What could I write on this card?
I haven't got a clue,
There really isn't room to fit
Alll that I'd wish for you.
I'd wish you happiness and joy,
and wealth, and friends and fun;
I'd wish the stars, I'd wish the moon
I'd wish the morning sun.
In fact I'd find it hard to stop,
I should just keep it plain
And settle for one wish for now -
A perfect Christmas day.
- DannyR
Monday, December 22, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
Will you just LISTEN already??
When people learn that I have a mental illness, everything I say tends to be filtered through their existing preconceptions of what the mentally ill can and cannot do.
Let's say I have an argument or an unconventional belief - however well thought out and logical, however long it's taken me to come up with it - it's inevitably seen as a sort of twisted logic, I can't possibly be right. Homosexuality or bisexuality? It's because I'm ill. Polyamory? It's because my illness has distorted or warped my views on love and trust. The right to die? That's my depression talking.
People confuse causation with correlation. My bisexuality doesn't cause my depression and anxiety, neither is it a result of it. Polyamory is not a symptom of mental dysfunction, it's a position I take based on my understandings of human biology and psychology, it simply makes more sense to me than compulsory monogamy. I would change my opinion on it if I found evidence to the contrary. And my stance on the right to end one's own life is something I have come to having witnessed first-hand the misery and despair that failing health often brings. I strongly believe in human dignity, that people should be given the choice to take control of this one last aspect of their lives and that their loved ones should be free to assist them (or not). It’s respect for humanity - not weariness of it - that brings me to this conclusion.
Sure, when I’m deeply depressed I might think of ending my life, and sometimes these depressions last for weeks at a time. But that impulse is coming from a different place than my intellectual stand on the right to die. If I were someone else with the authority to grant permission for Danny’s death, I would refuse it, because I understand that Danny is not capable of making a rational choice at those times.
I think other people’s confusion of causation and correlation with regard to my unconventional thoughts is largely due to their simply not knowing enough about mental illnesses and the people who are affected by them. It’s assumed that my problem with depression and anxiety affects me all the time, people often fail to understand that I have significant periods of lucidity that outlast the periods of depression. In those periods, I have ample time in which to think rationally and clearly, and to reflect on whether my beliefs and understandings are the product of my illness or whether they are actually valid conclusions.
Yes, I probably do have experiences in my life that make me more likely to hold some of the opinions I do and feel the things I feel, who doesn’t? But I get frustrated with people thinking that I am incapable of thinking critically and discerning truth, that I am blind to my own condition and to the thought processes of ‘normal’ people. I think if anything my lapses into illness force me to be more critical, particularly of my own thought processes. I can’t take anything for granted.
I guess the point I’m trying to make here is that you can’t attribute any observable aspect of my being to another, as such, at least not without a fair bit of investigation. My mental illness is not a symptom of my polyamory, bisexuality or beliefs about death, neither does it cause any of these. It is another facet of me, it may have developed alongside some of these ideas and beliefs as a result of quite unrelated circumstances, and perhaps the marginality of my positions on these issues makes me more likely than most to experience mental illness, but you cannot attribute one to the other. Evidence from studies of other individuals and groups with these beliefs and conclusions exist, and they simply don’t support a causative hypothesis.
Let's say I have an argument or an unconventional belief - however well thought out and logical, however long it's taken me to come up with it - it's inevitably seen as a sort of twisted logic, I can't possibly be right. Homosexuality or bisexuality? It's because I'm ill. Polyamory? It's because my illness has distorted or warped my views on love and trust. The right to die? That's my depression talking.
People confuse causation with correlation. My bisexuality doesn't cause my depression and anxiety, neither is it a result of it. Polyamory is not a symptom of mental dysfunction, it's a position I take based on my understandings of human biology and psychology, it simply makes more sense to me than compulsory monogamy. I would change my opinion on it if I found evidence to the contrary. And my stance on the right to end one's own life is something I have come to having witnessed first-hand the misery and despair that failing health often brings. I strongly believe in human dignity, that people should be given the choice to take control of this one last aspect of their lives and that their loved ones should be free to assist them (or not). It’s respect for humanity - not weariness of it - that brings me to this conclusion.
Sure, when I’m deeply depressed I might think of ending my life, and sometimes these depressions last for weeks at a time. But that impulse is coming from a different place than my intellectual stand on the right to die. If I were someone else with the authority to grant permission for Danny’s death, I would refuse it, because I understand that Danny is not capable of making a rational choice at those times.
I think other people’s confusion of causation and correlation with regard to my unconventional thoughts is largely due to their simply not knowing enough about mental illnesses and the people who are affected by them. It’s assumed that my problem with depression and anxiety affects me all the time, people often fail to understand that I have significant periods of lucidity that outlast the periods of depression. In those periods, I have ample time in which to think rationally and clearly, and to reflect on whether my beliefs and understandings are the product of my illness or whether they are actually valid conclusions.
Yes, I probably do have experiences in my life that make me more likely to hold some of the opinions I do and feel the things I feel, who doesn’t? But I get frustrated with people thinking that I am incapable of thinking critically and discerning truth, that I am blind to my own condition and to the thought processes of ‘normal’ people. I think if anything my lapses into illness force me to be more critical, particularly of my own thought processes. I can’t take anything for granted.
I guess the point I’m trying to make here is that you can’t attribute any observable aspect of my being to another, as such, at least not without a fair bit of investigation. My mental illness is not a symptom of my polyamory, bisexuality or beliefs about death, neither does it cause any of these. It is another facet of me, it may have developed alongside some of these ideas and beliefs as a result of quite unrelated circumstances, and perhaps the marginality of my positions on these issues makes me more likely than most to experience mental illness, but you cannot attribute one to the other. Evidence from studies of other individuals and groups with these beliefs and conclusions exist, and they simply don’t support a causative hypothesis.
Monday, November 17, 2008
November 17 2008
Seven years.
I've been a self-admitted out homo for seven years today. And right now, I don't see anything to celebrate in that.
Being honest with myself and others - that was what it was all about. I believed so strongly that truth was the most important thing in life, that honesty was a force to be reckoned with. I thought I would change what 'gay' meant in New Zealand, I would reconcile homosexuality with faith and spirituality. I would prove that it was possible to be both Christian and gay. I guess I was hoping to change Christianity too.
But I couldn't do it, could I? Trying to make sense of the Bible's stance on homosexuality, I could come to no other conclusion but that the Biblical writers didn't know what they were talking about, and that actually, the truth wasn't really so hard to see. The Biblical writers were just bigots, pure and simple.
It didn't stop there though. I found I could not be selective about what I took from the Bible, it was either all inspired or none of it was. I discarded Christianity, and it was one of the most painful things I've ever had to do. I felt robbed of the world I had invested so much of my life in, my whole purpose and meaning. I guess I've been grieving ever since.
Certainly no 'family,' bological or otherwise, has lived up to the love and community I experienced with the Church of Christ. With my spirituality in tatters, I threw myself into the gay community, hoping to find the same sense of belonging. I didn't find it - I was largely ignored because I was neither rich enough or pretty enough.
But I didn't give up on the gay community, again, I sought to reform, to guide, to support and encourage. I became deeply involved in caring for and protecting queer people - I joined the Wellington Gay Helpline, helped with the Newcomers' support group for gay men, campaigned for gay rights with the Civil Union Bill and wrote to newspapers, even contributing regular articles for Deviant, the weekly gay page in the Massey Student newspaper.
Maybe I got so involved in supporting the queer community because I myself was in need of that support. I always seem to be outside the norm, even within the queer community. My committment to honesty has seen me try to find responsible alternatives to the world of nominal monogamy, first looking at open relationships, then polyamory. I've renamed my sexual and gender identity to have more integrity with who I am, from gay to bisexual to queer, and now genderqueer or possibly even transgender. And it seems that my committment to honesty and integrity actually hurts me more than it helps.
I'm lonely. I am so overwhelmingly, desperately lonley that I spent last night, before this anniversary, contemplating suicide, and actually seeking advice on how to go about it. This isn't a new thing either, most of this year I've felt completely alone, utterly hopeless. What good is polyamory if nobody will love you in return? Why be open about your capacity to love multiple people if not even one person will hold your hand?
And this is the great irony of my life. I've constructed my whole abult life around promoting love and letting people be sexual in whatever way is most true for them, and yet I personally hate my romantic and sexual impulses. I want to mutilate my genitals more than what my parents already have by circumcising me, I want to tear at and scar my body to hide the physical scars left by my ambivalence toward food ands exercise, to hide my ugliness. I want to take apill to forever erase my passions, but more tah that I just want to leave the world I can never be part of - I want to just die.
Because this is me, I'm an all or nothing sort of person. If I can't love you, and that person, and that one, then I want to love no one. If nobody wants to have sex with me, I want to be completely invisible and blind, so that I see no one and no one sees me. I either can't stop eating or I don't eat at all.
Why am I talking about this? Why haven't I just swallowed a bottle of bleach or slit my wrists?
Because that's also who I am - I'm scared. I'm not scared of what's on the Other Side, because I no longer believe there is one. Death is just a blessed release, the end, the light going out. But I'm scared of getting it wrong, of failing and ending up crippled or incarcerated. I'm scared of the pain. I wish someone would do this with me, or for me.
I await oblivion.
I've been a self-admitted out homo for seven years today. And right now, I don't see anything to celebrate in that.
Being honest with myself and others - that was what it was all about. I believed so strongly that truth was the most important thing in life, that honesty was a force to be reckoned with. I thought I would change what 'gay' meant in New Zealand, I would reconcile homosexuality with faith and spirituality. I would prove that it was possible to be both Christian and gay. I guess I was hoping to change Christianity too.
But I couldn't do it, could I? Trying to make sense of the Bible's stance on homosexuality, I could come to no other conclusion but that the Biblical writers didn't know what they were talking about, and that actually, the truth wasn't really so hard to see. The Biblical writers were just bigots, pure and simple.
It didn't stop there though. I found I could not be selective about what I took from the Bible, it was either all inspired or none of it was. I discarded Christianity, and it was one of the most painful things I've ever had to do. I felt robbed of the world I had invested so much of my life in, my whole purpose and meaning. I guess I've been grieving ever since.
Certainly no 'family,' bological or otherwise, has lived up to the love and community I experienced with the Church of Christ. With my spirituality in tatters, I threw myself into the gay community, hoping to find the same sense of belonging. I didn't find it - I was largely ignored because I was neither rich enough or pretty enough.
But I didn't give up on the gay community, again, I sought to reform, to guide, to support and encourage. I became deeply involved in caring for and protecting queer people - I joined the Wellington Gay Helpline, helped with the Newcomers' support group for gay men, campaigned for gay rights with the Civil Union Bill and wrote to newspapers, even contributing regular articles for Deviant, the weekly gay page in the Massey Student newspaper.
Maybe I got so involved in supporting the queer community because I myself was in need of that support. I always seem to be outside the norm, even within the queer community. My committment to honesty has seen me try to find responsible alternatives to the world of nominal monogamy, first looking at open relationships, then polyamory. I've renamed my sexual and gender identity to have more integrity with who I am, from gay to bisexual to queer, and now genderqueer or possibly even transgender. And it seems that my committment to honesty and integrity actually hurts me more than it helps.
I'm lonely. I am so overwhelmingly, desperately lonley that I spent last night, before this anniversary, contemplating suicide, and actually seeking advice on how to go about it. This isn't a new thing either, most of this year I've felt completely alone, utterly hopeless. What good is polyamory if nobody will love you in return? Why be open about your capacity to love multiple people if not even one person will hold your hand?
And this is the great irony of my life. I've constructed my whole abult life around promoting love and letting people be sexual in whatever way is most true for them, and yet I personally hate my romantic and sexual impulses. I want to mutilate my genitals more than what my parents already have by circumcising me, I want to tear at and scar my body to hide the physical scars left by my ambivalence toward food ands exercise, to hide my ugliness. I want to take apill to forever erase my passions, but more tah that I just want to leave the world I can never be part of - I want to just die.
Because this is me, I'm an all or nothing sort of person. If I can't love you, and that person, and that one, then I want to love no one. If nobody wants to have sex with me, I want to be completely invisible and blind, so that I see no one and no one sees me. I either can't stop eating or I don't eat at all.
Why am I talking about this? Why haven't I just swallowed a bottle of bleach or slit my wrists?
Because that's also who I am - I'm scared. I'm not scared of what's on the Other Side, because I no longer believe there is one. Death is just a blessed release, the end, the light going out. But I'm scared of getting it wrong, of failing and ending up crippled or incarcerated. I'm scared of the pain. I wish someone would do this with me, or for me.
I await oblivion.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Remembrances and Recriminations: A Year in the Life -- CHAFF 26 2008
So, the last Chaff for the year already!! Wow… the year has just flown by like so many flying monkeys off to terrorise dopey little girls in shiny red shoes and their irritating yappy dogs.
I don’t know about you lot, but for me 08’s been a bit of a rollercoaster… there’ve been plenty of highs, a few lows, some terrifying plungey bits in between and perhaps a bit of puking along the way. It’s got me looking back on the ride, and thinking that a fair bit of what we learn at university isn’t actually in our textbooks and tutorials, it’s what we learn outside of lectures and assignments, in our everyday lives.
So what have I learned this year? Anything??
Well I learned what a Quick Fuck is. The drink, I mean, and how to pour it.
I found out there are dictionaries of sign-language in the library. Seriously – it had never occurred to me that deaf people might occasionally need a dictionary. We live and learn.
I learned the surest way to tell if a guy likes you or not is also the simplest. Girls and homos, listen up. If he likes you, he’ll be physically near you for some reason… he’ll find excuses. If he’s not, he’ll stay away. You can pine and moon over him as much as you like, daydreaming about how perfect he is blah blah, but if he’s not actually around you, it’s a sure bet that he’s not thinking of you the way you’re thinking of him. Guys mostly suck at verbal communication, they avoid it. So if he isn’t sweet on you, or worse, actually doesn’t like you (i.e.: he thinks your breath smells, he draws pictures of you in the back of his books that involve various sharp implements and quantities of blood etc), it won’t come out in his words, he’ll just avoid you. On the other hand, if you see him often, like nearly everyday, if he shows up where he knows you’ll be and grunts, mumbles or stares at you, and if his reason for being there seems really random or silly, that’s almost a guarantee. If he blushes and stammers and stutters around you, that’s another good indication.
I learned that Sarah Silverman is f*cking Matt Damon, that Sarah Palin can see Russia from her house and that that constitutes ‘foreign policy’ for Republicans, that you should never trust a unicorn who wants you to visit Candy Mountain and that penguins can’t really fly, despite what David Attenborough would have you believe. Ah, YouTube, solace for the weary and fount of wisdom for the ages…
I’ve learned that people treat you the way you tell them to treat you. You tell them by your body language, facial expression and tone… what you think about yourself comes out in your non-verbal expression, and people pick up on that. If you don’t like you, you can’t expect anyone else to. And if you go around whining, saying “I can’t do this and that,” or “I’m not clever/brave/popular enough,” in a bid to get sympathy, then you shouldn’t be surprised when people accept that at face value. If you don’t look like you believe in your, nobody else will.
What else?? Making sure you get outside for even ten to fifteen minutes, for a walk or whatever at least once a day, does wonders for your stress levels. Even in winter, just taking the time to forget your schedule, your workload and that essay that was due last Thursday, and getting outdoors for some fresh air, can really help alleviate the anxiety. I’ve started walking through the Esplanade on my way to Massey, even though it’s five minutes out of my way, just so I can hear the breeze in the trees, see the flowers (or in winter, the mud) and just forget all the hassles for a few minutes, and it really lifts my mood. I recommend it to anyone – and if you can’t do it on the way to Massey, there are some nice gardens on campus to have a wander through.
I learned that Bebo is soul-destroying and encourages Obsessive Compulsive tendencies.
I discovered that lecturers are people too, not scary ogres hiding away in their offices who will rip your head off and shit down your throat if you dare to ask a question or ask for an extension (well, MOST of them aren’t). A lot of them actually like students coming to see them. Weird, I know.
I’ve learned that if you don't learn to say 'no' then you end up being expected to do everything, in your flat, your club, even with your family and friends. They just assume that you haven’t got anything else to do, or that you’ve got everything else under control. Rather than take on extras which you can’t handle, overwhelming yourself and inevitably letting other people down when it all turns to custard, it’s better to just say ‘No’ from the outset, explaining why, and if they don’t like it then tough. Your mental and emotional well-being is more important.
What’s more, there are people here at Massey to advise and support you when it all goes pear-shaped or gets out of control… the Student Counselling service is great, even if you just need someone to have a good ol’ bitch to, about flatmates, assignments, work, family, whatever. You don’t have to feel that you gotta do it all by yourself. Then there’s the Student Learning Centre too, they can be really useful at the start of a long or difficult assignment, they’ve got tons of helpful tips and they’re pretty friendly. I got some awesome handy tips from them for studying towards my exams last semester.
I learned that The IT Crowd is the most fuck-awesome British sitcom EVER.
I learned that getting past years’ exam-papers off the library catalogue to see what you’re in for is a REALLY good idea. Best to do it near the start of the semester, though, it puts you in the right frame of mind for your assignments and classes, and it gives you a fair idea of what is and isn’t relevant.
