DOCTORATE AND FAME AND ACHIEVEMENT (NOTE FOR A NOVEL)

Doctorate (Ph.D.) and Fame and Achievements (note for a novel) 

In October 1971,  I went to New Zealand as a graduate student in Political Science under the aegis of the Colombo Plan. I had a brutal year before I left for New Zealand. I finished my last year at Teacher’s College (called Faculty of Pedagogy then). I graduated 2nd out of 14. I gave a wrong answer in the Linguistics exam about the pronunciation of “wolf”. 

I wasn’t that pissed for coming out Second. Everybody in the class knew I should have been First for I was the best student and I didn’t study that hard. I was also taking the courses for the first year at Law School, preparing for the entrance exam to the master’s program at the Institute of Public Administration, and applying for the Colombo Plan Scholarships using the B.A. I had earned the year before at the Faculty of Letters, while carrying a torrid love affair with a French-speaking graduate student. I was spreading myself very thin. 

I succeeded in all my endeavors except for the love affair with Laura, the French-speaking graduate student. She soon dumped me shortly after my arrival in New Zealand for a guy doing Computer Science at University of Chicago. I was devastated. I loved her. She wasn’t the first girl that went through my life, but was the first one I really loved and with whom I had some carnal explorations. It took me over 30 years after multiple marriages and dozens (yes, plural) of girlfriends for me to cease having dreams about her in my sleep. I know, I was weak and stupid and sentimental. 

We will revisit her later on in the book. Anyway, on April 30, 1975, Saigon fell to the Vietcong and with that vanished my dreams of finishing my Ph.D. and becoming a professor in Vietnam. In October 1975, I had an opportunity to migrate to America. After 3 sleepless nights pondering about the opportunity, I took the plunge. I thought I could finish my Ph.D. in America, but I ran into money problems and had to find a job, any job, to support myself. To make a long story short, I earned an MBA at Roosevelt University in Chicago, with a tuition scholarship, but I didn’t resume working on my Ph.D. in Political Science. My excuse was that I needed to make money to live. 

To this day, my sisters and brother and close relatives continue expressing their disappointment in me for being a quitter. They want me to have the designation Ph.D. after my name, making the Ngo family proud. There are many members in my paternal extended Ngo family who have advanced degrees in Medicine, Law, and Humanities. 

So I had a nagging sense of shame for disappointing my kinsfolk. To compensate for the disappointment, I unconsciously tried to educate myself by reading quite widely in the humanities and popular science. Then I began to write about my struggle to battle the demons that were ravaging my soul and threatening my existence. I meant I had recurring thoughts and nighttime dreams  of inflicting extreme physical violence to several assholes that crossed the line. 

One day I realized the pieces that I had written over the years were very good and few, if any, of my peers, including though those that went on and got their doctorates, could write as well as I did. It also occurred to me that I knew far more about bookish matters than they did. I knew that in my exchanges of ideas and arguments with them in an Internet forum called Mitchong during a five-year period. I finally quit the forum in disgust and contempt of the stupid power-hungry attitude of the ignorant, stupid, and vain moderators of the forum. Most members of the forum didn’t impress me at all with their pathetic English, ideas, and arguments. They were like babes in the woods, outside their area of expertise, whereas I was and still am a mini-Renaissance man who wrote cogently on all matters. At least that has been how I have viewed myself during the last 20 years. 

A thought came to me the other day. People go to school mostly to gain sufficient skills so they can land a job. After landing the job, they try to last in their employment until they reach retirement. Meanwhile they mostly fail to develop their minds further, apart from the skills associated with their employment. They are smug and complacent with their academic degrees. 

I have reached a stage in my life where I am financially self-sufficient. I have pensions on top of my social security payments for my retirement. Now I work for nobody. I work for myself whenever I want while continuing reading, writing, and learning languages (I can navigate in 4 and have a reading knowledge of 6 others). 

I now rightly or wrongly view myself as superior, not way superior but superior nonetheless, in terms of book knowledge and the facility with the English language, to all the guys and gals I personally know that have a Ph.D. designation. I am walking tall and don’t hesitate to put all my interlocutors in their rightful place if they stupidly act uppity with me. Of course none of them has two literary books in English written in a kind of prose that elicits awe and admiration from folks in the know, as I have done with mine. I also have a lingering feeling that my name might live on in posterity, thanks to my books, whereas those doctorate holders that I personally know will die in obscurity and remain so in the posterity for they are nobody special. They have not done a damn thing that would distinguish themselves from the masses of humanity. All they have is an empty vanity and pride of having a designation of Ph. D. next to their names. 

