title: labrador
body:
Labrador mansion:
bright eyes: see;
tug... tailor... leash.

i find myself rereading some aphorisms by Nietzsche
from human, all too human...
in terms of maxims... aphorisms...
   a Rochefoucauld is on par...
            i sat down with a whiskey and a pickle's worth
of thought... i'm getting my search results
hyped up with self-          -help guru mantras...
i abhor that prefix: self- esp. when it comes enticing
a suffix -help... point being...
there's this burning thought in my head...
   how... rather... a realisation that still prompts me
every time i think about other people's problems...
when it comes to dating... blah blah etc.
i'm sitting down... perfectly alone and thinking...
wait a minute: i... i really don't have these problems...
i tried relationships before...
but... apart from wanting nothing more than
***... the conversation never really satisfied me...
not with a woman...
my last encounter... oh god... i wanted so bad
to get into her ******... but the conversation?
she just complained about her ex-boyfriends...
how one dropped a boy in her womb and ****** off
not paying any child-support...
another was much younger so she could manipulate
him with... whatever scarcity of *** she gave him...
blah blah: punch 1 punch 2... how she sat through
his addictions... how he gave her a bad credit score...
how she's now in debt...
               what conversation would i want to have...
with... that kind... of a woman?
matching her in years... just... 4 years shy...
and... she's clueless... can't control me...
when she tells me her older brother moved back
in with his parents and is being abusive to them...
while i tell her: i haven't moved out
but i do all the house chores... the cooking...
i tried to change the subject of conversation to music...
movies...
but it's like... yeah... Dua Lipa... Mabel...
but i'm not here to talk about her son out of wedlock...
no wonder then...
i went to the brothel about a month ago...
the ***** still sends me selfies of kissing the *******
air and what not... i've been sick for the past week
so i "ghosted" her... no i haven't...
i just haven't been feeling up to scratch...
but i seriously have... no need to talk to women...
once upon a time... oh my god...
i could have been really good friends with her
for the splendour of a lifetime...
but you age... you become... rigid...
         predictable with yourself...
sharing a life with someone of the opposite ***
makes you... doubly predictable to yourself:
since you're no longer living to surprise yourself...
every time i have these thoughts i have
to consolidate myself into thinking:
i'm no companionship material...
    i never was... even if some psychologists roasts
the counter argument:
oh... but women are always right...
for not choosing you... they're right: you're wrong...
it's like... fair enough...
            i sometimes tease the idea of being
a father with the children of strangers...
today, i... "forgot"...
                   the manicurist came round the house
to do my mother nails...
she brought her friend along...
the manicurist brought her toddler...
the manicurist's friend brought her mongrel son...
she's about to get divorced...
my mother described him as an animal:
ADHD she could understand...
i was lying in bed until 1pm waiting for the women
to *******... i heard weird sounds...
the little ******* wasn't watched by his mother...
strange screams to add to the weird sounds...
pushed... pinched... whatever it was he did...
to my female maine **** cat... she expressed her
discomfort... he ****** off...
the manicurist's toddler came to my cat...
she retaliated... scratched the toddler's face...
almost taking out her eye...
                       i remember that one time...
when my dobberman started biting into my Alsatian
*****'s hind... i later smacked him with a belt
and he too almost gauged my eye out...
    if i were in the company of a woman...
right now... would i be listening to post-punk music
from the 1980s... from... Finland?
or the Netherlands? probably not... would i be rereading
Nietzsche? probably not... would i be drinking
whiskey and sitting on a windowsill...
enjoying as much of silence as might be allocated
to... not thinking?
        it's not a harsh realisation...
most only-children figure it out...
well... some do... we're not built for companionship...
i've noticed it at work...
people try to make small-conversations...
i can never make small-conversations...
   i like my silence... tell me what to do...
please... no small-talk...
                   but come to think of it...
i want to write something profound...
           i'm almost gagging to write something profound...
