Obviously still shows ...

Found this quiz via The Anti-Essentialist Conundrum:

You Are 53% Feminine, 47% Masculine

You are in touch with both your feminine and masculine sides. You're sensitive at the right times, but you don't let your emotions overwhelm you. You're not a eunuch, just the best of both genders.

Are You Masculine or Feminine?

And you know what?

Damn, was I pissed at not being predominantly male!

Despite last post n all.

Really liked the proportion though.

Thankfully, e.g. black boots 'n' trousers (plus cap) seems to fool virtually everybody. Only yesterday, learned a female knowing me only from seeing me selling newspapers in this gayish local pub describing me as 'masculine', colouring me slightly surprised for a sec.

Ok, a long way from probly 90% female for most of my life. Also it's just this quiz which I'm not taking too seriously.

Damn, still just would like having them percentages changed.

Neither pro-feminist nor MRA (Pt. 1)

I identified as a (pro-)feminist for a good part of my life. In Switzerland, where I grew up, in most parts women got the right to vote only in 1971, shortly before my 8th birthday. The last region actually had to be forced to implement it by federal law no earlier than late 1990, almost a decade after non-discrimination on grounds of race, sex, religion (to name but a few) had been written into the constitution in 1981.

So guess the notion women not being treated equally and this not being ok kinda came naturally.

On the other hand, frankly was pretty ill-suited for virtually all of the obligatory he-man-men type stuff anyway, both physically and mentally. My size was at no point above average, and don't get me started on build. Till I began working out at 30, was actually merely skin and bones, to the extent that I'm still glad having grown up before 'anorexic' and 'bulimia' became such buzzwords. (Well, at least no fat either -- before cortisone, that was.)

Also simply failed getting the point. I mean, what's the use, feeling good from making others feel bad? Since I've been a kid, most people always said I've got 'way too misantropic views'. However, always got plenty ideas of activities making me at least much happier than the average 'social' person always in need of putting someone else down first. A concept just beyond me.

Guess I was the perfect victim. Not actually offering the other cheek, but never hitting back. Which kinda results in the same. And of course in getting beaten up or worse every once in a while.

Took me literally decades to realise, plenty people are just cowards, going for people like me for some freebie kicks and punches, and the only way of getting rid of such is looking them straight into the eye, thinking, 'Ok, that's it, go on and I'll hit you as hard as I can.' That's the one funny part about it: Don't even have to say it. And the other: Of course suddenly there isn't any need of actually doing so anymore, but that's another story.

Rather had a knack at skills usually attributed to girls anyway, like languages and other 'soft' disciplines, while definitely not being a star at math and the likes. At seven even learned knitting, out of curiousity, but soon learned better than to talk about it to other boys. (Same as for plenty other things to most people in general, that is, especially 'grown ups'.)

Actually, when it came down to relationships, and there to e.g. adressing emotional issues on both sides, or commitment, mutual responsibilities, and plenty other behaviours usually attributed to women, turned out me being more female than most of my girlfriends.

Of course there were other traits where I'm no exception, on the downside I'm e.g. much, much better at nagging others into sex than keeping up with household chores. (While most of my girlfriends weren't so bad at some also exactly glorious 'female' routines either.)

So, during my twenties digged easily into feminist critique of male behaviour and gender roles in general, and plenty too. Feeling that in a social environment based on equality and without the typical patriarch games, life would definitely be more fun, despite the male priviledges I'd lose.

As said, self-identified as a (pro-)feminist for a good part of my life. Funny enough, took some 'feminists' to eventually change that. And though I still uphold the idea and the notion of making it true, had to realise that what's going down in its name in the real world being quite something else, with which I'd rather not associate myself, nor would want to be associated with either.

(to be continued)

Sevice to be resumed shortly

Oh noes, been down and out blogwise for a while now. Just too much other stuff wanting to be done. Also only went exercising in the woods every forthnight for over a month now. Bad bad bad.

(Though you can be sure baby's keeping me up for certain other 'sportive activities' plenty, and while that might be a reason for not losing more flesh yet, still, as my sore muscles tell me, doesn't really help gaining either I'm afraid.)