Call me obnoxious. Call me a guy fraught and freighted with an inferiority complex. Call me whatever the fuck you want. But I dare you to get into a written debate with me in English. I have driven several Ph.D. holders to run, not walk, away from me in shame and humiliation, with their tails between their legs like dogs that they are. And it’s very likely I will do the same with/to you. 

Wissai 

July 29, 2019

EXPANDED VERSION. NIETZSCHE, CAO BA QUAT, AND WISSAI WITH REGARD TO BRAGGADOCIOS

EXPANDED VERSION. NIETZSCHE, CAO BÁ QUÁT, AND WISSAI WITH REGARD TO BRAGGADOCIOS. 

Nobody like braggarts. That’s a truism. I know that. You know that. Everybody knows that. But most human do brag. They do so for various reasons: to impress others, to lie, to boost sagging self-confidence, and maybe to deal with loneliness and solitude. 

People who possess True Modesty are quiet. They do not draw attention to themselves. On the other hand, I have seen those who regularly profess modesty are the ones that brag the most, though in a subdued and subtle and sly manner. I detest hypocrites like them. I even know one such hypocrite up close and personal. He thinks I am too dumb not to know his nature. I am impulsive, emotional, loud, and immature, but I am not very stupid. I have empathy. I have imagination. I have sensitivity. I understand how people think. I can get into the mind of my interlocutor or opponent. That’s why I am a winning small-time poker player. The way I look at bragging is like this: If you feel like bragging, do so openly, loudly but truthfully, with facts backing up your bragging. Just don’t be a sneak about it. Don’t be a coward. And don’t lie. 

I also happen to despise those untalented, stupid dumb asses who complained about the act of bragging of others and sang the virtues of Modesty. These stupid, good-for-nothing assholes complained because the act of bragging of others reminded them of their own stupidity and ignorance and their human animal existence. These assholes live a life no different from that of sub-human animals. They contribute nothing to human progress. They just pollute and degrade the human gene pool. And there are so many of them in the forums. The worst are the loudest motherfuckers who post on the daily basis the most inane, stupid, ridiculous, superstitious, mindless opinions and comments. I often wonder where they went to school and who were their parents and why they mindlessly swallowed hook, line, and sinkers what they were fed by their religious and political masters and manipulators. 

Nietzsche bragged that only Heine and he were the masters of the German language. And he was right. Nietzsche was universally admired for his prose. He was the impetus for my learning German. I said to myself that if Nietzsche came across so beautiful, so clear, so majestic and magisterial in English translation, then he must be sublime in the original.

Every educated Vietnamese knows about the bragging of Cao Bá Quát regarding his poetic gifts. He was right. When I was a teenager, I read the poems written by Nguyễn Công Trứ and CBQ. I couldn’t help noticing the marked differences in poetic qualities and thoughts. The poetry of NCT was mundane, pedestrian, and practical. The other of CBQ was sublime, ethereal, and defiant. NCT was an accomplished man in many fields but not a genius in poetry. CBQ was. 

I am a braggart, too. I don’t deny it. I am no hypocrite. I know I have been obnoxious in my braggadocios, but I don’t give a shit what people think of me. Do you really think I do? I brag in order to keep myself on my toes. I brag in order to boost myself to greater heights. I back up my bragging with facts. I’ve bragged that no fucker in the forums, including the assholes that love to affix and append the Ph.D. designation next to their names, even what they wrote had nothing to do with their field of specialty, can rival me in terms of the command of the English language. I have issued a challenge to them to a written or oral debate. I also claim that as far as I know, nobody can translate Vietnamese poetry into English as well as I do. I have just put out two literary books in English. Any motherfucker who fancies that he can write English had better read the books and ask himself if he can actually write as sublimely as I did in the books. I believe in and enjoy bragging. I don’t particularly  like to receive unsolicited advice from well-meaning folks that I should stop doing what I like. Capisce? I am seventy years of age. I know what I am doing. I have consciousness. And I don’t care for unsolicited advice that is getting too old to me. I am who I am. Take me as I am or leave me alone. 

Wissai

July 29, 2019

Addendum: 

Hàn Nho Phong Vị Phú

Tác giả: Nguyễn Công Trứ

Chém cha cái khó !

