Bourgeois, all too bourgeois

I seem to remember a time when waking up entailed long periods of contemplating filth, mulling over which women I should be sleeping with, which women I’d like to sleep with, indulging in the contemplation of random sexual scenarios. At some point this ended, possibly around the time that Dakota came into my life, and was replaced instead by either pondering the nature of the universe, deep meditations on politics, periods of intense introspection, or fantasies of bond creating, love inducing snuggles with Dakota. For some reason I don’t actually fantasise about sex. Recently I decided that this is because I have the mind of a four year old. I feel quite vulnerable and in need of some TLC recently.

I’m looking forward to S coming back for xmas; much TLC has been promised. 

Meh, I have to leave in an hour for my mates wife’s birthday party. I’m sitting here in the shorts and T-shirt I sleep in. To be fair everything that needs sorting is sorted, I just need to jump in the shower and get dressed. I wouldn’t mind so much but there’s going to be thirty odd people there, I suspect mostly female which yields itself to “So why haven’t you got a girlfriend yet?” “Don’t you want to settle down?” and the worst of all “You deserve someone really special” and no doubt there will be several “someone specials” to choose from. All in their late twenties or early thirties looking for someone with an established career to breed with, all with histories of normal stable relationships, no wild flings, no wild adventures, no unusual interests, and the word I like using is “bourgeois”.  

At such times I contemplate S or think of Dakota. Goths and hippies, bohemians both, intellectually gifted, mad as a box of frogs. None of them would just up sticks and go to a jungle to build schools, or decide one day that getting actual fangs implanted was required to express their true nature. There will be no random status updates at 3 am indicative of painful introspection and a sense of being lost in life, they have every day from now until they snuff it planned. Uni, career, meet man, get house, babies, career, bring up progeny according to normal standards and norms, go on holidays and do “family things, have no exciting or unexpected events, die.  At best they’ll “go traveling”. Life is not to be contemplated or explored, your own inner workings are of no interested there is only the next five year plan and what the neighbours will think.

Of course I feel like something of a curiosity because I am quite good at getting myself into random situations, I hang around with odd balls, I lack anything other than a very broad sense of direction. I have “shocking” tales that they want to know about. “Are you still seeing that goth girl?” “Why aren’t you two in a relationship?” “Tell us about that stripper”. The stripper story isn’t that great, I’m confident to the point of cockiness when it suits me, women often like that in a man, and my cockiness was rewarded by several minutes of passionate snogging in front of a confused bouncer. I do things for fun and because I want the experience. That and I have far too much of a Nietzschean “the philosopher should live a heroic life” in me to be conventional. “On your deathbed don’t you want to be able to say that you had the courage to…..” is pretty much a mantra for me. I think that, along with the lack of an established career, saves me. All these women clock on pretty early that I’m not the man that’s going to give them the house, the baby, the marriage (not the love affair, the marriage) and the respectable life style that they want. 

Maybe I don’t have sexual fantasies because I’m too busy living? 



I think we need a new definition of depression, or rather a new word which encompasses depression plus all of the physiological effects of it, because I for one am fed up of people thinking that depression is just a low mood.

Porn and other stuff.

Ugh. I don’t know why but I’m watching this thing on More4 where guys get to meet the pornstars they’re infatuated with. I love how the guys go to pieces when they actually meet the women. The gay dude seems to be holding up pretty well. I think they’re trying to make out that we all think porn is real, so that when they go behind the scenes we’re all meant to be shocked and never watch porn again, or something. One guy is annoying me, he talks so slowly. 

I do find myself contemplating myself in their shoes; I’d like to think that if you sent me on a date with Gianna Michaels, Tarra White or Mason Moore that I’d be able to hold it together. Then again my friends say that I’m never impressed, I can imagine actually getting bored. On the whole women bore me, well it’s not just women, people bore me. I think to be really into a woman I need to feel that she has a powerful intellect, I need to feel intellectually stimulated and there aren’t many people that can do that. I actually need to feel that I’m dealing with an equal. On that basis I’m not sure how these women would measure up. 

I got called introverted the other day. I’m not sure how I feel about that. It’s true that I’m quiet a lot of the time and I can be shy but when I feel i need to make my presence felt I have no problem doing that. I think most of the time I just feel that there;s nothing going on for me. I’m just bored. I like talking about ideas and literature and politics and history and that I can do quite easily with my male friends, we talk about nothing but. As soon as a woman turns up though the conversation rapidly goes low brow and I get bored. 



Eros and Thanatos

I seem to have acquired the dubious and paradoxical belief that the key to my long term happiness resides in suicide by launching myself off a cliff. I hate this, I’m fed up of the constant “I just want to die” “You need to die” “I need to die” and similar thoughts that pop into my head every few minutes. It’s quite troubling that part of me, at least, really wants to be dead.I actually had the thought, “I’ll be happy when I’m dead”. The I/you thing is particularly interesting, in a scary way, in that part of my brain thinks it’s me and part of it clearly thinks it’s someone else. Unless I’m speaking to myself in the third person. 

I realised yesterday that I can bust out crying quite easily. I figure that somehow I’m just subconsciously bottling everything up and even a minor slip in my subconscious’s hold on it all and it bursts out. I’m semi-tempted to see if I can’t just bawl my eyes out for a couple of hours, it might do me some good.

The other thing is that I’m bloody horny all the time which has led me to some bloody stupid things which I don’t even want to talk about. You know what I want? I want to pack my bag and just leave and go somewhere far, far away and be alone and never have to come back.


I keep writing posts and then deleting them. I’ll probably delete this one too. I suppose it’s the depression and it’s coming up to that time of year and I think I might be feeling lonely but I’m really not sure. It’s the kind of thing I used to beat myself up for: being unattractive and worthless and weird, always getting rejected, never being wanted. Now I still think all of that but it doesn’t have an emotional impact as such. I suppose I’m at peace with it. I see most of my male friends on their second, third, fourth relationships and here’s me still on zero.

I can’t decide what, or even if, this means anything. In a real sense I’m unloved and unlovable, which used to upset me to the point of crying myself to sleep on a fairly regular basis. I suppose maybe it just doesn’t mean anything at all to me. I know I’m weird, I know I’m an oddball, I suspect I’m a nice guy in the actual, non-feminist, sense of the term, I realise that this makes me unattractive but at the same time I quite like myself. I no longer believe that being not liked means I’m wrong and I suppose meeting Dakota and getting to know her as far as I have has shown me that the opinions of most women are meaningless to me. I don’t see women as anything other than people and therefore subject to the same standards as men. I suppose I’ve seen enough tits not to be impressed to much by them.

So I suppose I’m in a place where I am kinda lonely but confident and secure enough in myself to realise that I really need someone who stimulates me on an intellectual level and that if such a person doesn’t come along or, more than likely, doesn’t want me because I’m weird, that actually it won’t kill me.

Dreams of Dakota

I wish I could snuggle up to Dakota, lay there with her arms and legs wrapped around me, her fingers stroking my back and her soft full lips kissing my forehead. I wish I could fall asleep like that, and wake up like that. I want the first thing I see when I open my eyes is the gentle blue of her eyes. I want to feel her breath on my ear as she whispers sweet things to me. 


So I’m in the pub and there is a couple on a date. I know this because they were close to the bar and the conversation was very much getting to know you questions. Eventually they left but they came back after  a while and she was there playing with her hair endlessly and very much into him and it struck me that I’ve never been in his shoes…………..