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
Thursday, May 22, 2008
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
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Autumn Vigil
Lustrous and cold
The clouds of the Dawn
Let fall shards of silver
This bitter March morn
And I, thinking of you,
Must shudder and sigh -
In the gloom of my room
Life passes me by.
- DannyR
The clouds of the Dawn
Let fall shards of silver
This bitter March morn
And I, thinking of you,
Must shudder and sigh -
In the gloom of my room
Life passes me by.
- DannyR
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Funny
It's funny
Once the chance is gone, and
There's nothing you can do,
When you've gone beyond redemption
And you're lost out in the blue,
You move beyond depression
And a numbness settles in,
And you wonder how you ever felt
Anything for him.
You can't quite fathom how
You came to give your heart away,
You feel a loss, you count the cost in
An academic way.
Somehow you just can't seem to care
If you should live or die,
All future plans just disappear
You banish all desire.
You're living by default,
Merely an automaton
Feeling somewhat disconnected,
All your former spark is gone.
It's funny,
When you lose all hope
Of ever being loved,
The nothingness just takes the pain
Leaving you unplugged.
-D Rudd
Once the chance is gone, and
There's nothing you can do,
When you've gone beyond redemption
And you're lost out in the blue,
You move beyond depression
And a numbness settles in,
And you wonder how you ever felt
Anything for him.
You can't quite fathom how
You came to give your heart away,
You feel a loss, you count the cost in
An academic way.
Somehow you just can't seem to care
If you should live or die,
All future plans just disappear
You banish all desire.
You're living by default,
Merely an automaton
Feeling somewhat disconnected,
All your former spark is gone.
It's funny,
When you lose all hope
Of ever being loved,
The nothingness just takes the pain
Leaving you unplugged.
-D Rudd
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road
This song describes quite well how I'm feeling just now, having today resigned from UniQ and resolved to leave Palmerston North and go back to work. It's about turning my back on being cosmopolitan and fake, and returning to the familiar, the isolated and the genuine. A lot of the bitterness, reflected in references to 'Society Dogs' and being set on your feet again by just another couple of drinks, is directed toward Seth, who I feel at this point cares about nobody but himself and his own interests, least of all my feelings.
The Yellow Brick Road, I feel, is quite apt, too.... too long have I chased after dreams, thinking that happiness lay 'out there' somewhere. There is also, implicit in this song for me at least, a rejection of the Gay Community. I have found it to be shallow, superficial and judgemental - serving only it's own interests, readily abandoning those who cannot so easily conform to 'normalness'.
So then, here, in all their bitter splendour, are the lyrics to Elton John's 'Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road':
When are you gonna come down,
When are you going to land?
I should have stayed on the farm -
I should have listened to my old man!
You know you can't hold me forever -
I didn't sign up with you.
I'm not a present for your friends to open,
This boy's too young to be singing
The blues.
So goodbye, Yellow Brick Road,
Where the dogs of society howl -
You can't plant me in your penthouse,
I'm going back to my plough!
Back to the howling old owl
Hunting the horny back toad...
Oh I've finally decided my future lies
Beyond the Yellow Brick Road!
What do you think you'll do then?
I bet that'll shoot down your plane.
It'll take you a couple of vodka and tonics
To set you on your feet again!
Maybe you'll get a replacement,
There's plenty like me to be found -
Mongrels who ain't got a penny,
Sniffing for tidbits like you on
The ground.
So goodbye, Yellow Brick Road,
Where the dogs of society howl -
You can't plant me in your penthouse,
I'm going back to my plough!
Back to the howling old owl
Hunting the horny back toad...
Oh I've finally decided my future lies
Beyond the Yellow Brick Road!
by Bernie Taupin, Elton John
Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, assholes!!
The Yellow Brick Road, I feel, is quite apt, too.... too long have I chased after dreams, thinking that happiness lay 'out there' somewhere. There is also, implicit in this song for me at least, a rejection of the Gay Community. I have found it to be shallow, superficial and judgemental - serving only it's own interests, readily abandoning those who cannot so easily conform to 'normalness'.
So then, here, in all their bitter splendour, are the lyrics to Elton John's 'Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road':
When are you gonna come down,
When are you going to land?
I should have stayed on the farm -
I should have listened to my old man!
You know you can't hold me forever -
I didn't sign up with you.
I'm not a present for your friends to open,
This boy's too young to be singing
The blues.
So goodbye, Yellow Brick Road,
Where the dogs of society howl -
You can't plant me in your penthouse,
I'm going back to my plough!
Back to the howling old owl
Hunting the horny back toad...
Oh I've finally decided my future lies
Beyond the Yellow Brick Road!
What do you think you'll do then?
I bet that'll shoot down your plane.
It'll take you a couple of vodka and tonics
To set you on your feet again!
Maybe you'll get a replacement,
There's plenty like me to be found -
Mongrels who ain't got a penny,
Sniffing for tidbits like you on
The ground.
So goodbye, Yellow Brick Road,
Where the dogs of society howl -
You can't plant me in your penthouse,
I'm going back to my plough!
Back to the howling old owl
Hunting the horny back toad...
Oh I've finally decided my future lies
Beyond the Yellow Brick Road!
by Bernie Taupin, Elton John
Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, assholes!!
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Breaking Up Is Hard To Do....
For Good
by Stephen Schwartz,
From the musical Wicked.
I've heard it said
That people come into our lives
For a reason,
Bringing something we must learn.
And we are led
To those
Who help us most to grow,
If we let them,
And we help them in return.
Well I don't know if I believe that's true -
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you.
Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun,
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood -
Who can say if I've been changed for the better? but
Because I knew you,
I have been changed for good.
It well may be
That we will never meet again
In this lifetime,
So let me say before we part
So much of me
Is made of what I learned from you -
You'll be with me
Like a handprint on my heart.
And now whatever way our stories end,
I know you have rewritten mine by being my friend.
Like a ship blown from it's moorings
By a wind off the sea,
Like a seed dropped by a skybird
In a distant wood -
Who can say if I've been changed for the better? but
Because I knew you,
I have been changed for good.
And just to clear the air I ask forgiveness
For the things I've done you blame me for.
But then I guess we know there's blame to share -
And none of it seems to matter anymore.
Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes the sun,
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood -
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
I do believe I have been changed for the better, and
Because I knew you,
Because I knew you,
Because I knew you
I have been changed...
For good.
by Stephen Schwartz,
From the musical Wicked.
I've heard it said
That people come into our lives
For a reason,
Bringing something we must learn.
And we are led
To those
Who help us most to grow,
If we let them,
And we help them in return.
Well I don't know if I believe that's true -
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you.
Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun,
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood -
Who can say if I've been changed for the better? but
Because I knew you,
I have been changed for good.
It well may be
That we will never meet again
In this lifetime,
So let me say before we part
So much of me
Is made of what I learned from you -
You'll be with me
Like a handprint on my heart.
And now whatever way our stories end,
I know you have rewritten mine by being my friend.
Like a ship blown from it's moorings
By a wind off the sea,
Like a seed dropped by a skybird
In a distant wood -
Who can say if I've been changed for the better? but
Because I knew you,
I have been changed for good.
And just to clear the air I ask forgiveness
For the things I've done you blame me for.
But then I guess we know there's blame to share -
And none of it seems to matter anymore.
Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes the sun,
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood -
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
I do believe I have been changed for the better, and
Because I knew you,
Because I knew you,
Because I knew you
I have been changed...
For good.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Spider Wars
I just spent the last twenty minutes watching a big Daddy Long Legs spider creeping down a Huntsman spider's thread from the ceiling, slowly reeling the smaller spider in like it was fishing. The Huntsman was by no means little either, while it didn't have the leg span of the Daddy Long Legs it's a bulkier spider, and not nearly as fragile.
The Huntsman knew what was happening and was desperately trying to save itself, reeling out incredibly long threads which waved in the breeze, obviously hoping the threads would catch on somewhere so it could pull itself away to safety. That plan wasn't working so well, and a few times it ran up the line it was hanging by, which the Daddy Long Legs was creeping down, but whenever they got within an inch or two of each other the Daddy long Legs lunged out to attack the Huntsman, which went hurrying back down the line again.
The Daddy Long legs seemed to know it wasn't in an ideal situation, it was going very slowly, cautiously, and a few times looked like it was about to fall off. But it was determined, and kept creeping along toward the Huntsman, slowly reeling the smaller spider in.
