I’m bored. Let’s go sack a city. I’m watching In Search of the Trojan War for the trillionth time. It’s one of those slow sunday evenings when it’s cold and dark and the roast is still in the oven. Nothing can be done until after what is theoretically sunday lunch.
I hate this time of year: I got eight hours sleep but if I rest my head on my hand I nod off.I’m drinking lapsang souchong and I’m wondering if maybe I should get the press pot out and make some coffee. That’ll probably give me a headache though.
I can’t wait for S to come back for crimbo so I can bury my face in her cleavage and get some sleep. Actually what I really miss is her bed; the most amazing thing in the world is S’s bed after she’s slept in it for a couple of nights and has her scent.
I’m mooching through this blog and I’m checking off things to make sure that I’ve never done them. Occasionally I wonder if maybe I’m failing as a man because whenever I read women’s blogs or hear women talk about the things men do I’m like, “Never done any of this, am I boringly normal or something?” Like I’ve never felt the need to be a dick to someone or send a dick pic.
I’m feeling sleepy, impish and manic. This sounds quite calm and chilled to me.
This is so me: Watching one’s favorite history documentary and reading about strippers at the same time. We all know that I abhor the mundane. I’m going to find a way to use “conscientious” in a strip club, just because, apparently, no one uses it in a strip club. It might help lift my general ennui. Like existential ennui.
I don’t understand this thing of going to a club and feeling excited because, fundamentally, nothing happens. Most of the time you’re standing drinking beer in a room so loud that you can’t actually talk to anyone and nothing happens. So you’re just standing there, oddly alone with your thoughts, getting progressively more drunk. Which is why I like strippers, there’s some kind of mental stimulation there.
You know, I have this feeling that none of the current women from Dakota to BM is going to work out and to be honest the whole internet dating thing……women get so many messages that it turns them into quite nasty people and I can’t be bothered with that. If I want shit from people I can find that without having to pay for it. Also I can get a higher quality of shit.
About twice a year I read the Iliad and I’m never unmoved by the fact that this tale is about three thousand years old, assuming that the Trojan war took place about 1180 BC. Personally I don’t doubt that the characters in the Iliad were real people because of the following reasons: Consider that the list of places in the Catalogue of Ships is accurate and that because it lists places that were destroyed long before Homer it must predate Homer and in fact it accurately reflects the Greek world at the time of the Trojan war. So why wouldn’t we believe that the bards at Troy as well as remembering the places these people came from, also remembered the names of key commanders?
I’m actually quite troubled about the idea of dying without doing anything that will have people talking about me in three millennia. One of the problems that I have with modernity is that it doesn’t lend itself to the heroic life. Rather it kind of forces everyone into mediocrity. Even famous people are forgotten in six months.
I think this is a quite pervasive feeling among men my age: the idea that greatness is impossible in some sense. Somehow we’ve ended up with this master morality which is of course quite Homeric and yet we live in this world governed by slave morality. You can’t go out into the world and carve something for yourself and have it be totally yours with no one to answer to anymore, there’s nothing to celebrate anymore. Nothing happens where someone decides to immortalise it for all time.
We’re born to overcome and climb mountains and all we have is molehills. I’m reading this article in The Times apparently British troops in Iraq are bored shitless and want to go and fight ISIS. I completely understand.
The last time I was truly happy I nearly died on Crib Goch, well technically I nearly died at the base of it because that’s where I would have landed.
And Alexander wept, for there were no more worlds to conquer.