Getting people in your classes together to study really helps too… you can go over stuff you’re not clear on if you’re too shy to ask the lecturer, it’s a good way to make friends, and if you’re like me and don’t live with other students, it’s a great way to stay in study mode after classes are done for the day. AND you can use it as an excuse to talk to that girl/guy/ambiguously gendered person that you’re sweet on.
I’ve learned that writing for CHAFF is a great way to spout off poorly-thought-out opinions and be publicly obnoxious, and get away with it (mostly). Good times…
I think I’ll leave it on that note, actually. If you don’t hear from me next year, it’ll be because William has murdered me and buried my body in a field somewhere. In that event, I leave my Furby collection and Britney Spears albums to Cassie.
Peace y’all,
DannyR.
I don’t know about you lot, but for me 08’s been a bit of a rollercoaster… there’ve been plenty of highs, a few lows, some terrifying plungey bits in between and perhaps a bit of puking along the way. It’s got me looking back on the ride, and thinking that a fair bit of what we learn at university isn’t actually in our textbooks and tutorials, it’s what we learn outside of lectures and assignments, in our everyday lives.
So what have I learned this year? Anything??
Well I learned what a Quick Fuck is. The drink, I mean, and how to pour it.
I found out there are dictionaries of sign-language in the library. Seriously – it had never occurred to me that deaf people might occasionally need a dictionary. We live and learn.
I learned the surest way to tell if a guy likes you or not is also the simplest. Girls and homos, listen up. If he likes you, he’ll be physically near you for some reason… he’ll find excuses. If he’s not, he’ll stay away. You can pine and moon over him as much as you like, daydreaming about how perfect he is blah blah, but if he’s not actually around you, it’s a sure bet that he’s not thinking of you the way you’re thinking of him. Guys mostly suck at verbal communication, they avoid it. So if he isn’t sweet on you, or worse, actually doesn’t like you (i.e.: he thinks your breath smells, he draws pictures of you in the back of his books that involve various sharp implements and quantities of blood etc), it won’t come out in his words, he’ll just avoid you. On the other hand, if you see him often, like nearly everyday, if he shows up where he knows you’ll be and grunts, mumbles or stares at you, and if his reason for being there seems really random or silly, that’s almost a guarantee. If he blushes and stammers and stutters around you, that’s another good indication.
I learned that Sarah Silverman is f*cking Matt Damon, that Sarah Palin can see Russia from her house and that that constitutes ‘foreign policy’ for Republicans, that you should never trust a unicorn who wants you to visit Candy Mountain and that penguins can’t really fly, despite what David Attenborough would have you believe. Ah, YouTube, solace for the weary and fount of wisdom for the ages…
I’ve learned that people treat you the way you tell them to treat you. You tell them by your body language, facial expression and tone… what you think about yourself comes out in your non-verbal expression, and people pick up on that. If you don’t like you, you can’t expect anyone else to. And if you go around whining, saying “I can’t do this and that,” or “I’m not clever/brave/popular enough,” in a bid to get sympathy, then you shouldn’t be surprised when people accept that at face value. If you don’t look like you believe in your, nobody else will.
What else?? Making sure you get outside for even ten to fifteen minutes, for a walk or whatever at least once a day, does wonders for your stress levels. Even in winter, just taking the time to forget your schedule, your workload and that essay that was due last Thursday, and getting outdoors for some fresh air, can really help alleviate the anxiety. I’ve started walking through the Esplanade on my way to Massey, even though it’s five minutes out of my way, just so I can hear the breeze in the trees, see the flowers (or in winter, the mud) and just forget all the hassles for a few minutes, and it really lifts my mood. I recommend it to anyone – and if you can’t do it on the way to Massey, there are some nice gardens on campus to have a wander through.
I learned that Bebo is soul-destroying and encourages Obsessive Compulsive tendencies.
I discovered that lecturers are people too, not scary ogres hiding away in their offices who will rip your head off and shit down your throat if you dare to ask a question or ask for an extension (well, MOST of them aren’t). A lot of them actually like students coming to see them. Weird, I know.
I’ve learned that if you don't learn to say 'no' then you end up being expected to do everything, in your flat, your club, even with your family and friends. They just assume that you haven’t got anything else to do, or that you’ve got everything else under control. Rather than take on extras which you can’t handle, overwhelming yourself and inevitably letting other people down when it all turns to custard, it’s better to just say ‘No’ from the outset, explaining why, and if they don’t like it then tough. Your mental and emotional well-being is more important.
What’s more, there are people here at Massey to advise and support you when it all goes pear-shaped or gets out of control… the Student Counselling service is great, even if you just need someone to have a good ol’ bitch to, about flatmates, assignments, work, family, whatever. You don’t have to feel that you gotta do it all by yourself. Then there’s the Student Learning Centre too, they can be really useful at the start of a long or difficult assignment, they’ve got tons of helpful tips and they’re pretty friendly. I got some awesome handy tips from them for studying towards my exams last semester.
I learned that The IT Crowd is the most fuck-awesome British sitcom EVER.
I learned that getting past years’ exam-papers off the library catalogue to see what you’re in for is a REALLY good idea. Best to do it near the start of the semester, though, it puts you in the right frame of mind for your assignments and classes, and it gives you a fair idea of what is and isn’t relevant.
Getting people in your classes together to study really helps too… you can go over stuff you’re not clear on if you’re too shy to ask the lecturer, it’s a good way to make friends, and if you’re like me and don’t live with other students, it’s a great way to stay in study mode after classes are done for the day. AND you can use it as an excuse to talk to that girl/guy/ambiguously gendered person that you’re sweet on.
I’ve learned that writing for CHAFF is a great way to spout off poorly-thought-out opinions and be publicly obnoxious, and get away with it (mostly). Good times…
I think I’ll leave it on that note, actually. If you don’t hear from me next year, it’ll be because William has murdered me and buried my body in a field somewhere. In that event, I leave my Furby collection and Britney Spears albums to Cassie.
Peace y’all,
DannyR.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Did It Again...
Ok so there's this guy, let's call him E.He has a partner, T, they've been together seven years, they seem really stable, and they obviously love each other a lot.I can't stop flirting with E, he's really sweet and smart, and I think he's pretty handsome. I'm not trying to break them up, I don't think I could compete with T, and I don't want to. E seems to like me a bit though, or maybe I'm just reading too much into it.I have to stop doing this. I just want to be asexual... so why can't I be?
Monday, October 20, 2008
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
CHAFF Review -- Iron Man
Starring Robert Downey Jr., Gwyneth Paltrow, Jeff Bridges
Grade: A- or 8/10.
I’ve never read an Iron Man comic, so I don’t know if the movie was faithful to its source material or not. I went in expecting just another slick, brainless superhero movie, the likes of Ghost Rider or Fantastic Four, which Hollywood is churning out with such alarming rapidity these days. But the opening scene of Iron Man surprised me – there was no need to consciously suspend the old disbelief because it felt like I was just looking at the real world, albeit a real world much occupied by Robert Downey Jr. The surprises came thick and fast from the outset, I was caught up and swept away. Five minutes in, I was staring up at the screen in disbelief… could this actually be a smart superhero movie?
But superhero movies have a certain predictability built in, don’t they? They all tell essentially the same story, something terrible happens to someone, giving him/her some special ability that confers on him/her an obligation to Protect the Innocent. And sure enough, after twenty minutes, with each new plot development I was able to make a pretty good guess where the story was going. The Bad Guys are profit-hungry, war-mongering Corporations, there’s a monstrous nemesis, a small circle of friends in-the-know, and the rich man who’s made a living off the misery of others grows a conscience… nothing new, and yet the tired old clichés still felt fresh somehow.
I found myself sitting there wondering if this movie would have been made if not for the success of Batman Begins and Transformers… it certainly has some of the feel of both, without the former’s dark, brooding atmosphere or the latter’s relentless Battle-of-the-robotic-Titans conflict. It’s difficult not to compare Iron Man with Batman Begins, especially, they’re both origin stories, both have protagonists who happen to be incredibly wealthy, who suffer personal tragedies that wake them up to the cruel world, both spend time creating formidable suits of war with which they will put Wrong to Right, yadda yadda, etc etc.
Robert Downey Jr.’s little moments of comedy were what made this movie for me. The movie’s Wikipedia page says he is a fan of the comic, and it shows. He poked fun at his character and the superhero genre throughout, his technological marvel breaking down in all sorts of amusing ways. His dialogue and delivery felt completely natural and ad-lib, it was witty and glib, there were none of the usual gasps of ‘You’re insane!’ directed at the villain, and not once did I feel the plot was being explained to me as if I was too stupid to get what was happening (most superhero movies do this – “I have to stop him from firing the missile launcher at the President’s jet!” etc). The robo-suit itself was pretty cool; the CGI blended seamlessly with pyrotechnic and robotic effects and there were some genuinely affecting moments. Gwyneth Paltrow didn’t suck. That is to say, I didn’t want to grind her face into the pavement every time I saw her, which is a refreshing first for me.
I don’t have many gripes with this film… the big bad villain didn’t feel threatening enough, perhaps, and the Final Conflict wasn’t all that epic. I was disappointed by the film’s portrayal of the only foreign-nationals in it… they happened to be Afghani, oppressed and terrorised by militant fundamentalists, and in need of rescuing by the good ol’ U.S of A… Only one of the locals in Afghanistan wasn’t having a gun thrust in his face or doing the gun-thrusting to his fellow countrymen, and he very soon died, but not without helping the shallow protagonist discover his conscience. Maybe not such a big deal, but it smacked of stereotype.
Overall, I really enjoyed this film, it’s got it’s flaws, but it’s one of the better examples of its genre and a damn sight better than most of the other superhero crap Hollywood puts out, with the exception of Batman Begins and maybe Spiderman 2. Check it out.
Danny Rudd
Grade: A- or 8/10.
I’ve never read an Iron Man comic, so I don’t know if the movie was faithful to its source material or not. I went in expecting just another slick, brainless superhero movie, the likes of Ghost Rider or Fantastic Four, which Hollywood is churning out with such alarming rapidity these days. But the opening scene of Iron Man surprised me – there was no need to consciously suspend the old disbelief because it felt like I was just looking at the real world, albeit a real world much occupied by Robert Downey Jr. The surprises came thick and fast from the outset, I was caught up and swept away. Five minutes in, I was staring up at the screen in disbelief… could this actually be a smart superhero movie?
But superhero movies have a certain predictability built in, don’t they? They all tell essentially the same story, something terrible happens to someone, giving him/her some special ability that confers on him/her an obligation to Protect the Innocent. And sure enough, after twenty minutes, with each new plot development I was able to make a pretty good guess where the story was going. The Bad Guys are profit-hungry, war-mongering Corporations, there’s a monstrous nemesis, a small circle of friends in-the-know, and the rich man who’s made a living off the misery of others grows a conscience… nothing new, and yet the tired old clichés still felt fresh somehow.
I found myself sitting there wondering if this movie would have been made if not for the success of Batman Begins and Transformers… it certainly has some of the feel of both, without the former’s dark, brooding atmosphere or the latter’s relentless Battle-of-the-robotic-Titans conflict. It’s difficult not to compare Iron Man with Batman Begins, especially, they’re both origin stories, both have protagonists who happen to be incredibly wealthy, who suffer personal tragedies that wake them up to the cruel world, both spend time creating formidable suits of war with which they will put Wrong to Right, yadda yadda, etc etc.
Robert Downey Jr.’s little moments of comedy were what made this movie for me. The movie’s Wikipedia page says he is a fan of the comic, and it shows. He poked fun at his character and the superhero genre throughout, his technological marvel breaking down in all sorts of amusing ways. His dialogue and delivery felt completely natural and ad-lib, it was witty and glib, there were none of the usual gasps of ‘You’re insane!’ directed at the villain, and not once did I feel the plot was being explained to me as if I was too stupid to get what was happening (most superhero movies do this – “I have to stop him from firing the missile launcher at the President’s jet!” etc). The robo-suit itself was pretty cool; the CGI blended seamlessly with pyrotechnic and robotic effects and there were some genuinely affecting moments. Gwyneth Paltrow didn’t suck. That is to say, I didn’t want to grind her face into the pavement every time I saw her, which is a refreshing first for me.
I don’t have many gripes with this film… the big bad villain didn’t feel threatening enough, perhaps, and the Final Conflict wasn’t all that epic. I was disappointed by the film’s portrayal of the only foreign-nationals in it… they happened to be Afghani, oppressed and terrorised by militant fundamentalists, and in need of rescuing by the good ol’ U.S of A… Only one of the locals in Afghanistan wasn’t having a gun thrust in his face or doing the gun-thrusting to his fellow countrymen, and he very soon died, but not without helping the shallow protagonist discover his conscience. Maybe not such a big deal, but it smacked of stereotype.
Overall, I really enjoyed this film, it’s got it’s flaws, but it’s one of the better examples of its genre and a damn sight better than most of the other superhero crap Hollywood puts out, with the exception of Batman Begins and maybe Spiderman 2. Check it out.
Danny Rudd
Friday, August 22, 2008
Aaaarrrggghhhh!!!!
Off to Wellington now to stay for a few days with Cookie in Petone... should be fun. I have a lot of reading and studying to do, but I hope to catch up with James, Tom, Gavin, Kris E, Antz, Russ, Andrew and Iain.
I've had a really stressful week so I wasn't going to go... but maybe the time out will do me good. In any case, I have to be down there for Tuesday because I have a contact course for my sociology paper about family and domestic life, the first essay's due next week and I need all the help I can get :D
I gave that guy D**** my number last weekend and haven't heard anything, so I guess he's not interested, and that depressed me. I think he's gorgeous... why is it that any guy I'm interested in doesn't spare me a second glance, it's only the ones I'm just friends with who like me that way??
My old boss from Honey Hive, Sandra, rang me last night and I had deleted her number, so that was embarrassing - I didn't recognise her voice!! She was nice, but I often felt she was only being nice because she wants me to open her new store here in Palmerston North next year. I don't want to be involved, but I don't know how to say no.
That's my big problem... I just can't say no. Guys I'm not into ask me out, and I just go along with it because I don't think I'm going to get what I want anyway. People ask me to take on extra responsibilities in the queer community, and I say yes. Someone can't be bothered doing their bit, and they ask me to take it on, and I do, however reluctantly.
I wish I could just tell people no!
I've had a really stressful week so I wasn't going to go... but maybe the time out will do me good. In any case, I have to be down there for Tuesday because I have a contact course for my sociology paper about family and domestic life, the first essay's due next week and I need all the help I can get :D
I gave that guy D**** my number last weekend and haven't heard anything, so I guess he's not interested, and that depressed me. I think he's gorgeous... why is it that any guy I'm interested in doesn't spare me a second glance, it's only the ones I'm just friends with who like me that way??
My old boss from Honey Hive, Sandra, rang me last night and I had deleted her number, so that was embarrassing - I didn't recognise her voice!! She was nice, but I often felt she was only being nice because she wants me to open her new store here in Palmerston North next year. I don't want to be involved, but I don't know how to say no.
That's my big problem... I just can't say no. Guys I'm not into ask me out, and I just go along with it because I don't think I'm going to get what I want anyway. People ask me to take on extra responsibilities in the queer community, and I say yes. Someone can't be bothered doing their bit, and they ask me to take it on, and I do, however reluctantly.
I wish I could just tell people no!
Thursday, August 21, 2008
CHAFF Review -- Prince Caspian
Directed by Andrew Adamson, Starring Ben Barnes, Georgie Henley, Liam Neeson.
Grade: B+ or 8/10
I came into this second Narnia movie really expecting to dislike it, given my reaction to the first film which, while undeniably stylish and clever, and somewhat redeemed by the amazing Tilda Swinton, was nevertheless a blatant attempt to shove Christian theology down the audience’s throats. That was certainly Lewis’s intent, and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe was remarkably faithful to it. Shuddering slightly, I expected much the same of Prince Caspian.
I was pleasantly surprised. The theology is there but it’s a lot more subtle, more a subtext that is gently brought up at a couple of points, it’s not nearly so intrusive. The story is allowed to take precedence, and it’s a better film for it. Aslan’s words to the ever-faithful Lucy, that “Things never happen the same way twice,” can be read either as a dig at doubters of miracles, as an invitation to suspend disbelief and revel in the fantastic, or as a hint that this movie won’t be anything like the first.
And it isn’t. From almost the very first frame, this second Narnia film more closely resembles an installment of Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings than the shiny, bright The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. It’s visually much darker than its predecessor, and there are plenty of visual references to Jackson’s films, the most obvious being the lone hero on horseback racing across the plains, pursued by an arrowhead of dastardly foes. There’s the sweeping vistas, giant war machines and elaborate battle scenes, topped off with a whole lot of Nature getting angry.
The score was sometimes brilliant and evocative, sometimes a little irritating. The script was actually really good, and the leads were satisfactory in their roles, especially Caspian himself and his wicked uncle Miras. Oldest Pevensie child Peter is just as whiny and boring as he was in the first film, but he does get a brilliantly shot duel scene with the intimidating Miras. He’s completely outshone by younger brother Edmund however, who gets all the best lines and more interesting things to do.