Nietzsche: aphorism 398 -
modesty: women's modesty generally increases
with their beauty...
right... that's the beauty with writing aphorisms /
maxims... people who write them are rarely challenged...
in the immediacy of stated "truth"...
me? i always had this nagging expression...
why do all the beautiful girls become
prostitutes?! for me this maxim / aphorism is FALSE...
women's modesty generally decreases with their
beauty... unless Nietzsche is inviting Socrates':
let my inside be as beautiful as my outside etc. *******...
the most beautiful women are the most immodest
women... well... if beauty is something to be "shared":
i.e. that other men are jealous of a man who
is familiar with a woman of considerable beauty...
once upon a time i heard on the streets of London
when much younger:
a voice said... marry a woman that other men
will not desire... well... great... only a few days ago i was
left mesmerised by spotting a train-spotter at
Stratford Station... armed with his notebook... checking the times
of arrivals... wow...
well... at least he wasn't defeated to his garage playing
with model trains...
i could never write maxims or aphorisms:
they're such a game of hit-and-miss...
you spot one truth... clever enough...
but you miss on another...
    like the prior mentioned quest of equating a woman's
beauty with her modesty... codswallop...
all the really pretty girls become prostitutes...
but aphorism 625 about solitary men...
in short: one must grant certain men their solitude...
and not be silly enough: to pity them...
as is often the case, should such men be addressed...
they'll simply turn around and say:
i pity the company you keep...
perhaps the company you keep...
or the company that keeps you: in company...
solitude is a learning curve...
personally: i never laughed more whole-heartedly
when in company of others:
always when thinking and reacting to my thinking:
solo... i tell myself the best jokes...
i retain all the best jokes: for myself...
no one knows the jokes i've spoken to myself...
and i've always been the only person
to laugh at them...
     now... sharing that... with a woman?
would have become a complete waste of time...
so the pop psychologist dangles this carrot
of why women are picky...
sure... they're picky with regards to men
impregnating them, abandoning them...
or drawing debt in their name so they can't work
in the financial sector... great ******* choices!
i'm not their father... i'm not their uncle...
i'm not stepping up...
the saying is universal: how did you make your bed?
now sleep in it...
    i have trouble sleeping with a cat in my bed...
for a few hours before i knock-myself-out
while listening to the Chants of the Templars...
a ******* cat... imagine having to share
a bed with a woman... unimaginable torture...
i tried that once... each time... one side of my body
turned numb from having to snuggle up
to her... an impossible paradise of touch...
it just bothers me that people are so desperately seeking:
a "friend" to... zombie-out till old age
while watching television, the news...
movies...
can't i be content, alone, watching clouds...
the weather... my shadow?
i just can't be found spewing aphorisms...
truths that have no facts...
sure... well-grounded observations...
but no follow-up justifications...
            i can't bemoan what most men bemoan...
because... most men bemoan...
a fact that... they're wrongly bemoaning about...
an hour with a *******...
on a regular basis... once a month...
would cure them of their ills...
these bemoaning men are not looking
for relationships / companionship...
they're not... they're still to understand that
they're built for the solo-trip...
they're not father material...
me? i don't want to be a father...
i want to remain an arrogant bicyclist...
i want me testosterone levels giving me a break
with an early death...
             these men seem...
conflated by a confusion that... they should have
sought out from a *******... seriously...
i know what i want...
one hour... physical intimacy...
and then... a month... free...
       to do me... for me... and me alone...
write... scuttle... read a little...
watch a... moo-v... alone...
              i don't want a relationship....
these guys have it terribly wrong...
they're not relationship material...
               to elevate ******* is one thing...
to think... you... can... do what... most men
sacrifice from fear of solitude? that's rather another...
it would be like...
so... we're going shopping...
any chance of my going into the vinyl store and
checking out some new records?!
no? just... shoes... and... what the ****?!
now... i could... compensate...
when i told you: first date... let's go to an art gallery...
then the cinema... then to a restaurant...
make a day of a date...
now? i'm not too sure...
i'm not willing to compromise...
                 how men prioritise their life with regards
to their earning is... so... so much different to how
women prioritise their life per se...
regardless of their earnings... since...
women earning their own money is something
completely new...
me? why would i need to earn more money
if i'm not going to spend it?
thereby, also, save it?
               why would i require more?
how much do i need to spend...
how many rainy days are to be expected?
              so... why work more,
to earn more, if i don't need: more?!
                                 i don't need to look pretty
if i can simply look presentable:
washed... tailored...
i don't need to be a ****-upped glitter machine
of chance of flirt;
but i can't be readied for anything more than
than a mere hour of physical intimacy...
i can't do... pair bonding... "relationships"...
watching the television with someone...
the older i become the more i realise this...
sad-but-not-sad-truth...
             it might be a sad truth... but it's a truth:
regardless...
people with the capacity to couple-bond
are sad... since... they are so incapable to
try it out: solo... they have to live and thereby die...
as... halves...
they can never live, or die...
as their unique wholes...
          what a strangely placed focus for a "struggle"...
there is none... to begin with:
or to end with...