“Chipping at an Iceberg with a Fork”

I am taking the points given form the comments form my last post, which lead to the discussion on certain aspects. I will admit that I tried to cover a broad rang of topics, while trying to express my reaction to a fifteen minute radio interview. With that, I concede that each point is a topic within its own right and I really just glossed over them. I thank the thoughtful comments, By Kate and Devil’s advocate, for pointing out that my passions on the agreement at hand, could be clouding my representation of the situation.

To that end I will address one topic which I quoted in my title. Subsequent conversations, on what I had written, exposed a though by Kate, who works in the field of child welfare. She said, “It’s like chipping away at an iceberg with a fork” (in reference to her experiences in welfare). I have seen first hand, the mental and physical drain on people who undertake this noble work. I think, to that end, that I am justified in saying that if that is the case then you have to start chipping and keep chipping at some point. I was not suggesting that banning alcoholic adverting or mediation is a cure, other, it is a point worthy of consideration. I am under no illusions that the topic has a “quick fix” but , if I may refer to Father Riley, find that if an impassioned plea is given to someone that has worked in this field for so long, isn’t it something worthy of consideration? Isn’t experience worth more than hypothesizing? I will agree that that is a separate topic within itself.

Back to the situation at hand, I feel that there are similarities between a welfare worker and a mechanic. If a mechanic is presented with a vehicle, they will toil to do the best they can to repair a car with the resources available to them. When the car leaves their care, no matter what advice is given to the owner, some will return with the same afflictions due to the way the car is treated by the owner. The mechanic is then repairing the same faults that could have been averted if their advice was adhered to; it then becomes a frustrating and repetitive process for the owner and the mechanic. If equated to child welfare, once a worker has done what they can, with the resources available to them, who is responsible for any subsequent improvement? I was once told, “The best administrator for your own affairs is you!” If I can use that in relation to my slimily, If the owner of a vehicle doesn’t take responsibility for it, how good can a mechanic actually be? In the same way, if the guardians of a child, if they have any, don’t take due care, what help can a welfare worker give? If the “client” is older and don’t take responsibility for their own actions, the same applies. “Action and consequence” is again another topic.

I cannot give any solutions to the welfare question as I do not work in the field. I can only offer my opinion and, hopefully, productive and healthy debate on the issue.

The Devil that Brought Down a Saint

For those of you that don’t know this man, he is Father Chris Riley. He, in my opinion, is the closest thing to a living saint. For over thirty years this man has devoted his life to improving what society would call “Youth Rejects”. His successes in this field have been too numerous to mention. He runs last chance missions to get youth to be productive members of society. Those who the traditional institutions have given up on as “lost causes”. So imagine my surprise to hear this man in utter anguish over a situation that he felt was out of his hands.

In the eves there seems to be a demon that is undercutting his efforts to provide under privileged children a quality existence. For anyone who has met Father Riley, you would know that he is not one to become upset easily. Though he is a Catholic priest, he is not standing on religious rhetoric to advance his cause but his, before mentioned, thirty years of experience in dealing with said children.

Who is this demon you may ask? The commercial, advertising giants, for alcoholic products and how, even though they deny it, their deliberate targeting of youths. Father Riley, recounted in anger, how he personally knows of girls as young as eleven that would sell themselves for “a couple of cans of bear”. He recounted how one father that, that he knew of. “sold his eight year old daughter” for the same amount. Father Riley said that he could not call this prostitution but a deliberate act of child abuse, that there are paces where this was known and an accepted activity.

Father Riley is a reasonable man and is not calling for the abolishment of alcohol, he is protesting about the blaintent targeting of youth by the marketing of such products as “Fairy Dust” and the timing to when these products are advertised such as with sporting activates and the like. But his call for moderation and responsibility seem to be falling on a deaf demon too interested in profit than the impact they are having on youth. You would think that a man and his team that have worked with “hopeless causes” would be in the prime position to be heard. Especially given the amount of time he has spent and his devotion to Australian youth, not to mention his successes in this field.

If none of this stirs you in the same way it has me, then you have my pity and disgust. There is no call, what so ever, to make youth a demographic to the alcohol industry. If a man with thirty years experience in the field of youth welfare can’t sway the demon they spare a thought for the youths and what they will subject themselves to for another alcoholic fix.

Food of the Gods

There was a B grade movie I saw when I was a kid about a storm that uncovers an ooze form the ground that was eaten by vermin and made them grow into giants. So the bulk of the movie was about these giant rats going around eating everything. Then a storm happened to hit my town and I was made to feel that life was imitating art.

I am not normally one that eats a lot of fast food but my dinner preparations were halted by a storm and subsequent blackout. There in a dark house and with hungry people I went out to try and find something for them to eat. It seemed that the only thing around was the fast food places. Why is it that such place’s have backup generators as if prepared for such eventuation’s? It was like the ooze form the movie being uncovered by the storm.

So I decided that this would be one of the rare occasions that I would have this food. It was to be nothing more than a “stomach filler” till such time the power was restored and I could continue to cook my own meals. So I look my place in line behind two young girls that were already at the counter. Like most young people they were taking their time deciding what it was they wanted. But then the group in front of me grew. First they were joined by another young person and then tree more entered with what seemed to be two minders. Now the first two had the money to pay for their order, the subsequent group just jumped the line and stood in front of me with no regard for the line that was behind me. The other youths had the normal indecision but put their orders through to the girl serving at the counter. Just when you thought the ordering was done and the line could move on, the minders ordered. This held up the poor girl at the counter even more and while the queue behind me grew.

