Small but elite.
Small but elite.
I sort of laugh when I see this kind of thing. The need to import African American culture into the UK seems to be quite strong among black British people and none of it really translates. Slavery has never been legal in the UK, the air of England is too pure for a slave to breathe and so the moment a person breathes it they become free. That’s literal law here. Slavery is so odious to the common law that it would require positive law to institute and there has never been such law. There were no slaves here.
Also Britain was ethnically homogenous until only the last few decades so when I hear that the UK is built on racism I laugh. So a country that was 99+% white set up a racist system and then instituted mass immigration so that we had someone to be racist to? That’s what we’re expected to believe. Who were we supposed to be racist to in an ethnically homogenous country? Without post slavery, post colonial mass immigration there would be nobody here for us to set up structural racism to oppress. There was never a debate over whiteness here because we were ethnically homogenous.
So none of this American nonsense translates to the UK except that it’s arrived with the panoply of African American culture that we now have. There are people in London who dress, walk, talk and act like they’re from Compton or something. They even call the police “the feds”. It’s weird.
The other thing that strikes me is: Why would you move to a racist society? Black people in America had no choice, they’ve been there for four hundred years, but black people here have been here maybe four generations and probably not that long. They chose to come here. If this nonsense is to be believed they left overwhelmingly black societies run by black people to come and be oppressed by us white devils, as if that makes any kind of sense. This doesn’t make black people look all that smart. One morning they woke up, looked around at their homogeneously black societies and thought, “You know what, I’m better off under white supremacy, I’ll move to the UK” then they got here and were like, “Yep, racists and white supremacists everywhere, I think I’ll stay”. This actually makes sense to guys like Andrews.
Sorry, I refuse to believe that black people are that stupid. This American crap needs to go back, don’t bring your identity politics bollocks over here.
Actually talking about integrating my shadow and violence and whatnot. When I was on the last Aikido course where R graded I found myself contemplating violence. I’ve practiced martial arts for half my life and I find myself arguing online with people, including close friends, that punching people for their political views just isn’t acceptable.
So there I was on the mat and my hakama is made of this heavy cotton and it’s hot, so I’m sat there as Sensei is demonstrating and I’m hot, bothered, sweaty, tired, sore. I’ve had two days of just being battered. We have this thing “never forget that people died to create these techniques” and I was there contemplating all these people in feudal Japan who died in all these battles and wars and the absurdity of “making nazis afraid again” just by punching them hit me.
Human beings will go into battle totally shitting themselves, face another human being carrying a weapon and get into a life or death fight and people actually think that just punching someone will make them afraid enough to never express themselves publicly. It was the same day that the Catalans had their independence vote and during lunch I was checking out the news on my phone and looking at the video of riot police battering people to try and prevent the vote and I found myself thinking that ultimately the riot police weren’t changing anything. It was an irrelevance. The violence was pointless.
No doubt the Catalonians were afraid but they weren’t going to be stopped by their fear. Human beings are stronger than that.
So I find this “punching Nazis” thing so absurd. I think that it’s something dreamt up by people who have no real experience of violence and also have a real fear of violence. They’ve never been punched, they’ve never been in a proper brawl and so they imagine that violence is actually more powerful than it really is.
My mind is a violent place, my mind immediately wants to respond violently to a whole range of problems but experience and training have taught me that really this is an ego driven response. People imagine themselves beating a nazi and getting public adulation for it and feeling really good and validated by this and the now fearful nazi cowering submissively and they really get off on this fantasy. The problem is that real violence and real people’s response to violence has no relationship to this fantasy of violence that they have.
In reality no one is going to like you for hitting someone. In fact they’re going to be afraid of you, they’re not going to want to be around someone who responds violently to nonviolence and if you’re the kind of person that actually hits nonviolent people you’re generally not that well balanced. You’re habitually violent and the nazi isn’t going to be afraid, they’re going to be hurt, angry and looking for revenge and things have already been escalated to violence so the result will be violent.
