after rereading some of Nietzsche, not that i was some
little miss sunshine American teenage rebel when
i started reading him to begin with,
he came much later - and i never really liked him:
not disliked him, just never liked him:
even though i read his Thus Spoke Zarathustra in
one sitting... rather lying in bed all night...
             but i just never managed to come to grips
with his use of adjectives / nouns - genius... greatness...
vanity... blah blah... an inferiority complex was
my reading of him - even though some crucial points
can be salvaged -
come to think of it, here's my attempt at an
"imitation" - it's not some outright propositional
aphorism of sorts -
    it's not necessarily - unconditionally true...
this is mostly a "prepositional" a posteriori -
                                     necessarily but... at the same time:
conditionally true... and yet... at the same time:
it's not at all true...
   it happens when...
           a man is no longer a boy...
the man is still living with his parents...
alternative? rent a room with a bunch of strangers...
flatmates... in my vicinity? how many men
have the same living arrangement as i?
oh... i'm not an Ed Gein type... there's plenty more...
i can count at least 6...
i'm not the only odd-child freak...
poetry doesn't pay...
                but at least i'm the custodian...
chores... cooking, gardening... i'm visible compared
to the others...
chances of my parents growing old
and in the western fashion of throwing them
into an old people's home? little or outright none...
point being... i've been looking at this
for a long long time...
concerning mothers and sons...
i don't think i'm going to write this in third person
ooh ah: Al Pacino in Scent of a Woman...
   i think i'm going to write this, more, personally...
a man's satisfaction with life,
increases, exponentially,
   when he sees... that his mother...
                      is dissatisfied with her son's life...
oh ****... that's not personal at all...
           it's sort of counter-intuitive... but it's true...
when a mother can't boast about her son's life...
career... etc. - when she goes to the gym...
has her little social events... a bunch of menopause
hens get together and talk crap over coffee...
her son this, her son that...
   some are grandmothers... some have to take care
of their grandchildren...
some hen's son is married a third time... blah blah...
DJ... earns £X,000,000...
                           and there's me...
poet? philosopher? i don't even have to crop up
into the conversation... ******* tree-shepherd...
i ******* into the night for a walk into
a forest... i ******* in general...
                 most parents would bundle up together
some money for a wedding...
did i, ask for one? did i ask for help getting
a mortgage? i guess not...
                do i pay my share for the monthly
food bill? sure...
    but it's odd... when a mother can't boast about
her son's achievements...
or for that matter: she can't even mention him...
in the company of other women...
because... she has no grandchildren out of wedlock...
or other issues...
and that's when the joy of life comes in...
if a mother can't boast about her son,
or... she can't really say anything bad about him either...
when she doesn't really have an idea
what to say... it's like... he's sort of a fern...
a plant... he's there... but he's not really there...
he's... "da-sein"... he's an abstraction...
            that's when i know that my quality of life has
reached a zenith...
            dumbfounded...
oh long are the days of the 19th century
with jack the ripper woman haters who would
"teach" frigid women lessons of giving it up
on prostitutes... these days... men like me just go
directly to the source...
    i love prostitutes... love them to bits...
at least they don't create a limp-**** Madonna-*****
complex... enough white wine aphrodisiac...
enough exercise aphrodisiac and i'm good to go...
no poker games no dates...
there: flesh meets flesh... no games...
   but that's how i find it...
                                there's a lot my mother pretends
to not know about me...
  how i champion solitude...
            how i'm not bothered about:
even at work... how many of these girls ganged up
on me, when i took interest in one of them...
another hasn't showed up to work for weeks...
how would i take, rejection? like so...
to the brothel with me... done...
                       when a mother can't boast about her
son's life... that's when...
the son lives a most satisfying life...
  since she can't boast... she can't also say anything
negative... because the life is staged in:
neutral... oh he drinks blah blah... who doesn't?!
yes - the greatest satisfaction a man can attain from life
is, when, his mother is most dissatisfied with his life,
how freeing it becomes: to know that you are living
on the bare minimum: how satisfying that you
have the bare minimum of ambition -
that you are content with merely the antithesis of
Frankenstein's drive - vivo per se: life in itself -
that somehow you're more of a freak than Frankenstein:
only in the imagination of a woman couldn't
the monster become a philosopher: perhaps the philosopher
is more of a monster to a woman than
the monster itself: with whatever prods and temptations
that might befall the usual man...
to seek some sort of existential redemption when
coupled with a woman...
that somehow... a reproductive outlet would solve
all his woes... if only: to give thought a death:
an ultimatum of (th)ought i dead end...
           it is most necessary to have at least a mother
in one's life that might cherish the simplicity of life
from a perspective of a son who:
really... doesn't really care much for hierarchies...
for... grand-standing... for vanity...
it's welcome to have a woman in one's life that
is dissatisfied with the life you're living with full
satisfaction... with striving for an almost ascetic aesthetic...
but at the time: no, not really...
on a whimsical winding-up...
                  frivolously meeting expectations...
frivolously not meeting them...
being a man who a woman can't boast of...
            so much is needed to find oneself with life...
esp. when da-sein (concern) is replaced with:
hier-sein... the simplicity of a merely the coordination
of hier, ich bin... that sort of translates as
a spontaneity of thought... narrative...
           a whirlwind of memory...