It was at this point another register opened and being next in line I got served. I had been waiting in line for nearly twenty five minutes now so I knew what I wanted to order in reality I knew only seconds after reading the menus. A simple order given and off the girl went to fill it. These two minders grew irate at the fact that my order seemed to be being filled faster than theirs. It was not that the case that they were chopping and changing their order and conferring with each other on what would be the healthier choices to make, it was not the fact that they had ordered custom menu options that had to be made or procrastinating over which diet drink was to accompany their meal. I had been whole heartedly been transported into that “B” grade movie I mentioned. I had found the giant rats.

With venom they started to abuse the girl that was serving me, stating that they were there “first” and that their order had not been received yet. If they had only bothered to look beyond the first row of bay marries they would have seen their order being made. But not satisfied that they were still waiting, or that their order was more like calculus to fill, they had the gall to say that they were there “first”. Full of their own self importance they started to abuse the girl serving me, and the poor girl could only say in her defense that she didn’t take their order and was working on mine.

It was at this point that I had had enough. In the movie the rats finally get destroyed by the characters in the film destroying a dam and drowning them. These two “Rats” had just destroyed the dam of patients and unleashed a torrent of verbal Karma. I spoke up:

“Fist of all you were not here first, I was. You jumped the queue without any regard to who else was standing in line. You ordered custom items that you took ages to decide on only making us wait longer to be served. If you bothered to open your eyes you can see your order being made by the girl that served you in the back. Now because I made a simple order and it is being filled by someone else you want to attack her because your majesties are not being served to your satisfaction. Grow up, get over yourselves and your petty self importance”.

To Our Glorious Dead

On the same ground as the cenotaph, in the middle of the city of Sydney, the powers to be erect the city Christmas tree every year. Now with all the recent attacks on Christmas I find myself looking at two monuments that seem to conflict, or do they? Just meters away from each other, you are looking at a monument to those who have died in conflict while the other, supposedly, to remind us to live in hope of peace on earth and good will to men.




Then the thought hits me that these are two monuments to traditions that are under attack. On the 25th of April, Australia celebrates ANZAC day. Minority groups and pacifists attack this day as a tribute to war. They think it an irony that we celebrate a military disaster and the senseless loss of life. Not that to all serviceman that this is a day to remember those who are no longer with us, men and women they may have served with in action or not. That this day, this ground and monument, is most probably the most sacred testament to their devotion to each other and to their country, regardless of the religious affiliations, they come to honor each other and to the hope that never again will we engage in such hatred again.



Minority groups again attack Christmas. In recent years, shopping malls have been under attack for playing Christmas carols in shopping centers, Santa is under attack for his traditional “Ho, Ho, Ho” and recently not allowed to Christmas parties as he may offend some religious groups. So the placing of the Cities Christmas tree on the same ground now holds the same significance as an Australian tradition under attack now seems so relevant. When you take into significance the real-estate that they occupy in Martin Place tradition and history were made here. This is the place that all distances from Sydney were once measured, it was the place that our countries first Prime Minister, Edmund Barton, was sworn in and being such a young country, traditions are something that we have too few of.

It has to be remembered that this country was first settled by Christians, and with them they brought the tradition of Christmas. If you take the religious significance out of the event, to hold one day a year where we bestow good will to all men, then the name of the day is insignificant to the bigger picture. It is that wish that will avoid such monuments such as more cenotaphs and war memorials. It is such a little ask to hold the spirit of something and to celebrate it with the significance that you want to bestow it.

Going to Miss You George

22 November 2007 makes the passing of a good friend. It was my sad duty to take a loyal member of the family to the Vet and to return without him. He was brought to the family 17 years ago and this picture was taken this year while he still looked like he was still a puppy but in dog years he was 121 years old.

He had a fetish for human food and never much liked dog food. A fussy eater he was more human than dog. He was always willing to lend a paw even if it just got in the way. A dog who’s barking woke me to a home intruder or trespasser more than once. His early warning to one last year helped save my life.

I ask your forgiveness as I saw your big brown eyes close for the last time today. I wish you rest and to never again suffer form that brain tumor. I am going to miss you old mate.

Just a Pile of Rocks

I suppose a few rocks piled one on top of the other would have no significance to anyone really. Just some fools monument that has no meaning to anyone. But these stood as a memorial of a time nearly 26 years ago when I would share the last few days with a good friend.

I first saw this memorial on the way to a school camp. We had to walk to the camp as the bus we rode could not cross the ferry. I walked with my mate some distance to the camp where we would spend the week for school. It was about this time that I was first developing my love of photography and would carry a camera everywhere I went. On the walk and barely stopping I spotted this monument and took a snap. At the time it amused me that someone would take the time to stack a pile of rocks in such a fashion. I knew the picture would not turn out so great but to my surprise it did, though I always promised myself that I would go back some day and take a better one.

Just a few days after that camp, my good friend died in a car accident. It would be the fist time that I would feel the weight of a coffin as a pall bearer but sadly not the last. I remember getting the pictures back and showing my friend and we both agreed that one day we would take the trip together and do it again. Sadly that will never happen but, Andrew, I kept my part of the deal.