So, to me, this “punch a nazi” thing is just so much adolescent fantasy. It’s the same fantasy that leads young men into the martial arts: you beat up the bad guy and you win the girl. You become strong and powerful and righteous and people like you. It’s the kind of stuff you should grow out of by the age of twenty-five and yet I see guys in their late thirties and forties enthusiastically propagating the idea.
It doesn’t at all fit with my reality of violence, that feeling of pained exhaustion, that feeling of the borderline futility of violence that comes from practicing violence for year after year. It’s not glamorous, it doesn’t make you popular, you’re not going to get the girl and the other guy isn’t going to be afraid of you. In fact we know that if you want to make a bully then bullying someone is a pretty good method of doing it.
The other thing, and this is the Aikido speaking, violence is the easy route. We can all hit people. The harder thing, the thing which shows if you have real balls, is to actually communicate with people and try and talk them around. To recognise their humanity and treat them with civility even when you find them repugnant. That’s hard. That’s the real test of your mettle: can you keep your own humanity and hold yourself to your own standards under that kind of stress or are you just going to degenerate to the level of a nazi and hit someone because you’ve managed, like a nazi, to dehumanise them?
So jobs got posted and now that I have something productive to do and something which I feel is pushing me forward my depression has lifted. Not fully because it’s that time of the year but quite a lot. I’m not getting miserable feeling like I’m in a rut, I’m not questioning the possibility of good things happening in the future. The future is back on!
In semi-related news I find that I have this annoying desire to look after someone. A female someone naturally. One of two female someones. I find that I go to bed and I think about Dakota and the rest of the time I think about BM and BM has a bf. In a way I feel slightly bad because if my life trajectory pans out I’ll have an awful lot of money to spend and I’ll be on an awesome career path and I feel that this allows me to outcompete her bf. I feel that this makes me somewhat douchey but there it is. I want her. I want her and I want Dakota. I’m only human.
As an aside did I tell you that I’ve become fascinated by the idea of integrating my shadow? I find that my shadow is pretty well integrated. I’m quite comfortable with my dark desires and my violent impulses, which is probably why I’m a borderline pacifist. I know that my first response to many situations is the desire to simply be violent and to crush whichever fool is irritating me.
Actually, one thing that interests me is that I have a desire to have incredibly rough sex with BM which is curious considering that it’s totally the opposite of my normal sexual desires. I want her to be demanding sex from me and at the same time biting, scratching, hitting, kicking me, really making me have to physically dominate her. I want her red faced scowling at me, spitting in my face at the same time that she demands to be fucked harder. I want her to want me to have to conquer her and I don’t want her to make it easy. This is incredibly curious to me but I digress.
In fairness I can probably have neither of them, but still I have this dream of taking one of them to an expensive restaurant and spoiling them. I like the idea of making them feel special and cared for. I have this Japanese place in mind which is reasonably expensive which I want to go to when I get this new job and I want someone to take with me, someone who is special. Someone who I can say to, “My success is your success. You’re with me, you get the best.” Someone who I can be lavishly altruistic with and not have to worry that I’m being taken advantage of.
I must be having one of my occasional bouts of loneliness. Or maybe I’m just thinking of the future. Maybe it’s a bit of both. I feel like while I’m always changing, the past year has been a steep learning curve for me. “Development curve” is more accurate perhaps, I’m more confident, more future orientated, ready for more responsibility in life, hungry for more responsibility in fact.
I’m sort of wondering if my thoughts about BM are indicative of this change. She’s brash, she’s confident, takes no shit, loves banter. I wonder if this change in my sexuality is something to do with a general increase in confidence. I feel that I can handle a woman like BM, that I actually enjoy her challenges, which I do. I love her verbally poking at me, I love the banter and I miss her a lot if I don’t see her for a few weeks. I miss her wide eyed smile and the way she hammers on the bar with her little fists chanting, “Jagerbombs! Jagerbombs! Jagerbombs!” when she wants me to buy her a jagerbomb. Like, even that look in her eyes has a challenge in it that I want to respond to.