However, looks like I got some substantial portions off my neck now. Like having delivered all the monthly dole formularies with my usual grace, having worked up plenty hours on this semester's uni job, kicked off another presentation there, prepared some german webpages for forthcoming updates, and, best of all, yesterday sent the file of our first Paul Leppin book to the printing office, woooo-haaa!!!

Make no mistake, of course that's just the proverbial tip of the iceberg. Like I'm still on the dole and hating it, there's two expositions I've to deliver for the uni in the next 3 months, there's the second Paul Leppin book (a much bigger bastard) I should've finished for years and latest this month (and today's the 31st), there's two more books I'll have to design and execute for the Institute of Popular Cultures (for these I'll even get paid, imagine), got loadsa folks breathing down my neck when we'll be putting out the next volume SUN KOH (those not yet talking about 'if', that is), and so on.

Still, though sometimes inbetween seems necessary, working too many hours while neglecting too much other stuff won't do it in the long run, no sir.

Spot the difference?

..........................Tages Anzeiger, 25 August '05 © Beat Marti

.....................Murnauer Tagblatt, 8 May '07, © Roland Lory

No, it's not the presence of Helmut K. Schmidt on the 2nd pic.
Nor the different locations. And no, not the wardrobe either.

Not at all.

Negative is positive

Teeheehee -- well, at least everytime it comes down to an HIV-test, that is. And am I not happy in the last years technology advanced as much as that now you can get the results in less than 24 hrs without extra charge?

Funny, still the same guy on the phone delivering the results. Though I'd bet this time he had way less hard news to break. You can tell by the way he does this little break when saying, 'The result is ... negative.' Last time the intermission was just a wee bit longer, and you could clearly hear that he was kinda happy too, not having to tell me else. So I remember thinking like uh-huh, sounds like lotsa bad news today.

Baby was even faster getting the results than me. Less than two minutes after the hotline opened and she'd already sent me the good news by txt. While silly me had to get the number from the net again first, since by accident I put the paper together with the trousers into the washing machine today.

At least no problem remembering the code word, haha. Sometimes folks at the hospital indeed do show some sense of humour. Like they'd seen us arriving there together, and when we went each with somebody for the preliminary quiz, gave me the codeword 'eel', while she got 'zone'. Hawhawhaw.

However, you can bet we'll be doing plenty of eel'n'zone jokes for quite a while ...

(to be continued ...)

Bad karma & just plain stoopid

Guess we all heard bout safer sex for quite a while now, don't we? All agreed?

Or at least that's what I'd like to think myself. Which is why I'm sometimes a wee bit confused when again having to remove some girl's head from my private parts in bed, explaining why. Not to mention then hearing things along the lines of, 'Oh, really?' (Which in my experience usually includes even the ones used to taking a bit more responability in bed that the average lot, but that's another story.)

Something I'm in all modesty slowly getting kinda familiar with. Until very recently, that is. Not that the situation had been different for a start, I'm afraid. Only insofar that I just didn't.

Man of principles, hawhaw. Not even a special excuse or anything. Actually I'd be in trouble only explaining why instead of merely processing the fact.

Bad karma in my book, both. Even worse, didn't take too may days and I also engaged unsafely in other stuff just so as well. Something I've never done before in my whole life! And despite this time at least there's something like a minor cheap excuse, in the end still boils down to lack of wits and patience, but again, still no real reason. And there I was, thinking people becoming more calm and mature when getting older. Colour me double-perplexed and very ashamed of myself. Not to mention havin been just plain stoopid, again.

Okokok, we both had more or less valid reasons to assume we're probly both still negative. (Not to mention then we didn't do what's considered the classical high risk sexual practice yet.) However, imho there's some things in life when even 99% just isn't enough, and guess what's being the prime example, hm?

So high time coughing up the dosh and going for another test plus negotiating the usual minimal guidelines (a.k.a. if you'd ever do something unsafe with somebody else at least tell me before doing so again with me, which I promise you too).

If we actually find the time going to the test at the required hours, not to mention the results being still in favour of any such things, that is ...

Not that I'm really nervous, but ... still would be better being 100% sure already, now wouldn't it?

(continued ...)

Murnau

Just after hearing local parliament having given the green light for doing this exhibition about author Paul Alfred Müller (german bio) at Schlossmuseum in Murnau, the Bavarian town where he'd lived from 1948 till he died, driving back exactly there for another book presentation @ Antiquariat Hannak, again together with Müllers fellow local scribe Helmut K. Schmid. (Like the famous german expressionist filmmaker of the 20ies, PAM also once adopted Murnau as nom de plume.)

