Standing in the way of control.

I learned a long time ago that we can't control anything.

Control is an illusory mindset some of us rely on to help us to feel like the world isn't a massive, random event generator, with no more interest in us winning than an ant doing so. Which of course, is exactly what it is.

In Zen, they say "Be like water", in that water eventually gets to where it's going- nothing can stop it...if it/you is/are patient. I think it was Einstein who defined insanity as doing things the same way but expecting different results. 

Water doesn't do things the same way, it flows along the path of least resistance. It doesn't set out to change it's surroundings, but in doing what it does naturally, it effects everything.

So if something isn't working we need to change it up, try something new. And just like a car that continually lets you down, or an organ that fails, sometimes we need to take that part out and put in a new one.

We need to do this with people also. Friends so often drift away on a different path, and so without saying goodbye, we watch them fade over time until they live in memories, or the occasional awkward chance meeting in a supermarket late at night.

And sometimes we have to be more active- and enforce that distance. I know a guy that has been jailed for multiple cases of statutory rape/threatening to kill... he's dreaming if he thinks I'll ever make time for a chat. I stopped talking to him before he hit the news, because I could feel something was wrong there. Instinct is very powerful when you don't dilute it with insecurity and jealousy.

So there's the word- jealousy.

Jealousy is the high water mark of a persons desire to control another, based on fear (what isn't, actually?), and never appropriate.

In the Western world, we all live in a society controlled by fear. Fear of the ruling class losing their stranglehold on ALL OF THE MONEY. Fear of the consumers losing ALL OF THEIR MONEY. Fear of the lower classes of HAVING NO MONEY.

The answer to that problem is clear- get rid of money, and invest our time and energy into a different system that benefits everyone, instead of a select few hoarding away everything for...no real logical reason.

And when a person is jealous beyond a certain point (because we should always try and help each other through hard times when we can), it's time to cut them out as well.

If a person can't be around you without having to control you, then that interaction is clearly not healthy. It's no longer an interaction. It's an infection.

And if they continually manipulate you, and make you feel like you're always doing something wrong (based solely on their inability to trust), then it's simply time to walk away.

Another thing I learned a long time ago through personal experience is that those who are most jealous, are the most dishonest. And while they are terrified of you leaving them for someone else (even if you have no intention of doing so), they will be cultivating multiple exit strategies, nurturing flirtations, ready to man the lifeboats if things don't go their way; so they won't have to be alone, or deal with what they have done. They forget you quickly, love turns to hate, they're on the next ride, thinking foolishly they have left their problems behind.

I know this, because I used to be the most jealous and possessive guy in the world. And I find it embarrassing to admit, because it really is low behaviour, shows such a lack of evolution. But then, I did a lot of that back then.

And now that I have the perspective, I can see that my jealous pressure on my partners virtually guaranteed they would cheat on me, or break up and find someone better, because they couldn't breathe in the space we shared. Makes sense- if you push hard enough, the other person will eventually move away from you.

My Mother used to say- "Leave a space for them to grow into". Isn't that something? Leave your partner space inside of you? One of the most beautiful thoughts I've ever come across.

And so I learned to relax. It looks easy when I write it like that, but it isn't. It's like any addiction, and it took years and years of painful soul searching and hard changes to get out of that hole, and back to the surface.

But I climbed out of that, and into reality, and saw just how far I had fallen, how much it hurt. Not just me, but everyone. And it became obvious that my Mum was right, and so was my old Master from Gungfu- "The greatest in control, is achieved with the open hand".

If you squeeze something too hard, it'll slip from between your fingers.

So I decided I didn't want to squeeze any more. I decided I didn't want to control someone into liking me, but I did want to enjoy the reward when someone did so, all on their own.

And I found the more I exercised those muscles, the easier it became to simply not care. To enjoy relationships, without having to control them. And definitely to base my desire to be with someone on who they are, not on how much I can change them to suit my own wants.

So I don't want to mince words here- jealousy is a disease. It will cause you infinite misery, and absolutely torture those who try to love you. It will turn you into a person no-one wants to be, and just because it mostly happens in private, doesn't make it any more acceptable.

Jealousy alters your perception of reality. It interferes with your natural intuition, and infects it, to the point where you either see things that aren't there, or read into things that pose no threat to you whatsoever. It makes you crazy. Who wants that?

This feeling also makes you feel justified in doing things that are unacceptable within a relationship- checking up on your partner, undue suspicion, invasion of private email or social media accounts, these are all self-justified through the feeling of corrupted intuition.

You feel like you have a right to do something wrong, based on faith that what you think is correct. No offence, but that's what The Crusaders, The Nazis, The Spanish Inquisition, and Al Qaeda all did too.

To read about the signs you suffer from jealousy, and what you can do about that, have a look at this page.

Face it, we're all scared. We're all imperfect. But some damage is avoidable in our lives, and I'm living proof that a person who used to be off-the-rails crazy with jealousy can move on to become a person who never spares a thought for it, and most definitely doesn't inflict it onto my partners.

