i can't believe this has already happened,
in a work environment you'd expect some sort of professionalism
but it's back to sq. 1 of dealing with people
at work as if it's a school-playground...
the moment Gemma entered the scene it must have
become obvious to the other girls (they're not women,
they lost that status today)
that i took a liking to her... i still don't get it as to why
i have a crush on her... i mean: she's out of reach,
not because she's this stunner: to me she is...
or that she's younger than me and i'm not a supervisor /
manager and therefore i can't impress her with
a higher status...
she's out of reach because i already know her life story...
she expanded upon it today...
mein gott... compared to her life: i merely exist...
she's the one that lived a life: i've merely existed
(as the saying goes) - 7 attempts at a pregnancy...
7 miscarriages... or whatever the problems were...
two attempts at marriage: both times she pulled it off...
raising a boy as a single mum...
an ex: her baby's-father who didn't pay her any alimony
or helped her with rent... a child that hasn't ever
seen his father... then some other ex who trained
as a boxer... 9 years her junior... who was ostracized by
his family for dating a woman much older...
she apparently showed him the sort of life he wanted
to live... ended up with him beating her up
and the child... running her into 9K of debt:
spiralling out of control...
how in her 20s she was working in the financial
sector and earning good money,
getting a mortgage... now: look at me, she says,
i'm working security at football stadiums...
she also has an M.O.T. license - she can check whether
cars are eligible to be driven on roads:
whether they're safe, since her dad (now retired)
used to own his own garage...
she also slyly mentioned psychosis...
breakdowns, social workers...
oh... look... one madman meets a madwoman...
no wonder there's an immediate attraction...
i haven't mentioned that to her yet...
i'm throwing caution against the wind...
since? my psychosis aged 21 was slightly different...
walking into a church and hearing a choir of singing
"angels" (well, they weren't the ******* Baptist choir
from a church in Georgia) - i sampled a choir in my head?
what?! and then the great wind that dispersed the choir
as i started panicking and checking my MP3 player
for an alternative music... yeah... i put headphones in...
played some music... the choir was still singing...
i hid under the altar and covered myself
in a white cloth from the altar, shivering with fear...
then running aimlessly around the church
the wind descended...
that was back in 2007... funny things have happened since
2007... it's hardly a coincidence...
no i sometimes hear something akin to:
WIDZISZ (in my mother tongue) - YOU SEE...
honestly, compared to her life: i merely existed...
she has lived: i had pockets of opportunity to live
(as the saying goes among people who "suffer" from
f.o.m.o. - fear of missing out) - i "missed" out on
the life usually lived by people in their 20s...
i could have started this security job in my 20s...
but it's not like an opportunity arose - well: until now...
i could have been a manager by now...
instead: "god" and ****... and writing these doodles...
any regrets? what, the time i ran with deer that
were obstructing a traffic intersection while holding
a can of beer: playing off the stag of the little harem
with young? inviting a fox to come to my garden
for daily food for about a month?
having a sparrow fly into my hand from a bush (ages ago,
Valentine's park, i must have been 8 or 9) -
no...
when she asked me: who do you live with
and my reply is: well, not my peers, i still live with my parents,
but i do most of the cooking, all of the housework,
the gardening and some DIY...
i feel ashamed saying that... even though i'm not some
loner gamer based in the basement not being helpful
around the house like a custodian ought to be...
then again: i'm not a single father either... so that's that...
but single mothers are never told to feel ashamed:
i'm inherently ashamed for still living with my parents...
i too might be hurting someone:
to put it all into biblical proportions i.e. how
a man is to get away from his mother and father and get
with a woman... these days? i'd replace my own mother
and father with: a father-in-law and a mother-in-law:
because a woman will always drag the man into her
family circle... so it's ****: either way...
- she regretted not going to university,
i told her that i regret having went to university,
if your son thinking about going to university?
yeah, he is... i wish i went into a trade school...
bad idea: sending him to university...
he wants to work in finance... well, that's fine...
as long as he's not studying the humanities:
universities are cess pools of indoctrination these days...
but... last time i heard: law departments at university
are not safe from leftist propaganda... what are the chances
that the sciences and economics will be?
science can be undermined by transgender biological
warfare... economics: well... erm... Marxism?
she also knows that i haven't been in a relationship since
i've been 21... now that i'm 35... what's that, i asked?