Nearly no actual audience (i.e. people not involved in any of the projects) turning up, and absolutely no turnout financial wise. And for that alla the preparations, not to mention getting up before 8 after almost no sleep ...

However, taped the conversation with H. K. Schmidt, and -- tadaaa -- also got this nice review in Murnauer Tagblatt, which eventually made it all quite worthwile.

Cause besides the pulp scifi stuff we're doing already, both he and P. A. Müller also wrote yet-unpublished nice regular novels with a local touch, but until now we never got an angle getting through to that kinda audience. So the first article in a local newspaper and the exhib coming up in a place were also plenty tourists show up is something to be celebrated.

Which later at night I indeed did. Well, erm, kind of. Together with with a certain kinky babe, to be a wee bit more precise. Though not that I'd let you in on the details here ...

But instead urge all local lurkers to check out this lovely early sixties pulp novel by Schmidt called Hellbreed.

H. K. Schmidt and fan with signed portrait in our PAM-Bio
@ Antiquariat Sammelpunkt Zurich, 25.11.06
© Ingrid Tomkowiak

Keeping the neighbours awake

Ah, reckon this was just bound to happen sooner or later. Neighbours complaining bout this baby and me having too much fun, that is. Not to mention too long and way too often, too!

Surprisingly enough not the neighbours I had suspected most, but the single mom from the apt. below ours. Nonetheless strictly by the book. I.e. first banging at the wall from below in the still of night, probly waking up everybody a few floors in both directions. Then the next day ringing while my mate still sleeping, complaining 'I didn't get a wink of sleep for two days now.'

Actually the night before Baby and me had been practicing the explicitly romantic variety, contrary to like three nights ago, probly having been he loudest while staying in my apt., but nevermind. And just for the record, even then, though we weren't gagged nor stifling ourselves, weren't actually loud either.

Definitely quieter than them regularly banging up the roller blinds plus stampeding through the apt. and slamming doors when they're late and in a hurry getting off in the mornings. Both things I'd stopped counting how many times they woke me up a long time ago (not to mention even the old lady from above asking them to be a bit more considerate about in vain since way we moved in anyways).

And though this baby and me definitely not being into the 3-minutes way of things clocked from foreplay to falling asleep, during the relevant timeframe 'all night' was still be a wee bit exaggerated too, 'mafraid.

Tellingly she also didn't mention us waking her up, but just her being unable to sleep.

Now despite the house itself, contrary to the doors inside the apts., being built quite solid, I'm aware, if you listen closely, you'll be able hearing it no doubt. Just like loads of other noises, incl. stereos, tvs, kitchens, bathrooms, and also planes and cars outside.

Which is why my educated guess would be the problem being probly more the nature of the sounds than the actual volume.

Or, after I had apologised politely, declaring it hadn't been our intent to cause her discomfort (even true), as Baby put it with an innocent smile, 'Perhaps she'd need 3 earplugs: 2 for up and one for below.'

(continued ...)

Farewell to the beauty farm

Last appointment. Mop up shots. Surgeon was pleased with the scar development. Me too. Meant it, when I thanked him and the assistant.

Though it's still pretty funny touching the scars and especially grafts myself, somebody else touching them does feel nice. Also with regards to the synaestesia thingie with the one on top, feels like being thouched at other parts, too.

Anyways, am glad having them tumors off. Especially cause they just would've kept growing, I reckon.

As to the looks, yeah, well ...

Guess if I really strictly want going unnoticed, would be even more difficult covereing everything with a cap now. But what the f**k.

Funny, how actually it's still a bit like with the lumpies, though fairly more moderate. Especially from my point of view, i.e mankinds immediate reactions mostly beyond my ken. Filtered out automatically, no effort needed. Sweet denial.

Sweet irony as well, since I always got the impressions everybody more troubled about them than yours truly, actually mostly giving in to social pressure.

Peace-offering to all humankind, blablabla. Sorry didn't work out as nicely as it should've.

However, ahem, not exactly my fault really. Neither if you're still offended. Official license, now. Not guilty. Sorry.

Hehehe.