After watching for a while, curious to see what would happen, I felt sorry enough for the Huntsman that I caught one of its escape lines on my finger and got it to stick to the doorframe. As soon as the Huntsman felt that the line was strong enough it ran down that line and escaped, and the Daddy long legs, defeated, went back up to the ceiling. My good deed done, I fetched the vacuum cleaner and sucked them both up.
- DannyR
The Huntsman knew what was happening and was desperately trying to save itself, reeling out incredibly long threads which waved in the breeze, obviously hoping the threads would catch on somewhere so it could pull itself away to safety. That plan wasn't working so well, and a few times it ran up the line it was hanging by, which the Daddy Long Legs was creeping down, but whenever they got within an inch or two of each other the Daddy long Legs lunged out to attack the Huntsman, which went hurrying back down the line again.
The Daddy Long legs seemed to know it wasn't in an ideal situation, it was going very slowly, cautiously, and a few times looked like it was about to fall off. But it was determined, and kept creeping along toward the Huntsman, slowly reeling the smaller spider in.
After watching for a while, curious to see what would happen, I felt sorry enough for the Huntsman that I caught one of its escape lines on my finger and got it to stick to the doorframe. As soon as the Huntsman felt that the line was strong enough it ran down that line and escaped, and the Daddy long legs, defeated, went back up to the ceiling. My good deed done, I fetched the vacuum cleaner and sucked them both up.
- DannyR
Monday, November 5, 2007
And Now, For Something Completely Different...
Just a quick update.
Remember G from the other night? Him and me are seeing each other, we really hit it off and have been spending a lot of time together this last two weeks. S knows all about it and he's happy, he likes G (they used to go out, AGES ago) and so we're going on our first date tonight.... can't wait! So yeah, we're now officially a 'threeple'. Weird, huh? I'm SO happy, I've just been grinning like an idiot for days.
I guess I'm so happy cos it's the first time I've really laid myself completely open and it went well, I'm used to being honest and having it thrown back in my face.
Remember G from the other night? Him and me are seeing each other, we really hit it off and have been spending a lot of time together this last two weeks. S knows all about it and he's happy, he likes G (they used to go out, AGES ago) and so we're going on our first date tonight.... can't wait! So yeah, we're now officially a 'threeple'. Weird, huh? I'm SO happy, I've just been grinning like an idiot for days.
I guess I'm so happy cos it's the first time I've really laid myself completely open and it went well, I'm used to being honest and having it thrown back in my face.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Fair Weather
I really should have guessed,
I'd have thought I would have known,
I said I'd seen it all before -
These symptoms you have shown.
I knew something wasn't right
But I really didn't care,
Too self-involved to spend the time,
Taken with my own affairs.
And now that you're unwell
I'm too ashamed to lend an ear -
What kind of friend am I?
Turning a blind eye,
Walking quickly by,
I pretend I'm unaware.
I'd have thought I would have known,
I said I'd seen it all before -
These symptoms you have shown.
I knew something wasn't right
But I really didn't care,
Too self-involved to spend the time,
Taken with my own affairs.
And now that you're unwell
I'm too ashamed to lend an ear -
What kind of friend am I?
Turning a blind eye,
Walking quickly by,
I pretend I'm unaware.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
A Start...
Well, I did it.
;D
Last night after dinner at S’s house I initiated a conversation about polyamory. It scared me half to death to do it, but I did, having made up my mind on the way over that I had to for my own sanity.
I can’t even remember exactly how the conversation went, I was that scared, and then after we’d had it I had to ask myself over and over if it had really happened.
He was confused when I first said the word, and he looked just as scared as I felt. I told him I had been trying to work out for a long time whether he would still accept me, given the films and TV shows he likes, the way he’s always checking other people out and so on. I told him that I’m happy being with him, I like our relationship and I look forward to our future together, and that my fears of rejection over this issue come mostly from experience with previous partners and from rejection at school and from my family for other things.
He told me this was completely out of the blue, that he'd never guessed that I was trying to work out his feelings about open relationships and seeing other people and so on. He thinks maybe I picked up on the polyamory aspects of his favourite movies and TV shows because it was something that is actually in my life, where it hasn’t been in his so he didn’t really notice those themes. He also answered a question I’ve had for a long time but have been too scared to ask, that his past relationships have always been strictly monogamous and he’s never even thought of having it any other way.
He told me that having this conversation was like it all clicking into place for him, it answered a lot of his questions about me holding back in communication and also my past objections to him checking other guys out (I was being the dutiful monogamous boyfriend and he wasn’t “playing by the rules”).
We talked a bit about my past non-monogamous relationships, and that I am involved in the poly community. We didn't talk about the sex side of things, and I still think we need to, but it's a start anyway. He said he thinks at this point he would be hurt if I did start seeing someone else, and seemed disbelieving that I could see him with someone else and not be angry (even after I'd explained things like compersion), but he didn’t scream and shout and made a point of saying that he’s glad I brought this up and that he loves me.
He’s said he’ll read up about it a bit and ask questions as he has them, but said that I have to work on my communication with him, because most of the barriers are put up by me. And I totally accept that – I know a polyamorous relationship needs a strong foundation of good communication skills.
Funny thing is, we went to bed after and started fooling around, and he was pretty excited... I wonder if it turns him on?? So yeah, I’ve done it, after a whole year and a half of wondering how to bring it up and being sure I wasn’t going to be loved and accepted as I am, I did it and he still loves me. Joy!!
;D
Last night after dinner at S’s house I initiated a conversation about polyamory. It scared me half to death to do it, but I did, having made up my mind on the way over that I had to for my own sanity.
I can’t even remember exactly how the conversation went, I was that scared, and then after we’d had it I had to ask myself over and over if it had really happened.
He was confused when I first said the word, and he looked just as scared as I felt. I told him I had been trying to work out for a long time whether he would still accept me, given the films and TV shows he likes, the way he’s always checking other people out and so on. I told him that I’m happy being with him, I like our relationship and I look forward to our future together, and that my fears of rejection over this issue come mostly from experience with previous partners and from rejection at school and from my family for other things.
He told me this was completely out of the blue, that he'd never guessed that I was trying to work out his feelings about open relationships and seeing other people and so on. He thinks maybe I picked up on the polyamory aspects of his favourite movies and TV shows because it was something that is actually in my life, where it hasn’t been in his so he didn’t really notice those themes. He also answered a question I’ve had for a long time but have been too scared to ask, that his past relationships have always been strictly monogamous and he’s never even thought of having it any other way.
He told me that having this conversation was like it all clicking into place for him, it answered a lot of his questions about me holding back in communication and also my past objections to him checking other guys out (I was being the dutiful monogamous boyfriend and he wasn’t “playing by the rules”).
We talked a bit about my past non-monogamous relationships, and that I am involved in the poly community. We didn't talk about the sex side of things, and I still think we need to, but it's a start anyway. He said he thinks at this point he would be hurt if I did start seeing someone else, and seemed disbelieving that I could see him with someone else and not be angry (even after I'd explained things like compersion), but he didn’t scream and shout and made a point of saying that he’s glad I brought this up and that he loves me.
He’s said he’ll read up about it a bit and ask questions as he has them, but said that I have to work on my communication with him, because most of the barriers are put up by me. And I totally accept that – I know a polyamorous relationship needs a strong foundation of good communication skills.
Funny thing is, we went to bed after and started fooling around, and he was pretty excited... I wonder if it turns him on?? So yeah, I’ve done it, after a whole year and a half of wondering how to bring it up and being sure I wasn’t going to be loved and accepted as I am, I did it and he still loves me. Joy!!
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Being Intersex -- Deviant, CHAFF 2007
Alice, from Holland, has Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome (AIS)
Alice has XY chromosomes, which is the norm for males, as opposed to XX for females. When she was 17, Alice went to the doctor to find out why she still hadn't got her first period. He sent her on to a hospital for a test. As the test was being administered, she saw the technician frown; he said that the machine didn't seem to be working, and they had better move to another room and try another machine. Again, there seemed to be something wrong.
The technician left the room to call a doctor. The doctor looked at the machine, frowned too, and then did an internal check up. What he found was nothing. In Alice's body, he found no womb, no uterus, no ovaries. Nothing. It was only then that Alice discovered she had AIS. Although she has XY chromosomes, being insensitive to testosterone, she developed in a female direction. Complete AIS means that the person will look absolutely female from the outside. However AIS is only one of about 75 different intersex conditions.
What is intersex?