14 years... 15 years sooner rather than later...
i didn't tell her about my visits to the brothel
or the random one-night-stand...
with the current funny geo-political ambiance:
it would have been hard having a Russian wife / girlfriend...
oh yeah, she proposed to me... chose the ring...
then she broke it off... so... technically:
i feel less guilty about how it ended - since i didn't end it...
Gemma... all the girls i ever really fancied had
that name... no... this is not some astrological conspiracy
theory... it just so happens that the two i'm thinking
of had the same sort of hue of ginger hair...
bombshells by my reading... and i thought i had
an archetypical weak-spot for blondes... turns out:
as much as i love Turkic raven haired girls...
a certain type of ginger makes me weak in the knees...
i'm still ******* confused... i get nervous, i get excited...
what the hell is wrong with me?
i'm playing a game of thinking that:
something might be on the cards...
we're already talked about that last time when she came
home to an empty house and ate a Chinese take-away
on her own... although we're working as part
of a team i still don't have her number: even though
i might need it for work reasons...
i'm playing this ****** game of being infatuated like
a teenager... well great, for me, of being only 4 years
her junior... but i'm constantly trying to bang my head
against the wall of impossibility of:
you go down this rabbit hole... things are going
to get ugly... i don't even think about getting hurt:
i'm thinking that i might do her more damage...
that wouldn't be fair...
but it has finally happened...
people are shifting, choosing sides... about 2 months in
and it's happening like it might be a schoolyard...
today i learned that this other... single mum:
5 kids... from 5 different fathers...
she only manages to live in a house for about a month
before she has rent arrears...
big... chunky girl... for the most part i thought she
had a decent personality... she joked that i wanted to hold
her hand... so... i arch my arm and wait for her
to put it into the slot... but she literally wanted
me to hold her hand like a father might hold a daughter's...
not like i'm a man and she's a woman and she puts her
hand into my trouser pocket or rests it on my forearm...
literally holding hands...
but it has happened...
a woman's take on violence... i'd rather slap myself
in the face...
one girl being jealous of another girl...
because a boy is giving the other girl more attention:
is being more tentative to her needs: since...
Gemma is much smaller than the lass i'm referring to who:
has started using... reputational propaganda...
strange... that she goes against the guy (i.e. me) rather than
a fellow female...
so Gemma turns out today and tells me:
oh, you know what she said? that you stank of alcohol
on the job...
i could seriously go through a list of chemistry i use
to pamper my *** up for the job...
sure, i might be drinking into the night,
but it's hardly me merely drinking...
i drink to exfoliate in my scribbles...
avon's soft skin - an air brush spray: which contains
alcohol,
any and every ****** cream... Garnier...
Nzuri's argan oil on the hair mixed with
style expertise wax diluted with some water...
Ossion beard balsam... 1881 aftershave...
some sprayed on my neck just below my heard line...
some on my beard, some on my **** collar...
obviously some deodorant... best the soft scented
Dove stuff... Colgate toothpaste, bubblegum flavoured
gum chewed for almost 4 hours prior to an event...
some tobacco influence, some coffee...
i even apply some foot deodorant..
one accusation flies against another...
that's why i'm seeing this red flag...
Gemma says that X said Y about me: that i stink of
alcohol... wow... with all that pandering...
i'm surprised she might whiff up a scent of bourbon...
but X already pointed out... she ******* sniffed me
up... she put her nose in almost a touching distance
of my neck: oh, what smells so funny...
no... wait... you're just smelling good...
this is ******* schoolyard politics 2.0...
girls being girls... boys being... boys... boys actually
tending to their physique, their presentation...
an aesthetic...
if i were happily married with 4 kids, like Dan,
my supervisor i'd have a more: **** it attitude...
but now... one girl with aqua-marine girls keeps telling
the joke that: i honestly misheard her say:
hello darling for: hello daddy...
Gemma think she's being rude to her / not being friendly...
while also said X is telling me i smell nice
while Gemma says that X was telling everyone
that i smell of bourbon... what, under those 7 ******* layers
of scents that ends me soaking up a scent of soap...
so... my conclusion is...