I was more interested in how the film handled the girl’s roles, especially after Wardrobe, where they pretty much just sat on the sidelines and cried a lot. Here, Lucy can be seen to represent either the value of lion-hearted faith or a sense of optimism and wonder at the world, while older sister Susan is a woman of action, front and centre in all the big fight sequences and assertive in her relationships. Particularly refreshingly, there’s no inherently good and bad ‘us’ and ‘them’ of different races and peoples here, a definite improvement on the previous film and the books on which the films are based.
There were a couple of genuinely affecting moments scattered throughout all the action, some pretty frightening scenes that will probably give little kids nightmares for a while to come, and some light humour provided by Eddie Izzard as a talking mouse. I personally loved Adamson’s subtle visual nod to his Shrek films, involving a certain ginger cat. It’s as if with this film Adamson is saying “Watch out people, Narnia is going to be big.” And that might not be such a scary prospect after all.
Danny R.
Grade: B+ or 8/10
I came into this second Narnia movie really expecting to dislike it, given my reaction to the first film which, while undeniably stylish and clever, and somewhat redeemed by the amazing Tilda Swinton, was nevertheless a blatant attempt to shove Christian theology down the audience’s throats. That was certainly Lewis’s intent, and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe was remarkably faithful to it. Shuddering slightly, I expected much the same of Prince Caspian.
I was pleasantly surprised. The theology is there but it’s a lot more subtle, more a subtext that is gently brought up at a couple of points, it’s not nearly so intrusive. The story is allowed to take precedence, and it’s a better film for it. Aslan’s words to the ever-faithful Lucy, that “Things never happen the same way twice,” can be read either as a dig at doubters of miracles, as an invitation to suspend disbelief and revel in the fantastic, or as a hint that this movie won’t be anything like the first.
And it isn’t. From almost the very first frame, this second Narnia film more closely resembles an installment of Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings than the shiny, bright The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. It’s visually much darker than its predecessor, and there are plenty of visual references to Jackson’s films, the most obvious being the lone hero on horseback racing across the plains, pursued by an arrowhead of dastardly foes. There’s the sweeping vistas, giant war machines and elaborate battle scenes, topped off with a whole lot of Nature getting angry.
The score was sometimes brilliant and evocative, sometimes a little irritating. The script was actually really good, and the leads were satisfactory in their roles, especially Caspian himself and his wicked uncle Miras. Oldest Pevensie child Peter is just as whiny and boring as he was in the first film, but he does get a brilliantly shot duel scene with the intimidating Miras. He’s completely outshone by younger brother Edmund however, who gets all the best lines and more interesting things to do.
I was more interested in how the film handled the girl’s roles, especially after Wardrobe, where they pretty much just sat on the sidelines and cried a lot. Here, Lucy can be seen to represent either the value of lion-hearted faith or a sense of optimism and wonder at the world, while older sister Susan is a woman of action, front and centre in all the big fight sequences and assertive in her relationships. Particularly refreshingly, there’s no inherently good and bad ‘us’ and ‘them’ of different races and peoples here, a definite improvement on the previous film and the books on which the films are based.
There were a couple of genuinely affecting moments scattered throughout all the action, some pretty frightening scenes that will probably give little kids nightmares for a while to come, and some light humour provided by Eddie Izzard as a talking mouse. I personally loved Adamson’s subtle visual nod to his Shrek films, involving a certain ginger cat. It’s as if with this film Adamson is saying “Watch out people, Narnia is going to be big.” And that might not be such a scary prospect after all.
Danny R.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Good Slut, Bad Slut -- CHAFF 2008
When I chose my life of polyamory, I was desperately worried that my friends would think I was some sort of sex-obsessed selfish pervert, and judging by some of their initial reactions, my fears weren’t entirely unjustified. So I made sure I distanced myself from all those nasty notions of ‘bad’ sluttery we’re all so familiar with; I was the very model of the ‘Ethical Slut.’
What do I mean by that? What is polyamory? Well, it’s a complex, difficult thing to define, but at its most basic it’s a commitment to romantic or sexual relationships that aren’t exclusive. In other words, you may have a relationship with your partner, and he or she may have another partner or more than one, and so might you. You might belong to a triple, instead of the more conventional couple we’re all used to, or even a quad. You might all share a house, or may live in separate homes, dividing your time between partners. Sounds wack, right? But polyamorists will tell you it’s only natural, that the lifelong exclusive romantic relationship we’ve all come to expect in the Western world is a cultural invention, and we can actually choose what works best for us each individually.
There’s a whole new language of relationships being worked out to deal with the complexities of polyamory… it gets pretty complicated. There’s your Primary Partner(s), the person or persons with whom you are in your most significant relationship, then there’s your Secondary and even Tertiary partners with whom you have slightly less involved relationships. To clarify – polyamory isn’t just a being in a couple that fools around a bit on the side, like ‘swinging,’ because you can actually have more than one Primary Partner (i.e.: everyone’s on the same footing), such as in a Triangle relationship. And it gets more complicated than that… your relationship can be closed (i.e.: nobody new can be brought in – that’s called Polyfidelity) or open to anyone (what some polyamorists jokingly call Polyfuckery).
The important point here, the REALLY important bit, is that it’s all honest and consensual – everyone involved knows what’s going on, and is free to participate or not. In other words, it’s NOT ‘cheating,’ because no agreements are being broken. In fact, polyamory is all about honest communication, negotiation and respect for the people you’re involved with. It’s NOT a traditional polygamous harem, where one man has several women at his beck and call (the stereotypical straight-boy dream), in fact, if you go onto any polyamory website you’ll find women are pursuing non-monogamous relationships just as much as men are, and that they’re happy calling the shots*.
Polyamorists say they’re just being realistic, that the Number One relationship hang-up in the Western world is ‘cheating’ and being ‘cheated on,’ that dishonesty around non-monogamy is widespread and wrecks a lot of otherwise good relationships, and that they’re just accepting human nature for what it is and moving past all the guilt and hurt by dealing with the issues in ways that are respectful and honest. They don’t think polyamory is right for everyone, they stress that it’s NOT a fix for a bad relationship (in fact it’ll just make a bad relationship worse), and they point out that it takes work – LOTS of work, and good communication skills. In fact, think of all the work that goes into a monogamous relationship, and multiply that by the number of partners in the poly relationship, and that should be enough to put you off, right? But even so, polyamorists will tell you it’s worth it, that “love shared is love multiplied.”
What do I mean by that? What is polyamory? Well, it’s a complex, difficult thing to define, but at its most basic it’s a commitment to romantic or sexual relationships that aren’t exclusive. In other words, you may have a relationship with your partner, and he or she may have another partner or more than one, and so might you. You might belong to a triple, instead of the more conventional couple we’re all used to, or even a quad. You might all share a house, or may live in separate homes, dividing your time between partners. Sounds wack, right? But polyamorists will tell you it’s only natural, that the lifelong exclusive romantic relationship we’ve all come to expect in the Western world is a cultural invention, and we can actually choose what works best for us each individually.
There’s a whole new language of relationships being worked out to deal with the complexities of polyamory… it gets pretty complicated. There’s your Primary Partner(s), the person or persons with whom you are in your most significant relationship, then there’s your Secondary and even Tertiary partners with whom you have slightly less involved relationships. To clarify – polyamory isn’t just a being in a couple that fools around a bit on the side, like ‘swinging,’ because you can actually have more than one Primary Partner (i.e.: everyone’s on the same footing), such as in a Triangle relationship. And it gets more complicated than that… your relationship can be closed (i.e.: nobody new can be brought in – that’s called Polyfidelity) or open to anyone (what some polyamorists jokingly call Polyfuckery).
The important point here, the REALLY important bit, is that it’s all honest and consensual – everyone involved knows what’s going on, and is free to participate or not. In other words, it’s NOT ‘cheating,’ because no agreements are being broken. In fact, polyamory is all about honest communication, negotiation and respect for the people you’re involved with. It’s NOT a traditional polygamous harem, where one man has several women at his beck and call (the stereotypical straight-boy dream), in fact, if you go onto any polyamory website you’ll find women are pursuing non-monogamous relationships just as much as men are, and that they’re happy calling the shots*.
Polyamorists say they’re just being realistic, that the Number One relationship hang-up in the Western world is ‘cheating’ and being ‘cheated on,’ that dishonesty around non-monogamy is widespread and wrecks a lot of otherwise good relationships, and that they’re just accepting human nature for what it is and moving past all the guilt and hurt by dealing with the issues in ways that are respectful and honest. They don’t think polyamory is right for everyone, they stress that it’s NOT a fix for a bad relationship (in fact it’ll just make a bad relationship worse), and they point out that it takes work – LOTS of work, and good communication skills. In fact, think of all the work that goes into a monogamous relationship, and multiply that by the number of partners in the poly relationship, and that should be enough to put you off, right? But even so, polyamorists will tell you it’s worth it, that “love shared is love multiplied.”
The polyamorist is careful to mention that it’s about love, not sex, and very often they reject labels like heterosexual, homosexual and bisexual when talking about themselves because those terms lead people to focus on the nookie – who gets it, with whom, and how often. Poly people frequently point out that they often have fewer sexual partners than people who practise serial monogamy, and that sometimes their relationships don’t even involve sex at all. A lot of polyamorists say that friendship IS a kind of polyamory… we don’t expect our friends not to have other friends, we accept that they might not want exactly the same things as we do, we let them live and grow and learn from others. It takes a lot of trust, great communication skills, and a willingness to tackle the hard stuff head on (like jealousy and insecurity).
The long and the short of it is that people who practice polyamory make a distinction between what they do and what people generally think of when they think about non-monogamy, which is dishonesty, deception, and rampant, indiscriminate promiscuity. Look at us, poly people say, we’re respectable!!
In other words, they don’t want to look like the ‘bad’ slut.
Who is this ‘bad’ slut? We’re all familiar with her/him. S/he is villainized in television, movies and popular song, because s/he has casual sexual relationships that don’t involve love, whether through ‘cheating,’ swinging, or just good ol’ fashioned promiscuous singlehood. The ‘bad’ slut ISN’T someone who cheats on a partner because s/he’s met someone s/he likes better and then leaves the first partner for the second, that’s pretty commonplace these days and, while hurtful, is generally accepted as just doing serial monogamy badly. No, the ‘bad’ slut is usually female (when it’s a guy his whoring around is usually celebrated – double standards people!!), s/he’s someone who enjoys sex for the sake of it and is happy to have it outside of relationships. And in our contemporary culture, that’s just not on.
Sociologists tell us that this state of affairs was set up by heterosexual couples hundreds of years ago, when romantic love stopped being just an adulterous liaison in the royal courts of Europe and started being seen (in the West at least) as a good basis for marriage. It’s not too much of a jump from sex as an expression of love within marriage to sex as an expression of love before marriage, as long as the two people do actually intend to get married. And from that it’s no big step to sex as an expression of love without marriage ever actually entering the equation, and to loving sexual relations between people of the same sex who aren’t allowed to get married. But it’s a much bigger jump from this kind of sex as part of a loving, intimate relationship to sex just for the fun of it, outside of a relationship, with whoever we want to have it with. That’s why promiscuity is still frowned on, why gay and lesbian couples can be together and be respectable and accepted, as long as they keep the sex in relationships.
As a culture, we don’t like people having casual sex, we tend to think it’s something you grow out of, or happily give up when you meet “the One.” Even recent shows like Sex and the City, for all their boasting of being about empowered women enjoying their sexuality, ultimately preach the old lesson that the most satisfying and fulfilled sex life is one that leads (even in the most roundabout way) to the traditional “Happily Ever After.” Maybe that’s what’s behind the recent rise in the popularity of polyamory: it’s non-monogamy, but it’s still playing by the rules. Kinda.
But there’s a problem with polyamorists calling themselves the “Ethical Sluts.” It implies that polyamory is the only ethical non-monogamy, it implies that people who are happy to enjoy sex outside of committed relationships are incapable of being honest with or respectful of their sexual partners. Essentially it reinforces all those old notions about the ‘bad’ slut, condemning all those whose non-monogamy takes other forms, such as the open marriage, friends-with-benefits or fuck-buddies, or sexually active but confirmed singledom.
Personally, I’m happiest in committed emotional relationships with at most two or three people, whether or not it involves sex. But I have plenty of friends who similarly aren’t the monogamous type, who don’t identify as polyamorous, and who are quite capable of being responsible and considerate of their sexual partners’ feelings and bodies. And then I have those weird and wonderful friends who are somewhere-in-between, being in honest, committed triples, quads etc, and still “playing the field.” Good on them, I say, if that’s what makes them happiest.
And yes, I have plenty of friends in exclusive, monogamous partnerships who are perfectly happy that way, and I’m perfectly happy for them too. I cry at their weddings and civil unions, I celebrate their engagement parties and anniversaries. There really is so much diversity out there, and it’s all beautiful. I wish everybody could see that.
* For more info about polyamory, see (among others):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0SX6SILmDs
http://www.polyamoryonline.org/
http://www.polyamory.org/
DannyR
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Nihilism -- CHAFF 2008
I found a quote on the net somewhere that said nihilism is where you go when you can’t find anything to believe in.
According to Wikipedia it’s “the view that the world, and especially human existence, is without meaning, purpose, comprehensible truth, or essential value.” It’s often defined as belief in nothing, but from what I’ve read that’s not entirely true... we should say faith in nothing to be more accurate. Faith is a firm belief in something where there isn’t or can’t be any supporting evidence. Nihilists see faith as dangerous because when we’re relying on faith we aren’t using our faculties of common sense, reason and critical analysis. According to Nietzsche (you know him – the “God is dead” guy – life of the party), faith is simply “not wanting to know.”
Not wanting to know? Crazy, right? Well, yeah. But understandable maybe. Who wants to know anyway?? It’s a big scary world out there, it’s hard to understand sometimes, so of course most of us would rather just accept on faith whatever sounds like a fair explanation. It gets exhausting asking questions all the time and never having any certainty, and realistically, nobody’s going to be able to think through absolutely EVERY issue and read EVERY book. Especially in the modern Western nations. I’m not really surprised that in the most technologically advanced and modernized societies, like the USA, Australia and New Zealand, so many people believe in a cosmic zombie who communicates with them each individually by means of telepathy... our lives are a lot more sped up and full of stress and hassle in comparison to the rest of the world. We just don’t have the time to think things through.
Sometimes I think that if any of us could see how complicated the world really is it would be enough to drive us mad. But what the nihilists are getting at is that though it’s comforting to just think we know the answers without having to ask the questions, we’re fooling ourselves, and making things worse for ourselves and others in doing so. How? Well, let’s just pull a random example out of our collective arse, shall we? AIDS is killing thousands of people every day, and causes immeasurable human suffering, all around the world but especially in poorest nations. People get AIDS by becoming infected with HIV, most often through transmission of sexual fluids, and this can be prevented by using condoms during sex. There’s more to it than that, but that’s good enough for our purposes. We could fix the problem and alleviate a lot of the suffering if people wore the damn condoms, but faith has stuck its beak in and convinced a whole lot of those people that the father of the aforementioned cosmic zombie, who lives up in the sky and watches everything they do (the dirty perve) will throw them in a lake of fire to burn forever if they wear condoms when they fuck. And other well-meaning faithful people, mindful of the imperilled souls of those people in the populations where HIV is rampant, are kindly puncturing the condom packets before the poor sods even get them, just to be sure that no latex stands between souls and salvation. Faith makes us do dumb things, so nihilism begins to look like an attractive alternative. It’s the rejection of any belief that relies on faith, whether religious or secular.
Another defining characteristic of nihilism is the rejection of the idea that things have a final purpose. Nihilists believe everything is random, that there is no preordained final destination or revelation. In other words, you’re not going to heaven. It doesn’t exist and what’s more, it’s pointless to live your life in some sort of preparation for it. So go on, masturbate, get drunk, call your mother a herpes-riddled crack-whore... it doesn’t matter. You won’t get punished for it in the hereafter (though your mum might burn all your stuff and kick you out on the street). In a nutshell, nihilists reject the teleological arguments offered by most religions. Teleology is the idea that the universe functions a bit like a machine according to some sort of god-given plan or design, and it’s not restricted to the world of religion either. A common, almost sacred belief among people in the secular West is that you and your significant other were ‘made for each other,’ or if you haven’t got one at the moment, that she or he is out there somewhere waiting for you, that it’s ‘meant to be.’ Well the nihilists have got news for you... there was nothing inevitable about you finding that one particular person, there was no plan, no destiny, it was all just chance, and you only think it’s something magical and special because it feels nice, but you fail to see that you probably would have felt the same about almost anyone else. They might remind you ever so politely (or more likely, somewhat sharply) that everyone else is feeling something pretty similar for their own special-someone, you’re just too blind to see it, so shut the fuck up. Nihilists also reject Marxism, Buddhism, and any other set of beliefs that rely on teleology. There is no destiny, there can be no progress.