Chém cha cái khó !

Khôn khéo mấy ai ?

Xấu xa một nó !

Lục cực bày hàng sáu, rành rành kinh huấn chẳng sai,

Vạn tội lấy làm đầu, ấy ấy ngạn ngôn hẳn có.

Kìa ai:

Bốn vách tường mo,

Ba gian nhà cỏ .

Đầu kèo mọt đục vẽ sao,

Trước cửa nhện giăng màn gió .

Phên trúc ngăn nửa bếp nửa buồng,

Ống nứa đựng đầu kê đầu đỗ.

Đầu giường tre, mối dũi quanh co,

Góc tường đất, giun đùn lố nhố.

Bóng nắng dọi trứng gà bên vách, thằng bé tri trô,

Hạt mưa soi hang chuột trong nhà , con mèo ngấp ngó .

Trong cũi, lợn nằm gặm máng, đói chẳng muốn kêu,

Đầu giàn, chuột cậy khua niêu, buồn thôi lại bỏ.

Ngày ba bữa, vỗ bụng rau bịch bịch, người quân tử ăn chẳng cầu no,

Đêm năm canh, an giấc ngáy kho kho, đời thái bình cửa thường bỏ ngỏ.

Ấm trà góp lá bàng lá vối, pha mùi chát chát chua chua,

Miếng trầu têm vỏ mận vỏ dà, buồn miệng nhai nhai nhổ nhổ.

Áo vải thô nặng trịch, lạnh làm mền, nực làm gối, bốn mùa thay đổi bấy nhiêu,

Khăn lau giắt đỏ lòm, giải làm chiếu, vận làm quần, một bộ ăn chơi quá thú.

Đỡ mồ hôi, võng lác, quạt mo,

Chống hơi đất, dép da, guốc gỗ.

Miếng ăn sẵn cà non mướp luộc, ngon khéo là ngon,

Đồ chơi nhiều quạt sậy điếu tre, của đâu những của.

Đồ chuyên trà , ấm đất sứt vòi ,

Cuộc uống rượu , be sành chắp cổ .

Đồ cổ khí bức tranh treo trên vách, khói bay lem luốc, mầu thủy mạc lờ mờ,

Của tiểu đồng pho sách gác đầu giàn, gián nhấm lăm nhăm, dấu thổ châu đo đỏ.

Cỗ bài lá, ba đời cửa tướng, hàng văn sách mập mờ,

Bàn cờ săng, bảy kiếp nhà ma, chữ nhật chữ điền xiêu xó.

Lộc nhĩ điền lúa chất đầy rương,

Phương tịch cốc khoai vừa một rỏ.

Tiêu dụng lấy chi mà phao phóng, thường giữ ba cọc ba đồng,

Mùa màng dành để có bao nhiêu, chừng độ một chiêng một bó,

Mỏng lưng xem cũng không giầu,

Nhiều miệng lấy chi cho đủ .

Đến bữa chưa sẵn bữa, con trẻ khóc dường ong,

Qúa kỳ lại hẹn kỳ, nhà nợ kêu như ó .

Thuốc men rắp bòn chài gỡ bữa, song nghĩ câu ý dã, thế nào cho đáng giá lương y,

Thầy bà mong dối trá kiếm ăn, lại nghĩ chữ dũng như, phép chi được nổi danh pháp chủ.

Quẻ dã hạc toan nhờ lộc thánh, trút muối đổ biển, ta chẳng bõ bèn,

Huyệt chân long toan bán đất trời, ngôi mả táng cha, tìm còn chửa chỗ.

Buôn bán rắp theo nghề đỏ, song lạ mặt, chúng hòng rước gánh,mập mờ nên hàng chẳng có lời,

Bạc cờ toan gỡ con đen, chưa sẵn lưng, làng lại dành nơi, hỏi gạn mãi giạm không ra thổ.

Gâp khúc lươn, nên ít kẻ yêu vì,

Gương mắt ếch, biết vào đâu mượn mõ.

Đến lúc niên chung nguyệt qúy, lấy chi tiêu đồng nợ đồng công?

Gặp khi đường xẩy chân cùng, nên phải tới cửa này cửa nọ.

Thân thỉ to to nhỏ nhỏ, ta đã mỏi cẳng ngồi trì,

Dần dà nọ nọ kia kia, nó những vuốt râu làm bộ.