Intersex people are born with external genitalia, internal reproductive organs, and/or endocrine system that are different from most other people. There is no single "intersex body"; it encompasses a wide variety of conditions that do not have anything in common except that they are deemed "abnormal" by the society. What makes intersex people similar is their experiences of medicalization, not biology. Intersex is not an identity. While some intersex people do reclaim it as part of their identity, it is not a freely chosen category of gender - it can only be reclaimed. Most intersex people identify as men or women, just like everybody else.
Are intersex conditions harmful?
In general, intersex conditions do not cause the person to feel sick or in pain. However, some intersex conditions are associated with serious health issues, which need to be treated medically. Surgically "correcting" the appearance of intersex genitals will not change these underlying medical needs.
How common are intersex conditions?
No one knows exactly how many children are born with intersex conditions because of the secrecy and deception surrounding it, and also because there are no concrete boundaries to the definition of "intersex." It is nonetheless estimated that about one in 2,000 children are born visibly intersex, prompting early intervention. It is estimated that approximately 30 babies are born each year in New Zealand with indeterminate sexual organs.
Can't they just do a test to find out babies' true sex?
Medicine cannot determine the baby's "true sex." For example, chromosomes do not necessarily dictate one's gender identity, as it is obvious from the fact that most people born with androgen insensitivity syndrome live as women despite their XY chromosomes. In other words: science can measure how large a clitoris is, but cannot conclude how large or small it needs to be. That is a social determination.
How do we know the correct gender of a child with an intersex condition?
In most cases the decision is made by parents and doctors when the child is an infant, based on their best prediction, and this is followed by repeated genital surgery, ongoing hormonal and psychological treatment, and socialisation in the assigned gender. The extent to which such intervention is necessary for the child's physical and mental health, or whether it is both physiologically and psychologically harmful, remains a contentious issue. It is however recommended that the child be assigned a gender, and allowed to determine for himself or herself once he or she is old enough to do so. Irreversible surgeries on infants should be avoided in order to give them the widest range of choices when they are older. Performing surgeries will not eliminate the possibility that our prediction is wrong.
What is the correct pronoun for intersex people?
Pronouns should not be based on the shape of one's genitalia, but on what the person prefers to be called. For children too young to communicate what her/his preference is, go with the gender assignment parents and doctor agreed on based on their best prediction. Do not call intersex children "it": that is dehumanizing.
Are there five sexes?
The notion of "five sexes" was popularized by Anne Fausto-Sterling's article "The Five Sexes: Why Male and Female Are Not Enough" published in 1993. In this largely tongue-in-cheek piece, she wrote that three subcategories among "intersex" should be considered as three additional sexes aside from male and female. Unfortunately, the "five sexes" theory does not help people with intersex conditions. Fausto-Sterling later wrote in "Sexing the Body" (2000) that she was "no longer advocating" these categories, "even tongue-in-cheek".
Are intersex people "third gender"?
Many people with intersex conditions identify solidly as a man or as a woman, like many non-intersex people. There are some who identify as a member of an alternative gender, like some non-intersex people. While everyone has a right to define his or her own identities, people with intersex conditions should not be expected to be gender-transgressive just because of their condition.
Is intersex part of the trans community?
While some people with intersex conditions also identify as trans, intersex people as a group have a unique set of needs and priorities beyond those shared with trans people. Too often, these unique needs are made invisible or secondary when "intersex" becomes a subcategory of "transgender". For example, people who discuss about intersex in the context of transgender often stress the risk of assigning a "wrong" gender as an argument against intersex genital mutilation, which overlooks the fact that intersex medical treatment is painful and traumatic whether or not one's gender identity happens to match her or his assigned gender. It is for this reason that intersex people prefer to have "intersex" spelled out explicitly rather than have it included in the "transgender" umbrella.
What is the difference between "hermaphrodite" and "intersex"?
In biology, "hermaphrodite" means an organism that has both male and female sets of reproductive organs (like snails and earthworms). In humans, there are no actual hermaphrodites in this sense, although doctors have called people with intersex conditions hermaphrodites because intersex bodies do not neatly conform to what doctors define as the "normal" male or female bodies. The word "hermaphrodite" is misleading, mythologizing, and stigmatizing. Although some intersex activists do reclaim and use this term to describe themselves, it is not an appropriate term to refer to intersex people in general. In short, snails are the hermaphrodites; humans are not. Also, please avoid using the word "intersexual" as a noun; it is preferable to say, "intersex people" or "people with intersex conditions/experiences."
“Gender is really outdated. You might say that we're very much wired as a society to believe that there's only 2 answers ... gender isn't just male or female. There's a plethora of options between, why do we have to stick with one or the other? It's not a yes/no binary question. It's like asking someone from Canada, "Do you live in Montreal or Quebec?" with absolutely no expectation of any other answer - it's completely ridiculous.”
DannyR, Trysha E'Layne Kaneko
Alice has XY chromosomes, which is the norm for males, as opposed to XX for females. When she was 17, Alice went to the doctor to find out why she still hadn't got her first period. He sent her on to a hospital for a test. As the test was being administered, she saw the technician frown; he said that the machine didn't seem to be working, and they had better move to another room and try another machine. Again, there seemed to be something wrong.
The technician left the room to call a doctor. The doctor looked at the machine, frowned too, and then did an internal check up. What he found was nothing. In Alice's body, he found no womb, no uterus, no ovaries. Nothing. It was only then that Alice discovered she had AIS. Although she has XY chromosomes, being insensitive to testosterone, she developed in a female direction. Complete AIS means that the person will look absolutely female from the outside. However AIS is only one of about 75 different intersex conditions.
What is intersex?
Intersex people are born with external genitalia, internal reproductive organs, and/or endocrine system that are different from most other people. There is no single "intersex body"; it encompasses a wide variety of conditions that do not have anything in common except that they are deemed "abnormal" by the society. What makes intersex people similar is their experiences of medicalization, not biology. Intersex is not an identity. While some intersex people do reclaim it as part of their identity, it is not a freely chosen category of gender - it can only be reclaimed. Most intersex people identify as men or women, just like everybody else.
Are intersex conditions harmful?
In general, intersex conditions do not cause the person to feel sick or in pain. However, some intersex conditions are associated with serious health issues, which need to be treated medically. Surgically "correcting" the appearance of intersex genitals will not change these underlying medical needs.
How common are intersex conditions?
No one knows exactly how many children are born with intersex conditions because of the secrecy and deception surrounding it, and also because there are no concrete boundaries to the definition of "intersex." It is nonetheless estimated that about one in 2,000 children are born visibly intersex, prompting early intervention. It is estimated that approximately 30 babies are born each year in New Zealand with indeterminate sexual organs.
Can't they just do a test to find out babies' true sex?
Medicine cannot determine the baby's "true sex." For example, chromosomes do not necessarily dictate one's gender identity, as it is obvious from the fact that most people born with androgen insensitivity syndrome live as women despite their XY chromosomes. In other words: science can measure how large a clitoris is, but cannot conclude how large or small it needs to be. That is a social determination.
How do we know the correct gender of a child with an intersex condition?
In most cases the decision is made by parents and doctors when the child is an infant, based on their best prediction, and this is followed by repeated genital surgery, ongoing hormonal and psychological treatment, and socialisation in the assigned gender. The extent to which such intervention is necessary for the child's physical and mental health, or whether it is both physiologically and psychologically harmful, remains a contentious issue. It is however recommended that the child be assigned a gender, and allowed to determine for himself or herself once he or she is old enough to do so. Irreversible surgeries on infants should be avoided in order to give them the widest range of choices when they are older. Performing surgeries will not eliminate the possibility that our prediction is wrong.
What is the correct pronoun for intersex people?
Pronouns should not be based on the shape of one's genitalia, but on what the person prefers to be called. For children too young to communicate what her/his preference is, go with the gender assignment parents and doctor agreed on based on their best prediction. Do not call intersex children "it": that is dehumanizing.
Are there five sexes?
The notion of "five sexes" was popularized by Anne Fausto-Sterling's article "The Five Sexes: Why Male and Female Are Not Enough" published in 1993. In this largely tongue-in-cheek piece, she wrote that three subcategories among "intersex" should be considered as three additional sexes aside from male and female. Unfortunately, the "five sexes" theory does not help people with intersex conditions. Fausto-Sterling later wrote in "Sexing the Body" (2000) that she was "no longer advocating" these categories, "even tongue-in-cheek".
Are intersex people "third gender"?