Gemma doesn't have the audacity to tell me i smell
good... so she has to make it out that X said i smell of *****...
while X said that i smelt good...
you know... this makes absolutely:
all the necessary sense that it allows itself to allow...
while i'm the one who's somehow endearing
and have an affectionate heart / a rubber ear
to listen to life stories... no one is really going to
listen to mine...
to reiterate: Gemma says X said that i smelled
of ***** on the job... i tend to sober up, proper,
on a commute... but then i use all these chemicals to
smell good... X managed to bypass her inhibitions
and tell me that i smell good: sniffing my neck...
what, the, ****, is this?
i'm not even as pessimistic as Daniel with regards
to people: sure, some might be *******, outright...
but some people are just like children...
they want to be told: no, you didn't **** up...
you want me to hold your hand in hand?
within my confines: i don't think i could ever arrive
at the unconscious realisation of resurrecting the child:
to feed myself with blamelessness...
that's not how the man-child dynamic works...
such petty lies.... petty politics...
one girl spread rumours about another girl...
come to think of it: it wasn't an attack on me:
since Gemma immediately retracted the accusation
with a way to defend me...
it was false from the get-go...
what Gemma didn't allow herself to follow-up on is
what girl X already arrived at:
a dis-inhibition of telling me that i smell good...
i'm working on her, i need more time...
i'm teasing her, sexually tensing her up...
like today... i bought her coffee... at first she asked for
3 sugars, then she asked for 2 sugars...
so? i bought myself a coffee and a coffee for her...
both were white... i put 3 sugars in one...
i put 2 sugars in the other...
i was gagging for her to suckle at the make-shift ****
of plastic for i could taste her back:
i already asked her to smoke a cigarette
she was already smoking which she willingly gave up...
but no... she took the plastic-****-cap off and drank
from the side: as i explained to her:
sorry, confused the two coffees...
which one is sweeter?
well... that "confusion" being sorted...
second "thinking" comes to mind, spinning an alternative
narrative... oh, sure, at first i did the right thing
of thinking that these two girls were out to destroy my
reputation... but being single mothers...
one has 5 brats from 5 different fathers,
the other has 1 child from 1 father...
some ******, ex... 7 miscarriages...
they're going out against each other...
they are... X tells me i smell good while
the other is telling me that X said i was scented with
bourbon...
considering that X has already started bragging that
she can get through a half a bottle of brandy in a single
night...
women! why have the gods "cursed" me with
such attributes that women: still in their 30s are behaving
like careless whisperers of bogus...
and then they turn around and tell you:
how their relatives worked in the security services
and how it was oh so different back then:
what? you mean when men only worked with men?!
and there was none of this pseudo-speed-dating
******* around?
i started to kee stressing:
so... we're here to avoid another Hillsborough Tragedy?
and all the women look at me all funny...
aren't we?!
lying: a byway of compensating for our life's works being
undermined from the get go...
i stopped myself from lying for the simple reason
that lying erodes memory: you always have
to back up one lie with another lie...
but... if you tell but one truth...
you can ******* toward the void of silence...
from what i've seen, from what i heard...
people who tell lies, who allow themselves to
be self-aggrandising...
who never channel self-deprecating humour...
well... i sniff it out... i too am recipient of scent...
it might not be *****... it might not be shampoo
or cologne... it's something deeper...
i might only be a steward... the minion,
the infantry pawn... but i sense something,
"something" is suspicious...
then again; how the **** have i managed to juggle
my current predicament, i will never know...
women... they ******* each other off...
what am i, best next suitor for their children that
i am not a father of?
me? ancient Rome's good uncle Caesar?
sure, i'd love to be even the most remote: surrogate status:
if i was given full access... but even these poor *******'
biological fathers are not given full access...
who the **** am i? what, i know that universities
are ideological breeding grounds, that i too agree:
it's going to become a waste of money?
that i know ethnic words like: niqab?!
that i can't be anti-racist: because even the racists
are people that need to be catered to?
i can be: non-racist... but i can't be anti-racist,
why? yeah, a low-hanging fruit...
trying to establish a new aristocracy...
my preferred pronouns are:
the royal ONE & WE...
one might think that we are not invoked to
ask such questions or to give such answers...
one is always supposed to counter any deviances
with a: we might do Z...
one most certainly concerns oneself with:
ought we?! if one is not concerned with (an) i;
since one is rarely to be bound to being agreeable with,
yet, disposing of an agreeableness
that constitutes a we; paradoxically...
it ought to be believed that that's how the English Restoration
looked like... on the basis of how language was
utilised...
year 0... we're not really having this conversation...
believe me (that) we're no(t) having it...
you're not reading this,
i actually haven't written it...
it's just a figment of your "imagination"...
but to think that the infra-sctructure of
the English language would be / could be... undermined
by their own native population....
so easily... as to be so accommodating to the fringes
of society?!
hey! maestro! now you let the orchestra play!
o.k.?!