Normally this blog is for either my writing, or for shooting the shit/ranting/whatever grabs me at the time. But I want to open it up to you if you have feelings like those I've just talked about.

Contact me though here if you need a friend or some support, remain anonymous if you like, and I will tell you the truth about where you're at and what you can do that will result in your maximum happiness.

On a personal note, I don't have a lot of love in my own life at the moment, and I know that the best cure for feeling that way is to send out love to others. So whether you're a guy or a girl, no matter what walk of life you're from, or where you're going; if you need a friend to be real with you, and help you out of the hole you're in, I'm right here.

No one deserves to put themselves through emotional pain for fear of being alone. The good news is, the sooner you can work out the damage, the less the likelihood of you being alone is.

You can do it, you just have to want to.



This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

On being broken- Falling out of love with love.

This entry is more of a diary entry really, so if you are looking for something interesting to read, this ain't it.

I'm writing this so I don't forget. I come to realisations every now and then as I navigate whatever it is I am through time and space, and I invariably forget those when I probably need them most. I'm a slow learner.

I used to be very definite- black and white. I had no tolerance for people who didn't know their own minds. You know those situations where you ask someone what they think about a thing, and they say "I don't know." Not out of ignorance of the subject matter, I mean their own thoughts about their own opinions. It just blew my mind that people could wander through life without knowing what they thought, or even why they thought it.

I have talked a lot about people being followers on here, so there's no need to continue flogging that dead horse. But I guess that's why people don't know their thoughts- they think what they think they should, and that's enough for them.

But my opinion was very strong- "It's my mind, and I alone dictate what goes in there."

I like facts a lot, they're what you would call a perennial favourite. And I felt that if something was incorrect or lacked a factual framework within which to exist, it had no business residing in my thoughts. If you asked me why I thought a thing, I could invariably relate to you a long-winded justification without really thinking about it. Because it was generally based on facts.

Now though, I'm even more lost than normal. I used to be lost, adrift in a sea of facts. Now I'm lost in a different way- because I don't know what anything is any more.

I'm not trying to be dramatic. I know a tree is still a tree, I'm not getting too caught up in the metaphysics of things. Is this Universe merely a hologram? I have to say, I don't really care. It's a theory that it is, and like all theories, you had better come up with some scientifically repeatable conclusions before I'm going to waste time and energy giving it the opportunity to rent space in my head.

I think if I were to explain it, I would say the context that I use to weigh my experiences has changed a lot, and because of this, I no longer recognize my surroundings. I used to be incredibly social, and I suffered from explosive enthusiasm. The things I loved gave me so much energy and excitement, other people regularly got caught up in it too. I miss that. And it's only now that I see how that quality of wonder, enthusiasm, of the joy than flows from loving something, how that's a really rare thing in this world.

A great example is this awesome video of Zina Lahr. She's so eccentric and just herself in it, and if you watch that video and don't feel like a light went out when she died this week, then you're more broken than I am.

I've worked a lot as a security contractor, and I think that was step one. Everything from protecting military assets and VIP's, to bouncing in clubs. I have seen and lived through a lot of situations that people shouldn't see. I've pulled other people out of situations that will haunt them for the rest of their lives, and you just do what you came to do and move on. It has changed my face, seeing the filth that people are, ruled and motivated by their basest motivations, giving in to the animal inside them.

The things I have seen people do, and the things people have tried to do to me could fill an encyclopaedia. I've had people literally try to end me, armed and unarmed. Hundreds of them over the years, mostly in groups. The look in their eyes when they attack. It doesn't frighten me, it just makes me sigh and the world starts to look more shit-coloured. 

And each encounter chips away a little, makes my eyes a little harder, my heart more distant. I have worked with a few special forces guys in the past, am friends with a couple still, and I used to wonder how they got that way. That thousand yard stare, the detachment, the resignation to hardship and harshness, but I get it now. I've got it now.

I've done stupid and terrible things in my life also, I'm not blameless. The difference I guess is, I do go away and think those things over, and I genuinely strive to improve. I learn, I grow, and I don't make excuses. I don't want to just react to things, I want to parkour my way through life. I believe in pizazz, panache, élan.

I've worked in the sex industry, and I think that was step two.

Right? Put a recovering sex addict to work in a strip club. No foreseeable issues there. For the most part I kept my dick in my pants, which is just an incredible testament to how strongly I wanted to change, and escape the misery of addiction. I'm proud of that. I gave in to temptation too, learned from it, and moved on. So it's not so much what was done to me that added to this situation I'm in, but rather more of what I saw.

And I could tell you, but it's nothing distinct or new. Just people debasing themselves for drugs or money, the using, the heartless and empty motivations, the endless lies, the viciousness, the bitching, the politics, the drama, and the denial. But it's the particulars of those things that again, took a piece of my light, that formed callouses on my heart.