Thầy tớ sợ men tìm đến cửa, ngảnh mặt cúi đầu,

Chị em e vất lấm vào lưng, chìa môi nhọn mỏ.

Láng giềng ít kẻ tới nhà,

Thân thích chẳng ai nhìn họ.

Mất việc toan dở nghề cơ tắc, tủi con nhà mà hổ mặt anh em,

Túng đường mong quyết chí cùng tư, e phép nước chưa nên gan sừng sỏ.

Cùng con cháu thuở nói năng chuyện cũ, dường ngâm câu lạc đạo vong bần,

Gặp anh em khi bàn bạc sự đời, lại đọc chữ vi nhân bất phú.

Tất do thiên, âu phận ấy là thường,

Hữu kỳ đức, ắt trời kia chẳng phụ.

Tiếc tài cả phải phạn ngưu bản trúc, dấu xưa ông Phó ông Hề,

Cần nghiệp kho khi tạc bích tụ huỳnh, thuở trước chàng Khuông chàng Vũ.

Nơi thành hạ đeo cần câu cá, kìa kìa người quốc sĩ Hoài âm,

Chốn lý trung xách thớt chia phần, nọ nọ đấng mưu thần Dương võ.

Khó ai bằng Mãi Thần Mông Chính, cũng có khi ngựa cưỡi dù che,

Giàu ai bằng Vương Khải Thạch Sùng, cũng có hội tường xiêu ngói đổ .

Mới biết :

Khó bởi tại trời,

Giàu là cái số.

Dầu ai ruộng sâu trâu nái, đụn lúa kho tiền,

Cũng bất quá thủ tài chi lỗ.

Tài Tử Đa Cùng Phú

Tác giả: Cao Bá Quát

Có một người:

Khổ dạng trâm anh;

Nết na chương phủ.

Hoi miệng sữa tuổi còn giọt máu, nét hào hoa chừng ná Tân, Dương!

Chòm tóc xanh vừa chấm ngang vai, lời khí khái hẹn hò Y, Phó.

Nghiêng gợn sóng vẽ vời điển tịch, nét nhạn điểm lăn tăn!

Bút vén mây dìu dặt văn chương, vòng thuyền khuyên lỗ chỗ.

Nghiêng cánh nhạn tếch mái rừng Nhan, Khổng, chí xông pha nào quản chông gai!

Cựa đuôi kình toan vượt bể Trình, Chu, tài bay nhẩy ngại gì lao khổ!

Lắc bầu rượu dốc nghiêng non nước lại, chén tiếu đàm mời mọc Trích Tiên;

Hóng túi thơ nong hết gió trăng vào, cơn xướng hoạ thì thầm Lão Đỗ.

Tươi nét mặt thư sinh lồ lộ, bưng mặt trần toan đạp cửa phù đồ;

Rửa buồng gan du tử nhơn nhơn, giương tay Tạo rắp xoay cơn khí số.

Tưởng đến khi vinh hiển coi thường;

Song nghĩ lại trần ai đếch chỗ.

Lều nho nhỏ kéo tấm tranh lướp tướp, ngày thê lương hạt nặng giọt mưa sa;

Đèn cỏn con co chiếc chiếu loi thoi, đêm tịch mịch soi chung vừng trăng tỏ.

Áo Trọng Do bạc phếch, giãi xuân thu cho đượm sắc cần lao;

Cơm Phiếu Mẫu hẩm sì, đòi tuế nguyệt phải ngậm mùi tân khổ.

Gió trăng rơi rụng, để cái quyên gầy;

Sương tuyết hắt hiu, làm con nhạn võ.

Túi thanh bạch ngược xuôi miền khách địa, trăm nghìn đường chỉ nhện dệt thưa mau;

Đèn toan hàn thức nhắp mái nam song, dăm ba ngọn lửa huỳnh khêu nho nhỏ.

Miệng châu quế rì rầm học vấn, chị chú Tô cẳn nhẳn chỉ hiểm nghèo;

Vai tân sài đủng đỉnh ngâm nga, vợ anh Mãi băn khoăn từng kể khó.

Đói rau rừng, thấy thóc Chu mà trả, đá Thú Dương chơm chởm, xanh mắt Di nằm tót gáy o o;

Khát nước sông, trông dòng đục không vơ, phao Vị Thuỷ lênh đênh, bạc đầu Lã ngồi dai ho lụ khụ.