Maybe a year ago I didn’t quite have the confidence to take seriously the idea of being with her. In fact this applies to Dakota as well. With this job, assuming all goes well, I feel that I’m better positioned to be in a relationship. I don’t know how to resolve this Dakota/BM getting nowhere, not being able to choose, thing. I’d like to find someone new, someone who provokes me as much as they do. Yep, definitely feeling lonely.
Turns out that it was our mistake. Our association sent off an incorrect date of birth to hombu. I must say that hombu are remarkably on the ball. I just provided them with my name and the country I’m in and within an hour I got an email back with a photo of the physical form that we sent off a year ago with our head of association Cc’d into it. No organisation in the UK is that efficient.
Today is a day of pensiveness. I feel sleepy but not tired which is normal for this time of year. I was looking down the garden as I was making tea earlier and noting how the leaves are turning yellow. Everything has that damp heaviness that signals the arrival of autumn. Yesterday I found myself in the front room watching the sunset, the yellows, the pinks, the blues, the fading of the light. I find that I’m withdrawn, always looking to hunker down somewhere, wanting the next hot sweet thing, a cup of hot chocolate, a rich coffee. So basically I’m undergoing my normal reaction to autumn.
Another curious thing, which is normal for this time of year, is that I want to read fiction and write. Normally my reading habits centre on nonfiction, except during the autumn and winter. I suppose that’s why I’ve been blogging more than usual, I feel the need to write, even if it’s complete nonsense.
For some reason I feel the need to read Henry Miller. Sex. I suppose that I like him because he’s so masculine. Camille Paglia says that our culture is so feminised that we no longer produce authors like Miller and we’re not comfortable with raw male sexuality anymore and part of me would like to write something that redresses that. I reckon that I could write something that would trigger feminists so hard and cause such scandal that I’d be world famous. I just don’t have the patience to write.
I’d like to write a book that just fucks up our current culture’s narrative about male views of women and rubs male sexuality in it’s face in a totally unapologetic way but without it being pornographic. The point wouldn’t be to write sex scenes but to really convey male psychology with all its facets from looking at some women as pure fuck meat to rut with to falling in love with someone and desperately wanting an emotional connection with her through sex and these two extremes can coexist with each other.
I want to write a book that teenagers read to shock their parents and I think that with the dominance of left wing thought and feminist moralising doing that is a piece of piss. I want to release my inner enfant terrible. I want to be sat opposite some seething feminist presenter on a late night culture show and to say, “You’re only angry because you’ve never been fucked like that” and grin as I take a sip from my whisky.
The more I think about this the more I grin to myself and think that it’s a really good idea.
So R got his dan grade. I got my shodan certificate and yudansha passport which is a little blue book that records your rank and the courses that you’ve attended. When you reach dan grade you become a member of Hombu dojo in Japan and the blue book is kind of your membership book, I also have a membership card. There is a slight problem though: They’ve got my date of birth wrong in the book………. They have, in fact, made me eighteen months older!
So, I have emailed them and we’ll see what can be done. I’m hoping that they just send me a new one for free, seeing as it’s their mistake, but I have a feeling that they won’t. In anycase a new one is ¥1000 which equates to about £10 and I’m guessing that postage won’t be too much.
Other than that I got battered at the weekend. I spent most of the time training with this guy, let’s call him Oni, which is actually a nickname of mine in certain places, because basically he’s unnecessarily brutal with people. He’ll does short, rough, techniques by locking up your wrist, elbow and shoulder and then throw you which means that you have limited options as regards ukemi and on top of the pain you therefore also have a very high risk of breaking a joint. Unsurprisingly a lot of people hate training with him because of this. In fairness you learn a lot training with him but it’s not a pleasant experience. If you make a mistake he very helpfully demonstrates again, and again, which means that you get smashed into the mat again and again.