Nihilism is virtually synonymous with scepticism. There are two main branches: social or existential nihilism, and political nihilism. Let’s start with the existential variety. It’s passive, influenced by eastern philosophy and mysticism, and concerns itself primarily with isolation, human suffering and the futility and hopelessness of existence. It’s bloody depressing. Most people, when you mention nihilism, will think this is what you mean. In the face of all the meaninglessness and randomness, the only coping mechanism is detachment – just stop giving a shit. Don’t do anything for anyone, don’t bother with worthy causes, just don’t care, because ultimately it’s a waste of time.
Now, don’t confuse existential nihilism with depression, though that certainly follows on from it a lot of the time. Personally I’m inclined toward depression when I’m feeling worthless. When I ask someone out or let them know I’m interested and they say “Fuck no, I need space, I’m not ready for a relationship just now, you’re sweet and everything, let’s just be friends, STOP STALKING ME!!!”, I usually take it to me mean that I’m not tall enough, attractive enough, smart enough etc, and I inevitably begin saying to myself: “What’s the point in trying anyway, I may as well stay in my room, give up my hopes and get used to being by myself.” But kids, that’s not quite full blown existential nihilism, because I’m not saying that there’s no point in anyone trying to get laid, only that there’s no point in me trying. Important difference. Even at my most whiny and self-loathing, I would still agree that most people can and should try to find happiness in the whole love and romance thingy.
Political nihilism, the other main branch of nihilism, is active, revolutionary and at once destructive and creative. It’s about social structures and authority. Political nihilism states that things are in such a bad state that the only real option left to us is to smash them up, and whether or not we can rebuild we will at least have done some good. Being a political nihilist is about being in the here and now... rejecting all religious and philosophical debate and all the metaphysical circular reasoning that it ultimately leads to. It’s about challenging all the assumptions we base our values on, even equality and justice. There’s no future goal that we’re aiming for, no reformed society that’s more tolerant or diverse or equitable or prosperous, or at least no goal that’s more important than the present. It’s about realising there’s no life but this one, and making the most of it. It’s about taking responsibility..... if there’s no higher power then your success or failure is up to you, and you alone. Another nihilism quote I found sums it up nicely... “Each human life has the potential, but unless one strives to be a god, they are only a worm.” We can do anything... it’s up to us whether we repeat the patterns of our forbears, killing and subjugating each other for material gain and dominance and letting our masters profit at our expense, or whether we control our lives and reap the benefits for ourselves.
It’s true that nihilism, like anarchism, is usually equated with violence and terrorism, and there’s certainly historical justification. Nihilists generally reckon that violence is not inherent in their philosophies, but I’m inclined to think that if nihilism is your philosophy you’re more likely to be aggressive. Nihilists say there is nothing above man, there is no objective moral, ethical reality, but is that really the case? The argument can be made that we carry our moral absolutes with us, encoded into our brains. I think it’s genetic, we’ve survived as a species because we know instinctively how to interact with each other. We’re a social species, we have survived because we can cooperate, and we know, each of us, how to do this, how to avoid conflict. Something in our brains, other than fear of repercussions, tells us a behaviour is wrong. Why else, for instance, would all these religions around the world have come up with such basic moral tenets as don’t kill each other? Don’t torture people for fun?? And remember to put the trash out???
Just because there’s no ultimate point to anything, and even though nothing I actually accomplish is going to last forever, that doesn’t mean there’s no sense in doing it anyway, does it? In fact, doesn’t that make human endeavour a more precious and amazing thing? Think about it, out of all the randomness, out of all the meaninglessness, we are able to create something that has meaning for ourselves and others. That meaning might be quite arbitrary, we each might see the same thing quite differently, but isn’t that kind of beautiful in itself? There might not be any reason, in the big scheme of things, for me to get out there and make a noise about discrimination, pollution or the suffering of others, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t do it. It will mean something to me, I’ll be taking control, making something out of the nothingness, making the world what I want it to be. And maybe, just maybe, someone else will see the world the way I do.
And that’s meaning enough for me.
Danny Rudd
According to Wikipedia it’s “the view that the world, and especially human existence, is without meaning, purpose, comprehensible truth, or essential value.” It’s often defined as belief in nothing, but from what I’ve read that’s not entirely true... we should say faith in nothing to be more accurate. Faith is a firm belief in something where there isn’t or can’t be any supporting evidence. Nihilists see faith as dangerous because when we’re relying on faith we aren’t using our faculties of common sense, reason and critical analysis. According to Nietzsche (you know him – the “God is dead” guy – life of the party), faith is simply “not wanting to know.”
Not wanting to know? Crazy, right? Well, yeah. But understandable maybe. Who wants to know anyway?? It’s a big scary world out there, it’s hard to understand sometimes, so of course most of us would rather just accept on faith whatever sounds like a fair explanation. It gets exhausting asking questions all the time and never having any certainty, and realistically, nobody’s going to be able to think through absolutely EVERY issue and read EVERY book. Especially in the modern Western nations. I’m not really surprised that in the most technologically advanced and modernized societies, like the USA, Australia and New Zealand, so many people believe in a cosmic zombie who communicates with them each individually by means of telepathy... our lives are a lot more sped up and full of stress and hassle in comparison to the rest of the world. We just don’t have the time to think things through.
Sometimes I think that if any of us could see how complicated the world really is it would be enough to drive us mad. But what the nihilists are getting at is that though it’s comforting to just think we know the answers without having to ask the questions, we’re fooling ourselves, and making things worse for ourselves and others in doing so. How? Well, let’s just pull a random example out of our collective arse, shall we? AIDS is killing thousands of people every day, and causes immeasurable human suffering, all around the world but especially in poorest nations. People get AIDS by becoming infected with HIV, most often through transmission of sexual fluids, and this can be prevented by using condoms during sex. There’s more to it than that, but that’s good enough for our purposes. We could fix the problem and alleviate a lot of the suffering if people wore the damn condoms, but faith has stuck its beak in and convinced a whole lot of those people that the father of the aforementioned cosmic zombie, who lives up in the sky and watches everything they do (the dirty perve) will throw them in a lake of fire to burn forever if they wear condoms when they fuck. And other well-meaning faithful people, mindful of the imperilled souls of those people in the populations where HIV is rampant, are kindly puncturing the condom packets before the poor sods even get them, just to be sure that no latex stands between souls and salvation. Faith makes us do dumb things, so nihilism begins to look like an attractive alternative. It’s the rejection of any belief that relies on faith, whether religious or secular.
Another defining characteristic of nihilism is the rejection of the idea that things have a final purpose. Nihilists believe everything is random, that there is no preordained final destination or revelation. In other words, you’re not going to heaven. It doesn’t exist and what’s more, it’s pointless to live your life in some sort of preparation for it. So go on, masturbate, get drunk, call your mother a herpes-riddled crack-whore... it doesn’t matter. You won’t get punished for it in the hereafter (though your mum might burn all your stuff and kick you out on the street). In a nutshell, nihilists reject the teleological arguments offered by most religions. Teleology is the idea that the universe functions a bit like a machine according to some sort of god-given plan or design, and it’s not restricted to the world of religion either. A common, almost sacred belief among people in the secular West is that you and your significant other were ‘made for each other,’ or if you haven’t got one at the moment, that she or he is out there somewhere waiting for you, that it’s ‘meant to be.’ Well the nihilists have got news for you... there was nothing inevitable about you finding that one particular person, there was no plan, no destiny, it was all just chance, and you only think it’s something magical and special because it feels nice, but you fail to see that you probably would have felt the same about almost anyone else. They might remind you ever so politely (or more likely, somewhat sharply) that everyone else is feeling something pretty similar for their own special-someone, you’re just too blind to see it, so shut the fuck up. Nihilists also reject Marxism, Buddhism, and any other set of beliefs that rely on teleology. There is no destiny, there can be no progress.
Nihilism is virtually synonymous with scepticism. There are two main branches: social or existential nihilism, and political nihilism. Let’s start with the existential variety. It’s passive, influenced by eastern philosophy and mysticism, and concerns itself primarily with isolation, human suffering and the futility and hopelessness of existence. It’s bloody depressing. Most people, when you mention nihilism, will think this is what you mean. In the face of all the meaninglessness and randomness, the only coping mechanism is detachment – just stop giving a shit. Don’t do anything for anyone, don’t bother with worthy causes, just don’t care, because ultimately it’s a waste of time.
Now, don’t confuse existential nihilism with depression, though that certainly follows on from it a lot of the time. Personally I’m inclined toward depression when I’m feeling worthless. When I ask someone out or let them know I’m interested and they say “Fuck no, I need space, I’m not ready for a relationship just now, you’re sweet and everything, let’s just be friends, STOP STALKING ME!!!”, I usually take it to me mean that I’m not tall enough, attractive enough, smart enough etc, and I inevitably begin saying to myself: “What’s the point in trying anyway, I may as well stay in my room, give up my hopes and get used to being by myself.” But kids, that’s not quite full blown existential nihilism, because I’m not saying that there’s no point in anyone trying to get laid, only that there’s no point in me trying. Important difference. Even at my most whiny and self-loathing, I would still agree that most people can and should try to find happiness in the whole love and romance thingy.
Political nihilism, the other main branch of nihilism, is active, revolutionary and at once destructive and creative. It’s about social structures and authority. Political nihilism states that things are in such a bad state that the only real option left to us is to smash them up, and whether or not we can rebuild we will at least have done some good. Being a political nihilist is about being in the here and now... rejecting all religious and philosophical debate and all the metaphysical circular reasoning that it ultimately leads to. It’s about challenging all the assumptions we base our values on, even equality and justice. There’s no future goal that we’re aiming for, no reformed society that’s more tolerant or diverse or equitable or prosperous, or at least no goal that’s more important than the present. It’s about realising there’s no life but this one, and making the most of it. It’s about taking responsibility..... if there’s no higher power then your success or failure is up to you, and you alone. Another nihilism quote I found sums it up nicely... “Each human life has the potential, but unless one strives to be a god, they are only a worm.” We can do anything... it’s up to us whether we repeat the patterns of our forbears, killing and subjugating each other for material gain and dominance and letting our masters profit at our expense, or whether we control our lives and reap the benefits for ourselves.
It’s true that nihilism, like anarchism, is usually equated with violence and terrorism, and there’s certainly historical justification. Nihilists generally reckon that violence is not inherent in their philosophies, but I’m inclined to think that if nihilism is your philosophy you’re more likely to be aggressive. Nihilists say there is nothing above man, there is no objective moral, ethical reality, but is that really the case? The argument can be made that we carry our moral absolutes with us, encoded into our brains. I think it’s genetic, we’ve survived as a species because we know instinctively how to interact with each other. We’re a social species, we have survived because we can cooperate, and we know, each of us, how to do this, how to avoid conflict. Something in our brains, other than fear of repercussions, tells us a behaviour is wrong. Why else, for instance, would all these religions around the world have come up with such basic moral tenets as don’t kill each other? Don’t torture people for fun?? And remember to put the trash out???
Just because there’s no ultimate point to anything, and even though nothing I actually accomplish is going to last forever, that doesn’t mean there’s no sense in doing it anyway, does it? In fact, doesn’t that make human endeavour a more precious and amazing thing? Think about it, out of all the randomness, out of all the meaninglessness, we are able to create something that has meaning for ourselves and others. That meaning might be quite arbitrary, we each might see the same thing quite differently, but isn’t that kind of beautiful in itself? There might not be any reason, in the big scheme of things, for me to get out there and make a noise about discrimination, pollution or the suffering of others, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t do it. It will mean something to me, I’ll be taking control, making something out of the nothingness, making the world what I want it to be. And maybe, just maybe, someone else will see the world the way I do.
And that’s meaning enough for me.
Danny Rudd
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
I want to PAY someone to bash my skull in with a crowbar... any takers??
I want to kill myself.
My flatmate has a new boyfriend, who's a head nurse at Welly hospital, and drives up here to see him every week. It's pretty rotten of me to be unhappy that my flatmate's happy, but, well, I am. Also, Hunky, one of the guys I've loved this many years now, has graduated and has a motorbike, so all's looking rosy for him, and his ex, who I also loved, is heading this way for a visit, and he hates me, even though I miss him. Lezzer #1 is torn between the ex-girlfriend and a new girl who's interested, my most recent ex seems to be reconnecting with his family and is happy enough, my other recent ex is engaged to that trollop faux-lesbian of his. The straight guy I have a crush on, and have done for ages, Mister P, ignores me, my own family is getting all close etc, and I can't because I'm just so angry with them, and I'm falling behind majorly at Massey and don't think I can make it up in two weeks... TWO WEEKS!!! That's all that's left of Semester One. I don't think I can handle another semester. I don't think I can handle being alive.
I want to die.
My flatmate has a new boyfriend, who's a head nurse at Welly hospital, and drives up here to see him every week. It's pretty rotten of me to be unhappy that my flatmate's happy, but, well, I am. Also, Hunky, one of the guys I've loved this many years now, has graduated and has a motorbike, so all's looking rosy for him, and his ex, who I also loved, is heading this way for a visit, and he hates me, even though I miss him. Lezzer #1 is torn between the ex-girlfriend and a new girl who's interested, my most recent ex seems to be reconnecting with his family and is happy enough, my other recent ex is engaged to that trollop faux-lesbian of his. The straight guy I have a crush on, and have done for ages, Mister P, ignores me, my own family is getting all close etc, and I can't because I'm just so angry with them, and I'm falling behind majorly at Massey and don't think I can make it up in two weeks... TWO WEEKS!!! That's all that's left of Semester One. I don't think I can handle another semester. I don't think I can handle being alive.
I want to die.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Possibly
Possibly.
We'll have to see.
But you don't know
What's best for me,
You don't know
What's in my head
The dreams that haunt
Me in my bed.
I get scared,
You don't see why
There are feelings
That I hide.
Medicate me,
Numb the pain,
Turn off the lights
Within my brain
Leaving me
In darkness, here
Alone to face
My silent fears.
Leave me to
This 'misery'
Is it wise?
Well,
Possibly.
- DannyR 23/05/08
We'll have to see.
But you don't know
What's best for me,
You don't know
What's in my head
The dreams that haunt
Me in my bed.
I get scared,
You don't see why
There are feelings
That I hide.
Medicate me,
Numb the pain,
Turn off the lights
Within my brain
Leaving me
In darkness, here
Alone to face
My silent fears.
Leave me to
This 'misery'
Is it wise?
Well,
Possibly.
- DannyR 23/05/08
Thursday, May 22, 2008
On Love, And Other calamities (Part One)
The feelings we experience through different stages of love are due to chemicals that we produce within our bodies, hormones that wash over our brains, compelling us to act in ways that are mistaken for fate or folly. Ask any old married couple, and they'll tell you that the excitement of initial infatuation becomes deeper attachment with the passage of time, but inevitably the excitement fades to little more than memory.
There are three stages of what we call love: Lust, Romantic Love, and Attachment, each different, but all in the service of the biological imperative to successfully reproduce. Lust gets us hunting for potential mates, Romantic Love narrows our focus down to just one individual, and Attachment encourages us to stick with this partner long enough to raise children. Each of these stages is characterised by the presence of different levels of certain hormones in a person's circulatory system and neurochemistry.
Let's look at Lust first. We're all aware of this initial stage of love, that jolt of excitement and piqued curiosity when we are in close proximity to a person to whom we are mysteriously attracted. Lust would seem to be a primarily visual phenomenon, and certainly our cultural heritage deals with it in such a way. The words of Jesus were that "anyone who even looks at a woman with lust in his eye has already committed adultery with her in his heart," and further that "if your eye offends you, pluck it out" (Matthew 5:28-29), hence the Religious Right's almost fanatical vendetta against pornography and infidelity.
We now know that it's quite natural to 'keep an eye out' for potential mates, but increasingly scientists are discovering that Lust is fundamentally a chemical phenomenon.It has been found that women are more aromatically susceptible than men - that is, they have a better sense of smell - perhaps because they have evolved to regard smell as a significant indicator of a partner's suitability, being the one stuck with the most work in reproduction. Not only is a woman's sex cell, the gigantic egg or ovum, more biologically costly to produce than the man's millions of tiny sperm cells, she has to carry the developing embryo within her body, nourishing it at her own expense, and this duty does not cease when once the offspring is born, she then has to breastfeed, and gather foods for her infant for years afterward! The man, by contrast, has the option of disappearing after the act of copulation, no further expense incurred.
Smell is indicative of the state of an individual's immune system - we're programmed to seek partners with different immunity to our own so that our offspring will have the strongest immune system possible and thus a better chance of surviving. Heterosexual couples with similar immune systems have higher incidence of spontaneous miscarriage during pregnancy, and frequently have more trouble conceiving in the first place. Interestingly, the Contraceptive Pill confuses a woman's sense of smell to prefer a partner with a scent similar to her own. Consequently, perhaps, among the top complaints heard by divorce lawyers from women is "I can't stand his smell." But on the lighter side, once two people are emotionally attached they're disposed to see (and smell) each other in a more positive light.