Trông ra nhấp nhố sóng nhân tình;

Ngoảnh lại vật vờ mây thế cố.

Ngán nhẽ kẻ tham bề khoá lợi, mũ cánh chuồn đội trên mái tóc, nghiêng mình đứng chực cửa hầu môn;

Quản bao người mang cái giàm danh, áo giới lân trùm dưới cơ phu, mỏi gối quỳ mòn sân tướng phủ.

Khéo ứng thù những đám quan trên;

Xin bái ngảnh cùng anh phường phố.

Khét mùi thế vị chẳng thà không!

Thơm nức phương danh nên mới khổ.

Tình uốn éo muốn vạch trời lên hỏi, nào kiếp Chử Đồng đâu tá, nỡ hoài chén ngọc để trần ai;

Trí lăng nhăng toan vượt bể đi tu, hỏi quê Tiên tử nơi mô, xin lĩnh lấy vân đan làm tế độ.

Bài phú Dương Hùng dù nghiệm tá, thì xin tống bần quỷ ra đến miền Đông Hải, để ta đeo vòng thư kiếm, quyết xoay bạch ốc lại lâu đài;

Câu văn Hàn Dũ phỏng thiêng chăng, thì xin tống cùng thần ra đến đất Côn Lôn, để ta gánh vác giang sơn, quyết ném thanh khâm sang cẩm tú.

Nhọc nhằn cơn nhục mát cơn vinh;

Cay đắng lúc cùng bù lúc phú.

Vậy có lời nôm dặn bảo thế gian rằng:

Đừng thấy người bạch diện thư sinh;

Mà cười rằng "đa cùng tài tử".

Nguồn:

1. Cao Bá Quát toàn tập (tập 1), Trung tâm Nghiên cứu quốc học, NXB Văn học, 2004

2. Việt văn diễn giảng hậu bán thế kỷ thứ XIX, Nguyễn Tường Phượng, Phan Văn Sách, Bùi Hữu Sung, Trường Nguyễn Khuyến xuất bản, Hà Nội, 1953

NIETZSCHE, CAO BA QUAT, AND WISSAI WITH REGARD TO BRAGGADOCIOS

NIETZSCHE, CAO BA QUAT, AND WISSAI WITH REGARD TO BRAGGADOCIOS

Nobody like braggarts. That’s a truism. I know that. You know that. Everybody knows that. But most human do brag. They do so for various reasons: to impress others, to lie, to boost sagging self-confidence, and maybe to deal with loneliness and solitude. 

I have noticed that those who profess modesty are the ones that brag the most, though in a subdued and subtle manner. I detest hypocrites like them. I even know one such hypocrite up close and personal. He thinks I am too dumb not to know his nature. I am impulsive, emotional, loud, and immature, but I am not very stupid. I have empathy. I have imagination. I have sensitivity. I understand how people think. I can get into the mind of my interlocutor or opponent. That’s why I am a winning poker player. The way I look at bragging is like this: If you feel like bragging, do so openly, loudly but truthfully, with facts backing up your bragging. Just don’t be a sneak about it. Don’t be a coward. And don’t lie. 

Nietzsche bragged that only Heine and he were the masters of the German language. And he was right. Nietzsche was universally admired for his prose. He was the impetus for my learning German. I said to myself if Nietzsche came across so beautiful, so clear, so majestic and magisterial in English translation, he must be sublime in the original.

Every educated Vietnamese knows about the bragging of Cao Ba Quat regarding his poetic gifts. He was right. When I was a teenager, I read the poems about the poverty of a village scholar, written by Nguyễn Công Trứ and CBQ, respectively. I couldn’t help noticing the marked differences in poetic qualities and thoughts. One was mundane, pedestrian, and practical. The other was sublime and defiant. NCT was an accomplished man in many fields but not a genius in poetry. CBQ was. 

I am a braggart, too. I don’t deny it. I am no hypocrite. I know I have been obnoxious in my braggadocios, but I don’t give a shit what people think of me. Do you really think I do? I brag in order to keep myself on my toes. I brag in order to boost myself to greater heights. I back up my bragging with facts. I’ve bragged that no fucker in the forums, including the assholes that love to affix and append the Ph.D. designation next to their names, even what they wrote had nothing to do with their field of specialty, can rival me in terms of the command of the English language. I have issued a challenge to them to a written or oral debate. I also claim that as far as I know, nobody can translate Vietnamese poetry into English as well I do. I have just put out two literary books in English. Any motherfucker who thinks that he can write English had better read the books and ask himself if he can actually write as sublimely as I did in the books. 