                   April 1st... snow... overcast skies...
then spring and sun and a trickle of honey...
then one woman ****** you off: off to the brothel with
you for some luvvy-dubby-juicing-up...
problem solved...
                   hell... i can imitate women too...
i can be as fickle as they allow themselves to be...
i don't need to be a proud-ridden
Menelaus... women... i can share...
the real problem comes with shoes...
      i couldn't possibly walk in someone else's shoes...
but when it comes to women...
sure... she can have gone through a cohort of Roman
legionnaires... but i will not walk in someone
else's shoes... quiet impossible...
but isn't that what most modern women craved?
for pain to be pleasure and for pleasure to be pain?
ha ha... "ownership"... protection...
last time i checked this woman in the supermarket
asked me... if i could... put a large bag of dog food
into her trolley... and i replied...
   and... am i wearing... supermarket staff clothing?
chop chop...
                 well... no... that's not what really happened...
i actually did help her out...
because... i'm still a man and i like weaklings...
esp. of the opposite ***...
  it gives me... cotton-candy sensations when i help
weaklings... but what gives me even more
cotton-candy sensations is the potential...
of being able to abuse my power...
         it's always in the back of my mind...
               that's the true thrill... i can seriously just
retract my help and pursue the threat of *******...
that's the true pleasure... sure... helping out is nice...
just... plain Jane... nice...
but... having in the back of my mind this *******
is... like: ooh! ha! wait... wait... retract...
keep him hidden... wait for the right moment...
and then... pounce!
                - but it's worthwhile...
keeping at least woman in your life dissatisfied with
your life... because: you're not "somewhere"
where you're supposedly, apparently supposed
to "be"... unless we're talking ******* heart-surgeon
and not some, random... x-ray analyst...
we're talking plateaus... unless i was born into a family
of pig farmers... from a lineage of undertakers...
oh hell... women always want more...
more of everything that life has to offer...
i'm glad of the stock of man...
    the least is always the most impressive...
          man in love with frugality...
                      good music, good whiskey...
one good meal a day... clean socks... clean underwear...
ironed white shirts... ironed trousers...
hey, i'm good to go... i once planned a trip to India...
didn't go... stunned myself by discovering
a lot more of London and the Essex countryside...
that... ******* Paolo Coelho quote from the Alchemist...
about... finding what you've been seeking
within yourself rather than... at the foot of the pyramids
of Giza... blah blah...
          women just complicate matters...
so many ******* complications...
who is to say to me that i ought not to gain the most pleasure
from life by... simply walking?
or cycling? or... whatever out of the fading blue, blue?
from waking up in the late morning...
brushing my teeth, harking up last night's phlegm from
having smoked too much? from vacuuming
the house, from washing the floors
with antiseptic juice?
   who is to dictate rules that would entice if not outright
force me to a pair-bonding?
i have always been alone... the seclusion born out
of being an only-child, sure...
the company of animals "helps" a little...
but i hate the ******* fur...
          it implies i have to vacuum the house
almost twice... but aww... looks so sweet sleeping in
my bed... ****, get real Matthew...
he's shedding more fur than a ******* sheep at
a christening of come spring...
   ugh... but it's not like you're going to make
a ******* cat-burger out of him...
little ******... little 10kg cat *******...
     prostitutes: yes... a big yes...
                  i wish i could want to have a relationship,
i sometimes wish i could desire to have friends...
friends... a big disappointment...
i once tried to share my woes with one...
apparently my woes were worth zilch...
since his woes were apparently greater...
but it's not like he was able to share them with me...
friendship on a superficial: glance level...
so i was like: **** it...
            i can always bash the keyboard into an aside...
keep this blank canvas thirsty for more skeletal
lettering... by the time he might come back
i will have moved on... with plenty more juice...
friends... b'ah! always the same type of...
disappointment... just like women...
       perhaps someone always very mediocre gets
lucky... pairs up...
           oh - and then the anguish...
when their pair-bonder dies...
                 broken heart...
                            dies from a broken heart...
dies from a lack of will to live...
                   it's so much more, profitable, emotionally,
to succeed in the pursuit of a solo project...
no one is going to miss me,
and i won't be the one missing anyone...
hence? allowing the flow of souls through this
conundrum of: is fact, is existence....
is life...
                           i must be coming across as if filled
with spite... no... i'm filled with repose more than
spite... i'm joyously malicious...
i like myself best: when i project
being: unavailable...
   not that i could offer anything to a woman...
i have allowed myself to be freed...
from the superficiality of woman...
                     oh... what a... relief...
                    i can't help to think...
stoic feminism?! i thought it was simply...
a mono-cultural thought experiment?
feminism and that's that...
but... cynic feminism?! the cognitive diversity
of male thinking... compared to the...
narrow stream of female thought...
              no match... clearly...
                               what a waste of time... if everything
has to be sieved through the sieve of
feminism... what a massive... YAWN...
women have always came across as boring
when they tried to intellectualise themselves
and weren't... readily-giddy in the bedroom...
a ******* waste of time...
    women who'd have to talk to rather than ****;
a bit like... drinking olive oil
rather than frying **** in it;
                                absolutely senseless;
sorry... but if women are given allowances
via tic-toc to spread **** about men...
                 oh sure, sure...
i'm just going to sit back and take it...
        like **** i am.