Lust is also characterised by a surge of testosterone in both men and women. It is a common misconception that testosterone is the 'male hormone,' but this simply is not true. While it certainly is responsible for the development of male anatomy and secondary sex characteristics (body hair, deeper voice, sperm production) at specific points in the individual's life, it is by no means a chemical exclusive to men. Testosterone, it seems, arouses an individual, be they male or female, in readiness for copulation. Men have more interest in sex, (and in having sex more often, at that) because they have a set of glands that are devoted to full-time production of testosterone. A woman's sexual response is tempered by which stage she is at in her monthly menstrual cycle, as testosterone production waxes and wanes.
Romantic Love is the (far from inevitable) next step in the process, and is quite distinct, introducing the major chemical player in romance, a hormone known as dopamine. Dopamine and norepinephrine levels surge when a person is confronted by the unknown. These are the same chemicals responsible for addiction - and for experiencing elation, hope, despair and rage.In the initial stage of Romantic Love, they cause such exhilaration that we forget to eat or sleep. This is commonly referred to as 'lovesickness,' for indeed throughout history it has been regarded as a sort of madness or illness. It is only comparatively recently in Western societies, in the last two hundred years roughly, that being 'In Love' has come to be seen as a good foundation for marriage and the raising of children.
This wave of dopamine, however, eventually subsides, and is followed by vasopressin and oxytocin, hormones that lead to long-lasting Attachment. These are 'Cuddle Chemicals,' released during sex; they give us the 'warm fuzzies,' making us want to stick together. They condition both partners so that they will maintain a pair bond for the successful rearing of offspring. Oxytocin, in particular, may actually subdue levels of unruly dopamine and norepinephrine, taking away that 'high' of initial infatuation, effectively 'squashing' Romantic Love.
There is something about the way our society is structured - our Western 'rules of propriety' - handed down through Christian tradition and surviving today in secular form - that creates and bolsters the conditions to capitalise on the natural high which accompanies the initial dopamine and norepinephrine surge. We commonly believe that 'dating' is a sensible practice put in place so that we may 'shop around' to find a good match, but perhaps it serves a further purpose. The rules of propriety that accompany dating (no sex before marriage, no sex on a first date and so on) are a restriction or barrier when you have found that one 'special someone,' they serve to frustrate the natural impulse and prolong the 'romantic high,' until marriage and consummation, for it is well known that when it comes to romance, you always want what you cannot have.
This delay may in fact bring about an even more powerful wave of Cuddle Chemicals than would otherwise be the case, leading to even longer-lasting attachment. Gay and lesbian communities in the Western world largely lack such societally-imposed restrictions, and indeed consummation of the natural procreative impulse, though directed at a partner of the same gender and thus confounding its biological imperative, follows swiftly in these communities. It is perhaps unsurprising that gay and lesbian relationships generally do not last nearly as long as 'straight' partnerships, when the conditions for lifelong partnership are largely a product of rules designed to frustrate the urges of 'normal' heterosexual mating pairs.
The problem with the 'Cuddle Chemical' stage is that it too begins to wane with time, as sex becomes less frequent. Men in particular are naturally programmed to seek out new sexual partners, and will inevitably begin to look around, being none too choosy. And women, far from being the passive objects they have been made out to be in much of Western tradition, are actually programmed to be continuously on the lookout to 'trade up' and secure a partner with better genetics, more resources and greater dominance (hence the appeal of shopping and wealthy husbands). And thus even the most the most stable, affectionate couple is vulnerable to infidelity or dissolution in time.
Novelty makes your brain and body pump out the exciting hormones, norepinephrine and dopamine, so if you find attraction waning, if your partnership has lost it's excitement and you want to persevere, then do new and varied things and fall in love all over again. You can fool your brain into seeing your partner as a new one. Studies show that couples who share more exciting experiences (such as entering competitions together and travelling together on vacations to new places) report more happiness and satisfaction. This may in fact explain the success of arranged marriages in other cultures, for while we in the West do not generally like the idea, the anxiety, suspense, and the thrill of Chinese or Indian wedding pageantry may in fact drive dopamine levels up so high that romantic love positively flourishes.
We have other tools to bring on the dopamine. Humour is one of the best. And as if you needed an excuse, having sex elevates testosterone levels in both males and females, which in turn revs up the dopamine, allowing partners to recapture the thrill of romantic love, at least temporarily. The simplest way, however, is enforced separation or a good old screaming row. Arguments trigger a rush of adrenaline, which kicks in during risky, new situations. Separation prolongs the production of dopamine, you want the person more as the barriers to togetherness are increased, which increases the frustration and makes the reward of being together so much richer. The problem with this is that both partners have to be in-sync for what's comfortable or challenging, and not many of us are. Our drives for novelty can be unifying or divisive once the exhilaration of courtship gives way to the routines of partnership.
Most enduring couples, it is found, are seeking similar levels of stimulation. People who seek high levels of stimulation (high sensation seekers) are more likely to engage in risky behaviour, explore unknown territory, experiment with drugs and alcohol and seek out a variety or larger number of sexual partners. High sensation seekers have low levels of dopamine (oddly enough) and serotonin, probably because of low levels of monoamine oxidase (MAO), which regulates dopamine and other neurotransmitters. Low serotonin levels go hand in hand with impulsive behaviour. Men tend to have lower MAO levels than women, which is not to say that they are deficient, but rather that this characteristic serves the man's quite different biological reproductive agenda (more on sex differences between men and women later).
A couple made up of two high sensation seekers is more likely to dissolve out of boredom, and this is almost certainly a factor in the generally rapid dissolution of male-male couples. A couple where one partner is a high sensation seeker and the other is a low sensation seeker will not easily understand each other (the majority of couples fall into this category, this being largely the state of the heterosexual population). The happiest couples are comprised of two people who aren't looking for high excitement, but lest you hastily conclude that lesbian relationships must be more content than any other couple form, it must be noted that even within each biological sex there may be vast disparities in individuals' levels of sensation seeking. It's not always obvious in the beginning stages of a relationship what level your potential partner is.
So there we have it: a brief overview of the chemistry of love and sex. Just as an aside, it should perhaps be noted that the hormones that incite us to couplehood and attachment actually decrease our individual testosterone production, making sex progressively less interesting over time. Couples who maintain interesting and satisfying sexual relationships generally have a lot of fights, go through periods of separation and reunion, have rich fantasy lives or make allowances for infidelity or the possibility (even if unacted upon) of sex with others. But lest you come away from this brief essay gloomy or disillusioned, take comfort in the fact that there are plenty of other areas in a relationship that may deepen and become richer with time, and that long-term Attachment is something wonderful in and of itself.
It's not all about sex.
DannyR
There are three stages of what we call love: Lust, Romantic Love, and Attachment, each different, but all in the service of the biological imperative to successfully reproduce. Lust gets us hunting for potential mates, Romantic Love narrows our focus down to just one individual, and Attachment encourages us to stick with this partner long enough to raise children. Each of these stages is characterised by the presence of different levels of certain hormones in a person's circulatory system and neurochemistry.
Let's look at Lust first. We're all aware of this initial stage of love, that jolt of excitement and piqued curiosity when we are in close proximity to a person to whom we are mysteriously attracted. Lust would seem to be a primarily visual phenomenon, and certainly our cultural heritage deals with it in such a way. The words of Jesus were that "anyone who even looks at a woman with lust in his eye has already committed adultery with her in his heart," and further that "if your eye offends you, pluck it out" (Matthew 5:28-29), hence the Religious Right's almost fanatical vendetta against pornography and infidelity.
We now know that it's quite natural to 'keep an eye out' for potential mates, but increasingly scientists are discovering that Lust is fundamentally a chemical phenomenon.It has been found that women are more aromatically susceptible than men - that is, they have a better sense of smell - perhaps because they have evolved to regard smell as a significant indicator of a partner's suitability, being the one stuck with the most work in reproduction. Not only is a woman's sex cell, the gigantic egg or ovum, more biologically costly to produce than the man's millions of tiny sperm cells, she has to carry the developing embryo within her body, nourishing it at her own expense, and this duty does not cease when once the offspring is born, she then has to breastfeed, and gather foods for her infant for years afterward! The man, by contrast, has the option of disappearing after the act of copulation, no further expense incurred.
Smell is indicative of the state of an individual's immune system - we're programmed to seek partners with different immunity to our own so that our offspring will have the strongest immune system possible and thus a better chance of surviving. Heterosexual couples with similar immune systems have higher incidence of spontaneous miscarriage during pregnancy, and frequently have more trouble conceiving in the first place. Interestingly, the Contraceptive Pill confuses a woman's sense of smell to prefer a partner with a scent similar to her own. Consequently, perhaps, among the top complaints heard by divorce lawyers from women is "I can't stand his smell." But on the lighter side, once two people are emotionally attached they're disposed to see (and smell) each other in a more positive light.
Lust is also characterised by a surge of testosterone in both men and women. It is a common misconception that testosterone is the 'male hormone,' but this simply is not true. While it certainly is responsible for the development of male anatomy and secondary sex characteristics (body hair, deeper voice, sperm production) at specific points in the individual's life, it is by no means a chemical exclusive to men. Testosterone, it seems, arouses an individual, be they male or female, in readiness for copulation. Men have more interest in sex, (and in having sex more often, at that) because they have a set of glands that are devoted to full-time production of testosterone. A woman's sexual response is tempered by which stage she is at in her monthly menstrual cycle, as testosterone production waxes and wanes.
Romantic Love is the (far from inevitable) next step in the process, and is quite distinct, introducing the major chemical player in romance, a hormone known as dopamine. Dopamine and norepinephrine levels surge when a person is confronted by the unknown. These are the same chemicals responsible for addiction - and for experiencing elation, hope, despair and rage.In the initial stage of Romantic Love, they cause such exhilaration that we forget to eat or sleep. This is commonly referred to as 'lovesickness,' for indeed throughout history it has been regarded as a sort of madness or illness. It is only comparatively recently in Western societies, in the last two hundred years roughly, that being 'In Love' has come to be seen as a good foundation for marriage and the raising of children.
This wave of dopamine, however, eventually subsides, and is followed by vasopressin and oxytocin, hormones that lead to long-lasting Attachment. These are 'Cuddle Chemicals,' released during sex; they give us the 'warm fuzzies,' making us want to stick together. They condition both partners so that they will maintain a pair bond for the successful rearing of offspring. Oxytocin, in particular, may actually subdue levels of unruly dopamine and norepinephrine, taking away that 'high' of initial infatuation, effectively 'squashing' Romantic Love.
There is something about the way our society is structured - our Western 'rules of propriety' - handed down through Christian tradition and surviving today in secular form - that creates and bolsters the conditions to capitalise on the natural high which accompanies the initial dopamine and norepinephrine surge. We commonly believe that 'dating' is a sensible practice put in place so that we may 'shop around' to find a good match, but perhaps it serves a further purpose. The rules of propriety that accompany dating (no sex before marriage, no sex on a first date and so on) are a restriction or barrier when you have found that one 'special someone,' they serve to frustrate the natural impulse and prolong the 'romantic high,' until marriage and consummation, for it is well known that when it comes to romance, you always want what you cannot have.
This delay may in fact bring about an even more powerful wave of Cuddle Chemicals than would otherwise be the case, leading to even longer-lasting attachment. Gay and lesbian communities in the Western world largely lack such societally-imposed restrictions, and indeed consummation of the natural procreative impulse, though directed at a partner of the same gender and thus confounding its biological imperative, follows swiftly in these communities. It is perhaps unsurprising that gay and lesbian relationships generally do not last nearly as long as 'straight' partnerships, when the conditions for lifelong partnership are largely a product of rules designed to frustrate the urges of 'normal' heterosexual mating pairs.
The problem with the 'Cuddle Chemical' stage is that it too begins to wane with time, as sex becomes less frequent. Men in particular are naturally programmed to seek out new sexual partners, and will inevitably begin to look around, being none too choosy. And women, far from being the passive objects they have been made out to be in much of Western tradition, are actually programmed to be continuously on the lookout to 'trade up' and secure a partner with better genetics, more resources and greater dominance (hence the appeal of shopping and wealthy husbands). And thus even the most the most stable, affectionate couple is vulnerable to infidelity or dissolution in time.
Novelty makes your brain and body pump out the exciting hormones, norepinephrine and dopamine, so if you find attraction waning, if your partnership has lost it's excitement and you want to persevere, then do new and varied things and fall in love all over again. You can fool your brain into seeing your partner as a new one. Studies show that couples who share more exciting experiences (such as entering competitions together and travelling together on vacations to new places) report more happiness and satisfaction. This may in fact explain the success of arranged marriages in other cultures, for while we in the West do not generally like the idea, the anxiety, suspense, and the thrill of Chinese or Indian wedding pageantry may in fact drive dopamine levels up so high that romantic love positively flourishes.
We have other tools to bring on the dopamine. Humour is one of the best. And as if you needed an excuse, having sex elevates testosterone levels in both males and females, which in turn revs up the dopamine, allowing partners to recapture the thrill of romantic love, at least temporarily. The simplest way, however, is enforced separation or a good old screaming row. Arguments trigger a rush of adrenaline, which kicks in during risky, new situations. Separation prolongs the production of dopamine, you want the person more as the barriers to togetherness are increased, which increases the frustration and makes the reward of being together so much richer. The problem with this is that both partners have to be in-sync for what's comfortable or challenging, and not many of us are. Our drives for novelty can be unifying or divisive once the exhilaration of courtship gives way to the routines of partnership.
Most enduring couples, it is found, are seeking similar levels of stimulation. People who seek high levels of stimulation (high sensation seekers) are more likely to engage in risky behaviour, explore unknown territory, experiment with drugs and alcohol and seek out a variety or larger number of sexual partners. High sensation seekers have low levels of dopamine (oddly enough) and serotonin, probably because of low levels of monoamine oxidase (MAO), which regulates dopamine and other neurotransmitters. Low serotonin levels go hand in hand with impulsive behaviour. Men tend to have lower MAO levels than women, which is not to say that they are deficient, but rather that this characteristic serves the man's quite different biological reproductive agenda (more on sex differences between men and women later).
A couple made up of two high sensation seekers is more likely to dissolve out of boredom, and this is almost certainly a factor in the generally rapid dissolution of male-male couples. A couple where one partner is a high sensation seeker and the other is a low sensation seeker will not easily understand each other (the majority of couples fall into this category, this being largely the state of the heterosexual population). The happiest couples are comprised of two people who aren't looking for high excitement, but lest you hastily conclude that lesbian relationships must be more content than any other couple form, it must be noted that even within each biological sex there may be vast disparities in individuals' levels of sensation seeking. It's not always obvious in the beginning stages of a relationship what level your potential partner is.
So there we have it: a brief overview of the chemistry of love and sex. Just as an aside, it should perhaps be noted that the hormones that incite us to couplehood and attachment actually decrease our individual testosterone production, making sex progressively less interesting over time. Couples who maintain interesting and satisfying sexual relationships generally have a lot of fights, go through periods of separation and reunion, have rich fantasy lives or make allowances for infidelity or the possibility (even if unacted upon) of sex with others. But lest you come away from this brief essay gloomy or disillusioned, take comfort in the fact that there are plenty of other areas in a relationship that may deepen and become richer with time, and that long-term Attachment is something wonderful in and of itself.
It's not all about sex.
DannyR
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Bourbon (inspired by Nigel)
O wonderful elixir,
Drop from heaven,
Precious brew,
Nothing else can take away
My problems like you do.
Intoxicating draught,
Cure for angst
And tears and woe,
Come soothe my troubled heart
And then to slumber let me go.
DannyR
Drop from heaven,
Precious brew,
Nothing else can take away
My problems like you do.
Intoxicating draught,
Cure for angst
And tears and woe,
Come soothe my troubled heart
And then to slumber let me go.
DannyR
CHAFF Review -- The Spanish Apartment (L'Auberge Espagnole)
Starring Romain Duris, Judith Godreche.
Grade A
L’Auberge Espagnole is a 2002 French film by director Cedric Klapisch, who I really don’t expect anyone reading this to have heard of before… I certainly hadn’t. To be honest, I was somewhat less than enthused at the prospect of watching the dvd when a friend of mine brought it over, but given that his other choices looked even less my sort of thing, being largely of the romantic-comedy variety, I thought I might as well give it a go.
I’m not scared of subtitles. I’ve seen French films before, some of which I really enjoyed, such as The City of Lost Children, The Closet and Amelie, but from the DVD case I had that sinking feeling I was really not going to get into this one. Sure enough, I found the first few minutes utterly tedious and headache-inducing, with the film’s gloomy lighting, weird sped-up bits and bland lead character. But I held in there, and I’m glad I did.
The basic premise: Xavier is an Economics grad student in Paris, who is offered a job with the government if he will go on the Erasmus student exchange programme to complete his studies in Madrid and learn Spanish. At the airport, he leaves behind his over-attentive mother and his needy and manipulative girlfriend, Martine, and, having never left Paris before, finds himself feeling utterly alone for the first time in his life. What does any such self-respecting young man do in these circumstances? Why, cry on the plane, of course. Cry like a little bitch.
While he’s shamelessly bawling his froggy eyes out, he is noticed by a very pretty young woman, which just goes to show that being a sensitive young man (read: a spoilt prat) has it’s good points, but he’s so busy wallowing in angst that he doesn’t see her checking him out. Never fear, the plane touches down in Madrid and Xavier disembarks, and who should be standing next to him at the luggage collection point but the pretty girl from the plane. Great! Except that her husband is there too.