Wissai

July 29, 2019

You die, I die, everybody dies

You die, I die, everybody dies
If not yet, we will eventually
So don’t cry
Meanwhile
Please smile and be nice
While we are still alive
Better yet, be kind
To me
Tell me you care
Tell me against your will
You think of me
Day and night 
Tell me you love me, especially in the still
Of the night or early in the morning
When you wake up
And the first thing 
You do is to softly call my name
And wonder if I love you, too. 
Life is short
Seize the day
Come fly with me

Wissai
July 20, 2019

Life, Love, and Loneliness (revised and expanded)

Life, Love, and Loneliness (revised and expanded) 

Tammy called me up just as I was about to close ”the office” down and called it a day. She said she must come over and see me at once. She couldn’t wait. I told her that unscheduled session for after hours would cost her one and half rate of the usual consultation fee. She said she didn’t care and would be in my office in thirty minutes. 

I have a counseling business. I untangle the entanglements of the human heart and to ease the burdens on the human mind. The business is not thriving. Most of my clients are women and I get them through word of mouth. I don't advertise my business as I don't have a professional license and I don't want to pay taxes. All the transactions are on cash basis. I keep no records. And my ”office” is actually my spare bedroom functioning as my study where I keep books and do my writing. Tammy has been a client for many years.

She arrived all excited and smiling. 

-I have a new boyfriend and he will fly in tomorrow. 

-Congratulations! So what's the problem? Is he married or what? 

-Give me a break! I’m not that type. I ain't no home wrecker. I want to show you his photos on Facebook and his texts and then please tell me what you think of him. 

I must admit that I was impressed by Tammy. She was no raving beauty and not of much education and money, but she seemed to catch boyfriends left and right. The problem was that they didn't last, and not because of her inadequacies in bed. Once, she grinned in telling me she knew the ”Art of Pleasure” and wasn't unfamiliar with Kama Sutra. She even tried to come on strong to me, but I deftly deflected her advances. She wasn't my type. Too materialistic, too connivimg, too unstable. She was a devotee of Tantric Buddhism and a rather generous disciple and supporter of a Tibetan monk. I didn't want to tell her that the monk was taking her and her fellow disciples for a carpet ride. She didn't ask for my advice about the matter and my attitude was that if people wanted to be exploited, that was their problem, not mine. I myself was a victim of exploitation many times, though not in religious matters, and thus should refrain from dissing out unsolicited advice. There are matters a human must learn on his own. 

After studying the photos and the texts, I spoke:

-Congratulations again. He’s even younger than you. That’s a plus. The guy is legit. He has a good job, a manager with a good company. The company is very big, although the business is in a downturn because of the decline of the price of oil. Regardless, the company is too big to fail. And the business is going to bounce back. It looks like there will be a shooting war with Iran anytime now. Plus, that war in Yemen must come to a conclusion. It can't go on forever. The shooting on oil tankers and the bombing on oil pipelines and terminals will resume. That will make the Iraq-Iran War 40 years ago a child’s play. That’s going to drive up the price of oil sky high. But how did you meet this guy?

-On Facebook. He was following me for some time and insisted on being my friend. I was reluctant at first. He lives far away and seems to be way above me in education and money. But he persisted. I finally gave in. I figured I had nothing to lose but time. And then lo and behold, he’s been coming on strong, too strong, as a matter of fact. 

-Listen, Tammy, I’m going to speak frankly. That’s what you’re paying me for. The man is impulsive, lonely, and a very good catch for you. He’s falling hard for you. But, based on your romantic history, you must ask yourself a question whether or not you really care about the guy or he is just a financial savior for you. Everything has a price. Sometimes the price is very high. This guy is serious, emotional, and not quite stable. You must treat him with devotion and tender loving care. Don't use him. Don't play with him, otherwise he may flip out and liable to do something stupid. 

-But how the hell you know all this, just from looking at the photos and reading some texts?

-I just know. Call it a gift. That’s why you’ve been coming here for advice and counsel. I’ve been right. And you know it. You know I know something about the human heart. 

-You’re scaring me. Should I tell him not to come?

-That question indicates you aren't that serious with him. No, you can't just tell him not to come. That's too late now. Let him come. You will know if he really turns you on. 

-Let me ask you a question, if I may.

