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Recovering from the sting of femalien rejection is never fun. I'm trying to use the experience to detach from desire. It's a Buddhist concept, but quite honestly it's also my own conclusion. Desire is suffering. If I can let the desire be there and not let it consume me, I am a better man. The same goes for the other emotions and thoughts connected with rejection - anger, hurt, self-pity. There's nothing wrong with any of them, they are as natural as pie. It's only my attachment to them that hurts.
I'm not trying to preach here. Nor am I trying to be a Buddhist. I hate that shit. The truth is, when I get rejected by a womanoid, a whole series of unpleasant thoughts and emotions come to the forefront of my stilted, white male psyche. And I don't like them and I don't like the pain they cause me. So, I deal with them as best as I can, and as far as I can see, it is my relationship to them that is the problem. I could drink my sorrow away, but that would not change my relationship to the pain, it would merely mask it. I did it for years and not a goddamn thing changed, except that I ran the ever-increasing risk of becoming an addict. So, fuck.
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I always thought that the coolest kind of assault rifles were ones that were belt-fed, and full auto, like the ARES-16 AMG-2. Why are they so cool? Well, cuz belt-fed and full-auto means they aren't really assault rifles. They're light machine guns. :-) And that's some awesome CQB shit.
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The cat is nervous cuz I moved the couch, which has become her sanctuary in this new house. I fear she will make a break for it if she spies an open door before she calms down again. Everything is locked down tight. Why do I love the damn creature so much? Well, she's atrociously cute. She was a wild kitten when I found her, many years ago, and it took me 2 months to tame her. Of course, she's been a commanding bitch for nigh on a decade, but what the hey, sometimes a man needs a strong female presence in his life.
My relationship with her is unlike any other relationship I've ever experienced. I call her my "companion", for lack of a better descriptor. She climbs under the covers on cold nights and keeps me warm. It's like sleeping with a hot, heavy, heavenly feather. Sometimes I annoy her. Sometimes she annoys me. Sometimes she gets spanked right on her skinny little cat bum a hundred futile times in a row, and sometimes I get ripped apart by her brutally sharp claws. Credit where credit is due: She's got class, and she stands up for herself. I admire both characteristics.
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I bought this fucking cottage, and I love it, it's beautiful and full of light and has an awesome backyard with a big hardwood deck. And right away I start turning it into a survivalist outpost. I've been working my ass off for weeks now, and I'm starting to think, Am I crazed? Why can't I just veg on the fucking deck like an American? Why am I buying 1/2 wine barrels and fruit trees and a security screen for the front door when I could be buying a deck lounge set and drinking beer on it like a normal human being? I suppose that I am crazed, and that's just the way it is. You can't un-know what you know. And I know that human history is full of pitiless strife of every caliber and color, and this century will be no different. I guarantee that if the people like me out there all said Fuck It and gave up the Life and buried our heads in the sand of mindless suburban consumption, the shit would immediately hit the proverbial fan. Sometimes it doesn't rain because we are carrying umbrellas, Folks. Wake up and smell the cordite.
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I had a thought the other day. It was a big one. It really filled a hole that I couldn't get around for a long time. Here's what it was: The anti-gun people are kind of right because guns make it really easy to kill people, maybe too easy. Probably too easy. And the pro-gun peeps are kind of right because if we were all armed then criminals would get there nuts shot off if they tried to pull their shit in public. Both sides seem kind of right-on to me. THEN IT DAWNED ON ME: The issue has gotten confused. Cuz here's the way it is: Owning guns is not going to address the root causes of crime. But it does help stop criminals from doing bad shit. And that makes sense to me. It's like everyone has forgotten the basic truths of the situation. The anti-gun people think it's immoral not to address crime as a social ill that must be lovingly nipped in the bud, and the pro-gun people think that shooting criminals is stopping the cause of crime. So, yeah, this was something that I ruminated on for many years, and I feel good now that I know how things stand.
Well cripes - I could talk all day, but there's an urban retreat still to be built, so I'd better get on. Rest well.
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