The husband, who seems more than a bit creepy, has a job in the city, and he’s brought his lovely young wife Anne-Sophie to Madrid to be with him. He offers Xavier a sofa to crash on until he finds somewhere to stay, and Xavier accepts, perhaps finally noticing that the other guy’s wife is a bit of all right (Oh, those humorously amoral Frenchies…) You can tell where this is going. Xavier starts the semester, finds a room to let in the titular Spanish apartment, and to no one’s great surprise, starts shtupping Anne-Sophie behind her husband’s back. All very predictable. All very French.
It’s once Xavier has moved into the apartment that the pace picks up and the movie becomes genuinely enjoyable. It’s a small, crummy place, and he has to share it with English, American, French, Belgian, Italian, German, and Scandinavian students, who are all likewise on exchange programmes. The contrast is incredible. Suddenly, away from the cold, grey dreariness of Paris, we’re confronted with all the vivid colour, music and clutter of Madrid. The film becomes a dizzying blur of energy, excitement and entertaining characters, the flatmates switching back and forth between languages effortlessly, super-charging each other with their endless banter and laughter. It’s impossible not to get swept away in it, and this is exactly what happens to Xavier. Despite his initial clumsiness with the different languages in the household, he finds himself being melted down and reforged, becoming more confident of himself and his decisions and appreciative of difference and diversity.
This film is called Pot Luck in its English release, and has also gone by the title Euro Pudding internationally. While it focuses on the experience of Xavier in his new environment, it’s not hard to see that at its core this is a film about identity – specifically, national identity within the new European Union, which understandably weighs heavily on the minds of Europeans these days. Klapisch is clearly excited and optimistic about the potential for growth and increased understanding that the Union brings, and this shows in his treatment of the household dynamics in this film. Here is a group of diverse young people from very different backgrounds, learning from each other, enjoying each other’s languages, cultures and lives, occasionally fighting amongst themselves but ultimately being there for each other when it counts. And the message isn’t confined to national diversity either, it transcends gender, sexuality, age and race. It doesn’t come across as preachy or self-righteous, what you come away with is a palpable sense of excitement.
The film’s initial gloominess is in fact intentional, it serves to drive home the message, that life is chaotic, colourful, and confusing, but it’s out there to be lived and experienced, and you only get out of it what you put in. Go find it.
Danny Rudd
Grade A
L’Auberge Espagnole is a 2002 French film by director Cedric Klapisch, who I really don’t expect anyone reading this to have heard of before… I certainly hadn’t. To be honest, I was somewhat less than enthused at the prospect of watching the dvd when a friend of mine brought it over, but given that his other choices looked even less my sort of thing, being largely of the romantic-comedy variety, I thought I might as well give it a go.
I’m not scared of subtitles. I’ve seen French films before, some of which I really enjoyed, such as The City of Lost Children, The Closet and Amelie, but from the DVD case I had that sinking feeling I was really not going to get into this one. Sure enough, I found the first few minutes utterly tedious and headache-inducing, with the film’s gloomy lighting, weird sped-up bits and bland lead character. But I held in there, and I’m glad I did.
The basic premise: Xavier is an Economics grad student in Paris, who is offered a job with the government if he will go on the Erasmus student exchange programme to complete his studies in Madrid and learn Spanish. At the airport, he leaves behind his over-attentive mother and his needy and manipulative girlfriend, Martine, and, having never left Paris before, finds himself feeling utterly alone for the first time in his life. What does any such self-respecting young man do in these circumstances? Why, cry on the plane, of course. Cry like a little bitch.
While he’s shamelessly bawling his froggy eyes out, he is noticed by a very pretty young woman, which just goes to show that being a sensitive young man (read: a spoilt prat) has it’s good points, but he’s so busy wallowing in angst that he doesn’t see her checking him out. Never fear, the plane touches down in Madrid and Xavier disembarks, and who should be standing next to him at the luggage collection point but the pretty girl from the plane. Great! Except that her husband is there too.
The husband, who seems more than a bit creepy, has a job in the city, and he’s brought his lovely young wife Anne-Sophie to Madrid to be with him. He offers Xavier a sofa to crash on until he finds somewhere to stay, and Xavier accepts, perhaps finally noticing that the other guy’s wife is a bit of all right (Oh, those humorously amoral Frenchies…) You can tell where this is going. Xavier starts the semester, finds a room to let in the titular Spanish apartment, and to no one’s great surprise, starts shtupping Anne-Sophie behind her husband’s back. All very predictable. All very French.
It’s once Xavier has moved into the apartment that the pace picks up and the movie becomes genuinely enjoyable. It’s a small, crummy place, and he has to share it with English, American, French, Belgian, Italian, German, and Scandinavian students, who are all likewise on exchange programmes. The contrast is incredible. Suddenly, away from the cold, grey dreariness of Paris, we’re confronted with all the vivid colour, music and clutter of Madrid. The film becomes a dizzying blur of energy, excitement and entertaining characters, the flatmates switching back and forth between languages effortlessly, super-charging each other with their endless banter and laughter. It’s impossible not to get swept away in it, and this is exactly what happens to Xavier. Despite his initial clumsiness with the different languages in the household, he finds himself being melted down and reforged, becoming more confident of himself and his decisions and appreciative of difference and diversity.
This film is called Pot Luck in its English release, and has also gone by the title Euro Pudding internationally. While it focuses on the experience of Xavier in his new environment, it’s not hard to see that at its core this is a film about identity – specifically, national identity within the new European Union, which understandably weighs heavily on the minds of Europeans these days. Klapisch is clearly excited and optimistic about the potential for growth and increased understanding that the Union brings, and this shows in his treatment of the household dynamics in this film. Here is a group of diverse young people from very different backgrounds, learning from each other, enjoying each other’s languages, cultures and lives, occasionally fighting amongst themselves but ultimately being there for each other when it counts. And the message isn’t confined to national diversity either, it transcends gender, sexuality, age and race. It doesn’t come across as preachy or self-righteous, what you come away with is a palpable sense of excitement.
The film’s initial gloominess is in fact intentional, it serves to drive home the message, that life is chaotic, colourful, and confusing, but it’s out there to be lived and experienced, and you only get out of it what you put in. Go find it.
Danny Rudd
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Eight Years
Eight years now I've given and
What have you done for me?
Though I've shown my committment
To this fickle family.
When you needed letters written
I wrote them, signed my name.
When you wouldn't speak up for yourselves
I stood up to be shamed.
You wanted to get married,
I took your cause up as my own
Though I knew I wouldn't benefit
I made your feelings known.
I manned the phones and held the line
Against religious freaks,
I trained to give words of advice
When you were suffering.
I've given up my evenings
And all anonymity,
You fucked me off, I held my tongue,
I didn't cause a scene.
When you were sick I comforted,
I took the time to care -
Though others washed their hands of you
I made sure I stood near
To let you know you're worth it,
That I love you as you are,
But sometimes I have to admit
You make it fucking hard.
You do nothing for yourselves
But it's me that gets the blame
When things go wrong, I'm on my own
To hell with what we've gained
And if I should show my differences
From all the rest of you
You treat me like a lepper,
Words of friendship ring untrue.
Eight years, and now looking back
What have I got to show?
I really did believe in you
But now I just don't know.
DannyR
What have you done for me?
Though I've shown my committment
To this fickle family.
When you needed letters written
I wrote them, signed my name.
When you wouldn't speak up for yourselves
I stood up to be shamed.
You wanted to get married,
I took your cause up as my own
Though I knew I wouldn't benefit
I made your feelings known.
I manned the phones and held the line
Against religious freaks,
I trained to give words of advice
When you were suffering.
I've given up my evenings
And all anonymity,
You fucked me off, I held my tongue,
I didn't cause a scene.
When you were sick I comforted,
I took the time to care -
Though others washed their hands of you
I made sure I stood near
To let you know you're worth it,
That I love you as you are,
But sometimes I have to admit
You make it fucking hard.
You do nothing for yourselves
But it's me that gets the blame
When things go wrong, I'm on my own
To hell with what we've gained
And if I should show my differences
From all the rest of you
You treat me like a lepper,
Words of friendship ring untrue.
Eight years, and now looking back
What have I got to show?
I really did believe in you
But now I just don't know.
DannyR
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
The Heron And The Crab
Long ago, in the days of the First Kingdom, a beautiful heron lived by the side of a pond. She was a lazy creature, and one day she devised a plan that would allow her to get a supply of fish to eat without doing much work. She went to the side of the pond as the sun rose in the sky, and there she sat with a gloomy face all morning. She sat there so long, without attempting to catch any fish, that she was eventually noticed by an old crab, which also lived in the pond.
Seeing the heron’s gloomy face, the crab asked her what the matter was.The heron said, “Alas! I overheard a group of fishermen talking about catching all the fish in this pond, leaving it empty. I am worried, for I also depend on the fish in this pond for food. I know of another pond some little distance away, where all the fish could continue to live in safety, and I would gladly carry them there, a few each day, but I fear they will not trust me.”
“That is indeed terrible news,” the crab replied. “But do not worry! The fish will certainly trust me, I will tell them of your plan.” And the crab scuttled away to inform the fish. Hearing of their imminent peril, all the fish were eager to make use of the heron in reaching a safe destination.So everyday thereafter a small number of fish would volunteer to go with the heron, who would take them gently in her beak, and set off toward the new pond she had described. However, each day, on reaching a large rock that stood not far from the fishes’ own pond, the heron would gobble up the fish she carried, leaving the bones there where they could not be seen. And thus she was able to get a continuous supply of fish with no effort at all.
But curiosity got the better of the crab, and one day it volunteered to go with the heron to the new pond. “The fishermen you told me about have not appeared,” it said, “and I am eager to see how my friends are enjoying their new home.”
At first, the heron protested, but when she saw that the crab would not be refused, she consented to take it with her.
When the heron and the crab approached the rock, the crab saw the bones of the fish all scattered on the ground, and it realised the horrid trick the heron had been playing on the poor fish. Enraged, it tightened its claws around the long, slender neck of the heron and snapped her wicked head off. Then it hurried back to the pond and told all the fish about the lies the heron had been telling. The fish wept at having been so deceived, and the crab wept with them, for it was the one who had convinced the fish to trust the heron in the first place, and it was full of remorse.
And so, dear children, be careful that you do not believe the lies of those who would hurt you, and be content where you are, whatever your situation, lest a fate like that of the foolish fish should befall you also. And remember also those that deceive, that lie and cheat from laziness, will come to a bad end eventually.
Seeing the heron’s gloomy face, the crab asked her what the matter was.The heron said, “Alas! I overheard a group of fishermen talking about catching all the fish in this pond, leaving it empty. I am worried, for I also depend on the fish in this pond for food. I know of another pond some little distance away, where all the fish could continue to live in safety, and I would gladly carry them there, a few each day, but I fear they will not trust me.”
“That is indeed terrible news,” the crab replied. “But do not worry! The fish will certainly trust me, I will tell them of your plan.” And the crab scuttled away to inform the fish. Hearing of their imminent peril, all the fish were eager to make use of the heron in reaching a safe destination.So everyday thereafter a small number of fish would volunteer to go with the heron, who would take them gently in her beak, and set off toward the new pond she had described. However, each day, on reaching a large rock that stood not far from the fishes’ own pond, the heron would gobble up the fish she carried, leaving the bones there where they could not be seen. And thus she was able to get a continuous supply of fish with no effort at all.
But curiosity got the better of the crab, and one day it volunteered to go with the heron to the new pond. “The fishermen you told me about have not appeared,” it said, “and I am eager to see how my friends are enjoying their new home.”
At first, the heron protested, but when she saw that the crab would not be refused, she consented to take it with her.
When the heron and the crab approached the rock, the crab saw the bones of the fish all scattered on the ground, and it realised the horrid trick the heron had been playing on the poor fish. Enraged, it tightened its claws around the long, slender neck of the heron and snapped her wicked head off. Then it hurried back to the pond and told all the fish about the lies the heron had been telling. The fish wept at having been so deceived, and the crab wept with them, for it was the one who had convinced the fish to trust the heron in the first place, and it was full of remorse.
And so, dear children, be careful that you do not believe the lies of those who would hurt you, and be content where you are, whatever your situation, lest a fate like that of the foolish fish should befall you also. And remember also those that deceive, that lie and cheat from laziness, will come to a bad end eventually.
Friday, April 25, 2008
The Servant and the Serpent
Once upon a time there lived a poor but wise Brahman. He worked hard in his fields all the days of his life, until his feet were blistered and his back was bent from toil, but all his efforts did not bear fruit. Many nights he lay awake, wondering how he had offended the gods, that they should choose not to reward his labour.
Then one day he discovered an anthill in a corner of his field and there, coiled upon it, he found a beautiful green serpent. As he gazed upon it, he realized that it was the guardian deity of his field, and that he had not paid respect to it. “Surely this is why my labour is fruitless,” he said to himself, and bowed himself down to the serpent. Feeling that this was not enough, he ran to his house and fetched a saucer and a jug of milk, and returned to the anthill with them. There, he filled the saucer with milk and set it before the serpent, then he bowed again, and returned to his house.
The next morning, the Brahman went back to the anthill, and there, sitting upon it just as it had the day before, was the serpent, looking pleased. The saucer he had left there was now empty, and so with a smile the Brahman again fetched the jug of milk from his house, and refilled it. Then he bowed to the serpent once more, and returned to his work in the fields.
From that day onward, the Brahman placed a saucer of milk before the anthill every morning to atone for his discourtesy. He slept easily at night, knowing he had discovered his error and was making atonement, and soon his crops began to grow. This made the old Brahman joyful, and so one day when he visited his neighbours he told them of the change in his fortunes, praising the guardian deity of the field.
The following morning, when the Brahman returned to the anthill with milk, he found a gold coin sitting in the empty saucer. Overjoyed, he bowed himself low to the serpent, praising it exceedingly, thanking it for its great generosity. Then he took the coin, and refilled the saucer, and went back to his house. He did not return to his work in the fields that day, but sent his servant to bring his neighbours, and he prepared a feast in honour of the serpent.
Every day thereafter, when the Brahman replenished the saucer of milk by the anthill, he found another gold coin. His crops grew well, and very soon he was the richest man in the district. All was well, but still the Brahman was not completely happy, for he was lonely and becoming very old. He began to think about getting married, but as there were no suitable brides in his district, he would have to travel to a town many miles away.
Eventually, having made up his mind, the old Brahman made preparations for the journey, but before he left he summoned his servant before him. “You must not forget to honour the serpent by feeding it milk every morning,” he instructed the boy. “I will not be gone for long, but it is very important that you do as I ask.”
The servant promised to do as he had been told, and so the old Brahman saddled up his mule and set off on his journey smiling, knowing his house and fields would be well looked after in his absence.
But the boy was greedy and he thought, “Surely, this anthill must be full of gold coins. What good is just one coin a day? I will get the whole lot, and then I will be rich, and will run away.” And so, instead of taking milk to the anthill the next morning as he had been instructed, the servant took a rod and struck the serpent, hoping to kill it. But the serpent could not be killed, and it attacked the wicked boy and wounded him fatally. The servant died before he could even return to the house, and fell in the field, holding the rod with which he had struck the serpent. The birds came and plucked out his eyes and picked at his flesh.
Thus did the Brahman find him when he and his new wife returned some weeks later, and so the old man knew what had happened. He cried out in alarm, and went immediately to the anthill, but the beautiful serpent was no longer there, it had departed in anger, cursing the Brahman’s fields forever.
And so do not be greedy, dear children, for you risk the anger of the gods, and they will take their vengeance upon you and all in your household. Instead be thankful for what you have, and honour those to whom you owe respect.
DannyR
Then one day he discovered an anthill in a corner of his field and there, coiled upon it, he found a beautiful green serpent. As he gazed upon it, he realized that it was the guardian deity of his field, and that he had not paid respect to it. “Surely this is why my labour is fruitless,” he said to himself, and bowed himself down to the serpent. Feeling that this was not enough, he ran to his house and fetched a saucer and a jug of milk, and returned to the anthill with them. There, he filled the saucer with milk and set it before the serpent, then he bowed again, and returned to his house.
The next morning, the Brahman went back to the anthill, and there, sitting upon it just as it had the day before, was the serpent, looking pleased. The saucer he had left there was now empty, and so with a smile the Brahman again fetched the jug of milk from his house, and refilled it. Then he bowed to the serpent once more, and returned to his work in the fields.
From that day onward, the Brahman placed a saucer of milk before the anthill every morning to atone for his discourtesy. He slept easily at night, knowing he had discovered his error and was making atonement, and soon his crops began to grow. This made the old Brahman joyful, and so one day when he visited his neighbours he told them of the change in his fortunes, praising the guardian deity of the field.
The following morning, when the Brahman returned to the anthill with milk, he found a gold coin sitting in the empty saucer. Overjoyed, he bowed himself low to the serpent, praising it exceedingly, thanking it for its great generosity. Then he took the coin, and refilled the saucer, and went back to his house. He did not return to his work in the fields that day, but sent his servant to bring his neighbours, and he prepared a feast in honour of the serpent.