Guys would say to me in the strip clubs "You have the best job in the world", they were so blind. They saw me surrounded by naked girls, having access to the dressing rooms, to the private rooms. They didn't know I didn't look below the neckline. They saw the girls flirt with me and they thought it was real. They thought I was getting laid every night, and while that was possible, I wouldn't have touched 99.99% of them with someone else's cock. And those that I did experience... honestly? Boring. Sad. A waste of time. There is no glamour in that world, and if you think there is, I feel sorry for you.

I wouldn't go back in for any amount of money, and I never go to strip clubs for any other reason. I celebrate every day away from that scene, but the damage has already been done. To see so many people go through that machine, and to know that nobody ever comes out the same, no matter what they say... I couldn't just shut that out. There is nothing good about it.

And I guess it's the fact that we generally let things continue on this way, that so completely breaks me? Where are the families, support, and education to stop guys from wanting to go to strip clubs in the first place, or for girls to ever think that it's an option? To stop people from mindlessly drinking themselves into oblivion for fun, and then wondering why they are in jail, hospital, or dying?

These are simple things... but we know Governments aren't really interested in change, they want things to stay the same, to get paid, to get a cosy sinecure when they leave politics, it's all about money. It always was.

And we also know that people don't think about whether making a baby is a responsible choice. Do you have the money, the guaranteed money to raise and look after that child, potentially for the rest of its natural life? Do you have a disease or issue that you can directly pass to your child, or that it could take on environmentally (ie: depression)? Are you honestly fit to have a child? 

That last one is a big one, because we all know a lot of people out there simply should not breed, but to them, they have the same right to as anyone else, and no one has the right to tell them otherwise. So there's no reasonable way to enforce what we all know should be enforced. A child shouldn't be a right, it just shouldn't. Because the cost to society and the child itself is too great if your judgement is off. I shouldn't have been born, and that's just a fact. I'm a depressed, physically broken person whose life doesn't benefit anyone. This world should and could be infinitely better, but we let all the wrong people make decisions, and we let the blindest among us drive the car.

Have you ever seen those people on Instagram, who, every picture they post, is them? Like in a world full of infinite colours, cultures, discoveries and mysteries; the most amazing thing they can think of, the thing they want the world to see the most, is frame after frame of them doing duck face?! 

So I guess what I'm saying is, in amongst all of this crazy, thoughtless, and greedy mess; a thoughtful person could be excused for feeling remote, depressed, and suspicious. That's the part that makes sense.

Here's the part that doesn't...

I've been struggling recently with honesty. What I mean by that, isn't that I struggle with compulsively lying, no wait, actually, it is, and I do.

I have been lying to myself constantly, and so intensely subtly, for years. 

People, when we meet, and we get around to the subject of age, almost always say that I don't look like I'm 42. I am.

I've heard this so often, I developed this weird way of looking at life. I look late 20's/early 30's, so in a way, I can live the last 10 years all over again! I bought myself an extra decade of (relative) youth! 

What a crock of shit. And why should that even matter? (See: Societies obsessional worship of youth for profit). Why can't being 42 be ok?

So I believed these people, and bought in to the concept I haven't aged in the last 10 years, and long story short- it's wrong. 

Here's me 10 years ago:

 

Apart from the optical illusion my barely-there eyebrows create when shot from this angle, all-in-all, a fresh faced 32 year old who hasn't turned grey yet.

Here's now:

















 

Yup.

The top photo I found when digging through an old hard drive, I'd forgotten it existed. And when I saw how much I have aged over the last 10 years, all those platitudes and compliments from other people went straight out the window. All of a sudden there was no denying the state of my visage, because the evidence was right there in front of me.

Another thing happened, where I stupidly uploaded a pic onto a site that uses algorithms  to determine how closely, your physical geometry conforms to the 'Golden Ratio', or to put it bluntly to say if you're attractive or not. Despite having had relationships and sexual encounters with all of the stereotypes men fantasise about in private, in numbers that most men can again only dream of, and all without being rich or powerful; I assumed heretofore that I was doing ok...

 















 

...WRONG.

As you can see, according to the template, my eyes and lips are in the right place (although my eyes are kinda squinty compared to the anime-wide-eyed view of perfection, and I have a lopsided mouth), but my nose is far too big. That I could live with, if it weren't for the fact that I have a tiny face on an enormous head. Look at that chin and forehead- they are positively monstrous.

In all seriousness, I'm not actually that bothered, but it did come as a surprise to me, because I have lived behind this face my whole life, and no one ever told me my geometry was off. I simply didn't know I had a big nose on a tiny face.

So why am I telling you this?

Because it made me confront the fact that I'm not only not attractive, but that I am actually unattractive. And why should that matter?

Because that realisation has made me think a lot about spending the rest of my life alone.

 I used to do a lot of things. My dear friends ask me "Is there anything you can't do?", and I think that's pretty nifty. I'm not going to list them, you're just going to have to trust me. I have had periods of fame (which I don't rate) and popularity (which the desperate loser in me does rate), and over the last few years I have seen that popularity and relevance fade.

I know there are things that I could do to get noticed again, and so far I have avoided any motivation for doing them. It shouldn't be important, so I don't give it any effort. But it does hurt, which is pathetic. All of the thousands of people who used to be inspired/entertained/whatever by me, the vast majority of whom I don't in any way respect, or whose thoughts I couldn't care less about; I somehow grieve for their attention.

