The desire is febrile, but the flesh is uncooperative. So you fall back on your eyes and mind. Outside your condo, the town is awash with sunshine, as usual. You live in a semi-desert town. There are 335 days of sunshine here.
Your mind is crying out for scintillating conversations. You smile and extend out your hands. Ladies of the night (and also of the day), why don't you come hither and make hay with me while the sun still shines. Let's talk. I feel like talking today.
Of course, what we have here is a case of unreliable and fanciful narrator. This is his song. He's singing.
The last few days have marked a déjà vu in sentiments. I'm feeling like a bursting teenager in my mind, though my body is surely in a decline. Little Johnny doesn't respond upon command anymore. He raises his head a little bit, winks at me and goes back to sleep. I smile at him, amused and annoyed at the same time. What a lazy son of a bitch! I mutter to myself. Can't you even try a bit harder than that?
Maybe it has something to do with her. Against my will, I think of her. Everyday. When I am by myself, having nothing to do, nothing to occupy my mind at the moment. She is the hole of my life, slightly to the left of my soul, where my heart resides. I didn't want to miss her. But I did and do. I know I'm slipping and sliding. That's why I fantasize so I don't think of her.
When I told Bob, my best friend, about my predicament, he suggested that I see a shrink. I said, I did see one, actually a mental health university counselor back in the days when I went to school in Patagonia. I had screwed up things and found myself that I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat. I was sliding into an abyss. So one day I walked into this Mental Health Counseling Building at the university, saying that I needed to talk to somebody about my situation. I was sent to an office where an old bitch sat. I spilled my guts, hoping and waiting for some caring, considered professional advice about my situation. Instead, the bitch was cold, hardly said anything and kept watching at her watch. So I said, you got to go somewhere soon? The bitch said, you got 10 more minutes. I got up, walked out of her office, and over to the library and checked out books on Psychology and Philosophy. I've hated shrinks ever since.
Bob tried to play Devil's Advocate.
- Don't generalize. You happened to run into a selfish, uncaring one. There are bad apples in all professions.
-I knew that intellectually, but it was the first time I experienced/interacted with a bad, selfish, uncaring person. She didn't care. She was supposed to. It was her job. My voice was rising. She didn't care, didn't give a shit about me. I should have known about that sooner. I was 23 then; I was no spring chicken.
- But you survived, didn't you? Move on. Take things easy. Stop beating up a dead horse. Enjoy Life while you still can. Grow up.
I said nothing to that unnecessary and stupid provocation. I just looked straight at him and then raised my right middle finger to my forehead and scratched it up and down.
Bob giggled at my theatrics and then said, "That was funny. OK, clown, listen, do you want to get laid? My next door neighbor has an eye on you. She's been asking about you. She wanted to know your age and if you have a girlfriend . She said you look handsome and sexy and all that shit. Interested? I can be a matchmaker. I'll sell you some of my blue pills. Sorry, can't give them to you. Those things are expensive. Besides, I need them myself. No, I didn't tell her you were married five times, sleeping around at the earliest opportunity, and quite a player. Instead, I told her a bunch of lies; that you were married once, have one grown daughter living out West, somewhere in Oregon; that you are freshly divorced, still hurt, but shy and lonely and would love to date her. Listen, fucker, if all goes well, you owe me a steak dinner with fine wine in a fancy restaurant, I'm telling you. You've seen her, right? She isn't bad, right curves at the right places, quite cute and really nice. I wouldn't mind going out with her myself, if she isn't black. You told me you are no racist. Now prove it!
It's true that I am not a racist. However, I always prefer Asian and tan-complexioned women---Hispanic and Middle Eastern. I like dark-skinned women, but not "that" dark. Black women---with their kinky hair, accent, the perfume they wear, the food they eat, plus their extended family members and friends that I have to get along with---just don't appeal to me. However, I once knew a white dude who just went bananas and ape shit over black women. "Once dated a black, always go back", he told me. Sexual attraction is personal and yet has roots back in childhood and culture. Different strokes for different folks. When talking about black women, I mean full-blooded, with 100% Sub-Sahara, Dark Africa, thick-lipped, and flat-nosed Negroid features, not folks in North or the Horn of Africa or South Africa or mixed races. I don't like extreme colors: All Black or All White. I don't usually find white, especially Nordic, women attractive either.
What Bob said about me to his neighbor wasn't quite correct. Yes, I was married five times. Stupidly. I believed in Love. I was looking for Love. Every time I got remarried, I thought I finally found the one to share my life with, and the happiness I dreamed about. But I was wrong every single time. Every one of them treated me badly after two years. They became rude and insolent and materialistic. So I had to get out of the matrimonial trap. I am through with marriage now. But I am not a player and don't sleep around at the earliest opportunity. I am lonely but not stupid nor desperate. I want Love and Affection, not one-night stands. I've not been with a woman for almost three years now, not that I didn't have opportunities, but I'm getting more choosy and selective because I'm wary and weary. Though I want Love and Affection, I doubt if I will get them. I'm learning not to trust women. They all seem not to be honest with me. I often ask myself why. Maybe there's something wrong with my personality. But deep down, I don't mind to live and die alone. I keep myself very busy, even though I don't officially work on a 9 to 5 basis. I have no time to feel empty and lonely, unless late at night, alone in bed, with a book, usually a novel in a foreign language. But by that time I'm too tired to feel sorry for myself. I would fall asleep with the book on my chest after about twenty minutes after opening the book. During the day I am all wrapped in trying to make money or learning foreign languages or improving my body. Yes, there are some moments I do feel happy and expansive.