Every day thereafter, when the Brahman replenished the saucer of milk by the anthill, he found another gold coin. His crops grew well, and very soon he was the richest man in the district. All was well, but still the Brahman was not completely happy, for he was lonely and becoming very old. He began to think about getting married, but as there were no suitable brides in his district, he would have to travel to a town many miles away.
Eventually, having made up his mind, the old Brahman made preparations for the journey, but before he left he summoned his servant before him. “You must not forget to honour the serpent by feeding it milk every morning,” he instructed the boy. “I will not be gone for long, but it is very important that you do as I ask.”
The servant promised to do as he had been told, and so the old Brahman saddled up his mule and set off on his journey smiling, knowing his house and fields would be well looked after in his absence.
But the boy was greedy and he thought, “Surely, this anthill must be full of gold coins. What good is just one coin a day? I will get the whole lot, and then I will be rich, and will run away.” And so, instead of taking milk to the anthill the next morning as he had been instructed, the servant took a rod and struck the serpent, hoping to kill it. But the serpent could not be killed, and it attacked the wicked boy and wounded him fatally. The servant died before he could even return to the house, and fell in the field, holding the rod with which he had struck the serpent. The birds came and plucked out his eyes and picked at his flesh.
Thus did the Brahman find him when he and his new wife returned some weeks later, and so the old man knew what had happened. He cried out in alarm, and went immediately to the anthill, but the beautiful serpent was no longer there, it had departed in anger, cursing the Brahman’s fields forever.
And so do not be greedy, dear children, for you risk the anger of the gods, and they will take their vengeance upon you and all in your household. Instead be thankful for what you have, and honour those to whom you owe respect.
DannyR
Monday, April 21, 2008
Remembrance
There is no going back
It's a thing you come to learn,
As much as you might wish it
You know there is no return.
People change, affections fade,
We all move on with our lives,
That once held dear's forgotten -
Feelings swept out with the tide.
We find ourselves bent double
By the burden of the years,
We drag our feet in weariness
But still there come no tears.
For we know to just keep going
Never pausing to reflect,
Grievances we cherish look
Different in retrospect.
No, there is no going back,
All we have is what we feel,
And the bitter recollection that
Some wounds go too deep to heal.
DannyR
It's a thing you come to learn,
As much as you might wish it
You know there is no return.
People change, affections fade,
We all move on with our lives,
That once held dear's forgotten -
Feelings swept out with the tide.
We find ourselves bent double
By the burden of the years,
We drag our feet in weariness
But still there come no tears.
For we know to just keep going
Never pausing to reflect,
Grievances we cherish look
Different in retrospect.
No, there is no going back,
All we have is what we feel,
And the bitter recollection that
Some wounds go too deep to heal.
DannyR
Friday, April 18, 2008
TAGGED!!
First, post the rules:
- Each blogger starts with ten random facts/habits about themselves.
- Bloggers that are tagged need to write on their own blog about their ten things and post these rules.
- At the end of your blog, you need to choose ten people to get tagged and list their names.
- Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
1) The first girl I ever fell head over heels for was the biggest bitch I have ever known. She was stunning, her hair was straight and snow-white blonde (not from a bottle, either), it fell to her waist (she never wore it up) and it bounced and swayed as she walked. She was a dancer, so she moved gracefully and was incredibly slim. She was taller than me, and she had freckles across her nose. Her name was Charity, which was kind of ironic, really, because she was unrelenting in her cruelty. Not that she ever swore at me or anything like that, no she was always smiling, and her voice was like honey. Her evil power was in her unerring ability to detect what people were most insecure about and draw attention to it in front of everyone, again and again, smiling sweetly as she did so. She humiliated me all through my teenage years, by saying things like "What on earth possessed you to wear that, sweetie?" and laughing gently at my stature and... other physical attributes... in front of her friends. And I was so smitten that I stumbled over myself trying not to look silly, and making more of a laughing stock of myself in the process.
2) The last time my dad came to visit me in Wellington (a few years back now) I heard him knock at the door and immediately hid under my bed where he wouldn't see me if he looked through the window. I stayed there for nearly three hours, listening to him banging on the door and swearing, hearing him walk around the house and look in through all the windows. Why didn't I just let him in? Because he annoys the hell out of me, showing up unannounced, talking about me to my flatmates as if I wasn't there, saying what he thinks is 'wrong with' me, insulting his hosts and saying every racist, homophobic, chauvanist thing that comes into his Christ-polluted head. Don't get me wrong, he's not saying these things like an ordinary Christian would... he's ANGRY when he says them, and when he gets angry he scares me half-to-death. Ordinary Christians would be horrified, I think, to hear him talking. And he's a minister. Go figure.
3) I cannot save money for the life of me. It's not even that I spend it on stuff, when I look at my bank statement it all seems to have gone on food, rent, power etc. But there's never any left over, and it doesn't matter how much I'm getting on a weekly basis. I think I eat too much.
4) I often fall asleep fantasizing about not waking up, wondering who would find me, what they would find, how they would go about packing up my stuff and distributing it among my family and friends or disposing of it. I wonder if anyone knows me well enough to work out what sort of commemmoration or service I'd want, and who would show up.
5) I had a secret world as a kid, more in my head than anywhere in my real life exactly. It was modelled on a quiet inner-city park I'd found one time when my mum had taken my little brother and me to visit my aunt Thelma and her husband Roy. It was over their back fence, and screened off on all sides by tall trees (I think they were poplars). In the middle of it was a fallen tree trunk, it was thick, hollow, and crawling with spiders and bugs, but I sat there on it enjoying the sunshine until I heard my mum calling for me an hour or so later. Aunt Thelma moved when Roy died, and I never found the place again, but it's still there in my head, I can picture it perfectly, and I escape there whenever I just want 'me' time.
6) I always wanted to be a writer... I still do. I have, under my bed, a good 300 pages of a couple of stories I've partly written. One of the main ways I waste time instead of doing my study is by typing what I've got so far. I think I'm very good at coming up with ideas, but quite poor at taking them to their conclusion, and so I guess I'll never write a book. I think it's because on some level I feel like it's not 'real work' and it would be selfish of me to pursue it.
7) I'm really ashamed of the fact that I did dance classes as a kid... ballet, tap, contemporary, jazz... and I got high marks in the exams. I absolutely hated it, but I loved being on stage, and I knew it made my mum proud so I kept up with it until I was fourteen and was just getting hassled too much by other kids my age. I got bullied a lot for it in primary school, so all through intermediate and high school I tried to hide the fact that I had done it, but it wasn't much good. I was getting called 'faggot' 'poof' and 'queer' before I even knew what the words meant. Retrospectively, I can't help but wonder if that has something to do with who I actually turned into.
8) I once pretended to have lost my wallet and driver's license at a party at someone's house, just so I could ask the guy who lived there to look for it and get back to me. He was one of the most attractive guys I've ever met, and of course I knew he was WAAAYY out of my league but it didn't stop me from obsessing over him for months.
9) I feel like I've lived enough, in that many different places, as that many different versions of me, that the one thing I want in all the world is rest, to not have to be anyone or anything, to not have to think or care or feel anything anymore. I'm feel exhausted, worn out, "thin, like butter spread over too much bread," to use Bilbo Baggins' expression.
10) If I could crawl inside a story, it would have to be 'The Last Continent' by Terry Pratchett, or in fact any of his Rincewind stories. I'd love to be just swept away in the insanity, it would be something new, vibrant and interesting. Rincewind's world conforms to no rules, nothing has to make sense, the only certainty being that you don't piss off The Luggage, or you get eaten. 'The Last Continent' is, I think, Pratchett's most ridiculous story, and it always makes me laugh my socks off.
- Each blogger starts with ten random facts/habits about themselves.
- Bloggers that are tagged need to write on their own blog about their ten things and post these rules.
- At the end of your blog, you need to choose ten people to get tagged and list their names.
- Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
1) The first girl I ever fell head over heels for was the biggest bitch I have ever known. She was stunning, her hair was straight and snow-white blonde (not from a bottle, either), it fell to her waist (she never wore it up) and it bounced and swayed as she walked. She was a dancer, so she moved gracefully and was incredibly slim. She was taller than me, and she had freckles across her nose. Her name was Charity, which was kind of ironic, really, because she was unrelenting in her cruelty. Not that she ever swore at me or anything like that, no she was always smiling, and her voice was like honey. Her evil power was in her unerring ability to detect what people were most insecure about and draw attention to it in front of everyone, again and again, smiling sweetly as she did so. She humiliated me all through my teenage years, by saying things like "What on earth possessed you to wear that, sweetie?" and laughing gently at my stature and... other physical attributes... in front of her friends. And I was so smitten that I stumbled over myself trying not to look silly, and making more of a laughing stock of myself in the process.
2) The last time my dad came to visit me in Wellington (a few years back now) I heard him knock at the door and immediately hid under my bed where he wouldn't see me if he looked through the window. I stayed there for nearly three hours, listening to him banging on the door and swearing, hearing him walk around the house and look in through all the windows. Why didn't I just let him in? Because he annoys the hell out of me, showing up unannounced, talking about me to my flatmates as if I wasn't there, saying what he thinks is 'wrong with' me, insulting his hosts and saying every racist, homophobic, chauvanist thing that comes into his Christ-polluted head. Don't get me wrong, he's not saying these things like an ordinary Christian would... he's ANGRY when he says them, and when he gets angry he scares me half-to-death. Ordinary Christians would be horrified, I think, to hear him talking. And he's a minister. Go figure.
3) I cannot save money for the life of me. It's not even that I spend it on stuff, when I look at my bank statement it all seems to have gone on food, rent, power etc. But there's never any left over, and it doesn't matter how much I'm getting on a weekly basis. I think I eat too much.
4) I often fall asleep fantasizing about not waking up, wondering who would find me, what they would find, how they would go about packing up my stuff and distributing it among my family and friends or disposing of it. I wonder if anyone knows me well enough to work out what sort of commemmoration or service I'd want, and who would show up.
5) I had a secret world as a kid, more in my head than anywhere in my real life exactly. It was modelled on a quiet inner-city park I'd found one time when my mum had taken my little brother and me to visit my aunt Thelma and her husband Roy. It was over their back fence, and screened off on all sides by tall trees (I think they were poplars). In the middle of it was a fallen tree trunk, it was thick, hollow, and crawling with spiders and bugs, but I sat there on it enjoying the sunshine until I heard my mum calling for me an hour or so later. Aunt Thelma moved when Roy died, and I never found the place again, but it's still there in my head, I can picture it perfectly, and I escape there whenever I just want 'me' time.
6) I always wanted to be a writer... I still do. I have, under my bed, a good 300 pages of a couple of stories I've partly written. One of the main ways I waste time instead of doing my study is by typing what I've got so far. I think I'm very good at coming up with ideas, but quite poor at taking them to their conclusion, and so I guess I'll never write a book. I think it's because on some level I feel like it's not 'real work' and it would be selfish of me to pursue it.
7) I'm really ashamed of the fact that I did dance classes as a kid... ballet, tap, contemporary, jazz... and I got high marks in the exams. I absolutely hated it, but I loved being on stage, and I knew it made my mum proud so I kept up with it until I was fourteen and was just getting hassled too much by other kids my age. I got bullied a lot for it in primary school, so all through intermediate and high school I tried to hide the fact that I had done it, but it wasn't much good. I was getting called 'faggot' 'poof' and 'queer' before I even knew what the words meant. Retrospectively, I can't help but wonder if that has something to do with who I actually turned into.
8) I once pretended to have lost my wallet and driver's license at a party at someone's house, just so I could ask the guy who lived there to look for it and get back to me. He was one of the most attractive guys I've ever met, and of course I knew he was WAAAYY out of my league but it didn't stop me from obsessing over him for months.
9) I feel like I've lived enough, in that many different places, as that many different versions of me, that the one thing I want in all the world is rest, to not have to be anyone or anything, to not have to think or care or feel anything anymore. I'm feel exhausted, worn out, "thin, like butter spread over too much bread," to use Bilbo Baggins' expression.
10) If I could crawl inside a story, it would have to be 'The Last Continent' by Terry Pratchett, or in fact any of his Rincewind stories. I'd love to be just swept away in the insanity, it would be something new, vibrant and interesting. Rincewind's world conforms to no rules, nothing has to make sense, the only certainty being that you don't piss off The Luggage, or you get eaten. 'The Last Continent' is, I think, Pratchett's most ridiculous story, and it always makes me laugh my socks off.
TAGGED!!
Post the rules:
- Each blogger starts with ten random facts/habits about themselves.
- Bloggers that are tagged need to write on their own blog about their ten things and post these rules.
- At the end of your blog, you need to choose ten people to get tagged and list their names.
- Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
1) The first girl I ever fell head over heels for was the biggest bitch I have ever known. She was stunning, her hair was straight and snow-white blonde (not from a bottle, either), it fell to her waist (she never wore it up) and it bounced and swayed as she walked. She was a dancer, so she moved gracefully and was incredibly slim. She was taller than me, and she had freckles across her nose. Her name was Charity, which was kind of ironic, really, because she was unrelenting in her cruelty. Not that she ever swore at me or anything like that, no she was always smiling, and her voice was like honey. Her evil power was in her unerring ability to detect what people were most insecure about and draw attention to it in front of everyone, again and again, smiling sweetly as she did so. She humiliated me all through my teenage years, by saying things like "What on earth possessed you to wear that, sweetie?" and laughing gently at my stature and... other physical attributes... in front of her friends. And I was so smitten that I stumbled over myself trying not to look silly, and making more of a laughing stock of myself in the process.
2) The last time my dad came to visit me in Wellington (a few years back now) I heard him knock at the door and immediately hid under my bed where he wouldn't see me if he looked through the window. I stayed there for nearly three hours, listening to him banging on the door and swearing, hearing him walk around the house and look in through all the windows. Why didn't I just let him in? Because he annoys the hell out of me, showing up unannounced, talking about me to my flatmates as if I wasn't there, saying what he thinks is 'wrong with' me, insulting his hosts and saying every racist, homophobic, chauvanist thing that comes into his Christ-polluted head. Don't get me wrong, he's not saying these things like an ordinary Christian would... he's ANGRY when he says them, and when he gets angry he scares me half-to-death. Ordinary Christians would be horrified, I think, to hear him talking. And he's a minister. Go figure.
3) I cannot save money for the life of me. It's not even that I spend it on stuff, when I look at my bank statement it all seems to have gone on food, rent, power etc. But there's never any left over, and it doesn't matter how much I'm getting on a weekly basis. I think I eat too much.
4) I often fall asleep fantasizing about not waking up, wondering who would find me, what they would find, how they would go about packing up my stuff and distributing it among my family and friends or disposing of it. I wonder if anyone knows me well enough to work out what sort of commemmoration or service I'd want, and who would show up.
5) I had a secret world as a kid, more in my head than anywhere in my real life exactly. It was modelled on a quiet inner-city park I'd found one time when my mum had taken my little brother and me to visit my aunt Thelma and her husband Roy. It was over their back fence, and screened off on all sides by tall trees (I think they were poplars). In the middle of it was a fallen tree trunk, it was thick, hollow, and crawling with spiders and bugs, but I sat there on it enjoying the sunshine until I heard my mum calling for me an hour or so later. Aunt Thelma moved when Roy died, and I never found the place again, but it's still there in my head, I can picture it perfectly, and I escape there whenever I just want 'me' time.
6) I always wanted to be a writer... I still do. I have, under my bed, a good 300 pages of a couple of stories I've partly written. One of the main ways I waste time instead of doing my study is by typing what I've got so far. I think I'm very good at coming up with ideas, but quite poor at taking them to their conclusion, and so I guess I'll never write a book. I think it's because on some level I feel like it's not 'real work' and it would be selfish of me to pursue it.
7) I'm really ashamed of the fact that I did dance classes as a kid... ballet, tap, contemporary, jazz... and I got high marks in the exams. I absolutely hated it, but I loved being on stage, and I knew it made my mum proud so I kept up with it until I was fourteen and was just getting hassled too much by other kids my age. I got bullied a lot for it in primary school, so all through intermediate and high school I tried to hide the fact that I had done it, but it wasn't much good. I was getting called 'faggot' 'poof' and 'queer' before I even knew what the words meant. Retrospectively, I can't help but wonder if that has something to do with who I actually turned into.
8) I once pretended to have lost my wallet and driver's license at a party at someone's house, just so I could ask the guy who lived there to look for it and get back to me. He was one of the most attractive guys I've ever met, and of course I knew he was WAAAYY out of my league but it didn't stop me from obsessing over him for months.
9) I feel like I've lived enough, in that many different places, as that many different versions of me, that the one thing I want in all the world is rest, to not have to be anyone or anything, to not have to think or care or feel anything anymore. I'm feel exhausted, worn out, "thin, like butter spread over too much bread," to use Bilbo Baggins' expression.