Or maybe it's more to do with relevance. I came from absolute poverty. So when I got my first taste of popularity, of people speaking positively about me or my artistic output, it made me feel like I was on top of my own personal mountain. Far from that feeling of being alone and hungry and desperate for money, instead being celebrated. Mattering.

But again, why should I care about being relevant to the masses? I can't stand them! I struggle to find one single person on this planet worth respecting, who manages to think and be distinct from the steaming pile of human waste that has found itself dumped into this world without the guidance or discipline to conduct itself properly.

That's harsh, but it's how I see it.

So I've been disappearing from culture. I don't see myself in society pages, on posters, or on TV any more. People don't talk about me, I'm almost forgotten. And it is that way because I allow it. I don't strive any more because I have no one left to impress. It sounds weird, but I guess I only do things because I love to do them now, as opposed to the endless hours I used to pour into doing things to make people go "wow!"

When you're active within culture, people want to meet you, and relationships are pretty easy to instigate. Friendships and otherwise. People within culture love feeling relevant by associating with other people from within culture. Even when you have a tiny face on a big head, apparently.

Now that I don't dance in those circles any more, and I'm not 'special', my opportunities to instigate relationships have evaporated to a drop in the ocean of what once was. Which makes me analyze those who do put their hands up for my romantic attention. I have no idea why these women decide they want me, but one thing has become painfully obvious to me since my last relationship almost 3 years ago- I don't want them.

And I just don't understand it.

I am incapable of trusting anyone, and if there's any love left in me, I can't find it.

I did date someone for a couple of weeks, a few months ago. It came and went so fast it rates as nothing more than a lesson. But that was the last time I felt enjoyment from being with someone. By that I mean, talking, hanging out; as well as intimate moments. And it's not that I'm broken-hearted over that experience, because as I say, it was over before I had the chance to trust her or develop any kind of deeper appreciation. She's just the last person I was able to enjoy being around.

When that ended, I figured I'd just get back on the horse, so to speak. So I spent time with a revolving door of women, none of whom I could bring myself to see again. I didn't sleep with any of them, I knew as soon as I met them that I wouldn't be able to feel anything. And I'm not the kind of heartless monster I used to be, that would sleep with them anyway. Something had changed, and that something was me.

I was bored. I was disconnected. I could see the end so I didn't bother with a beginning.

Each one of these women was physically perfect, to my sense of aesthetics. In the past, physical desire alone would have been enough to make me put up with years of bullshit from any one of them. If you're in your 20's or 30's guys, you know what I mean. But I don't have time any more.

And I could see the games, and all of the denial in them that they were blissfully unaware of. I could tell when they lied. I was annoyed by their contradictions, put off by their lack of individuality or critical thought. I was bored by the things they adored, and I realised there's just no one else out there like me in female form.

Yes, there are women who think similarly in areas of politics or sociology, but are do they tick the other boxes? Are they honest, intelligent, full of character, ethical, respectful, faithful?
 
These dates would call me and internally I'd be screaming for them to stop talking, to get away from them. They would try to kiss me and I'd shudder. Then they would try to hurt me because I didn't want to meet again, and I'd sigh again and add them to the list of girls who are too self-centred and supposedly important that they couldn't just show some dignity and walk away clean.

Being vengeful is so pathetically ugly. Hating someone because they can't love you is just sad.

I'm too weird, too definite and inflexible, too analytical, and not attractive enough to make that worth anyone's while. And worst of all- I just can't find the part of me that used to know how to love any more.

I have isolated myself, closing the door on people entirely. My public face is distant, unwelcoming. I don't do social. I have turned into my Mum, who moved to the country and stopped bothering with men more than 15 years ago.

I never used to understand it, and even used to fear it, but now I get it. She's so sick of games, lies, being used, being thrown away, being disrespected and hurt because she put her heart in the hands of self-serving, greedy and insecure human beings. She took her life into her own hands and said "I'm going to have peace now, away from all the drama and subterfuge of human interaction." And she never regretted a minute of it.

I just have to take a minute to fully absorb just how much strength that takes.

My greatest fear used to be fading away and being alone, and I'm guaranteeing both through my actions every day. I don't fear those things any more- I feel like fading away from a fucked up and ridiculous world of celebrity and money and using people is like a rush of fresh air to someone trapped in the bowels of a sunken ship. And being alone, to hear the breeze through the trees, to appreciate the rain falling, and the peacefulness of solitude; how could I not have yearned for that sooner?

 More and more I have focused on the thought of buying some land out in the country, building my shipping container house on it, filling it with animals and off-grid energy, and just appreciating life for a change. A sea change they call it I think? Or a tree change? I was walking down an isolated back street today with a giant gum tree on it, no cars, no people. And I had to stop and just watch it as the breeze blew through it. The sound it made was so appealing to me, it was just crazy. It reinforced just how necessary it feels to get out of this ridiculous tiny pretentious city that is packed full of greedy, ugly, brainless people.