I met the son of the owner today and he took the time to show me the camp. He told me that it was his grandfather that had erected the pile of stones. He told me that stones had no significance other than to be a decoration. It is funny how they look so much smaller than I remember them. As I walked, I saw the shack we stayed in as well as the hall. All I could see was a young boy sitting in the spot smiling and sharing jokes, a young boy that would never grow old. Even after all this time and nothing to go on but a memory, I found those rocks.

I went to a bar and had a few drinks and my mind dwelled on how circumstance had brought me to a place so near these rocks. I reflected how life can bring you so close to keeping a promise but keep you distracted enough not keep it. But today I kept that promise.

The Wog

To those who are not familiar with the term “Wog”, it is a colloquial term for someone who is an immigrant to Australia, and can be extended to the children of said people. It is usually a derogatory term used to express bigotry toward your heritage. It is in some way, a way to make you feel inferior to those who were born here and have blood lines that extend to England. Due to my olive skin, brown eyes and black hair, I am branded with this title form time to time. My father is an immigrant and my grandparents on my mother’s side did too. Had I not inherited the Mediterranean complexion, and more the “Arian” of my mother’s side, people would not have a clue to my heritage. It is usually during the winter months that I find trouble as I still appear tanned.

When growing up as a child I was feared to be deaf because I didn’t speak. It was ruled out because I would do as I was asked. However, I would be asked to do things in three different languages, all of which I still understand and two of which I can speak fluently now. With immigrant parents you are exposed to cultures that extend for thousands of years. They are the product of them, passed down by countless generations but you are on your own. You don’t belong to one or the other and have to find a compromise to satisfy all of them, a perpetual world of understanding without belonging and continually judged on things that were not of your choosing.

I had been recently called a “Wog”. The distaste of this label was exasperated by the person calling me it. Here I was confronted by a person that had not worked a day in their life. Their only claim to being Australian was the fact that they had been born here and had family ties to convicts. A person who had health issues because of their obesity and lifestyle. A person who’s self obsession is their self and that everyone around them is inferior to them. I get called this, when this person knows, I have represented and served for this country. I have worn its uniform and stood accountable with my life for it. I have earned everything I have ever owned and my title of being Australian.

The Ideal is Love

I am not here to give any definitive answer on what love is, only to say that it is an ideal and as in all ideals it is flawed. It is something that people try to achieve without really knowing what it is. Having said that I write this in reaction to be called homophobic without anyone knowing what my views on the subject really is. So I write it hear and say that they are the thoughts form my point of view. I respect that yours may differ but allow me the respect to voice mine.

There is definite distinction between what “love” is perceived as and sex. Some may use sex as a way of communicating love while others may use it as a “sport and others have a combination of the two. I accept all of the above. I accept all of the above regardless of whether if is of mixed gender of same gender.

I think love as a beautiful thing that is shared between two people; I also accept that it comes in many forms. I believe it to be an ideal that two people share and strive to achieve. It is a subjective ideal that the two share and in that regard is beyond any judgment. I don’t have a problem with two people being of the same sex striving for that ideal.

Having said that, the only problem with homosexual groups is that they are formed on their preference on “bed fellows”. It has the same relevance to me as choosing the chicken or the beef. If a person has a preference to one over the other, what difference is it to what I choose? There are those that will have an appetite for both. Using this image, I may not like having the opposite to my appetite being presented on my plate but that has nothing to do with who is eating the chicken or the beef. What a person has an appetite for has nothing do with me because I will choose my preferred dish. I demand the respect of having my choice just as I accept you having yours.

I now stand by what I said above. It is my subjective point of view. I accept that yours many differ and accept that. But as to labeling me as a homophobic, having said my mind, I would ask who has the problem?

The Journey

I have long professed that life is not about the destination but the journey. That along the way you can find some things of beauty that would otherwise be insignificant. Sometimes it is worth just taking the time out along the way or turning your head while you walk to just enjoy the view, even to stop every once and a while to breath. Beauty can be all around you sometimes if you take the time to see it.

Mr. GPS

There seems to be a phenomenon happening in front of my house. I think that there must be an antenna stuck on top of my head that gives it away. I think that I have mistaken for a mobile GPS. Even in a street full of people, a lost person seems to choose me to ask for directions. Even people driving by seem to do it too. I am wondering if my love of maps is written on my face. Give me a map and compass and I am in my element.

Celebrating Pointlessness

I would like to see the rule book that states that I have love football just because of my sex. To take that a step further, any ball sport. I have no fondness for them what so ever and see them as pointless. Is it because I have balls that I have to have some sympathetic tie to them? I just don’t see the point. It is not that I don’t like sport, quite the contrary; it is just that I like things that have a point to them, where some value can be derived from the effort. In the case of football, I can only see the value as training better shop lifters, where you take an item and try to dodge those trying to arrest you. But that is almost honorable because there is a point to effort and the prize is the stolen good. In the case of “game”, you have stupid rules governing how you can handle the ball and how to arrest the progress of the one carrying it. Then if they are injured, the news is littered with poor overpaid player. Don’t even get me started on soccer.

Scar Tissue

Any patch, on any repair, requires the addition of extra material to cover and protect the wounded area. The result of such a repairs results in a toughening of the compromised area so it will not fail again or cause failure to the unit is a part of. No matter how much integrity the wounded area once had it is now a point of weakness. The patch is a physical display of where the wound is and an area that may need defending. The same can said of emotions, even if there is no physical patch that you can see.