10) If I could crawl inside a story, it would have to be 'The Last Continent' by Terry Pratchett, or in fact any of his Rincewind stories. I'd love to be just swept away in the insanity, it would be something new, vibrant and interesting. Rincewind's world conforms to no rules, nothing has to make sense, the only certainty being that you don't piss off The Luggage, or you get eaten. 'The Last Continent' is, I think, Pratchett's most ridiculous story, and it always makes me laugh my socks off.
DannyR
- Each blogger starts with ten random facts/habits about themselves.
- Bloggers that are tagged need to write on their own blog about their ten things and post these rules.
- At the end of your blog, you need to choose ten people to get tagged and list their names.
- Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
1) The first girl I ever fell head over heels for was the biggest bitch I have ever known. She was stunning, her hair was straight and snow-white blonde (not from a bottle, either), it fell to her waist (she never wore it up) and it bounced and swayed as she walked. She was a dancer, so she moved gracefully and was incredibly slim. She was taller than me, and she had freckles across her nose. Her name was Charity, which was kind of ironic, really, because she was unrelenting in her cruelty. Not that she ever swore at me or anything like that, no she was always smiling, and her voice was like honey. Her evil power was in her unerring ability to detect what people were most insecure about and draw attention to it in front of everyone, again and again, smiling sweetly as she did so. She humiliated me all through my teenage years, by saying things like "What on earth possessed you to wear that, sweetie?" and laughing gently at my stature and... other physical attributes... in front of her friends. And I was so smitten that I stumbled over myself trying not to look silly, and making more of a laughing stock of myself in the process.
2) The last time my dad came to visit me in Wellington (a few years back now) I heard him knock at the door and immediately hid under my bed where he wouldn't see me if he looked through the window. I stayed there for nearly three hours, listening to him banging on the door and swearing, hearing him walk around the house and look in through all the windows. Why didn't I just let him in? Because he annoys the hell out of me, showing up unannounced, talking about me to my flatmates as if I wasn't there, saying what he thinks is 'wrong with' me, insulting his hosts and saying every racist, homophobic, chauvanist thing that comes into his Christ-polluted head. Don't get me wrong, he's not saying these things like an ordinary Christian would... he's ANGRY when he says them, and when he gets angry he scares me half-to-death. Ordinary Christians would be horrified, I think, to hear him talking. And he's a minister. Go figure.
3) I cannot save money for the life of me. It's not even that I spend it on stuff, when I look at my bank statement it all seems to have gone on food, rent, power etc. But there's never any left over, and it doesn't matter how much I'm getting on a weekly basis. I think I eat too much.
4) I often fall asleep fantasizing about not waking up, wondering who would find me, what they would find, how they would go about packing up my stuff and distributing it among my family and friends or disposing of it. I wonder if anyone knows me well enough to work out what sort of commemmoration or service I'd want, and who would show up.
5) I had a secret world as a kid, more in my head than anywhere in my real life exactly. It was modelled on a quiet inner-city park I'd found one time when my mum had taken my little brother and me to visit my aunt Thelma and her husband Roy. It was over their back fence, and screened off on all sides by tall trees (I think they were poplars). In the middle of it was a fallen tree trunk, it was thick, hollow, and crawling with spiders and bugs, but I sat there on it enjoying the sunshine until I heard my mum calling for me an hour or so later. Aunt Thelma moved when Roy died, and I never found the place again, but it's still there in my head, I can picture it perfectly, and I escape there whenever I just want 'me' time.
6) I always wanted to be a writer... I still do. I have, under my bed, a good 300 pages of a couple of stories I've partly written. One of the main ways I waste time instead of doing my study is by typing what I've got so far. I think I'm very good at coming up with ideas, but quite poor at taking them to their conclusion, and so I guess I'll never write a book. I think it's because on some level I feel like it's not 'real work' and it would be selfish of me to pursue it.
7) I'm really ashamed of the fact that I did dance classes as a kid... ballet, tap, contemporary, jazz... and I got high marks in the exams. I absolutely hated it, but I loved being on stage, and I knew it made my mum proud so I kept up with it until I was fourteen and was just getting hassled too much by other kids my age. I got bullied a lot for it in primary school, so all through intermediate and high school I tried to hide the fact that I had done it, but it wasn't much good. I was getting called 'faggot' 'poof' and 'queer' before I even knew what the words meant. Retrospectively, I can't help but wonder if that has something to do with who I actually turned into.
8) I once pretended to have lost my wallet and driver's license at a party at someone's house, just so I could ask the guy who lived there to look for it and get back to me. He was one of the most attractive guys I've ever met, and of course I knew he was WAAAYY out of my league but it didn't stop me from obsessing over him for months.
9) I feel like I've lived enough, in that many different places, as that many different versions of me, that the one thing I want in all the world is rest, to not have to be anyone or anything, to not have to think or care or feel anything anymore. I'm feel exhausted, worn out, "thin, like butter spread over too much bread," to use Bilbo Baggins' expression.
10) If I could crawl inside a story, it would have to be 'The Last Continent' by Terry Pratchett, or in fact any of his Rincewind stories. I'd love to be just swept away in the insanity, it would be something new, vibrant and interesting. Rincewind's world conforms to no rules, nothing has to make sense, the only certainty being that you don't piss off The Luggage, or you get eaten. 'The Last Continent' is, I think, Pratchett's most ridiculous story, and it always makes me laugh my socks off.
DannyR
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
The First Two Poems I Ever Wrote...
Ode To A Pea
O little pea, so small and round
No greener vege can there be found!
You and your friends sit, small and neat
Between my pumpkin and my meat.
I know, O Pea, you are not odd
For you came from a small green pod
I'll eat you but don't think I'm mean
I know it's not easy, being green.
- DannyR (age 14?)
Lunch?
A plate, a fork, a knife, a spoon
A shame to be eating soup at noon.
I'd rather have sliced banana on toast
Or gravy and dumplings, and succulent roast.
I'd like chocolate cake, or strawberry jam
Icecream, or gherkins with cold juicy ham -
But alas, alack, this soup I slurp
This tasteless slop I gargle and burp
What was I thinking? Why did I try it?
This goo's enough to make me diet.
How I long for something remotely like food,
With a colour less like chicken poo.
Something fresh, not stale and old
Not reeking like a gangrenous mould.
Can't I have something hearty to munch?
(God give me a meal that deserves the name 'Lunch').
- DannyR (age 14?)
O little pea, so small and round
No greener vege can there be found!
You and your friends sit, small and neat
Between my pumpkin and my meat.
I know, O Pea, you are not odd
For you came from a small green pod
I'll eat you but don't think I'm mean
I know it's not easy, being green.
- DannyR (age 14?)
Lunch?
A plate, a fork, a knife, a spoon
A shame to be eating soup at noon.
I'd rather have sliced banana on toast
Or gravy and dumplings, and succulent roast.
I'd like chocolate cake, or strawberry jam
Icecream, or gherkins with cold juicy ham -
But alas, alack, this soup I slurp
This tasteless slop I gargle and burp
What was I thinking? Why did I try it?
This goo's enough to make me diet.
How I long for something remotely like food,
With a colour less like chicken poo.
Something fresh, not stale and old
Not reeking like a gangrenous mould.
Can't I have something hearty to munch?
(God give me a meal that deserves the name 'Lunch').
- DannyR (age 14?)
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Matt
Sometimes when I see him
The word 'Love' springs to mind
There are few who speak to me
In tones so sweet and kind.
His wavy hair, his generous smile
His eyes as black as coals
That voice, so deep and rich and warm
It melts my very soul.
But then, I hardly know him so
Maybe 'Love' is not the word.
I'll ignore my heart's insistence -
Best develop a resistance,
Maybe get a little distance?
And reap the cost incurred.
The word 'Love' springs to mind
There are few who speak to me
In tones so sweet and kind.
His wavy hair, his generous smile
His eyes as black as coals
That voice, so deep and rich and warm
It melts my very soul.
But then, I hardly know him so
Maybe 'Love' is not the word.
I'll ignore my heart's insistence -
Best develop a resistance,
Maybe get a little distance?
And reap the cost incurred.
Gentle Punishment, Administered daily
I myself am quite surprised
How masochism took me,
I never would have dreamed that I'd
Debase myself so freely.
And yet it's not in bruises
That I count the wounds received,
My punishment and prize is in
The words you speak to me.
For when you look my way
And call me by my name,
I want to run, I want to die -
Beside you I'm ashamed.
You are so very beautiful,
So poised and clear and calm
You, the candle, I, the moth,
The flame will do me harm.
Yet I cannot break away, for
By you I'm hypnotised.
I find my sweet destruction
In the blackness of your eyes.
To you I'm but a passer-by,
Not worth a second glance -
To me you are salvation,
Just beyond my grasp.
When you speak to me,
The painful thought, unbidden
Springs to mind that I
Must slink away, alone, guilt-ridden.
For if you knew the way I melt
At each and every word
You'd shy from me,
Your smile, you see
Is more than I deserve.
Wanting that I cannot have-
The touch I am denied -
I dream of being whole again
Instead of one defiled.
My self respect in tatters,
Crying in the bathroom stall
I wish that I was someone else
-Anyone at all.
DannyR
How masochism took me,
I never would have dreamed that I'd
Debase myself so freely.
And yet it's not in bruises
That I count the wounds received,
My punishment and prize is in
The words you speak to me.
For when you look my way
And call me by my name,
I want to run, I want to die -
Beside you I'm ashamed.
You are so very beautiful,
So poised and clear and calm
You, the candle, I, the moth,
The flame will do me harm.
Yet I cannot break away, for
By you I'm hypnotised.
I find my sweet destruction
In the blackness of your eyes.
To you I'm but a passer-by,
Not worth a second glance -
To me you are salvation,
Just beyond my grasp.
When you speak to me,
The painful thought, unbidden
Springs to mind that I
Must slink away, alone, guilt-ridden.
For if you knew the way I melt
At each and every word
You'd shy from me,
Your smile, you see
Is more than I deserve.
Wanting that I cannot have-
The touch I am denied -
I dream of being whole again
Instead of one defiled.
My self respect in tatters,
Crying in the bathroom stall
I wish that I was someone else
-Anyone at all.
DannyR
Friday, April 11, 2008
On Limerance
Limerance, or 'fallen-in-love-ness', (in German, Verliebtheit), is directed at a Limerant Object, it is the experience of having a crush on or being infatuated with someone for days or even years, and is characterised by
(i) intrusive thinking about the Limerant Object,
(ii) a pronounced sensitivity to external events that reflect the disposition of the Limerant Object toward the individual,
(iii) a shyness around the Limerant Object and intense fear of rejection,
(iv) the ability to focus only on the Object's positive traits and/or turn their negatives into positives,
(v) an acute longing for reciprocation, without necessarily thinking of the Object's own welfare, and fleeting relief through fantasy of fulfillment, and
(vi) the ability to devise reasonable explanations for why the Object is 'hiding' their reciprocative feelings.
It is experienced as intense joy or extreme despair, putting other concerns into the background, it tends to increase as barriers to togetherness increase, it demands reciprocity but oddly enough often evaporates after reciprocity is established. Not for nothing was this rather bizarre set of feelings called 'Love Sickness', and indeed, throughout most of Western history, that's exactly how it was perceived. We tend to think of Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet as the ultimate story of love and devotion in this day and age, something perhaps to aspire to, and yet to the Elizabethans for whom it was written it was a cautionary tale, a tragedy, warning of the dire consequences, the sheer madness, of pursuing love.
According to Dorothy Tennov, there are three basic types of relationships:
Affectional: Neither partner is limerant, they do not report intrusive, continuous thinking about the spouse or feel intense need for exclusivity, rather, they emphasize compatibility of interest, mutual preferences in leisure activities, ability to work together and a degree of relative contentment. They are often characterised as the "Old Marrieds".
Limerant-nonlimerant: The majority of couples, characterised by unequal reciprocation, these relationships tend to last a fair while then fall apart.
Limerant-limerant: Inherently unstable, lasting only a short while.
Before the 1950s, having sex with the Limerant Object was pretty much a guarantee of reciprocity, as almost nobody was doing that before marriage and one only entered marriage when the sensible aspects of a relationship had all been worked out. These days, however, since the Sexual Revolution and the decline of marriage in the West, having sex with the Object of one's affections is no end to the uncertainty, and the majority of couples live a state of neurotic fear of abandonment. With this goes a tendency to seek to control one's partner, to dictate with whom they can spend time, in which activities they can engage and for how long. 'Prove to me that you love me' has become the mantra of the modern relationship, where once it was taken as self-evident, the ring being on the finger.
How the world turns.
- DannyR
(i) intrusive thinking about the Limerant Object,
(ii) a pronounced sensitivity to external events that reflect the disposition of the Limerant Object toward the individual,
(iii) a shyness around the Limerant Object and intense fear of rejection,
(iv) the ability to focus only on the Object's positive traits and/or turn their negatives into positives,
(v) an acute longing for reciprocation, without necessarily thinking of the Object's own welfare, and fleeting relief through fantasy of fulfillment, and
(vi) the ability to devise reasonable explanations for why the Object is 'hiding' their reciprocative feelings.
It is experienced as intense joy or extreme despair, putting other concerns into the background, it tends to increase as barriers to togetherness increase, it demands reciprocity but oddly enough often evaporates after reciprocity is established. Not for nothing was this rather bizarre set of feelings called 'Love Sickness', and indeed, throughout most of Western history, that's exactly how it was perceived. We tend to think of Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet as the ultimate story of love and devotion in this day and age, something perhaps to aspire to, and yet to the Elizabethans for whom it was written it was a cautionary tale, a tragedy, warning of the dire consequences, the sheer madness, of pursuing love.
According to Dorothy Tennov, there are three basic types of relationships:
Affectional: Neither partner is limerant, they do not report intrusive, continuous thinking about the spouse or feel intense need for exclusivity, rather, they emphasize compatibility of interest, mutual preferences in leisure activities, ability to work together and a degree of relative contentment. They are often characterised as the "Old Marrieds".
Limerant-nonlimerant: The majority of couples, characterised by unequal reciprocation, these relationships tend to last a fair while then fall apart.
Limerant-limerant: Inherently unstable, lasting only a short while.
Before the 1950s, having sex with the Limerant Object was pretty much a guarantee of reciprocity, as almost nobody was doing that before marriage and one only entered marriage when the sensible aspects of a relationship had all been worked out. These days, however, since the Sexual Revolution and the decline of marriage in the West, having sex with the Object of one's affections is no end to the uncertainty, and the majority of couples live a state of neurotic fear of abandonment. With this goes a tendency to seek to control one's partner, to dictate with whom they can spend time, in which activities they can engage and for how long. 'Prove to me that you love me' has become the mantra of the modern relationship, where once it was taken as self-evident, the ring being on the finger.
How the world turns.
- DannyR
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Coitus Interruptus
Ok, so me and Mr B have, for some time now, had outside our kitchen window a fairly impressive spiderweb. I mean, it's massive. And it has a pretty big common Orb-Web spider in it, we sometimes see her sitting waiting in the middle of her sparkly web, waiting for her lunch to drop in. I'm assuming it's a girl, because it's quite large and is quite pretty, for a spider.
Well, I was making a coffee just now, and I looked up and out the window, and there she was, sitting in her web, as usual. I smiled. And then I noticed she was entertaining a guest... another spider that I'm assuming was of the male persuasion, being that much smaller than her, and given what it was doing to her. And then I noticed what she was doing to him. She was eating him - I could see her stuffing his head into her gob and chewing him up.
I watched, utterly disgusted, but intrigued. The funny thing is, this didn't seem to be stopping the little bugger, he was going for it! Now that's what I call determination!
This intriguing little drama was unfortunately interrupted when from nowhere a dirty great wasp buzzed up behind her, and, as I watched, just stung her on the back and flew away again! That bastard!! I know it stung her because she stopped eating her boyfriend, dropped him, and started to spasm and dropped off her web. It was pitiful to watch.
Needless to say I was a bit traumatised by all this. I don't know if the wasp's sting would be enough to kill her, but I hope not. It was kind of nice seeing her there every morning... sort of like having a creepy cannibalistic monster for a neighbour, someone to say hi to over the fence as we each go about our business.*tear*
- DannyR
Well, I was making a coffee just now, and I looked up and out the window, and there she was, sitting in her web, as usual. I smiled. And then I noticed she was entertaining a guest... another spider that I'm assuming was of the male persuasion, being that much smaller than her, and given what it was doing to her. And then I noticed what she was doing to him. She was eating him - I could see her stuffing his head into her gob and chewing him up.
I watched, utterly disgusted, but intrigued. The funny thing is, this didn't seem to be stopping the little bugger, he was going for it! Now that's what I call determination!
This intriguing little drama was unfortunately interrupted when from nowhere a dirty great wasp buzzed up behind her, and, as I watched, just stung her on the back and flew away again! That bastard!! I know it stung her because she stopped eating her boyfriend, dropped him, and started to spasm and dropped off her web. It was pitiful to watch.
Needless to say I was a bit traumatised by all this. I don't know if the wasp's sting would be enough to kill her, but I hope not. It was kind of nice seeing her there every morning... sort of like having a creepy cannibalistic monster for a neighbour, someone to say hi to over the fence as we each go about our business.*tear*
- DannyR
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