Many people with intersex conditions identify solidly as a man or as a woman, like many non-intersex people. There are some who identify as a member of an alternative gender, like some non-intersex people. While everyone has a right to define his or her own identities, people with intersex conditions should not be expected to be gender-transgressive just because of their condition.
Is intersex part of the trans community?
While some people with intersex conditions also identify as trans, intersex people as a group have a unique set of needs and priorities beyond those shared with trans people. Too often, these unique needs are made invisible or secondary when "intersex" becomes a subcategory of "transgender". For example, people who discuss about intersex in the context of transgender often stress the risk of assigning a "wrong" gender as an argument against intersex genital mutilation, which overlooks the fact that intersex medical treatment is painful and traumatic whether or not one's gender identity happens to match her or his assigned gender. It is for this reason that intersex people prefer to have "intersex" spelled out explicitly rather than have it included in the "transgender" umbrella.
What is the difference between "hermaphrodite" and "intersex"?
In biology, "hermaphrodite" means an organism that has both male and female sets of reproductive organs (like snails and earthworms). In humans, there are no actual hermaphrodites in this sense, although doctors have called people with intersex conditions hermaphrodites because intersex bodies do not neatly conform to what doctors define as the "normal" male or female bodies. The word "hermaphrodite" is misleading, mythologizing, and stigmatizing. Although some intersex activists do reclaim and use this term to describe themselves, it is not an appropriate term to refer to intersex people in general. In short, snails are the hermaphrodites; humans are not. Also, please avoid using the word "intersexual" as a noun; it is preferable to say, "intersex people" or "people with intersex conditions/experiences."
“Gender is really outdated. You might say that we're very much wired as a society to believe that there's only 2 answers ... gender isn't just male or female. There's a plethora of options between, why do we have to stick with one or the other? It's not a yes/no binary question. It's like asking someone from Canada, "Do you live in Montreal or Quebec?" with absolutely no expectation of any other answer - it's completely ridiculous.”
DannyR, Trysha E'Layne Kaneko
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Quadruple Whammy -- SHAG Week, Deviant, CHAFF 2007
Queer enough?
What’s queer? Who’s queer?
These days, we usually use the word to talk about the ‘non-straight’ people in society, the obvious non-conformists like transsexuals, lesbians, gay men and bisexuals among us. Most of us understand ‘queer’ to mean same-sex orientation to some degree or the physical transition from one sex to the other, and for most intents and purposes, it suits just fine.
But who are we leaving out?
There are lots of other people out there who don’t call themselves straight but aren’t covered by our four ‘normal’ queer categories. Can the term ‘queer’ encompass all these many varied identities and behaviours?
First off the mark, how about people who are intersex, that is born neither male nor female, or some combination of both? Well of course, we queer people say earnestly, yes, obviously they belong under this umbrella with us. But we don’t think about them much, do we? We don’t make really make room in our communities for them, because we’re actually highly invested in people having ‘the right bits’. Gay girls emphatically want girl’s bits to play with, and gay guys are NOT welcoming of anyone who looks male overall but has some other sort of plumbing. Gay guys are positively elitist when it comes to the size and shape of certain organs. We're more about genitals than perhaps even straight people are. If the bits we expect to find aren't there, or are somewhat different, we react with something like disgust.
What about people who consider themselves transgender, but have no intention of making any sort of physical transition? The woman who secretly considers herself innately male, for instance, but lives an otherwise regular life? Or how about the ultra feminine woman, complete with all the plumbing, who is genetically male?
Shall we consider the transvestite – a straight man or woman who enjoys taking on the opposite gender only some of the time, with no interest in actually making a permanent transition? We in the queer community jump to the assumption that these people are bisexual or gay, given our experience with drag queens and kings, but surprisingly enough the vast majority of transvestites are actually heterosexual men.
What of the conventional male-female couple who enjoy swapping sexual roles and behaviours in the sack, celebrating their dual genderedness? A man may have no attraction to other men, and yet enjoy pretending to be a woman in the sack, and this role-playing is not that uncommon in women either. Similarly, there are men out there who would be considered ‘straight’ by all standards, except for their enjoyment of their female partner penetrating them with a sex toy or digit, and there’s a lot of resistance and discrimination toward these men among the majority male population. Surely, that qualifies them for queer status?
What about the man or woman who knows himself or herself to have the capacity to relate sexually to both men and women, who lives a happy, conventional life with the wife or husband and kids, never actively pursuing sexual relationships with anyone of the same-sex? In essence, a non-practicing bisexual? Queer enough? Do they need to be identified as queer? Maybe not, if queerness is qualified by participation in a lifestyle or community involving other queer people. But if it is, what of the celibate gay man or woman, someone who does not pursue sexual or social relationships with anyone, yet happily identifies as homosexual?
Recently in New Zealand, the tiny asexual community is striving to make itself heard. These are people who may have romantic interests and sometimes even sexual relationships with spouses, yet do not experience any sort of sexual attraction. That’s a difficult idea for a lot of us to get our heads around, but they’re here, and they’ll be queer, if we let them. Why not?
What are we to make of the straight man that chooses to have sex with men for convenience or out of a rejection of women? That’s not acceptable practice in the wider community – so is it queer? Or how about heterosexual platonic lovers, those happy few who choose never to have sex with their loved one - not just until they are married, but NEVER? They won’t be harassed by the heterosexual population at large, very likely, but they’ll certainly be considered odd or somehow faulty. Should we welcome such couples under our big queer umbrella?
And then there’s heterosexual polygamists and the polyamorous… those people who either have multiple spouses or multiple romantic relationships (FYI they’re not the same thing). Does a woman with two husbands living together in one household, sharing her romantically, fiscally and physically, count as queer? What about a man with a wife and a girlfriend or two who all know about each other and are happy with the arrangement? That’s definitely not acceptable in our day and age, though there are the beginnings of the tiniest whispers of social change around these issues.
The point I’m trying to make is that there is a vast array of diverse sexual behaviour out there that is in conflict with traditional conceptions of what it is to be ‘straight,’ ‘normal’ and ‘acceptable.’ By altering our notions of what it is to be queer, and inviting all those sex, love and gender nonconformists to share with us a position of confident opposition to the mandated model of heterosexuality in our culture, we can free our society of the expectation that weighs so heavily on so many of us. That’s the ‘queer’ I want to be a part of: a movement that stands in opposition to repression and conformity, that seeks to liberate and enable all to express their love, sexuality and many gendered identities.
Danny Rudd
Wank, wank, wank…
Is it mere coincidence that the idea of ‘the homosexual’ as an entirely separate type of human being emerged in the same century and culture as did the invention of the photographic image and the moving picture, or did the birth of these technologies in fact help create ‘the homosexual’ as a category of human, by making graphic imagery of same-sex sexual behaviours more accessible, thereby allowing greater numbers of men to cement their sexuality?
The historically recent emergence of visual technologies such as photography, print and film has allowed for the mass production of graphic depictions of human sexual behaviour. Inevitably, amongst the masses of ‘straight’ pornography made available by these technologies, some of these images were of same-sex behaviours. Now, I’m not suggesting for a moment that exposure to homosexual imagery actually causes homosexual urges, as it’s obvious that a person can have same sex attractions without having ever laid eyes on gay porn. There must have been a ready market for homosexual porn for it to have got off the ground at all. And clearly, homosexual sex acts occur in societies where the graphic image is absent. My argument, rather, is that it is the repeated, deliberate exposure to the static or moving depiction of exclusively male-male sex, in connection with masturbation, that has allowed a greater number of men than ever before to cement a preference for the type of sexual conduct depicted by homosexual pornography.
Let me explain how this happens in a little more detail. Through looking at images that depict certain behaviours (say, rimming or fellatio) and masturbating in contemplation of those images, a man creates a mental and perhaps even neural association between the behaviours he observes and sexual pleasure. He is then more likely to repeat the act of masturbation in response to the stimulus, in an attempt to recreate the initial pleasurable experience, and the more often he does this, the stronger the association becomes, until he finds himself unable to ‘get off’ in response to any other stimulus. I would suggest that this masturbatory process might in fact be responsible for more than the small-scale adoption of specific sex acts, that it is in fact largely responsible for creating an exclusive preference for one gender over the other. And maybe this has made exclusive homosexuality more prevalent in our Western societies than it might otherwise be. Commercial demand prompts greater supply and all the networking that goes with it, and before long there are enough people to form a rudimentary community.