In male culture, it is unmanly to show signs of weakness. Exposing your vulnerabilities is something that is not done. Live long enough and you will find someone that you can think you can confide in you can expose your weakness too in the name of honesty. For a man with any honor, truthfulness is a high quality that they try to live up to. If lucky he would have chosen the right person and never have his weakness used against him. If not he feels compelled to suffer the anguish alone while giving the appearance of being unscathed.

If you get into a conversation with such a man you will find that he picks up on certain things, a look, a reaction. All of a sudden he appears to be very insightful into emotional pain which surprises since he appears bulletproof. What he has done is pick up on something he feels like he wants to do but is compelled not too. His insights are based on his own experience and he has milled over on his own to find a way out. Males who don’t find that way out see death as their only release. Statistically males are more prone to suicide. For those who have been emotionally destroyed, there is no experience sharing because to do that would be to expose the wound but they are very mindful of seeing it in others. The trick is trying to approach those males without them losing face of compromising their manliness.

If you are bless with their admission of weakness they are displaying a level of trust in you that is beyond all measure. During this process you will find them asking weird questions which, on face value, appear to be confusing. What is being done is an assessment of how much value they are too you. They are defending that wound now covered in scar tissue. At that moment they are admitting they are human.

The World in Rewind

It was a beautiful serene morning, about 3 am and the stars were bright and all lit up because of the full moon. Now some may wonder what you would be doing awake at this time of the morning but those who know me know that I don’t sleep very well. So I was indulging in my dirty nicotine out the front of my house, because I don’t smoke inside when I heard the sound of footsteps. There was not a soul about, as you may expect at this time of the morning, so I looked up the street to see what the causing them. There in the middle of the road was a tracksuit wearing, grey haired thing approaching me. So you may think nothing of that but he was approaching me backwards.

At this weird hour, the full moon and this weird site I thought I had just entered the Twilight Zone. There was nothing else to gauge time by so I thought for a second that time was going backward and here I was stuck in some place between time, like in some Dean Kontz novel. Add to that what would a grey haired man be doing at that time of the morning walking down the road backwards.

I finished my ciggy and hurried inside to look at a clock just to make sure I was not stuck in a world on rewind.

Invasion of the Temple

What is should have been was a simple task. My mind transfixed on the target, I knew where to go and what I wanted. A simple derivative of primal hunter instinct where you transport yourself to the hunting ground, find your target, acquire it then move to your sanctuary with your prize. Almost like an elite athlete, where the mental processes are have been exercised and the appropriate equipment and logistics are loaded and all is needed is a physical process.

Enter evolution, where the hunting ground is no longer a series of geological obstacles full of fauna and flora but a building filled with separate hunting grounds to cater for the hunter and the gatherer alike. However, nature holds the ace in reminding you who is master. While enroot to my predestinated hunting ground where I was sure my prize would lay, Mother nature calls to me on a primal level. Though you may be in this artificial hunting ground where convenience is the ethos to this semi organized world, she requires you to subjugate yourself by purging your excess bodily fluid and reminding you that you of her making and design regardless of your environment.

To this calling I answer on my way to my purpose. While in ancient times a tree or patch of earth would have sufficed, man in his wisdom has built temples to honor Mother Nature to her mastery of all. These temples are segregated into the most basic of divisions, sex. The most primal of divisions that excludes race, religion or culture only on what one has or has not between their legs. Each temple designed to allow the most hygienically acceptable way to return to Mother Nature her reminder that we are human.

With the difference with physiology, the male temple holds a stainless steel shrine which is a unique trait to the male temple. In recent times there has been an addition, where at this shrine, at eye level, they will put notices or advertisements. While these usually contain messages on sexual health or male related products, I prepared to give Mother Nature my offering and was confronted by a message from the government. “To Violence Against Women, Australia Says No!” a message that has been rammed down my throat by all forms of media in recent times. Then it dawns on me, my status in humanity because of the appendage I hold in my hand at this shrine.

This appendage makes you a villain. Because of it you have to pay taxes for a message you already practice but it seems that you need to be reminded because this monster in your loins. If you are not reminded you may be subject to this animal taking control of you and making you a woman beating beast. Regardless of your past where you have stepped in to defend someone regardless of their sex, regardless that you find it personally distasteful to consciously harm another human being. You are a monster and in this shrine you hold the source of all human evil.


I then think that I am over thinking the situation, when it dawns on me that this shrine is also the start of the male desensitization process. Regardless of the bodily process that requires attention, the female temple gives you a private cubical. While the male temple may contain a few of these, it is only for where the commonness of the bodies and the function are the same. Other than that the males are given an economical alternative. A place where you are stripped of all modesty and required to stand next to another with the most private of body parts exposed. We are taught to think nothing of it as we stand there side by side at this cheep alternative to having our own private cubical to keep our modesty.

But to this message that is now flashed at me while I stand subjugated before this shrine it strikes me that I am a second class citizen. I am supposed to live in a country that advocates political correctness. Yet I am confronted by a message by the government telling me that only men are capable of violence. Yet they make this assertion without any statistical facts. So an unfounded assertion is being given tax funding and trying to divide men by providing a call number so that males can dob in other males that have hit a woman. With the circle of men that I associate with I have never seen a violent act against a woman though I have seen the reverse. In my past I have had to give aid to men that have been assaulted by women and seen how males think it shameful to take it any further. There is no report of assault to the authorities and no retribution to the offender.