I feel like I finally have a path worked out. That that is my future. I don't need love, and to be honest I just don't believe in it. All of the confusion has lifted.

And then I saw this story.

I'm not sure how long the link will stay active, but to summarise, it's about a lady called Naomi who since age 4, has suffered through paraplegia; and more recently, with a life-threatening lung condition. She needs a wheelchair for mobility, and has to be professionally monitored throughout her sleep in case she dies. She has been married for 7 years to her husband Paul, here they are together:

 

Now it's really easy for us to mentally distance ourselves from paraplegics and very sick people, to somehow think of them as not as human as us. It sounds horrible, but we do this for survival and to avoid confronting the horror that it could happen to us.

But listening to Naomi Clarke, you are immediately struck with her eloquence, intelligence, and warmth, and her humanity is thrust squarely and firmly before your full attention. She is a brave and wonderful woman, and when I saw her and Paul together, I cried my eyes out.

Wait, where did these feelings come from?

I didn't cry because she is fighting health issues, I cried at the beauty of two people who love each other so much, at the fact that love is a real thing that happens to people, and it happens to people who, at least socially, are a lot more different and in some ways confronting/challenging than I am.

I cried that Paul was prepared to quit his job to care for his wife, to sacrifice whatever personal goals and desires he may have had to invest in a life shared with the person he adores.

I cried that two beautiful people had found each other and are making it work, even though it is so far from what we hold ideal, or convenient. It isn't glamorous, it isn't easy. But when you see them smile, you ENVY THEM.

And suddenly, the thought of living without that in my life fills me with so much sadness again. Because while there are truly beautiful and real people out there, I am simply too damaged to ever be close to them.

I know context colours experience, we all do. And I know security and strip clubs throw colours into my life I don't want to see any more, so it's time to change scenery to someplace more positive. I need to follow the things that make me happy because I love them, to focus on the positive and learn to smile more. 

One thing I know about love- it appears when it wants to, and not a second before. So there's no point looking, or thinking about it. The point right now, is to focus on edifying things, on good things, and engaging with the joy that is out there, instead of the darkness.

If love finds me again, then that would be miraculous.

And if it doesn't, then I've lived among the things that matter, surrounded myself with peace and positivity where possible, and concentrated on the things that matter.

And that's all you can do.


This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

Going blank again.

I dunno, man.

It's weird, how that sentence was controversial once. It made parents roll their eyes, and teachers think "Where did I go wrong?" It was the emoji of decades past- pre tech. Like 'wanna', and 'yup'.

But because I'm from the generation that was comfortable with it, the one that thought privately we were being subversive and inventing this impenetrable language that adults could never get; as if they didn't have their own versions of the same thing when they were our age, then we used it and other words and phrases like it.

Times change, and it's good I said that, because this post is all about time travel.

I think it's pretty normal in our pre-dawn hours of introspection to imagine what life would be like if we could do it over. And if it isn't, then let me say it's normal for me.

I fantasise I'm able to erase all of the embarrassing moments in my past, the mistakes, and the wrong turns; and to emerge into the shining future as a better version of myself. But of course I can't just let it be easy. In these fantasies I get lost in a neurotic fear of not having my iPhone or fancy computer, or any of the expensive acoutrements I have gathered around myself in a vain and pointless hope that there's meaning amongst it all somewhere. Like, how would I ever survive (again) living in the 80's without Google or iTunes/YouTube, bla bla bla?

That's kinda missing the point of a do-over, right?

And just to render the whole exercise utterly pointless and impotent, what exactly would a "better version of myself" look like?  What's the end game here? What's it gonna fix that was so bad?

I live a reaaaaaaaaally solitary existence. A lot of people do, but it doesn't generally strike me as being that odd until I have to relate to other people about it. I literally don't have any friends. I have acquaintances, some more meaningful and important than others; and I have people who try to be my friend, then either give up, or silently accept the way I am and join the ranks of other acquaintances.

And I'm not lonely, although I do often wish I had someone close to me that I could fuck or share with or bitch about things with, etc. But I guess if my lifestyle has taught me anything it's that I'm not so lonely that I'd actually do anything different to facilitate those things I supposedly miss. I'm okay like this.

So in my do-over fantasies, one of the things that is different is that I arrive at this time in history with a bunch of friends. God, I'm exhausted just thinking about the reality of that, but there it is.

When I first got to Australia around 12 years ago, I only knew about 10 people. I lived in a big house with a lot of people in it, and through them and work I met more and more people. I looked around me in social situations and I saw people and their associated connections, and it became obvious that growing up with people and keeping them as friends was how a lot of people do it. They organically forged connections, and then worked to maintain them over time.

Thing is, as I recall, the people I grew up with were just retarded. Small-minded, unintelligent, petty, kinda vacuous shells of what people are meant to be. And I include myself in that assessment, by the way. It took me years and years to shed that skin and to actively develop any intelligence or individuality. And it's not like I had the patience to wait for everyone else to catch up.