And yeah, though I could go for more surgery to make the freaky parts smaller, will just leave 'em as they are, thanks.

Surgeon was nice, also asked about the scar on the hand. The b*stard one, still handing out electric jolts, that is.

Himself he'd fared even less lucky. Fallen from from a horse, back broken. Though definitly lucky enough so the spinal chord remained unharmed. Still has to go wear a corset for half a year, since he's got no assurance for sickness daily allowance, as he said.

Copied me the whole folder with all my pix, also some I hadn't had before, so brace for an update at some point.

So, after 11 months in 'n' out, looks like I just left the beauty farm for good. Walking towards the bus stop, hit the air with both fists and turned the phones a bit louder than usual.

'No, *I* can't!' a.k.a. Help! Pt. 3

This is really cool:



'The Peak Load of Masculine Pride', from the Dave Allen Show. G'wan, click 'play'.

B.t.w. saw it first over at Pook's Mill. And though I appreciate plenty of his writings, reckon this time for whatever reasons he about just absolutely totally missed the point ...

(continued ...)

Ha! (Pt. 2)

Missed Part 1? You'll miss the context!

As it went, had second thoughts on the gratification issue soon enough. Cause, while winning any 'competition' might be kinda gratifying, obviously there's where I'd actually prefer being on the losing end. Like for, erm, obvious reasons this one, for example.

Since as mentioned, in average I'm rather used finding myself winning and definitetly not liking it at all, oh no. So didn't take too long me remembering that part painfully well, pondering if this'd be the beginning of 'back to normal'. Which, surprise, surprise, would've regretted big time.

But some things just seem to be too good to be true. And then soon enough there's this thought creeping up from the back of my mind, like, 'Sh*t, am I going to wake up pretty soon now, or yes?'

Which is just the kinda creepy stuff dedicated to turn any feeling of gratification from sweet to very sour in no time.

Cause any time I'm with a girl uninhibited enough of shamelessly making advantage of the gift of the female body and mind, it's just so cool. Like tapping into a delicious sweet well, feeling safe in the knowledge of no matter how much you can swallow, you'll never be able drying it up, no way. (And I also mean that quite literally.)

Ah, paradise and cockaigne all rolled into one, guys, I can tell.

Until she tires faster than me just once, obviously.

Dark clouds and thoughts threatening at the horizon, uh-oh.

Though didn't take her too long to teach me a lesson, not to mention restoring my faith in the seemingly unlimited female sexual supremacy.

I yield! I yield! MERCY!!!



PS: However, only last night, way into the wee hours, guess what?

Eventually heard her gasp 'no more', pulling my hand away again again ...

Ha!


(continued ...)

Mit Dir bin ich auch allein

Funny, how entering a new relationship tends bringing back memories of old ones. And how songs and especially lyrics can trigger memories, too.

Recently been listening to a lot of Rammstein, actually just got all their studio albums 2nd hand only yesterday. And while being into them mostly for the 'kick-ass factor' and the assorted sheer kinkiness, thus deploring how almost every record gets a wee bit to way wimpier than the one before, have to admit there's this uberwimpy song called 'Ohne Dich' (Without You) that touched me more than any other during the last few months.

While all Rammstein songs have this certain ambiguity (which they so shamelessly lifted from the truly underrated Slowenian band Laibach, amongst plenty other things), applying this technique so intelligently to a seemingly simple heartbreak-lovesong still is something else.

Especially four lines of the chorus really hit it home for me:


Ohne Dich kann ich nicht sein
Mit Dir bin ich auch allein

Ohne Dich zähl ich die Stunden, ohne Dich
Mit Dir stehen die Sekunden, lohnen nicht

(Without you I cannot be
With you I am alone too

Without you I count the hours, without you
With you the seconds stand still, aren't worth it)


Damn, that's a good part of my last relationship summed up in just a few brilliant words. (Which reminds me, some other parts on the downside having been lies, lies, lies, plus cheap 'n' weak excuses, but that's another story.)

While I'm usually listening to whole albums looped (ok, skipping some songs), have to admit 'Ohne Dich' is the one exception lately of me listening to the same song allover again for a while.