In other words, gayness as an identity is largely the product of the male obsession with whacking off while looking at dirty pictures. I could be wrong, but I think there’s pretty good evidence for this assertion. For instance, in those cultures without ready access to film and print, where homosexual behaviour among men has been observed or reported, there is arguably more fluidity in male sexuality: the men almost without fail go on to develop sexual relationships with women after an ‘apprenticeship’ with older men, or they maintain sexual relationships with both men and women throughout their adult lives. In such cultures, actual communities founded on same-sex sexual behaviour are unheard of. Even historically, in classical societies such as those of the Greeks and Romans, it was considered the norm for men who engaged in homosexual sex acts to marry heterosexually and engage in heterosexual coupling as well. It is also telling that gay women, who are on the whole less likely to expose themselves to pornography, commonly report more fluidity in their sexual identity and expression than do gay men.
It would be fascinating to conduct sociological and psychological studies into this much neglected area of human behaviour… of course, no such studies have been proposed by mostly male queer theorists, who have much invested politically in the notion of homosexuality as something innate and immutable. Yes, the conception of inborn homosexuality has paved the way for rights and recognition, but increasingly as gay and bisexual women’s voices are heard, the biological determinist position looks less tenable.
Danny Rudd
A Challenge…
A lot of men these days proudly declare themselves feminists, or talk about being in touch with their feminine side… but what does that actually mean? Isn’t that an acknowledgement that each of us has a spark of female inside us? Doesn’t that mean we’re all just the tiniest bit transgendered? Funny, then, that we sensitive new age guys don’t give ourselves girl’s names.
Say what?
That’s a bit extreme, I hear you say, surely? The very idea makes even the most sensitive, most new age-y guys squirm. But if we are really, truly pro-female and comfortable with our inner femininity, however slight, we shouldn’t have any trouble with it. If we do, we’re hypocrites.
I gave myself a girl’s name. At first I kept it to myself, and that was weird enough. I found it hard just thinking of a girl’s name I could comfortably call myself… until I realised I wouldn’t feel comfortable with any girl’s name, because while I’m pretty darn feminist, I have some deep-seated discomfort with the idea of people calling me a girl in a derogatory way. Society tells us subtly that it’s not acceptable, and we listen. But after trying fairly androgynous-sounding names like Danni [sic] and Tara, I pushed myself and picked something more feminine, precisely because it made me uncomfortable. Then when I let my friends know I wanted to try it on for a day, they made it pretty obvious they thought I was being stupid, I got the message loud and clear. As a guy, I’m not allowed to be a Sarah.
But for a girl to have a guy’s name, like Terri or Jo, or even a name derived from a male name, like Geraldine or Paula, is quite normal… do you see the double standard here? It’s ok for a girl to ‘aspire’ to manliness, not just in name but in things like confidence and comfort of clothing and so on, but for a guy to look like a girl… that’s just not on. That’s because as a society, we still stupidly think there’s something inferior about femaleness. And that’s what’s behind effeminate males and drag queens being harassed and male-to-female transgender people being called immoral or perverted.
THAT’S not on.
So come on guys, put yourselves to the test… give yourself a girl’s name, even for just a day, and see if it makes you think or feel any differently. What are you afraid of?
Danny Rudd
Poison Seed
I don’t know whether I should be relieved or horrified that a lot of young bisexual and gay men these days don’t know what the term ‘bug chasing’ means.
According to that veritable fount of knowledge, Wikipedia: bugchasing (or bug chasing) is a slang term for a subculture of gay men who desire, and actively pursue HIV infection. Bugchasers ‘chase the bug’ by seeking sexual partners who are HIV positive for the purpose of having unprotected sex and sero-converting; ‘giftgivers’ are HIV+ men who attempt to infect bugchasers with HIV.
That’s insane, right? Why would anyone actually want to contract HIV?
There’s a lot of debate about how prevalent this behaviour actually is. A widely discredited article in Rolling Stone a couple of years back suggested that up to 25% of people who contract HIV do so on purpose, while some researchers consider it little more than an internet fantasy. But it does exist.
People who consider themselves bugchasers want to take control of their sex lives and destiny… basically, they see HIV infection as inevitable and just want to get it out of the way. A lot of them think using condoms is unnatural and gets in the way of their sexual pleasure by reducing the sensitivity of their penis. The problem is that these guys don’t know what they’re getting themselves into. Medications are available now which, while not curing the disease, can prolong an infected person’s life and to some extent hide the more unpleasant aspects. And in the States, doctors prescribe steroids to HIV+ men to prevent muscle wasting, and as a result a lot of positive men are able to achieve the trim, muscular looks the rest of us aspire to and desire.
Coupled with this, there is an alarming recent trend in gay pornography to glamorise ‘bare-backing’ or unprotected anal sex. There are now HIV+ gay porn stars saying that their positive status allows them to indulge in unprotected orgiastic behaviour without fear of the consequences, because they’ve already got the worst thing they can get, and thanks to the medications, it’s not doing them any noticeable harm. One such porn star is Treasure Island Media’s Dawson, the hulkingly well-built poster boy for ‘carefree’ HIV+ sexuality. So the message is clear: you can look hotter and get more sex if you've got the bug.
Sounds great, right? Trouble is, while outwardly you might look attractive and able to have as much sex as you want with whomever, there’s a whole lot else going on that the glamour account of HIV isn’t letting you in on. All those medications cause really uncomfortable and sometimes crippling side effects, and they’re not foolproof. You could get another strain of HIV from unsafe sex that your current medication can’t protect you from, get sick quickly and die unpleasantly. Or if you live in a country where the drugs aren’t covered by insurance or welfare and you can’t afford them, you’re in for an excruciating, drawn out death, being ugly to boot, as opportunistic skin infections tarnish your good looks.
The bugchasers could know all this, but they don’t. Why? Well, partly they’re just sick of hearing all the warnings, it’s like the news: you get desensitised after a while. But more so, the gay community is deeply age-segregated: we younger guys just don’t get to know the older guys because we don’t want them hitting on us. We’re only interested in the hot boys, who mostly happen to be young, like ourselves. This is all perfectly natural, really, we’re a pretty conceited lot, but this segregation means that we don’t hear the stories the older guys could tell. And maybe we don’t want to: we’re young, this is supposed to be the time of our lives, we don’t want to think about death. But the truth is, the older guys saw their friends, lovers and sex partners dying all around them, they haven’t forgotten, and now we’re at risk and we’re not listening to the stories that might help us to take more responsibility for ourselves and each other.
The point of all this is that it really is desperately important for all you guys who are having receptive anal sex, whether straight, bi or gay, to protect yourselves by insisting your sex partner(s) use condoms. Don’t be fooled into thinking it doesn’t matter – because getting HIV infection will seriously fuck up your life. I have friends who are positive, and all the discrimination, shame, cramps, diarrhoea, vomiting, lesions and blindness aren’t worth it. Believe me.
Danny Rudd
What’s queer? Who’s queer?
These days, we usually use the word to talk about the ‘non-straight’ people in society, the obvious non-conformists like transsexuals, lesbians, gay men and bisexuals among us. Most of us understand ‘queer’ to mean same-sex orientation to some degree or the physical transition from one sex to the other, and for most intents and purposes, it suits just fine.
But who are we leaving out?
There are lots of other people out there who don’t call themselves straight but aren’t covered by our four ‘normal’ queer categories. Can the term ‘queer’ encompass all these many varied identities and behaviours?
First off the mark, how about people who are intersex, that is born neither male nor female, or some combination of both? Well of course, we queer people say earnestly, yes, obviously they belong under this umbrella with us. But we don’t think about them much, do we? We don’t make really make room in our communities for them, because we’re actually highly invested in people having ‘the right bits’. Gay girls emphatically want girl’s bits to play with, and gay guys are NOT welcoming of anyone who looks male overall but has some other sort of plumbing. Gay guys are positively elitist when it comes to the size and shape of certain organs. We're more about genitals than perhaps even straight people are. If the bits we expect to find aren't there, or are somewhat different, we react with something like disgust.
What about people who consider themselves transgender, but have no intention of making any sort of physical transition? The woman who secretly considers herself innately male, for instance, but lives an otherwise regular life? Or how about the ultra feminine woman, complete with all the plumbing, who is genetically male?
Shall we consider the transvestite – a straight man or woman who enjoys taking on the opposite gender only some of the time, with no interest in actually making a permanent transition? We in the queer community jump to the assumption that these people are bisexual or gay, given our experience with drag queens and kings, but surprisingly enough the vast majority of transvestites are actually heterosexual men.