I don't really know, I'm not really sure that I should tell you all this. Some things should be kept hidden/buried. I mean, my love life, my sexual interests are of nobody's concern. I am nobody. I will die soon, like an old tree in the forest, without notice and without meaning. Only a loud bang that may startle a deer, and then back to Silence.
I must investigate why I'm fond of confessional writing, revealing myself, all raw and irrational and self-destructive. Yes, self-destructive. Why I am bent on hurting myself? Why the unwanted, painful memories I cannot push away. Shit, I must get sufficient sleep. Four hours a night for months can't be healthy. I must walk away, throwing away my ego. I don't need to prove anything to anybody. Certainly not to her. She didn't give a fuck then. She wouldn't give a fuck now. She thinks I am beneath her. Maybe I am. But that's no longer important whether I am or not. She is dead to me. She means nothing to me. You can't love a woman if you no longer respect her. For a long time I thought she was a better human being than me. Not anymore. She was only more intelligent. She was my biggest mistake. I should have learned a lesson from it right there and then, 44 years ago. I didn't until very recently. I now remember she said she was only romanticizing the relationship. I shouldn't have tried to swim against the rising tide. A smart man knows where he is at all times.
-So, you want to see her or not? Bob wanted to know.
-I don't know, Bob. I'm flattered. But I'm too messed up now to date anyone. Shit, I'm still bitter about the divorce. I lost out a lot, as I told you.
-I know it. You're a racist. You don't like blacks.
-It's easy for you to say. To advocate for equal rights for minorities, including blacks, is one thing. To be sexually attractive to black women is another. The two things don't have to be congruent, Bob. Sexual attraction is mysterious and personal. You can't just jump to a facile conclusion that just because I don't date black women, that means I am a racist. That makes you look dumb and stupid, Bob. Just because you are a racist, that doesn't mean everybody else is like you. Don't project yourself onto others. That's infantile; that's not smart.
Actually I don't really object to the idea of going out with a black woman. I could do so for sociological and anthropological reasons and experiences, and not the emotional ones. But one thing I learned from dating women in the past was that eventually I got disappointed with them, and they with me. They didn't meet my expectations. And apparently I didn't meet theirs either. So, now I am in not any hurry to go out with a woman just for the sake of going out. I anticipate beforehand the unnecessary obstacles and headaches. In addition, there is no point and indeed very cruel to play with somebody's heart. Deep down, I 'm kind-hearted and very fair. That has been the reasons for the hurts and anger I carry inside because people took advantage of my kindness. I was dumb and stupid, I admit.
I often wonder if Will Rogers was for real or he was just a con man par excellence when he loudly opined that he didn't meet anybody that he didn't like. I have met in person or interacted online with a lot of people, and I certainly didn't like most of them. And if I have the means, I wouldn't hesitate to hasten the departure of some of them from this world. They are not even humans in my book. I hate and despise them. They are fucking animals through and through. They lie and malign. They make up stories. They cheat. They betray. They have no respect: not for others, not for themselves. They want to live at any costs. They are frankly a disgrace to their race. A human who does not a sense of self-respect or honor or responsibility is not a human. He/she is just a fucking animal, deserving to be slaughtered and exterminated. The laws of the land should be clear: all convicted rapists, child abusers, thieves, robbers, and murderers will be shot down like animals, no questions asked, no appeals, no clemencies bullshit. I guarantee you, the rest of the populace will learn the lessons and start behaving. We will have Law and Order, Peace and Morality.
However, from what I can reason, If there's nothing you can affect the outcome of any process, you therefore must learn to accept things as they are in this world: karma or pure random chance.
Most, if not all, sufferings in this work come from a failure or an inability to recognize that many things occur because of karma (cause and effect) or that some things take place due to pure random chance (being at the wrong place at a wrong time).
We move on in life, impervious and indifferent to what happens to us without our control, knowing that the life we have is short and precious (or boring) will end. We are part of the recycling process of Energy.
Part of being an intelligent human is to have an awareness of Reality as it is. The reason for my posting a book review on Frank Ramsey is to remind us that there are some individuals gifted in Logic and we can study them so we may learn something from their minds, not necessarily from their personal lives which could be not very pleasant. I recently put in my blog an article about the efforts of a cognitive scientist named Donald Hoffman to understand Reality which is not simple as ignoramuses and idiots think it is. Reality is not necessarily what we see.
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