But yesterday was a crazy day anyway. Had this presentation to do early at the uni, and yup, as usually leaving everything just for the very last second, enjoying the adrenaline rush to the max. Only that while I was just about getting started preparing everything the evening before, my mate and some other folks more or less gently reminded me we'd also have to do the overdue press kit for our upcoming book presentation in Murnau Sat next week. And while I kinda had hoped I would be more or less spared of that, absolutely no way, not with this deadline. Just had to drop the preparation and cough up some of the other stuff beforehand, so that my mate could get the mailings out.

Took me till 3 am that I finally could get started preparing the handout, which I eventually finished about 6. Still hadn't read all of the stuff I was supposed to, but what the f**k, just would have to cheat myself along the essential parts. At least would be able catching up almost 3 hours of sleep before rushing out, in order to not looking too wasted. If not the shitty air lately had roughed up my nose, that is, feeling even more uncomfy as soon as I laid down. But who needs sleep anyway.

Not to mention emotional stability. Was in the tram uphill to the uni when the mentioned above lines really hit home. Tears running down my cheeks, sunglasses fogging up, the whole shebang. 15 plus minutes to go till my presentation.

However, was the first time in a while I was able crying not just for others, but really for myself, which made me just happy. Though while washing my head in the toilet before hurrying upstairs to the classroom, was a bit worried still might be just a little too obvious. But you know what? Everything went down just really cool, and nobody noticed either.

And though I was really knackered, especially after the 2nd course in the afternoon, don't get me started on what I was up to later in the evening plus half of the night ...

(To be continued ...)

Ladies, I feel for you

Actually just wanted to go to sleep. Which was why I turned off the lights before hitting the sack. But did I have any chance of just doing so? Hell, no.

Well, erm, depending on how you'd define it, perhaps sort of. But in the meaning as I had intended? No way. Not with this baby lurking under the blanket. Not the slightest chance in the world.

Despite the fact that I was still pretty worn from not so long ago. But did she care? Well, again depends on how you'd actually define that. Lets just say, by a certain definition I've to admit she actually managed succeeded doing so, erm, exhaustively.

And by far wasn't the first time that happened, too. Oh no. Nor will it probly be the last. Kinda the perfect gender role reversal.

Though, with regards to probly not the last time, I'll hasten to add, well, hopefully not!

Which is where the gender reversal analogy abruptly ends, 'mafraid.

(continued ...)

Just can't put my finger on what exactly

After showering, looking at my face in the mirror, examining how badly my hair needed cutting yet, suddenly got caught by something ... something I'd have to consider too ... but I just couldn't put my finger on.

Something that'd been perhaps, but what exactly again?

And despite the clue being perfectly visible on my forehead all the time, i.e. the scars and the graft there, took me an incredible while to finally get it.

The lumpies! Just like I already had kinda totally forgotten I ever had them!

Only remembering vaguely that there'd always been an additional effort cutting the rest of my hair around them, something I usually had to ask my mate to do.

Well, not anymore. Also not putting my finger on any of them literally, haha!

And you know what? Body fascist or not, no remorse. Not at all.

Pigs Galore UPDATE

Missed the original entry?

Halif just got his sentence in the mail, obviously posted on the glorious occasion of the fuehrers birthday:

6 months and 20 days, on parole for 2 years (out of the 9 months the DA wanted).

Despite the judge having acquitted him of 6 of the 12 original charges.

So far so predictable.

The only exception being that obviously it finally sunk in there's no money to get from him, so there was no additional fine, and even the two thirds of the 3000.-- costs for the trial he got nominally portioned got written off at once.

Whoa, must've been her generous day. Or something.

Ha!

I did it.

Incredible, but true: Eventually I made her say 'Stop'. Even pulling my hand away. And despite her playfully adding 'just for an hour or so', we both knew better.

Oh, make no mistake, not that I'd been capable of bringing it up again myself at that point, not even remotedly like. (More precisely, already last time that had needed more than just a wee bit of persuasion. But, no way stopping her then ...)

Not to mention we both had had a busy day behind us, plus another one just a few hours ahead.

However, I still would've been ready making this kitty purr and twitch and gasp once more no sweat, not to mention loving it. Actually going for it already, which was why she said 'Stop' in the first place.

And call me whatever names in the book you like, truth is, while both of us falling asleep fast, part of me felt some kind of silly gratification, putting an even slightly wider smile on my face.

Ha!


(continued ...)