-Go head. What is it?

-Don't get mad. But I always wonder, if you’re really so knowledgeable about the human heart, then how come you're lonely and don't have a girlfriend. I've followed your blogs. I've read your posts on the Net. 

-You are here to talk about your problem, not mine. And you are aware that you are paying for my time. Right? I don't feel comfortable talking with you about myself and then charging you for it. It just isn't right. We can talk about it if we are out on social chitchat. 

-In that case, would you like to be at dinner with us when my boyfriend is here? Please come. I want you to meet him. I’m willing to pay for your time.

-Let me think about it. You don't have to pay for my time while I have dinner with you and your boyfriend. Congratulations again on having a new boyfriend. Be nice and gentle with him, please. 

A week later, Tammy called me again shortly after the crack of dawn and wanted to see me as soon as I was available in the morning. She sounded disturbed. 

When she arrived at 9 am, she looked bad. She looked like she was not sleeping well. She lost weight and and looked wan, despite the make-up. There was no usual zest in the way she moved. Something was seriously wrong in the span of seven days. She flopped down in the armchair and started crying right away. I let her cry. That went on for at least five solid minutes. Then suddenly, she stopped crying and glared at me.

-Why the fuck are you just sitting there and not asking me why I’m crying? What KIND of counselor are YOU? 

-Easy now. Watch your language. One more outburst like that and you’re out of here. I like the money you’re paying me, but I’m not starving. I won’t take any abuse from you or from anybody. Is that clear?

-I’m sorry (she then resumed crying) 

-So, what’s wrong?

-Everything.

-Everything? Including the dinner?

-No, the dinner was fine, but things went down hill from there. He flew in as he said he would. I picked him up. He was glad to see me, at least that was the impression I got. We then went to dinner. I stupidly asked him if it was OK for you to come along. He said No, and three would be a crowd. He interrogated me why I needed to see a counselor and how long I’ve been seeing you. So I backed off, coming up with an excuse that I was proud of him and wanted to show him off to you. Anyway, he took me to a Chinese restaurant. I acted cheerful and happy, but I was getting bad vibes. I was not confident to ask him how I looked to him, whether I looked like he expected me to. I know I’m not drop dead gorgeous or anything like that and my pictures are always better than I really am. I didn’t eat much. I was nervous. Roberto, the guy was great. He looked much better in person. I was wondering if he really fell for me because he could easily get women much better than me.

Anyway, we got home. Both of us took a shower, not together, though I wanted to. That would have been awesome and romantic, like in a movie. When he came out of the shower and was in shorts and T-shirt, my heart skipped so many beats that I thought I would have a heart-attack. And then of course we jumped into bed. He was quite kinky, which sort of delighted me, but then the bad vibes I picked up during the dinner didn’t go away. Then he predictably rolled over and soon snored while my mind was racing ten thousand miles per hour. I was wondering what the hell I got myself into and what was happening to my Prince Charming who had texted me fantastic messages declaring burning, unquenchable love for me. 

Things got weird and surreal in the morning. He got dressed in a hurry, claiming that he got a text from his boss that something had happened and he was required to be back in the office as soon as possible. I wanted to see the text, but he refused to show me his phone. I wanted to scream and curse at him, but I controlled myself. I cried instead. But that didn’t work. He still didn’t let me to read the stupid text. What really pissed me off was that he looked cold and unconcerned. I drove him back to the airport. We didn’t talk much. I felt hurt and confused and angry. I felt used and then discarded like a piece of garbage. At the pasenger drop-off area, he leaned over, gave me a quick kiss on the lips and rushed out of the car. I knew then it would be the last time I saw him. Still, I texted him a good flight wish. No reply from him that day and none in the following six days, including today, despite my sending him at least ten texts, the last two were quite nasty. Roberto, I’m feeling dirty; I’m feeling like a cheap whore. The bastard spent a few hundred dollars on airfare just to have one-night stand with me. 

Roberto, why couldn’t I keep my men? What is wrong with me?

-I’m very sorry to hear what was happening to you. This is going to sound trite, but you must learn to look at things from a glass half-full point of view. At least the guy didn't physically hurt you or steal money from you. I don't know what went wrong. Like you, I could only guess. And my guess may be just as good as yours. So I’m going to speak in generalities. Use whatever you think applicable or useful. 