So when I left the town I grew up in, moved to a different place where I could make mistakes and learn about life and myself, and then move again to where I am now, it afforded me the opportunity to become who I was going to be; but to deny any previous stages of myself if that makes sense. I don't really know the people I knew, I have no contact, except for probably my oldest acquaintance who is incredibly forgiving and understanding. And because of his nature our relationship is based on where we are now and where we're going, than who we were.

And so I realize, through this unrolling of this ball of history, that if I had've moved to where I am now, and kept the friends that I'd made, that none of it would suit the person I am. And even if I did have a lot of social connections and friendships to maintain, that it would be so against what I actually want, that I'd just hate it.

So why do I keep thinking about doing it over?

Priorities change as you age. Maybe I'm on the edge of one stage, about to fall into the next? And I say 'fall' because there's no going back once you transition. In the same way I'd strangle my teenage self if I met him now, future me is going to be so embarrassed at who I am right now, he won't want to lay claim to being me either.

Maybe I'm more lonely than I dare admit to myself? Because if I did admit it, and affirmed that I genuinely wished for my life to change- to have friends, to care and be cared for; I'm so used to being the walls-up antisocial, sardonic wanker that I am, that there's no way I could change it now. No way I could find the energy to put up with people, to leave my space, to lower my walls enough to let them see me. I used to think no one would want to anyway, but that's insecurity talking. The truth is I have hurt a lot of people by keeping them on the outside, when all they were looking for was some support. A friend.

The reality is, if I could send myself back in a time machine to inhabit the younger version of myself, but with the experience I have right now, I'd be one of the cynical, emotionless assholes I used to hate dealing with so much. The ones that worked in record stores, the ones that liked music no one else could possibly like, the ones that never smiled in public, that had no tolerance for me or my bullshit. The ones I 100% totally and completely understand right now.

And if I did that, I would have been an old man by the age of 20.

Mission failure.



This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

You should see the search terms you guys ride in here on!

So.

Is blogging still a thing? Or do we all just radically overshare on Instagram/Twitter now instead?

I don't know, I've been off-grid. But what I do know is that I feel compelled to vent, to record my feelings here. Some of my feelings here. I'm kinda guarded nowadays.

But fuck it, let's get fucking ripped off the fermented thoughts I've been brewing up. Let's dive right in like the old days. Let's throw caution to the wind and fart together from the top of a mountain, with no shame, just freedom and LIFE.

Are you in?

SEX ADDICTION.

Experts are now saying that sex addiction is a fallacy.

These experts obviously have no idea what it's like to suffer under that, and are the same nerds who tell us something is bad one day, and good the next.

So I'm going to tell you what it's like, because you all trust me. I'm like the Fred Rogers of the blogosphere. This is my experience of it, and everyone is different I guess. I did go to a 12 step program once for sex addiction, but I'm going to be honest here and say that I never went back because there were no women there, and I am a sexual predator by nature.

At least, I used to be. I found a way out. I hope it lasts. It has for a few years now. But it still feels like new skin- transparent, potentially temporary. Weak.

Because my desire isn't a 'want'. It's not an orgasm. It's an all-consuming, throat-tearing, choking, shuddering need. A Bloodlust. An absolutely intoxicating addiction, and it would kill me if I let it.

Here's a view from the bottom:

Wake up. Rub your face in your hands, and as consciousness begins to leak out from inside of you, (probing the room, fixing your place in space/time, reminding you...) ...that you absolutely, utterly, 100%, hands-down cannot fucking stand yourself.

This feeling has deep roots. It's your motivation for everything you think, say, and do. Occasionally you manage to fight your way out from behind it- to be a person in the world, but it always pulls you back.

Because it IS YOU.

You feel ugly, and it doesn't matter how many beautiful people tell you otherwise, you objectively know as fact that you are, if not ugly, then wholely unremarkable, and in no way genuinely attractive. You know this because those beautiful people always go away, to be with other beautiful people. 

 You see them make a thousand excuses to stay with a person who looks right externally, but is shallow and deceitful inside. They get hurt again and again by other perfect people, and they always ask themselves why.

Because perfect looks are interchangeable. And if they deal in that currency, there is always...ALWAYS someone more beautiful than them (at least to the person they're interested in).

And even though they may fuck you now and then, because you're funny, or have status, power, fame, or money; when that novelty ends, so too does their interest in you.

You're fucking trash. But the kind of trash people are embarrassed about after they throw it away.

And after decades of being overlooked, of not being good enough, of feeling like an inconvenience and a stain on the world, you find yourself here. Trying to work out a good reason not to die today.

And it settles upon you. Your eyes focus, your breath flows deeper. Your muscles engage, and you rise. You fill with purpose, and right now nothing else matters in comparison. All you can feel is the need. All that you are is the purpose.

You will hunt.

And all you do, with every sick beat of your heart, is seek out and engage in sex. You will say and do whatever you have to, to get it. You will hurt yourself and anyone else, to get it. You will sink to depths of depravity and desperation that would make any reasonable person feel ill, to get it. 