Pigs galore

Friday went to the local court having a peek at Alex 'Halif' Moshe's latest twelve charges rolled into one trial. Kinda funny showing up there without being the accused myself, hawhaw.

Like plenty others, Halif got harassed and f**ked over by the Zurich Police on grounds that didn't even exist legally, and when insisting on them having no rights to do so, of course just got f**ked over again again. So far, so regular. But Halif being Halif, he just refused to 'get it' and shut up (as any 'reasonable' person would've).

Unfortunately did so in ways making it for the cops and their friends at the district attorney's offices pretty easy now f**king him over on kinda actual legal grounds for a change. Like by e.g. sending them lotsa less and less friendly emails, plus ringing them up regularly, also at their private homes. So in addition to the few days on probation plus 20'000.-- Swiss Francs he already got sentenced for last year, now the DA wants him to have another 9 months plus probly some 100'000s (good one, since Halif's already broke anyway).

Plainclothes Officer A.S. acting as 'agent provocateur' ...
© Anger 2002

To really justify the charges, the filth went for the whole show. I.e. gates 'n' coppers à discretion, people getting searched 'n' metal detectored, free mandatory cloakroom and so on. Plus contrary to what the judge told Halif's lawyer, were also asking for IDs plus putting names on file. Just another thing there's no legal grounds for, which is why I left mine at home just to begin with (incl. the mobile just in case).

However, didn't even bother not telling them my real name, and BINGO, 15 minutes later got plenty additional hits from the county coppers ISP on every homepage they got me on file for. Like the one you're reading, or this one, that one, and this one here etc, never mind all perfectly legal, even court-approved since of course they've already tried that one fer sure, but hey, who cares (links to english section usually top right by the way). Thanx, boys!

In total were 6 visitors in the court room (two more refused to give their names and weren't admitted, which, as even the judge had to admit later, was just plain illegal, but guess what, not that she really cared). 3 of the visitors btw being the copper who filed most of of the charges against Halif plus two of his mates, since he's sooo terrified and really feels threatened, literally 'fearing for his very life', as he'd told the DA.

[Yup, actually the very copper A.S. shown on the pics here, filmed Mayday 2002 on active duty 'infiltrating' demonstrators, trying to start a riot pretty hard but still in vain, not to mention intimidating innocent passers-by. And yes, just in case you might ask, my mate who did them pics of course got violently arrested for doing so hardly 10 minutes later, his glasses broken, camera confiscated etc. And despite the charges being 'creative' as usual, eventually our 'tough' union-lawyer just dropping the case as 'hopeless' due to all involved coppers lying unisono. After I picked up the case as 'layman defence counsel' since no pro would do so without seeing loads of money upfront, insisting on doing everything and especially the confiscations very strictly by the book, thank God the DA got so pissed off by such impertinence that she made some serious mistakes, plus then the coppers lying a bit too fancifully as well, so eventually the judge refused to accept the charges which thereafter were finally dropped. Needless to say A.S. and his copper mates were never charged ...]

So for the well-searched 3 civilian visitors plus the evenly well-searched 'extremely dangerous' defendant (as usual tried searching his lawyer's bag as well), there were no less than 19 heavily armed coppers at guard inside and in front of the courtroom. And yeah, surprise, surprise, as I had a good chance to witness, of the 6 admitted visitors only two had their names taken on file. I.e. just those civilians they already knew and/or suspected of being acquaintances of the defendant, that is.

When Halif's lawyer later complained about that and the judge seemingly surprised asked if this was really true, the boss-copper suddenly hastened to add, the remaining names would be added to the list afterwards. Couldn't help myself barely hiding a good laugh. These arrogant b*stards are just so ignorant! Like the copper guarding the notepad with the filed names, when the lawyer later asked if now all the names had been taken, brushing her off, 'I don't know'.

... and frightening passers-by, Zurich, Mayday 2002.
© Anger 2002

Unfortunately had to hurry on, so don't know the outcome of the case yet. Though probly pretty predictable anyway, innit?

Frankly, though I have myself well enough under control as not doing themselves the favour of getting provoked by these kinda games, deep down that's obviously still a bit different. Cause, when again doing our PigBrother Live Show in Freiburg i. Br. the next day, despite usually making a point of only calling them 'officers' or at worst 'cops' and as per usual arguing my case of not lumping all of them together, am afraid have to plead guilty of having thrown in two or three 'pigs' for a change.