You are only 50 years old. You have a lot of good years left with you. You can turn your life around. Not me. I’m 70. I have only a few years left. I’m coasting to a dusty death. I’m preparing for death so when right before it comes, I won't get too uptight or panicky. I want to die with dignity. My friends are dropping dead left and right. And all of the sudden, I realize that Fame or Power or even Money don’t count much. What really counts in Life, and especially in old age, is Love. 

I am a late bloomer. Wisdom came to me late. After failures in multiple marriages and dozens of romantic liaisons, I came to recognize certain verities. Be honest. Be kind. Be mysterious a little so people feel intrigued and won't take you for granted. 

Also command Respect from others by respecting yourself and others. Nobody would love you if they don’t respect or admire you first. Be dignified. Be fair. Don’t be cheap. Keep your word. Make yourself lovable and loving. Don’t be needy. Be upbeat and pleasant to be around. Avoid cheap shots and sarcasm and obvious, stupid, clumsy flattery.

Remember, you are not bad physically and you brag that you know how to satisfy a man in bed. Everybody is lonely. Everybody wants to be respected. True Love is not easy to come by and harder to keep. To get Love, you must have a lot of Love inside you. That means you must learn to give more of yourself, and not to take, not to ask for things from others. Maybe the guy was scared and ran away because you viewed him as your financial savior. It was way too early for you to do that. Very few men like to be Sugar Daddy. You don’t turn down what people want to offer you voluntarily, but don’t ask and don’t beg. Don’t be a beggar. That’s demeaning and degrading. Walk tall, but don’t be full of Anger or Undue Pride. Remember, people owe you nothing, least of all Happiness. Be nice, but don’t be a sucker.

To conclude, humans are social animals. We need help, support, encouragement, comfort and somebody to share our feelings. That’s why Love is more important than Sex. Sex gets old after a while. But Love stays forever, even long after we die. 

Now go find another man. Learn from your mistakes. Don’t be too pushy. Good luck. 

Wissai 

July 13, 2019. 

Ainsi Parlait/Thus Spoke/Así Dijo Wissai

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Human Preoccupation of Sex and Power

Human Preoccupation with Sex and Power

I don’t know about you, but I have found recent Fall from Grace of several American men of Big Power and Colossal Wealth a tad sad and pathetic. For all of their intelligence, they couldn’t escape the snare of the flesh. Don’t take me wrong. I’m not having one of those vicarious Schadenfreude thrills watching these men losing their dignity in a big and public way. I suppose they all thought they could get away with their indulgences even if they violated the laws and morality in doing so. Talk about Hubris! Excess is always bad.

I have a feeling that these men lack imagination and creativity. They cannot fantasize. They must satisfy their deep, dark desires by acting on them They couldn’t be like Vladimir Nabokov who in the infamous and famous novel Lolitaboldly skated on thin ice by penning an artistic narrative of a debauched though loquacious middled-aged man falling for a pre-pubescent 12-year-old girl. The novel is considered by literary critics one of the best ever written. It made the author rich and famous and enabled him to retire from teaching literature. The author was Russian but his English was beyond wonderful: rich, marvelous, intricate, and beautiful. And there was not a single dirty word in the book. The novel was about Love, though sick, not Sex.

Sex, to these fallen American men, involves not mere Lust and probably has to do with Power. It has been widely known that Rape has very little to do with Lust but a lot with Power. That is sad. Sex, to Human, should be intricately and intrinsically linked with Love for it to be viewed as beautiful and to set Human apart from lower forms of Life. I may be old-fashioned and that is how I always view Sex. 

A person’s attitude about Sex says a great deal about his dark self. The other day, a dirty old man of 85 years old complimented me for always being proper with women. Stunned, I asked him how the hell that he knew that about me. He smiled and said that he watched me. He added that he was different. He enjoyed talking dirty with women, he disclosed. He then narrated how he and a short Latina woman endowed with gigantic butt and bust whom I happened to know (not biblically), loved exchanging dirty double entendres. He then dropped a bombshell that she once even groped him albeit quickly and not in plain public view, just to test his reactions. I didn’t say anything. I was just listening spell-bound to his story-telling. But I had to admit that the man was healthy and virile and didn’t look his age at all. He walked briskly and had a very lively mind. A strong sex drive is a sign of robust health. The man also had money. He just sold all his real estate holdings and signed off on a year-round cruise in perpetuity so he could eat and drink well and hit on lonely, wealthy widows.

Wissai

July 12, 2019