It's brought about by worry and fear of what they might meet in life. The overly horny, the drunks, the deranged and the damaged. Or even nice boys who go too fast too quickly. When a stern No, has no effect, how is a girl to know whether to discuss further or work in a fast hook. That decision, I hope instilled confidence can assist them with. I hope also that they never have to damage people to save themselves. Given the choice though, better to damage scumbags.
Today, I met two Asian ladies. One was from China. She was beautiful, engaging and making the best of her life in Sweden. A beautiful,normal and positive girl (who I can easily imagine face-fucking) (Should have left that out). The other lady was remarkable in that she was 143 cm tall. She told me a little about her life. Her husband died about 4 years ago, her son two years later. She was happy that he had left her a grandchild, who was her star. There are no friends in her life and she feels alone. Sad face.
My friend, Rachel is a nice lady. She is smart, quick and fun but appears to be on the edge of some sort of breakdown. I think that this stems from either a sense of loneliness or a fear of never finding someone to love and be loved by in return. Very rational reasons for falling apart. I maintain that she has to be kind to herself. Others cannot love you if you do not love yourself. Does anyone really love themselves,? I try but it's not easy. It is important to never stop trying. Always be kind and gentle.
We spent the evening in an enormous shopping center. There are bigger ones sure, but they hold little interest for me. Nevertheless, this one had bars, restaurants, a bowling alley and a multiplex cinema. During an Indian dinner, I convinced her to come to the cinema with me. I told her that I'd hold her hand, which I duly did. She is Chinese and so is more than a little enigmatic. There appeared to be no reluctance on her part to the hand holding but she is very reserved. I'll stay with it for a while to see what develops.
In bed alone after last night's date, I set to reading up on the experiences of others who had dated Chinese Girls. Interesting. Most guys (I didn't look for the views of female westerners) love the Chinese women they are with. Other, less committed types, thought that the road to sex was a long one and it was often not what they imagined it would be when they reached the goal. One Chinese lady wrote that people should stick to their own race, which would likely make the world a much less interesting lace. I'm no clearer on the matter.
Yoga is my thing. I have been practicing on and off for about five years. It makes me feel better. After attending a regular class for a time, I nearly always conclude that the instructor is falling in love with me - the instructors have all been women thus far. My latest crush, for I am aware of the projection, is attractive, blond and large breasted. She could be any shape or colour however. As part of an (unusual but good) exercise today, I was massaging her shoulders and neck. She pulled her hair up to reveal her chestnut roots. Wow!
This was my first Arab kiss. It was nice. Soft, smacking lips gently pressing against mine. She opened her mouth a little but offered no tongue. I had to go feeling for it. She was reserved though I sensed passion there. What worries me is her need to express feelings and talk of her need for love. Her need to love. I get that people
must say these things. And she seems t understand that I will not be sending her messages every morning and evening, even though this requires minimal effort. I liked the kissing though.
Some time ago, I wrote a story, more listed the memories of the violence within my marriage. I had attempted to leave out the hurt and resentment and try to present neutral facts in a non-judgmental manner. I'm not sure that that is possible however. The story stands up but is uncomfortable to read. For me, at least. I'm considering changing the voice to second or third person and seeing where it goes. A writing course I am currently taking is work-shopping pieces written by us attendees. I'm very wary of inflicting my past strife on to others.
There is absolutely no need for you to push your negativity out onto the world. Yes, life has been rough for you (but really, compared to a young Indian widow who has married above herself, how bad do you have it?). It's been tough for everyone. Noone above the age of seven truly believes that the world centers upon them. Empathise. See things from the other side. Be a grown-up. I know that it's no fun and will require much of you, but think of the returns. How you'll be loved for yourself. Loved as you deserve to be.
This feeling of loss or emptiness that I have been noticing recently; actually, it has been coming and going for years, is hard to attribute to any one cause. Now that I have stopped filling the hole of boredom within myself with alcohol, it is much more pronounced. I talked to a therapist. He suspected I was under-stimulated. This is a valid point. Lately, there have been dates, more work, writing, friends and exercise. Life feels as if it is coming together in a meaningful way. At the same time, I feel that there should be more to it.
In My Tribe is an album by 10 000 Maniacs. It's from 1987. Oddly, I still know a lot of the words to a lot of the songs though I do not remember the names of most of the songs. My then girlfriend and I saw the band at The Town & Country Club in London. She didn't like the that Natalie Merchant (still remember her name) changed clothes on stage. The following year, I left London. I love the town but I still see no future for myself there. Of course, that may be exactly to where I am heading.