It got to about lunchtime and my instructor was taking the class and had to tell Oni to basically leave me alone because he needed me to take ukemi on the gradings. At that point I went to train with R and R basically told me to get off the mat and I’m glad that I did. I was exhausted and hugely overheating. I ended up sat in the changing room in just a t-shirt and my gi bottoms just cooling off. Perhaps if R hadn’t of been grading I’d have knocked the whole thing on the head and sat out for the rest of the day but I recover pretty fast and after lunch I was fine.
The next problem was that Oni was grading and guess who is highly regarded for his ukemi and is expected to take ukemi on gradings: exactly YT. So the call comes to change ukemi and I made a dash for Oni. This might sound insane and it kind of was but the reason I made a dash for him is that I wanted to get there first so that no one else had to risk injury. At least I knew what I was getting myself into and I’m quite good at getting myself out of things, other people from other dojo aren’t as fortunate as me and it only needs one slip up and someone is off to hospital with a broken arm.
We got to one point where we were doing shiho nage and my elbow was locked and I only had my big toe and the ball of my right foot and not much else on the mat as he’s pulling me down to the mat. I don’t know how I managed to get into a flip, probably a combination of a powerful snap of the hips and luck. I thought at that point that my elbow was probably going to go. Like I say, I like training with him. When you throw him, you’ve really done a good technique and I learn a lot from him, but I like it in short bursts, not for hours on end.
My instructor was furious because it’s apparent to everyone that it’s not a case of if but when he seriously injures someone.
Ears are clearing up. Fucking w00t.
May be going hyper manic.
Not down. Up! Up! Up!
What even is homecoming? Like in the UK we get all this American stuff and we’re just like, “What are the Americans on about?” “Dunno. They’re Americans, aren’t they?” “Tea?” “Yeah”. Literally. Watching this. Ask ye not. Funny! When I was a teenager it was mainly all about the air cadets, shooting, flying, fieldcraft….principles of flight, air nav, meteorology, airmanship, chemical warfare training and what to do in the event of WW3, how to take a shit in the woods.
This has memories. We got dragged off to the local uni for a lecture on Physics, I suspect this was to sell us the idea of doing physics at uni. No idea. Anywho. We went for lunch and S and I and about half of us ended up in the student union drinking. We might have been underage. Anywho so we end up in this shop and Teenage dirtbag is playing and here’s S and I with this whole dance routine bopping away in a world of our own.
I miss S dearly. I don’t miss those days per se. Mostly they were about being bullied and although I remember them now through rose tinted glasses now I end up reminding myself that I was depressed nearly all the time and always being picked on. Columbine was the best thing that ever happened to me. Lots of people at school realised that maybe picking on the kid who knew his way around an SA80 and various pistols might not end well for them. I got left alone after that for the most part. My deep appreciation to American lunatics shooting up schools. *thumbs up*
I think S is coming over soon actually. Getting hold of her isn’t the easiest thing in the world. Then it’s all, “Hi! Yeah, my flight gets in at 8am tomorrow, I’ll see you at 9!”. We were a pair of fuck ups clinging to each other for dear life, almost literally. Probably still are in way. She had such wild wild mania. Then they’d med her up to the eyeballs and she’d be a zombie and then she’d stop taking the meds and she’d be off manic as fuck again. No inhibitions, no control, no filter, no “Should I say this?” just “You’re a twat” or she’d just punch you. Loved her for it. There’s a freedom to not caring about yourself, you can do anything, because consequences don’t matter to you when you don’t matter to you. Don’t let anyone tell you that self-destruction can’t be fun, just remember that the fun is there to take the pain away.
I can feel everything around me. I’m keyed to fuck.
Sometimes I just write for the sake of it. There is no meaning. Nihilism. I’m so bored. I need to sleep really but I’m so keyed up. Mind. Is. Racing.
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