Sooner or Later

In an era of the manufactured, the generic and the default, what exists for a purist that puts stock in the lesser spotted concept of hope. Yes, good people, I once again find myself delving in the plethora of self loathing that I embrace as my protective cloak from the rest of the world. I have found that time away from fellow mortals merely catalyzes self analysis and hamster processing about who I am, what I do and what I want. As I drown in an endless sea of pointless personas, the world chugs along…with dismissive disregard for this self proclaimed professional appreciator of life…

Having experienced a recent period of cavalier binge drinking and party going amidst the corporate request of 40 hours a week, I have discovered that I am in a familiar, yet not recently seen doldrum. Whilst memories are made, acquaints acquired and self validation found, I can’t help but feel that though I have removed a decent portion of my head out of my ass, that I remain critical to the concept of the cycle I, and for that matter, others, find themselves in. Now though I believe I don’t contribute to the wonderful statistic that fall under the column of “working to jol”, I am, however, enjoying the cheaper thrills of this, the poor man’s New York.

After now, spending a weekend in, with the most damaging substance possible, my thoughts, I find myself questioning the concepts of loneliness, companionship, friendship and essentially, all possible variation of relationships. See, I am in a weirdly needy place. Perhaps needy is a strong word, but it seems the truer articulation of “lonely, strong self loathing, fragile, sensitive” is just a divulgence too far…wait…damn!

Like the teenager that after masturbation, no longer wants the object of his ejaculatory affection, but rather the nice girl, that “gets” him, that communicates and clicks as if it were dialogue from Juno, I too crave more connections with people that resemble a personification of context and insight…and intellect.

My recent endeavors, be they quasi romantic or otherwise, have proven to be constant reminders of the vast void between myself, and so many others. Now, I know I project, but is it too hard to expect someone to be able to hold my attention? I am not of the MENSA brand, much closer to the MENS HEALTH variation really, yet constantly am exposed to life forms that are devoid of anything resembling interesting. I have been critiqued that I am too critical on others for the lack of ability to hold my attention, that I expect a certain word quota of enchanting and disarming. But is that such a ridiculous request…or hope?

I do not read, so that absolves me of that sub culture, I do not go to theatre, I do not frequent dinner parties or other variations that carry the inference of “cultured”. I do not expect a girl to tell me of the glory of Kevin Smith movies. I do not expect her to tell me which formation best suits my Manchester United. I do not expect her to tell me that when she hears the Kings of Leon that she is in fact reminded of Terence Trent D’Arby. I do not expect her to want to try to keep herself attractive, not by virtue of ridiculously priced cosmetics, but rather going to the gym 3 times a week. I do not expect these things…but fuck me, I sure hope for them. Is that wrong? That I burden them, both potential exes and friends alike, with such unrealistic expectations?

If so, why am I then judged by these very standards, if slightly varied? Why am I shunted into a specific percentile based on my inability to recite Shelly, to acknowledge the quality of the variations of wine, to appreciate the early work of fuck knows what author?

We are the only species that makes excuses and care for the weak. We go against Darwinism, and rather manufacture and maintain environments in which the slow, the weak, the non ambitious, the unintelligent, the unimaginative, the inarticulate and the uninteresting can exist. What the fuck are we doing?

My inference that we need to go on a massive population control program is purely based on my interaction with various demographics and with vastly varying context. For me, one of the most startling has been in the context of romance. I have no issues meeting women, but women that have the ability to keep me interested, by virtue of their opinion, history or the ability to articulate either, are far, far too rare. As I troll through both my facebook profile and phone book, I find a severe lack of intrigue, context, value…hope.

When faced with our own mortality, are there key figures in our lives that we would wish to spend our last few days? How many couples would be forced to say that their partner features in the countdown, due to the Labrador like companionship that they have evolved in to? How many would choose their random left field friend that was honest, sincere, interesting and funny, as opposed to their boyfriend that has nothing to say since he played in a schools cricket week that one year in university ten years ago? Would we look around the room and do a quick calculation of the percentage of remarkable personalities that surround us? Or do we merely just slide deeper into our metaphorical bed and pull our safety blanket a notch higher?

There are far too few people that have the ability to tell a story that you will remember as opposed to the regurgitation of factoids. There are far too many that will give you the manufactured, the generic, the default. Lacking soul, heart, wit or intrigue.

I have met too many that remind me that Vanilla runs strong. For God’s sake, can I please have some Rum and Raison or Blueberry?


“It was the best of times…if only someone had told me.”