And you thought Charlie Sheen was just having fun...

You hate yourself. You make others hate you, and the cycle continues.

Masturbation is a massive component of some people's sex addiction, but it never was for mine. Mine was barely about sex at all. That's like accusing someone of having a car addiction just because that's what they use to get to work.

Sex is a vehicle, its purpose was solely to transport me to that place where I was inside someone  for a time. Where I could pretend that I was in love. Pretend that I was right where I wanted to be, with someone magical and special. That our union was intense and rare, instead of the reality where I spit my poison into you, infect you with my disease- my utter inability to be in that moment. My inabilty to be human, or even just present.

I just wanted to feel beautiful. Something that so many people just take for granted, know as fact. And it's the shame of it that broke me out of my need for it.

Don't get me wrong- I still feel it. Every minute, every day. It's the worst thing about my life. And there's no way out, because if anyone says they find me attractive I am incapable of believing them. But I don't give in to the voice. I don't let it wear my body like a machine, and use it to do its own bidding.

And that's where the addiction part comes in. You do suffer withdrawals- horrible, painful physical, emotional, and spiritual withdrawals; as you learn to stand up alone. It's pathetic, like any addiction, which is why people who identify as sex addicts could use a break I think. Life sucks enough, believe me.

I work in strip clubs a lot, and that is a whole other mess. Being surrounded by (generally) insecure girls whose physical beings are so at times incredibly lust-inducing does not help. When they feel the need to win you over because they are competitive with the other girls, it's not always easy to just make an excuse and leave. That voice calls out from the blackness and questions what the hell am I doing. "Shut the fuck up."

Because I know there is nothing but heartache and having to deal with the resentment in them that everyone but you has put in there, in those encounters. Trying to find a way through the generalizations they tell themselves about men so they can cope with what they do... exhausting and pointless. We're not all the same- some of us are trying to evolve. Some of us, want to be exactly the kind of men you always hoped existed in the world. And some of us, are succeeding.

And it's not about just not having sex.

It's about being in charge of the kind of sex you want to have. If any.

In the past I would literally hunt all day, all night; drive myself physically into the ground, in the pursuit of more and more sex. The people didn't matter (although for me they had to be physically attractive, or it wouldn't connect with my issues adequately). But just like any other kind of addict, I found myself constantly in places and with people I was just horrified to find myself in. People I just couldn't stand. Situations that were so dangerous and unhealthy. Always looking for that bigger score, that purer high.

Unfortunately, and as I have talked about before, I had access to a lot of gorgeous and impressionable women through my previous work, to the extent I didn't even have to try to get laid- all I had to do was be there.

And I'm filled with shame to think of all the people whose formative sexual experiences I polluted with my contemptuous and hateful disease.

Sometimes, just like with drugs, the fog would clear for a minute, and I'd think "What the fuck am I doing here?!", like when a young child you didn't even know existed would walk in on their single Mum while we were fucking, wanting their parent, who I was taking to places no child should ever see.

The memory of those times makes me so sick, adds to my self loathing.

For the record, I would always leave right away when things like that would happen. I was an animal, but still so intensely protective of children. I just pray and pray and pray that those kids don't remember any of those times, but of course they fucking do. I'm some kids bad childhood memory.

And to those more vanilla among you, fucking in clubs, in alleys, walk-in refrigerators in restaurants, in parties where you don't even know who it is you're fucking because it's so dark, in beds while partners slept beside us, with Mothers when the daughter was asleep, with daughters when the Mother was asleep, or the Father was asleep, or worse; when they were awake and I'd make them watch as I claimed what was theirs for myself before carelessly throwing it back- it all might sound pretty interesting.

Fucking so much every day you're constantly in pain, your body crying out for rest while you relentlessly drive it into the ground.

And some people may genuinely desire that.

But that's not what I wanted, it never was.

I wanted someone, just one person, who made me feel like I was beautiful to them. Someone who made me feel safe enough that I could invest everything in them alone.

I have had relationships with so many amazing and inspirational women, but no one has ever made me feel safe in that way.

And while they would lose their minds with anger and jealousy over other connections I would nurture on the internet and in real life; they didn't think I would notice that it was because they were doing exactly the same thing.

That if someone was to make me their priority, and to find a home in me... well, that's all I ever wanted.

So I had to work a way out of this for myself. No support, no one to talk to, nobody I could cry to when I felt weak, because honestly, no one gives that much of a shit. And when I'm doing well, and making my mark on the world, people swarm around me like flies. But when I'm off-grid, and needing simple, healthy human interaction, it's always just me.

Like I said, I've been fighting this for a long time. And I knew the key to short-circuiting my compulsion was to take control of the sex I wanted to have. To identify it, and only allow that past the gate.

And I eventually worked it out.

My last relationship ended more than 2 years ago, and I haven't had one since. I have dated someone for a couple of weeks, I 'saw' a couple of people (in the hopes it may turn into more), but I never felt inspired to stay.