Now there is no argument if the advertising campaign said “To Violence, Australia Says No”, but it is clear that the Feminists have invaded the ranks of government and don’t want any opposition when they take up arms and invade the artificial insemination clinics and arbitrarily execute the male race form the earth. It will not be long before they amend the common law right to defend your own life to defend yourself only against male attacks so that it will be illegal to harm a woman even when she twists that knife in your gut and if you do the penalty will be death anyway. To put a politically incorrect sign in the male toilet is just the same as putting a guillotine in there, or have I accidently stumbled on the next phase of feminist world domination. I do not advocate unwarranted violence against anyone nor do I appreciate holding my genitals and being branded the only cause of violence in this world. I you are going to make an assertion about the amount of domestic violence in this world and who the perpetrators are, then at least grace me with the proof to support your claim or are the Feminists who invade the male temple too afraid of the statistical proof that females are just as capable of harming a human being as a male?

I just think that these feminist cretins are envious that they cannot use a urinal.

Alter of Blood

In the age of the Conquistadors when the Spanish first explored the lands of South America, they observed in horror as the Incas would offer human sacrifices to their gods in order for the sun to rise the next day. With their warring with neighboring tribes, their prisoners would be taken to the top of a stone pyramid and their beating heats removed from their chests. It was a fate some of the Conquistadors would experience firsthand. While many other cultures throughout history offered human sacrifice to appease their gods, the Incas were among the last. Or were they?

In this age we still offer prisoners for sacrifice to the gods of ineptitude. As atonement for mans inability to understand himself as a species. These prisons falsely call themselves correctional facilities when in reality they are nothing more than waiting rooms to a human waste disposal unit. A place to take human refuse that cannot be handled or corrected. For those countries that still practice capital punishment, we indulge in our ultimate failure. Here the ancient laws of Moses are evoked where vengeance is exacted on one by an inherited or elected aristocracy and the contempt for the precious gift of human life is displayed. While the condemned finds themselves in this position because they are convicted of committing a crime the powers believe the cost of human life is atonement for, it is a total contradiction to the ethos that no man is beyond redemption.

But where is the failure? Is the failure in the fact that it is so much easier to dispose of than to repair? That as we become more and more of a “throw away” society, that we can apply this practice to human life as well. After only decades from the horror of arbitrary extermination of a race because it was easier and more economical than the cost of relocation, has the human race not learned anything. Are the gods of economics so great that they should govern over life itself and if so what is the value of a human life?

Chivalry Vs Equality

Adding to the confusion of the modern male is the practice of the chivalry. So much so that it has almost become a forgotten art. There is an astonished look when displays of this old practice are evoked and some find it a point to criticize. A common mantra is that “Chivalry is dead” but what is this old lost art and why is it seen as a character attribute especially when the literal meaning of the word has nothing to do with the implied meaning.

The root of the word, “Chivalry”, is a French derivative of the Latten word “cabbalus”, which means horse (especially riding and pack horses). The French used the word, “Chivalry”, to describe the art of horse training, more aptly, the art of working with horses. It was an art taught to the nobility at the time and widely used by military and knights of the 14th Century. Hence a group of armored knights became known as chivalries.

So where does the literal meaning intersect with the popular meaning? It could be argued that it with knights and nobility showing graciousness to an animal, that the display of such traits on the battle field and to those considered as lesser s or subordinates saw the development to the popular meaning of today. The rank of knight was only superseded by Lord, regent or king / queen. To these they were to show courtesies but if they showed theses to a subordinate it was considered a chivalrous act.

While writing this peace I hear on the radio that there is a topic going to be discussed “Is chivalry necessary?” which is quite peculiar. I am then reminded of the modern day meaning of chivalry and how it in no way reflects its literal meaning or its derivative. It seems that the modern day meaning is the display of man honoring a woman by subjecting himself before her by acting as her servant and bodyguard, catering to her safety and comfort while still remaining strong. Chivalry it seems to have reversed its meaning. While the original meaning’s derivative was to show graciousness to a subordinate, today it seems that he must be a subordinate.
It is true that when meaning of this word became the domain to Knightly acts, it was a trait attributed mainly to men. Today it is considered to be a male trait, the ability to show a softer side to ones character while still possessing popular male traits. It is an open acknowledgement by males of the importance they place on the female species without compromising their masculinity.

With the inception of the ideals of equality, both sexes are considered of equal social status. The act of chivalry, in such an environment, can only be considered an act of patronization. There is no perceived subordinate class as there was in times of old. So to show graciousness to an equal, not a subordinate, can be seen as a mocking act. To this there is a division among women. Women want to be considered equals among men while still holding their powers of femininity over men. The want to be treated in the same manner as knight would treat a queen while holding the same position as him.

Chivalry has always been a way for masculine men to display their softer side by the way of deed rather than word. It has been a tool to show the revere in which men hold women. While it is a conundrum to act strong and soft at the same time it also a conundrum to show this old attitude in modern environment of political correctness.

We’re Not All The Same

This I have decided is the unified mantra of all women to prove that they are all individuals. It is ironic that they conform to the same words to prove individuality. It is also interesting to note when it is evoked. It is usually cried when an example of the sisterhood has not met with favor. Then, almost without taking pause to breath, the second mantra is cried “All men are bastards”.