What of the conventional male-female couple who enjoy swapping sexual roles and behaviours in the sack, celebrating their dual genderedness? A man may have no attraction to other men, and yet enjoy pretending to be a woman in the sack, and this role-playing is not that uncommon in women either. Similarly, there are men out there who would be considered ‘straight’ by all standards, except for their enjoyment of their female partner penetrating them with a sex toy or digit, and there’s a lot of resistance and discrimination toward these men among the majority male population. Surely, that qualifies them for queer status?
What about the man or woman who knows himself or herself to have the capacity to relate sexually to both men and women, who lives a happy, conventional life with the wife or husband and kids, never actively pursuing sexual relationships with anyone of the same-sex? In essence, a non-practicing bisexual? Queer enough? Do they need to be identified as queer? Maybe not, if queerness is qualified by participation in a lifestyle or community involving other queer people. But if it is, what of the celibate gay man or woman, someone who does not pursue sexual or social relationships with anyone, yet happily identifies as homosexual?
Recently in New Zealand, the tiny asexual community is striving to make itself heard. These are people who may have romantic interests and sometimes even sexual relationships with spouses, yet do not experience any sort of sexual attraction. That’s a difficult idea for a lot of us to get our heads around, but they’re here, and they’ll be queer, if we let them. Why not?
What are we to make of the straight man that chooses to have sex with men for convenience or out of a rejection of women? That’s not acceptable practice in the wider community – so is it queer? Or how about heterosexual platonic lovers, those happy few who choose never to have sex with their loved one - not just until they are married, but NEVER? They won’t be harassed by the heterosexual population at large, very likely, but they’ll certainly be considered odd or somehow faulty. Should we welcome such couples under our big queer umbrella?
And then there’s heterosexual polygamists and the polyamorous… those people who either have multiple spouses or multiple romantic relationships (FYI they’re not the same thing). Does a woman with two husbands living together in one household, sharing her romantically, fiscally and physically, count as queer? What about a man with a wife and a girlfriend or two who all know about each other and are happy with the arrangement? That’s definitely not acceptable in our day and age, though there are the beginnings of the tiniest whispers of social change around these issues.
The point I’m trying to make is that there is a vast array of diverse sexual behaviour out there that is in conflict with traditional conceptions of what it is to be ‘straight,’ ‘normal’ and ‘acceptable.’ By altering our notions of what it is to be queer, and inviting all those sex, love and gender nonconformists to share with us a position of confident opposition to the mandated model of heterosexuality in our culture, we can free our society of the expectation that weighs so heavily on so many of us. That’s the ‘queer’ I want to be a part of: a movement that stands in opposition to repression and conformity, that seeks to liberate and enable all to express their love, sexuality and many gendered identities.
Danny Rudd
Wank, wank, wank…
Is it mere coincidence that the idea of ‘the homosexual’ as an entirely separate type of human being emerged in the same century and culture as did the invention of the photographic image and the moving picture, or did the birth of these technologies in fact help create ‘the homosexual’ as a category of human, by making graphic imagery of same-sex sexual behaviours more accessible, thereby allowing greater numbers of men to cement their sexuality?
The historically recent emergence of visual technologies such as photography, print and film has allowed for the mass production of graphic depictions of human sexual behaviour. Inevitably, amongst the masses of ‘straight’ pornography made available by these technologies, some of these images were of same-sex behaviours. Now, I’m not suggesting for a moment that exposure to homosexual imagery actually causes homosexual urges, as it’s obvious that a person can have same sex attractions without having ever laid eyes on gay porn. There must have been a ready market for homosexual porn for it to have got off the ground at all. And clearly, homosexual sex acts occur in societies where the graphic image is absent. My argument, rather, is that it is the repeated, deliberate exposure to the static or moving depiction of exclusively male-male sex, in connection with masturbation, that has allowed a greater number of men than ever before to cement a preference for the type of sexual conduct depicted by homosexual pornography.
Let me explain how this happens in a little more detail. Through looking at images that depict certain behaviours (say, rimming or fellatio) and masturbating in contemplation of those images, a man creates a mental and perhaps even neural association between the behaviours he observes and sexual pleasure. He is then more likely to repeat the act of masturbation in response to the stimulus, in an attempt to recreate the initial pleasurable experience, and the more often he does this, the stronger the association becomes, until he finds himself unable to ‘get off’ in response to any other stimulus. I would suggest that this masturbatory process might in fact be responsible for more than the small-scale adoption of specific sex acts, that it is in fact largely responsible for creating an exclusive preference for one gender over the other. And maybe this has made exclusive homosexuality more prevalent in our Western societies than it might otherwise be. Commercial demand prompts greater supply and all the networking that goes with it, and before long there are enough people to form a rudimentary community.
In other words, gayness as an identity is largely the product of the male obsession with whacking off while looking at dirty pictures. I could be wrong, but I think there’s pretty good evidence for this assertion. For instance, in those cultures without ready access to film and print, where homosexual behaviour among men has been observed or reported, there is arguably more fluidity in male sexuality: the men almost without fail go on to develop sexual relationships with women after an ‘apprenticeship’ with older men, or they maintain sexual relationships with both men and women throughout their adult lives. In such cultures, actual communities founded on same-sex sexual behaviour are unheard of. Even historically, in classical societies such as those of the Greeks and Romans, it was considered the norm for men who engaged in homosexual sex acts to marry heterosexually and engage in heterosexual coupling as well. It is also telling that gay women, who are on the whole less likely to expose themselves to pornography, commonly report more fluidity in their sexual identity and expression than do gay men.
It would be fascinating to conduct sociological and psychological studies into this much neglected area of human behaviour… of course, no such studies have been proposed by mostly male queer theorists, who have much invested politically in the notion of homosexuality as something innate and immutable. Yes, the conception of inborn homosexuality has paved the way for rights and recognition, but increasingly as gay and bisexual women’s voices are heard, the biological determinist position looks less tenable.
Danny Rudd
A Challenge…
A lot of men these days proudly declare themselves feminists, or talk about being in touch with their feminine side… but what does that actually mean? Isn’t that an acknowledgement that each of us has a spark of female inside us? Doesn’t that mean we’re all just the tiniest bit transgendered? Funny, then, that we sensitive new age guys don’t give ourselves girl’s names.
Say what?
That’s a bit extreme, I hear you say, surely? The very idea makes even the most sensitive, most new age-y guys squirm. But if we are really, truly pro-female and comfortable with our inner femininity, however slight, we shouldn’t have any trouble with it. If we do, we’re hypocrites.
I gave myself a girl’s name. At first I kept it to myself, and that was weird enough. I found it hard just thinking of a girl’s name I could comfortably call myself… until I realised I wouldn’t feel comfortable with any girl’s name, because while I’m pretty darn feminist, I have some deep-seated discomfort with the idea of people calling me a girl in a derogatory way. Society tells us subtly that it’s not acceptable, and we listen. But after trying fairly androgynous-sounding names like Danni [sic] and Tara, I pushed myself and picked something more feminine, precisely because it made me uncomfortable. Then when I let my friends know I wanted to try it on for a day, they made it pretty obvious they thought I was being stupid, I got the message loud and clear. As a guy, I’m not allowed to be a Sarah.
But for a girl to have a guy’s name, like Terri or Jo, or even a name derived from a male name, like Geraldine or Paula, is quite normal… do you see the double standard here? It’s ok for a girl to ‘aspire’ to manliness, not just in name but in things like confidence and comfort of clothing and so on, but for a guy to look like a girl… that’s just not on. That’s because as a society, we still stupidly think there’s something inferior about femaleness. And that’s what’s behind effeminate males and drag queens being harassed and male-to-female transgender people being called immoral or perverted.
THAT’S not on.
So come on guys, put yourselves to the test… give yourself a girl’s name, even for just a day, and see if it makes you think or feel any differently. What are you afraid of?
Danny Rudd
Poison Seed
I don’t know whether I should be relieved or horrified that a lot of young bisexual and gay men these days don’t know what the term ‘bug chasing’ means.
According to that veritable fount of knowledge, Wikipedia: bugchasing (or bug chasing) is a slang term for a subculture of gay men who desire, and actively pursue HIV infection. Bugchasers ‘chase the bug’ by seeking sexual partners who are HIV positive for the purpose of having unprotected sex and sero-converting; ‘giftgivers’ are HIV+ men who attempt to infect bugchasers with HIV.
That’s insane, right? Why would anyone actually want to contract HIV?