A plane is flying overhead. The sound of its engines is not the most pleasant but one that he is used to. The summer is coming. Soon he'll hear the chug, chug, chug of boats going by. The trees will be lush and vibrant. It is the best of times to be on an island. It is also the best of times to be in love. Last time was so long ago. He feels as if his time for loving is past. He feels sad and hopes that this is not true. He opens his heart wide to the world.
Another man corrupted by religion (Judgement!) has killed people and changed many lives. We feel sadness, express sympathy and move on is pretty much what I consciously think. Part of me reasons, what would a god who believes in kindness and acts of goodness make of that. A deeply subconscious area of my mind is producing thoughts such as - Hang the fucker's mother up by her heels in public and flay her. Broadcast the hanging of his juvenile nieces and nephews. Pass judgement on all his other family members then send them to be abused in prison. That always works.
The headlight on the new looking old Zundapp was failing. Nick had anticipated this and donned a headband with a strong flashlight attachment. We had already had a few drinks and were a little wobbly but mounted up and headed to the local pub. The sound of the engine planed us through the black night to the wood building,, which was already filled with locals. All year round annual inhabitants, rather than the people that came to stay during the summer. A band played Scottish tunes, which in no way reminded me of home. It was a very pleasant evening.
It's been 15 years or so since I last got high. I had never had pure weed before. It was a very interesting experience. Like hash, there was the warm, uplifting beginning. This plateaued out but the paranoia that I was expecting never really kicked in. I wonder if that was down to the weed or myself. I got to giggling and feeling that things were very surreal. When talking to my friend, Cath, I was was very aware that she wasn't experiencing what I was experiencing. I was in one world talking to her in the world next door.
"And so, here we are again". I noted that this phrase came around every so often and so deemed it as the start of the loop. Having a conversation with someone in another plane of existence is both funny and deeply worrying. As the conversation looped again, I started leaving messages - saying 1,2,3 after a phrase that I believed we'd said before. I would change my voice or look up at an imagined camera and say detective so as to give a watcher in the real world a clue that I was attempting to communicate and leave signs.
The giggling talkers that one sees on the street, deep in conversation, apparently with themselves may also have found themselves in a parallel world. They too had realised that their attempts to communicate with people were futile and that it is only they that are aware of the continual loop in time. Each time they try to explain their predicament, the realisation that the loop will soon wipe the conversation from the other person's mind, causes frustration or hilarity. It's a question of time before madness sets in. A question of time. A question of time. A question of time.
Louisiana really appeals to me. There is no sound reasoning for this. It's just occurred to me that the first series of True Detective is set there. That wasn't nice. What I like about Louisiana, and this is mostly gleaned from novels, films and television, are: beautiful women in dresses glowing with a sheen of sweat. These are usually blonde and serving in diners or bars. The food. Jambalaya, anything with crayfish or with Cajun seasoning. Swamps, with nearby bars where one can be served by beautiful, glowing women. New Orleans. The JFK connection. I'd really like to go there.
Passion is something that I believe that I once hdd within me. Passion for women, music, food, being out in the world amongst people. Passion for people. Passion for what has gone before. History. Stories. In more recent times, as an older man, I have noticed an absence of the burn that was once within me. My dealings with people are marked by a pronounced disinterest. Being with my children is something that I
love. If the truth be told, these times are those where I feel most. It is important to feel, I have understood.
The avocado seed that we suspended on chopsticks above a shot glass sprouted roots. A short time later a stem broke through the stone, grew to about four inches, then leaves appeared. We bought a large pot and some earth so that we could replant it. It continued to grow. now beyond the 18 inch stick which is there to support its trunk. It's a beautiful plant but I worry that it is going to bend when it realises that its drive for upward growth surpasses its own physical structure, it will simply give up, bend its crown and wither.
Four women have spent the night with me in my bed. I have lived in this apartment for almost three years. My bed is that old. It was made to specification. Quality and guaranteed lifelong comfort. Remains to be seen... The first woman was my ex-wife, during the post break-up period of our marriage. This often happens, I understand. A Tinder date, who turned out to be an old acquaintance was next. Some people, you just like sleeping next to and waking up with. She was one of those. We only had that one date. Maybe too soon.
A policewoman was the third to spend the night with me. She was very keen and able but neither my heart not my body was very interested. I felt that she was disappointed. Still, there's more to loving than just fucking. And then there was Charlotte. A nice lady with an interest in art. A good, loving woman, who actually found it difficult to sleep away from home. Most nights, she had to go home. I would have liked her to wake up with her. There will likely be more women. I hope that one of them will stick around.
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