I say this because of the reaction I got from my last blog. I take it as a form of success that my point has been driven home. Do I believe that not all women are the same? The simple answer is yes. By no stretch am I a misogynist, I pray that they are not all the same. From a male perspective I am used to the constant branding and white washing that comes with the sex. If common perceptions are to be believed, then I am a selfish, self-centered being who acts without reason to fulfill my own meaningless desires. I am the cause for all violence and am a scheming, and skillful liar.

With this I have no sensitivity or appreciation for beauty. I have no concept of the word love and that I believe the world revolves around me. What a load of “hogwash”, my efforts to show that the same distasteful traits exist in both sexes has been met with the mantra already stated.

So here is the point, if I can appreciate that not all women are the same then why do these brands given to me by virtue of my sex still apply. If I can appreciate that both women and men are individuals, it seems a little stretch that women can appreciate the same in males. We are not all “bastards”, romance is something that males indulge in. Seeing the beauty in the little things is an indulgence that is left to us. Using the smallest of resources we endeavor to make the seemingly ordinary, extraordinary. We do so by taking the risk to show that we have a gentle side and an appreciation of the world around us. Risking our perceived masculinity and is shown to someone we have trust in. Making it almost a cloak and dagger exercise. We risk the perception of being branded by that detestable label of not being masculine. Though the male brand contains some distasteful generalizations, it is the only one we have.

Seemingly Innocent

Not paying much mind to the idiot box and there appears a commercial, four little puppet figures that stand there looking cute and a voice over. I wasn’t interested in it until what I saw next. The four little figures were supposed to represent a little family, dad, mum and two little kiddies all in a row, the voice voiceover saying how much you care for the family and how you should strive to protect them and seem them safe and secure. Especially if you should be removed form the picture and which figure is taken out of the row of this cute little family? You guessed it, “The Dad”. This is where my attention was grabbed. This is where the seemingly innocent little commercial took on a sinister appearance.

You then see Mummy figure pick up the phone to call the insurance company when the call details were mentioned. Or was it in truth to get the insurance policy on dear old dad without his knowledge and then call her boyfriend to do him in to collect on it. Not only has the blood sucking cow most probably lived off his labors all her married life and sent him to work a second and maybe third job to pay off some hobby to keep her happy and give her a life that he was struggling to afford, she now has a way to cash in on his death too.

Let’s face it, I’m sure she has learnt to forge your signature by now and can easily wrangle the payments because you have access to all his bank accounts. All she has to do is show him a new piece of lingerie, one of her boyfriends bought her, and says that she bought this to wear for you. Only to find out that that will be the only time you see it till it mysteriously ends up in the washing that you have to take out and put away. Not to mention the growing cosmetic collection and her sudden interest in getting fit.

Talk about a “do it yourself guide to suck every drop of blood out of a man and cash in on his carcass” in 30 seconds. What is it with the stereotype that sees the man having to kick the bucket first as a norm? Could it be men not living as long as a woman is a man’s final escape from a spouse? Or is it that most medical students are men and studying female problems is their way of loosing their virginity? So now we have a vaccine for cervical cancer and breast cancer can be detected though a breath test, while the good old prostate gets a visit form an unwelcome, latex covered digit. Medical tests for men have not really seen past the stone age.

And of course, for those women who don’t want the trouble of having to kill the male off, or get him out of the house so he will never see the insurance letters, there is “no fault divorce”. She has done her wifely duty and bore a spur of Satin, so now she can get the child support off you with the secret insurance policy still entrusted to her.

Cute little puppets my arse.

War of the World

I find it amusing that even though we live on one planet we talk as though we are form different worlds. Now forgive me if I have got this wrong, but I thought that the plant was the world and that the divisions within it were countries. But that seems to hinder the classifications that some use to describe things with. Now we are not only divided into nations into nations and races but also the worlds we come form.

This leads to the question, what are these worlds that people speak of? The only thing I can come up with to justify this is that they are philosophical worlds. So my quest to find these worlds physically is thawed because they are philosophical.

Isn’t there enough division physically, by natural boundaries that we have to add divisions of the mind? Oceans, mountains and physical locations don’t seem to be enough; we have to add thinking to this regiment? And it is not enough to make it a lower class division, like a nation but a world, which would mean that this little planet is host to one physical world and many philosophical ones.

This line of thought puts me in my own little world, thinking of all the divisions and boarders that separate and categorize. To the point where I started wondering how I saw myself on this planet and if I saw myself as a citizen of a nation or of the world, if I favored being counted as a human inhabitant or a member of a governing body.

On settlement of this dilemma am I then to choose a line of thinking as well? To then further separate me and segregate me. It is a favored tactic to divide and conquer by those facing superior forces. So am I a pawn in some chaotic war game?

The First world Disease.

Isn’t it funny how that in this modern world we come to a point where starvation doesn’t seem to be the death of us as opposed to over eating. One has to ask if it is the quantity or the quality of our modern food or both that is the question. We obsess with this dilemma while on this earth we still have millions living in the conditions that one can only described as prehistoric.

Attention turned to the recent news and how over eating is now akin to child abuse. A mother in England is now being faced with loosing her 8 year old son over the fact that he is 90kg. The reporter did add that this was a 10kg loss since getting the warning that she was going to have the child taken off her because of his weight.