There’s a lot of debate about how prevalent this behaviour actually is. A widely discredited article in Rolling Stone a couple of years back suggested that up to 25% of people who contract HIV do so on purpose, while some researchers consider it little more than an internet fantasy. But it does exist.
People who consider themselves bugchasers want to take control of their sex lives and destiny… basically, they see HIV infection as inevitable and just want to get it out of the way. A lot of them think using condoms is unnatural and gets in the way of their sexual pleasure by reducing the sensitivity of their penis. The problem is that these guys don’t know what they’re getting themselves into. Medications are available now which, while not curing the disease, can prolong an infected person’s life and to some extent hide the more unpleasant aspects. And in the States, doctors prescribe steroids to HIV+ men to prevent muscle wasting, and as a result a lot of positive men are able to achieve the trim, muscular looks the rest of us aspire to and desire.
Coupled with this, there is an alarming recent trend in gay pornography to glamorise ‘bare-backing’ or unprotected anal sex. There are now HIV+ gay porn stars saying that their positive status allows them to indulge in unprotected orgiastic behaviour without fear of the consequences, because they’ve already got the worst thing they can get, and thanks to the medications, it’s not doing them any noticeable harm. One such porn star is Treasure Island Media’s Dawson, the hulkingly well-built poster boy for ‘carefree’ HIV+ sexuality. So the message is clear: you can look hotter and get more sex if you've got the bug.
Sounds great, right? Trouble is, while outwardly you might look attractive and able to have as much sex as you want with whomever, there’s a whole lot else going on that the glamour account of HIV isn’t letting you in on. All those medications cause really uncomfortable and sometimes crippling side effects, and they’re not foolproof. You could get another strain of HIV from unsafe sex that your current medication can’t protect you from, get sick quickly and die unpleasantly. Or if you live in a country where the drugs aren’t covered by insurance or welfare and you can’t afford them, you’re in for an excruciating, drawn out death, being ugly to boot, as opportunistic skin infections tarnish your good looks.
The bugchasers could know all this, but they don’t. Why? Well, partly they’re just sick of hearing all the warnings, it’s like the news: you get desensitised after a while. But more so, the gay community is deeply age-segregated: we younger guys just don’t get to know the older guys because we don’t want them hitting on us. We’re only interested in the hot boys, who mostly happen to be young, like ourselves. This is all perfectly natural, really, we’re a pretty conceited lot, but this segregation means that we don’t hear the stories the older guys could tell. And maybe we don’t want to: we’re young, this is supposed to be the time of our lives, we don’t want to think about death. But the truth is, the older guys saw their friends, lovers and sex partners dying all around them, they haven’t forgotten, and now we’re at risk and we’re not listening to the stories that might help us to take more responsibility for ourselves and each other.
The point of all this is that it really is desperately important for all you guys who are having receptive anal sex, whether straight, bi or gay, to protect yourselves by insisting your sex partner(s) use condoms. Don’t be fooled into thinking it doesn’t matter – because getting HIV infection will seriously fuck up your life. I have friends who are positive, and all the discrimination, shame, cramps, diarrhoea, vomiting, lesions and blindness aren’t worth it. Believe me.
Danny Rudd
Monday, August 20, 2007
Queer by Choice
A collection of quotes taken from :
"Queer by choice: Lesbians, gay men, and the politics of identity" Whisman, Vera (1996) Routledge, New York
Edward Porter - 'My friends say "you're eithere straight or gay." And I say that's not true. I am not, twenty four hours a day, a sexually oriented person. It's at those times when I am going to be sexual, it is homosexual. The only time I'm gay is basically when I have a relationship with someone.'
Vera Whisman - 'So you might even say that relationships are gay, not that people are gay.'
Edward Porter - 'Oh, I like that.'
Mary Behnke (p34) - 'We don't even know what it would be like to choose to be heterosexual, almost, in this society. Because what you've seen on television and in the ads, and on and on, ad infinitum from moment one, and you know, when the first thing ever said about you is "It's a boy" or "It's a girl," you're being shuttled into that traditional gender role. I think it would be nice if change could be made so that all people could be fully human and heterosexuality could be a choice.'
Henry Yount (p34-35) - I think in a hundred years from now, homosexuals will have provided a means for a healthy heterosexuality. Heterosexuals never make a choice. There is no choice, that's the norm. So it's as bad for them as it is for homosexuals. Heterosexuals are left in this helpless position also, of "Well, that's the way it is. That's what I'm supposed to do, that's how I', supposed to behave." And that's not healthy. The route of being attracted to someone because they have the opposite plumbing is just a lie. I'm not heterophobic, but I just look forward to a time when it's a healthy choice, and it's made for good rational reasons, which is that you want to be involved with this person, whatever their plumbing is.'
Malcolm Wilson (p24) -I know that people do [choose to be gay]. I have friends who have. I didn't used to before, but now I sort of feel that I can accept the idea that one could turn gay. Which I guess means that one could turn heterosexual, I suppose. I mean, on some of these talk shows you always see at least one person who will say "I used to be gay and now I saw that light." What is going on? You start to think, well, is it really possible for the person to have *turned* heterosexual?'
Sam Broome (p21) - 'I think calling yourself bisexual is the purest form of narcissism. It's like, "If it has an orifice, I'm going to use it."
On Stonewall (p17) - 'The reason so few of us are bisexual is because society made such a big stink about homosexuality that we got forced into seeing ourselves as either straight or non-straight... We'll be gay until everyone has forgotten it's an issue. Then we'll begin to be complete.' (Wittman 1992, orig. 1970:331)
"Queer by choice: Lesbians, gay men, and the politics of identity" Whisman, Vera (1996) Routledge, New York
Edward Porter - 'My friends say "you're eithere straight or gay." And I say that's not true. I am not, twenty four hours a day, a sexually oriented person. It's at those times when I am going to be sexual, it is homosexual. The only time I'm gay is basically when I have a relationship with someone.'
Vera Whisman - 'So you might even say that relationships are gay, not that people are gay.'
Edward Porter - 'Oh, I like that.'
Mary Behnke (p34) - 'We don't even know what it would be like to choose to be heterosexual, almost, in this society. Because what you've seen on television and in the ads, and on and on, ad infinitum from moment one, and you know, when the first thing ever said about you is "It's a boy" or "It's a girl," you're being shuttled into that traditional gender role. I think it would be nice if change could be made so that all people could be fully human and heterosexuality could be a choice.'
Henry Yount (p34-35) - I think in a hundred years from now, homosexuals will have provided a means for a healthy heterosexuality. Heterosexuals never make a choice. There is no choice, that's the norm. So it's as bad for them as it is for homosexuals. Heterosexuals are left in this helpless position also, of "Well, that's the way it is. That's what I'm supposed to do, that's how I', supposed to behave." And that's not healthy. The route of being attracted to someone because they have the opposite plumbing is just a lie. I'm not heterophobic, but I just look forward to a time when it's a healthy choice, and it's made for good rational reasons, which is that you want to be involved with this person, whatever their plumbing is.'
Malcolm Wilson (p24) -I know that people do [choose to be gay]. I have friends who have. I didn't used to before, but now I sort of feel that I can accept the idea that one could turn gay. Which I guess means that one could turn heterosexual, I suppose. I mean, on some of these talk shows you always see at least one person who will say "I used to be gay and now I saw that light." What is going on? You start to think, well, is it really possible for the person to have *turned* heterosexual?'
Sam Broome (p21) - 'I think calling yourself bisexual is the purest form of narcissism. It's like, "If it has an orifice, I'm going to use it."
On Stonewall (p17) - 'The reason so few of us are bisexual is because society made such a big stink about homosexuality that we got forced into seeing ourselves as either straight or non-straight... We'll be gay until everyone has forgotten it's an issue. Then we'll begin to be complete.' (Wittman 1992, orig. 1970:331)
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Nerding Out
I loved LOST from the outset, the opening scenes of the pilot caught my imagination and I've been hooked ever since. The whole pilot episode, aptly titled 'Pilot', with monsters in the jungle (a bit like the Guardian from The Boy From Andromeda from my childhood), hatches buried in the ground (reminiscent of Stephen King's The Tommyknockers), mysterious radio transmissions saying 'it' killed them all... How could I not love it?