Help! Pt. 2

Missed Part 1? You'll miss the pun!

Nah, seriously now. Don't know what kinda girls you might pull (or be), but in my life in 7 out of 10 relationships me always wanting too much sex too many times too often and for too long was an issue, not to mention one of the main reasons for them to eventually come to an end. While on the other hand I only once ever heard complaints of the contrary. (Well, I've to admit she was probly right about me being a pretty inhibited victim of the protestant working ethics at that point.)

The remaining other few, if truth be told, well, felt I was only just barely able putting up with their sex drive myself (and just for the record, that's not a complaint, especially not from a wannabe stud like me ;-). Means, yes, I do recall some brief moments of temporary exhaustion also from their part (hey, sometimes even for the rest of the night). And they also never complained bout me not being enough at it, but generally we're always very gentle and, ahem, supportive. But ...

But actually I never harbored too much doubt whether or not they'd consider me (or any other man) as a real competition regarding sexual appetite (not to mention living it).

I mean, hey guys, like it or not, obviously that's just the way nature-or-who-or-whatever arranged it, and I for one have no problem neither with the fact nor with admitting it, nor do I feel humiliated by it too much.

Contrary to playing the 'traditional' male role, that is. You know, the dumb guy who always wants and never gets, and especially not until he coughs up this or that in advance anyway.

Cause broken hearted or not, rather than playing stoopid like this, actually I'm better off alone (hehe).

(continued ...)

How could I ever forgive God? Pt. 1 (Tears are a gift from heaven Pt. 6)

The really hard death in my family was my grandfather's. Actually I wasn't supposed to even know about how hard exactly. Parents had told me not to visit him in hospital. Should've known better, but the truth is I'd been stupid, stupid, stupid and f**ked up enough to oblige. Same old, same old, same effin old. Though perhaps this is the one I regret the most.

It was early summer when he eventually died. And though that's another story, just a few more months to go till I lost my faith and unlearned crying for plenty summers to come.

Despite my parents still being very reluctant, at least went to see him in the local cemetery before he got cremated. The mortuary was such a nightmare by itself. Not like other places keeping the dead in coffins in a room so you could sit beside them or so, oh no.

The whole thing being more like a kind of a corridor in the cellar of the building, equipped with a row of little oval green porthole type of windows in one of the walls, directed downwards if I remember correctly. And there they were, behind behind those peek holes, obviously into a cold room. All you could was having a last distant look through the green window. Cold, fading light on cold faces.

What a place to bid farewell. So ugly and heartless, shut off and deader than dead already. Just like especially designed to pale my childhood fears of such places. Kinda even worse than the visiting room at airport prison, where you're only allowed seeing people through an armoured glass, at least there it's a huge transparent window (smeared with heartbreaking marks of lips and tiny little hands and fingers on the outside).

All I could see was his face kinda upside down, looking strange through this thick green glass. But even so it was plain to see it must've been really hard and very painful. Like he didn't smile at all. Still clenching his teeth, lips thin and tense.

Only found out about the details almost 10 years later, cause my then girlfriend by chance happened to be in the same hospital getting surgery when he'd died. Only after she told me what she witnessed there, I went back to my grandmother and parents, nagging them for the real story.

Some people have said I'm one in a million, but usually myself I'm not so sure about that. Cause he no doubt was, farmer's boy to CEO and all, and though I have some ideas where not only my bad temper and trademark stubborness but also my sense of integrity stem from, actually m'afraid I'm no match at all.

And while everybody admired and envied him for the more glorious and glamourous aspects of his life, personally I know pretty no one who'd been able standing in his shoes only for a year or two, let alone some decades.

Cause, though he could look so gentle and peaceful, especially with us grandchildren around, it's still from his face that I learned recognising this typical look of people who already were and / or still are going trough a terrible lot of also physical pain only by sheer willpower, and he went really far in about every sense of the word no doubt. And that was only the good times yet.

Cause God had saved His worst for the end ...

Part 2

Tears continued ...

Help!

I'm with this girl, and she's even more obsessed with sex than yours truly.

Never wants to stop, but always wants again!

Help!!!


(continued ...)