In her defense, she said that he would not eat anything else, referring to junk food. She also added that he had a mouth full of apple “one” and spat it out.

What a pile of crap!!!

To use the words of a good friend, “A kid weighting 90 kg isn’t going to starve any time soon”. What ever happened to the parenting skill of “eat your dinner or go to bed hungry?” It is not like rocket science or are we, as modern parents, scared of our children? Is the social acceptance of “let the child have their way or end up with a law suit form them” scaring people to give in to the desires and wants of children?

Or do we believe that we are too clever to follow the primitive devices that got us to this stage as the human race. That suddenly we have jumped to a new stage of evolution? Far be it for nature to provide when we have McDonalds, this form a race that believes that we could possibly travel to Mars and colonize it? I can just see now the establishment of an interstellar drive through. It also makes the Muppets right when they went on about “Pigs in Space”, only the “pigs” will be the obese astronauts.

Far be it for a simple mechanic like me to equate this to an engine. To run an engine properly you need good fuel, not too lean and not too rich. The balance is what is required.

Why Worry?

There are only two things in this life you need to worry about:

If you are going to succeed of if you are going to fail?

If you succeed there is nothing to worry about but if you fail there are only two things to worry about:

Are you well enough to try again or not?

If you are there is nothing to worry about but you are not then there is only two things to worry about:

Are you going to get well or not?

If you get well there is nothing to worry about but if you don’t there is only two things to worry about:

Are you going to live or die?

If you live there is nothing to worry about but if you don’t there is only two things to worry about:

Are you going to heaven or hell?

If you go to heaven there is nothing to worry about but if you go to hell, you will be so busy greeting all your friends that you will not have time to worry.

So why worry?

Feelings of Invisibility

As I sit here I am reminded that I have to be the emotionless male. That I have no valid opinion of my own and that I am only useful as a sympathy dispenser. Again and again I bite my tongue to avoid the flack that will be hurled my way if I show myself as having an opinion. I am sick of pointless arguments that stem form me not agreeing with someone’s point of view. It just doesn’t seem to stop till they think I have converted to their opinion so I sit and do nothing. To stubborn to change my opinion, it remains locked in my head. There it circles and I hear the opposing views and the rebuttal argument is formulated but never evoked.

Sometimes I wish I was deaf so I could not hear the contradictions in the arguments presented. The host of the opposing opinion seems quite unaware that I am listening and have done all the time. They seem quite at ease in spilling their opinions thinking that they are in the company of one who agrees as there is no rebuttal forthcoming. But to me there seems no point in refuting a pointless argument. Why do I want to waste emotional resources on a battle that will only end in the acknowledgement to agree to disagree, at best? At worst I have exposed a personal view that I know will be held and used against me as a mud sling in some future argument.

Hence the “catch 22”, as a non remarkable male I am assumed to have no opinion or view of consequence. If I do, then it is deemed to be dangerous and worth of note to use against me later. If you try to speak though your actions they will be ignored, as that requires mental processes and the expenditure of thought on another. Far be it for me to cause a person to shed a thought in my direction.

Again I am a member of the silent masses. With no freakish ability to draw favor to myself I am doomed to walk in the unremarkable, joined by my fellow “unremarkables”. Who, though the exchange in glances, know the turmoil of the other but silently drift by. Isolated and divided in our common pain.

Someone Shut My Brain Off, Please!!!

Why is it we want what we cannot have? Have I offended some ancient god in a former life? My intentions started off so pure and sincerer. I didn’t want to fall for anyone and, by the same token, not want to hurt anyone.

I suppose that is the funny thing about me. I have been trained to keep my feelings suppressed. If I have one skill in this life that I excel at, that would be it. But the cost is endless nights of turmoil. I don’t sleep well. I have a back injury that helps with that but more so my brain. It just keeps ticking and will not let me rest. Though the diversion of thought does help with the pain, I end up reaching for something. I wish I knew what this elusive something was.

In not wanting to hurt people I found myself alone. Everything I ever owned I have earned and left no debt, well so I thought. I locked myself away form human contact for 5 years. The chore of meeting people was just so much to bear.

I wish I could use sex as a drug and have mindless consummation of lust as an escape. But that is not me. I have only ever done that with someone I have cared for. I have only ever indulged with someone that I love or think I love. And I know people’s perception of me as being so straight laced and ridged of character. If only they knew what lay beneath.

Like every human on this earth, I crave for that human contact. Not just in the cardinal but in the sensual as well. The feeling of a body near your’s, that is contented by the mere fact that you are there. But, then too there is the will to indulge in the cardinal and like I said before, I am a master at keeping my wants and desires suppressed.

Like I said I want what I cannot have. This I suppose is my first admission to being human too. So my mind scolds me. Why am I doing this? What are you thinking? Then the realization that I am just wanting my brain to see the reflection of the torment it puts me through. Was there a trigger to this or was it just time?

The tighter the grip I have on my thoughts the more slip though. I don’t want my brain playing with my wants and desires. I know I can’t have them so why want them? Why keep thinking there is something more when what is, is. I will never be the man I once was. I will never be able to do the things I once did. I am locked in this pathetic excuse for a body in a situation I cannot escape.

Breaking a back made me think I lost my manhood. I am starting to think it was that it did more than that. It threw me into a prison and the indignity of wearing an iron mask as well. I can’t even recognize me anymore. There are some glimmers of my former self but it is like trying to see your reflection in a shattered mirror.