My interest did wane a little with the whole pushing the button thing, but everytime we get to see the Black Rock, the sonic barrier fence, the Monster, Otherville or some other such mystery (... yes, even that stupid four-toed statue) I get addicted all over again. I have to say, I mostly watch it for the Others, though. LOST's Juliet is the most interesting character on TV. She's so complicated, so completely unreadable. I love that Sawyer recognises she'd kill in a heartbeat, and yet she seems genuinely moved when revealing that Sun's motherhood will mean her death. I love her tense relationships with Kate, Jack and Ben. Juliet rocks!
Thinking more on my LOST addiction, I have come to realise something about myself, and after all, that's essentially what I hope to do with this blog, to explore my feelings and understand patterns of behaviour. I have realised that it's not just the content of the show that has captured my interest, the survivors stranded on an island, having to forge bonds and work together to survive while they wait for rescue, but the storytelling. I'm not watching it for the character development, in fact, aside from the few true originals like Hurley, Juliet and Locke I don't really care about the character's back-stories, least of all Desmond's, even though his is important to the story. The episodes that dwell excessively on characterisation usually just piss me off, I like the plot-driven stuff much better.
And that's where we get down to the nitty-gritty of it. LOST is a mystery story, a puzzle, and a wonderfully complex one at that. It has ensnared me, caught my imagination, as have other mysteries in the past. I love Agatha Christie and Georgette Heyer novels, when I pick one up I can't put it down. Harry Potter, much to my embarrassment, has had a hold on me since I first read the Prisoner of Azkaban in 2004. I got hooked on The Pretender, wondering just how Jared knew so much about Miss Parker, and I always used to read the Famous Five and other kids mystery books. Even Ecco the Dolphin has a strong Mystery Genre thread through it. There are clues to uncover, hidden agendas and things going on behind the scenes. This sort of addiction has happened for me before, it's going to happen again with something else. There will always be a LOST for me, in one form or another, and it looks like I'm not the only one so fanatically obsessed with it. There are hundreds of LOST fansites on the Internet.
This gets my social psychological machinery starting up. This obsessive devotion - where does it come from? Why do books like Harry Potter and shows such as LOST and Star Trek generate such fanaticism? I think it is because we delight in having the rug pulled out from under us in the safety of our own living rooms or reading chairs. They keep us guessing. That's the crucial point - they KEEP us guessing. Star Trek's been going over 40 years now, there's always been Trek on TV or in the movies, and with such a long run it's generated a Bible's worth of intricate plotting, scheming and technology/character development.
You can completely lose yourself in the Trek universe, it's ever expanding. It gave an interesting premise, and has been constantly elaborating that premise, it's become so complex that a resolution or conclusion is now impossible, there are too many loose ends to tie up, so it can never really finish. It may fizzle somewhat, once they finish producing TV episodes and feature films, but the fans have been able to become involved in the story, and so they will continue it, with fanfiction, artwork and debate, for quite some time yet. Star Trek has been a success.
Harry Potter, after it's inital, quite brilliant first installment, has led readers on a twisted, convoluted chase through Rowling's bizarre world, introducing villains and heroes, promising answers then snatching them away as we think we have them, balancing mysteries within each installment with those that span the length of the greater story. Rowling is a genius mystery writer, and her books generate almost hysterical fervour among fans, old and young alike. But I wonder what will become of Potter fandom, when this last installment is released in July, and the series wraps up? If she is clever, and I think she is, she will leave a number of questions unanswered, not the main ones, but those that are perhaps tertiary, and this will ensure that people continue to buy her books and argue about them for years to come.
Which brings me back to LOST. It is the fact that the story is unfinished, that there is much that we cannot know or guess at, that is at the heart of its success. It asks questions, doesn't give answers immediately, and introduces new questions when answering old ones, and so we're kept guessing, and we as fans can live vicariously through the characters, as if we ourselves were in danger, having to exercise our wits to survive, all in the comfort of our armchairs.
Harry Potter, after it's inital, quite brilliant first installment, has led readers on a twisted, convoluted chase through Rowling's bizarre world, introducing villains and heroes, promising answers then snatching them away as we think we have them, balancing mysteries within each installment with those that span the length of the greater story. Rowling is a genius mystery writer, and her books generate almost hysterical fervour among fans, old and young alike. But I wonder what will become of Potter fandom, when this last installment is released in July, and the series wraps up? If she is clever, and I think she is, she will leave a number of questions unanswered, not the main ones, but those that are perhaps tertiary, and this will ensure that people continue to buy her books and argue about them for years to come.
Which brings me back to LOST. It is the fact that the story is unfinished, that there is much that we cannot know or guess at, that is at the heart of its success. It asks questions, doesn't give answers immediately, and introduces new questions when answering old ones, and so we're kept guessing, and we as fans can live vicariously through the characters, as if we ourselves were in danger, having to exercise our wits to survive, all in the comfort of our armchairs.
When the story comes to a close in 2010, what will become of LOST fandom? Will there still be questions left to answer? I think there will be, as in the case of the Potter franchise they won't be the main questions, but there'll be some fodder for the obsessive, and perhaps there will be ongoing podcasts from the producers, occasionally throwing fans a bone to reignite debate. It's TV, it's all about the money. Or maybe it's leading up to a big movie finish... who knows? Given that the actors will be nearly ten years older in 2010 than when the series began, and that they're supposed to have been on the island less than a year, I think that's unlikely, but I expect there will be some ongoing fan involvement.
And then the next thing will come along, and we'll all become ensnared again...
And then the next thing will come along, and we'll all become ensnared again...
Friday, May 25, 2007
Ecco
I would like to devote a few words to my most enduring obsession.
Ecco the Dolphin was the Sega game that I just had to have. I saw it on the telly in a commercial, way back in '92 (15 years ago, Oh MY God!!) and as I have loved whales and sharks since before I can remember, I was instantly smitten. I nagged my mum, I went so far as to sit in front of the TV with one of those disposable cameras after school every day for a week, waiting for the commercial to come on, and when it did I snapped away like crazy(we didn't have a VCR at that point). The pictures turned out a little weird, I have to say. Because I was by no means an accomplished photographer, as a twelve year old, the shots were a crazy mix of shadows and reflections of our seventies-decor living room with a little blue dolphin swimming through it. Eventually my mum caved in and bought a Sega Mega Drive for christmas, with a copy of Sonic 2 for my little brother, Apache Strikeforce or something similar for my older brother, and Ecco for me. I was in heaven.
Though I'd had to wait five months to get it, I was not disappointed. Every opportunity I got, I was on that Mega Drive exploring deep-sea caves with Ecco. The game is beautiful, even in its first incarnation as a side-scrolling underwater puzzle/adventure. The graphics are fluid and the sprites well rendered, the textures are rich, the colours deep and lush. And it's fast. Ecco twists and leaps, dives and rolls with all the grace and agility of a real dolphin, albeit in 2D.
But the beauty of Ecco the Dolphin is in more than just what it looks like, the game is a symphony of rich sound. The music is complex and evocative, at times thrilling, at other times chilling. The sound effects really do echo, conveying a sense of the awesome vastness of the ocean, and Ecco's squeaks and whistles manage to convey an awful lot of emotion. I could lose myself in that game for hours at a time, loving it with every fibre of my being, despite how amazingly frustrating it sometimes was.
It was a hard game. It wasn't especially violent, in fact, compared to the games my brothers enjoyed it was practically tree-hugging, being mostly concerned with the solving of puzzles. Maybe that's why it got a reputation for being gay or girlie. The thing is, though, it's one of Sega's most unique releases, and by all accounts one of its most memorable. I've only recently come to understand from trolling through the Internet that my obsession is not so perverse after all, the game actually has something of a cult following. I was thrilled when I found a number of the story-clips from the Ecco titles recently on YouTube. I also found websites devoted exclusively to the games.
Ecco means a lot to me. I am profoundly moved by the hero's quest, for at its heart, Ecco the Dolphin is a story about loneliness. I won't go into the plot details here, but suffice it to say that as a kid who never found many friends, who didn't ever really fit in, I felt to some extent it was my story that was being told in that game. It's a story about loss, about bravery and determination, about fighting for what is yours even when there is no one on your side, about beauty and horror, despair and terror, mystery and myth.
I don't have many burning ambitions in life, but the one thing for which I deeply, desperately yearn is to see a film made of the first Ecco story, whether composed of cunningly edited live footage of whales, dolphins and sharks, or of photorealistic CGI. It would have to be an art film, more about the experience of the vast cold ocean than about adrenaline. Definitely not a popcorn movie. I often fantasise about how I would do it if I had the money, what it would look like, how it would sound...
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