If I slept with someone, it was because I decided that in that moment in time, and with that person in particular, I wanted to share sex, with them, and always in the hope that it would bring us closer. It's ok if it didn't work- I'm not a puritan.

The point is I stopped myself from giving in to the old way of doing things, even when it would have been so easy.

I was in Los Angeles a couple of weeks ago. I was doing a product shoot for my bicycle business, and catching up with an old friend.

My friend had to work a couple of nights that I was there, so I went out on Hollywood Boulevard to a bar I know, and just hung out.

Americans are generally such welcoming and lovely people. I know the conception of them is often loud and ignorant, but I just don't come across that so often. So when I go out (unlike in Melbourne, Australia, which has its head rammed so far up its own ass it's almost a head again), I find it really easy to make friends.

I can't name the person I'm about to talk about (at least, I can, but it wouldn't be nice), and because they are easy to track down if I describe them even generally, I won't do that either.

What I will say is that she is beautiful, famous, interesting, and inspirational. What I will also say is the last thing I am about to do is start a relationship with someone on the other side of the planet. So for me, when we met, I treated it as just a chance meeting in an interesting place, with someone I'm very glad I met. We talked for hours, and all of a sudden the lights came on, and it was closing time. I looked at the clock above the bar and was surprised to see the bars close really early over there, and as I turned back around her lips were on mine.

She kissed me softly and told me I should stay with her tonight. I didn't kiss her back, made my excuses, and walked out.

It wasn't the kind of sex I want to have, and I thought we were just two new friends talking. I had no idea she would do that, and I felt incredibly awkward.

I want to fuck someone in my town. I want to fall in love with that person, and share the good things in my life with them. I have a lot of great things happening right now, and it feels wrong to just keep it all to myself. If I buy my farm, I want someone special right there with me, helping me pick out and raise animals, being a part of my life, not just a night.

I want to sexually destroy that girl, then lovingly reassemble her.

I don't want to waste my time inside anyone who won't at least potentially be that person. I've had enough 'experiences' to last several lifetimes. I don't want any more, especially not the kind of experiences that evaporate when it's over, leaving you with nothing but a slowly fading memory.

This girl in L.A., she's still my friend, which is nice. But I know for a fact one day soon she will disappear from my Instagram, because what I did wasn't a very nice thing to feel.

The point is, I chose. For myself, according to my own desires. I don't for one second regret the decision I made.

Now here's the hard part.

I don't believe I'm ever going to be loved the way I want to be loved. People come along occasionally, and express an interest, but their own damage always speaks clearly to the fact that it will never, ever work. Either that, or I'm just not good enough.

And that's ok.

But I don't want to make my problem, their problem any more. I don't want to make an excuse just to feel that rush again, then leave them wondering what happened. I don't want to be greedy or self centered.

I either want to love someone, or no one. No in between.

And even though it means I don't get to have sex at all any more, I'd rather that than sharing it with people who don't deserve me.

Because even though I'm no beauty queen, there are at last more good things than bad. I'm not a victim to my past, but the pioneer of my future (How stupid does that sound?!)

The point it, I'm proud of me. And that's what it takes to break that cycle.

I say "Love or nothing."


This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

CONFESSION.

I love Hollywood movies. I love big dumb Hollywood movies that are basically ads peppered with gunfights, puns, and soft porn, I really do. I love it when the hero systematically kills every bad guy in the film, and if you're lucky, has a punchline for each of them. 

I love it when the helicopter rotors almost decapitate the protagonist, and then totally decapitate the evil villain (but not before he sees them coming, and takes pause to say "Oh, shit.") I love it when Maverick goes into a 4-G negative dive, while inverted with a MIG-28, and is so cool and hot and full of donkey sperm, he flips the Russian pilot 'the bird', just to remind him that "We rule and you suck". 

But once in a while, as a point of contrast, it's so nice to see a movie that has none of that, a movie that simply warms your heart. Like chick flicks. I like those dance movies where the white ballerina moves to the ghetto and gets schooled by a bunch of no money-havin' black kids, and they all win a billion dollars beating her old snooty high school in the National Championships, and then they all fly away on Pegakorns, and no one has a smack habit or listens to wack beatz. 

Real life situations like that just make this life so much richer. And it's things like that that keep us interested, in this thing called 'life'. Things like driving too fast, having your anus massaged, reading the things I have said, they're all absolutely crucial in setting the boundary between living and mere existence. Living and just being. 

I can't eat a chocolate without smelling it first. Not in any suspicious way, it's just a moment of enjoyment, a 3 second health spa for olfactory nosegasm. You unwrap it, bring it up to your face, then, with your lungs totally empty, you slowly breathe it all in. After doing this, you find the chocolate itself is only half as good as that moment preceding it. But you eat it anyway, because, let's face it, we're all just pigs. 

Sure, some of us are really good at denial, and changing our behaviour. But then you're just a trained pig, and I think that's even more embarrassing. Better to just be what you are, celebrate it, be natural. I for one, am not going to be an affront to nature, by not eating chocolates. That's how humanity got so screwed up in the first place.


This is knifey, from 'the internet.'