Survival of the Hunter

This in some ways is a continuation of my last post but from a different perspective. I came across an article on a current affairs program tonight about an experimental project on segregating boys from girls in kindergarten. “six-year-olds are not being taught to be sensitive new age guys, but to be little blokes.”

The accompanying article online doesn’t go into much detail as in the report but the head mistress’s quote about the hunter gather instinct was omitted.

“the classroom itself has been specially designed with boys in mind.”

Would you not think that in a mans world it would have already been that way? That in order to get better learning form a male you have to make him regress to a more primitive form?

While at this stage only an experiment, I can see that future learning on making boys “Blokes” is going to have political correctness up in arms. Is this not a direct admission that gender is not just the only difference between the sexes? That male learning can be improved from an early age if boys are allowed to be boys and not have to be brain washed with the political correctness crap that is dished out on an ever expanding basis.

The ideal asexual being that right wing feminist groups would have us believe is the ideal is just a freak. There is no difference between their slimily and that of extreme communist nations that view a person in terms of being a production unit to the state first and have a gender second.

Now we find that, after eons of evolution, that the sexes are different in more ways than in just sexual function. Makes you wonder how slow we are to learn. Our active defiance of Darwin theory has led us to the fact that our species is the only one on the planet that refuses natural selection. We actively make an environment that harbors freaks and allows them to survive. One would not have a hard time comparing this to a virus in a health organism. The Organism that man has created plays host to this infection that will, enviably, kill it.

By countless amounts of scientific experiments we have learnt that there is a primitive base programming to all species that allow them to be born and give them a sense of function, all that seems to be lost in modern man and leads to confusion. The confession to the base hunter instinct reported by the head mistress in this case is a good example. It can be recognized that males still possess it and when suppressed for years does it not seem likely that it will manifest in later life. I may be drawing a long bow here but would it not seem plausible that this could be called mid life crisis?

Long live the hunter gatherer and may he prosper in a world that seem to want to sterilize him to be the asexual mutant. May he not lose his base instinct that is so often called on in times of crisis. May he stand tall in this world of freaks and be proud of the fact that he has embraced his base programming. Let him not fall to the abomination of defiance to natural selection and may he always be known as a man.

Shifting the Goal Posts

While listening on the radio, I happened across a conversation on golf. My personal opinions of the sport aside, the topic in question was about mixed competition. While the male presenter was all for the idea, a female feminist was against.

Hold the phone was my first instinct. Was this not what feminism was founded on? Wasn’t it a fundamental that a woman was in no way different to a man other than her genitalia?

I listened, dumbfounded, as the goal post had clearly shifted. Her argument was based on scientific evidence of how physiologically different the female was to a male, as if this was not evident by someone with functional eye site. My mind drifted to thoughts if breasts may inhibit a swing the same way it might a well endowed, excited, male. Or if thinking from above the groin would “effect” one’s centre of gravity.

These issues aside, her argument was that men and women could not compete on the same playing field because of these physiological differences. Yet her argument then turned when it came to prize monies. By my deduction, she was wanting the same prize for both genders when it could not be determined who “was the golfer” because they were not allowed to compete against each other. Platitudes like, “having your cake and eating it too came to mind”.

My solution is simple: combine the prize monies for having two competitions and let the golfers play against each other to determine who is the better golfer. This negates gender and focuses on the golfer.

What is my argument on this? Well if relate the attitude of this feminist to her cause, she has logically, in effect, negated her own argument. It is a bit like, Orwell’s “Animal Farm”. The ideal and cause was simple, “All animals are equal”, to have amendments made to the initial mantra, “All animals are equal, but some are more equal than others”. This Ideal substituted into the golfing argument is no different. That, male and female, golfers should be equal in value, regardless if they are equal on ability.

The argument on equality can also be summed up on this point too. Then you have to wonder if the battle for equality is not really a covert battle for supremacy. What a sad world where a race is divided into not just creed, and culture but sex as well. This would be the death of humanity if male and female were to be at permanent war with each other.

Mr. Cellophane

Why Mr. Cellophane? Well like most mere males in this world, this is a measure of most men’s existence. The myth that it is a man’s world is shattered with logical thought. While equal opportunity activists will claim that men have had the reins in their hands for far too long. I propose that they have been only looking at those at the top rung of the social structure. Anyone going to a shop knows that the premium products are always on display in the shop window. When entering you will find that the majority of the stock is common or a lower grade version. Argument on this I call “Perception V’s Reality”.

I am a simple man but have applied my simple thinking to this and may other topics. I am far too aware of main stream thinking and know that my conclusions are based on noting more supportive than real life experience. I am no scholar, but do believe that life is a learning experience. It may just be interesting to hear the thoughts based on these than some survey that is narrowed and designed to show a particular point of view.

To anyone that reads this I will say that I do like opposition of my views. If you are compelled to comment then feel free to do so. All I ask is that you structure your argument so I can see your way of thinking. I don’t pretend to a minute that it will convert my thoughts, but you never know. I do like to get a whole appreciation of a view even if I don’t agree.

That being said, I would like to say that this is hopefully the first on many posts and look forward to hearing form you on them. I am male and make no apology for my views being tainted to a male perspective. I can only see the world through my eyes and those are the views that I will share.