Why do men need women?  It is a never ending conundrum, cause quite frankly most only fine women to be a pain.  Others find it a way to control something that is like putting a leash on a tornado.  And still others, try to keep the definition of man even while they are being subjucated by their hearts and minds.  I find it hilarious, but at the same time being trapped by the same need as anyone else.  Is it foolish?  I can't even answer that, I just know that I need. 
    So I offer some comparisons.  Men need women like humans need air, like we need cheese on crackers, like a wolf needs to eat, like the plants need the sun, like how the moon can't shine without that very same sun, like a sick person needs medicine, like how a boy will always need his mother, like muffins need blueberries, like sausage demands eggs, like the dark needs the light, like the stars will not suffer being without the sky, like the earth needs gravity to be stable.  See, all these are necessities, and very much define what it is like to really need something.  Because otherwise without it, we men, would be at a loss as to what to do.
    Now, I won't be naive and say lovely ain't part of it, but too many think it's all of it.  Sometimes even the most manly of us are afraid of the dark.  We're all afraid of dying alone, and sometimes we need to be held though we care not to admit it.  And you women, not just any and I'll get to that in a moment, are the levies against the waves of our insecurities.  Even the most confident of us will sit in an empty room and wish for that sweet laughter, that radiant smile, and deep soulful eyes that only one creature in all of this earth can provide for us. It is a need like having a chili cheese dog on a hot summer day with a strawberry milkshake. 
    So, I go into why it can't just be anyone.  Most people say they want love, but when they get it, they usually choose to sabotage it in some way.  Not many find it and have the will or want to keep it, even though they need to.  And sometimes there are those of us that find the pain much more bearable than the risk of loving someone everyday, knowing how fickle it can be.  
    It takes someone like Alexandria.  Someone who says "I love you" and it does mean they'll do anything for that one person.  Though she is young, I don't ever want her to lose that ideal, and because of her intelligence, I know she'll scrutinize everyone she ever meet, especially if they are a candidate for the position of being the one that she adores.  She, and many like her won't ever know why their special.   Partly it's because they don't think much of themselves, and so their egos and pride don't get in the way much.  In addition, that time spent being down on themselves drives them to understand a lot more than those who take their thinking from a television set.  Bottom line, if she were the sun, I'd be the moon, and shine all the brighter, just from her light.
    All this may sound crazy I know.  The only thing you can do is throw out metaphors like women throwing out their newly wedded spouses old underwear which happens to be an unbelieveably accelerated rate.  Yet, this one ends, with me knowing I have always needed this, and in whatever way a man may need a woman, more than anything, they need one who stays, forgives, and loves them for whoever they may be.  It is peace.  'Nuff said. 

Tags: Another Thought

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Hello.  You may not remember me, even though throughout my life I am constantly surprised by those that do.  Even though I have had such compliments such as being sexy and attractive I find on this day I am once again seeking to validate my existence through another's eyes.  It is Valentine's Day and I woke up thinking of you again, and even though I know I ruined everything through my insecurity and self doubt, I had the fleeting thought of knowing in my heart that are the one I should be with no matter what in this life time.
    I decide to go to this singles party anyway, thinking of finally filling the void that was left when I pushed you away.  After trying on many different themes to represent the life I have lead, I choose an all black ensemble, as if I'm going to a funeral, I think in retrospect, with a red tie.  Blood red, thinking that the black can represent the shadow of a life I have led, and the red to tell of how my heart would never stop hoping.  How will anyone understand this one from one glance, I cannot say. 
    As I am driving to the party, I start losing myself in thoughts of you, driving faster than I should around various curves, lost in daydreams of what could have been our life together.  I didn't notice the other car at all, and barely heard the honking as my vision finally focuses not on the delusions of one who loses all that is important to him, but on the car, that is directly in front of him, closing the gap at a ridiculous speed.  Luckily, with a slight twist of the wheel and a tap on the brake I am able to correct the issue and avoid colliding even on these snowy roads, and am able to escape a certain fate of death with just a honk and a finger.  The good finger that sometimes is mistaken for meaning your number one.
    One can imagine what the party is like, me walking around drinking, being inept at greeting anyone, and as if I was the a source of all the discomforts of the world, not being greeted much either.   I take this solitude in a crowd of people as long as I can, knowing that all the while I am thinking of you and no one else.  Yet, it ends as all gatherings for me do, me tucking my tail between my legs, and deciding it's best to go home anyway, seeing as life and love have conspired to deny me any sense of happiness on this day yet again.  Shou ga nai, I say.  If you don't know it means, it can't be helped.
    I go home and e-mail you, saying how much I miss you.  You respond ever so quickly in the same vein, and feel that maybe life and love decided that I have lived long enough in seclusion and decided to pardon me from the sentence of isolation from the very things that make living life so good.  As the days go by we talk more and more, gradually becoming one heart and mind on many levels, and finally understand that what is meant to be cannot be avoided, and we thank everything that is greater than we are for this chance.  When the summer comes, we decide to meet and I buy a plane ticket to come and see you, and when you meet me in the airport, we are so excited we cannot speak a word.  We decide all things can be expressed if we just hold each other for a while. 
    You show the place where you live.  Your city, your house, you introduce me to all the vices that come with being part of a society, your favorite places to eat, where you shop, the beach.  I get a small job and we spend our summer, laughing and getting to know one another.  Our favorite moments our lying under the stars, flat on our back holding hands, watching the heavens race past our very eyes.  Even after the summer ends we promise to spend many more like it, and we do, because of the obvious fact that we belong together, and we decide that we want to be husband and wife.
    We do get married and honeymoon for two weeks traveling and seeing all the things one could want to see in this world.  We kiss and make love as though all the moments of our lives were only the stepping stones leading to this one.  After we both graduate from college, you decide on a career in music and join the London Symphony Orchestra, and I get my Master's degree and teach online classes so I can travel with you, and hear every last concert you play in.  Our first child is a girl, and I let you name her, as I am hopelessly prone to naming everything with a Japanese name, yet I walk away with the promise to ruin our second child's whole life.  We both become witnesses to both of our children, the second being a beautiful boy, first step, though I missed his first words.  We raise them on biblical principles, and find them to be intelligent and thoughtful.  We see their first day of school and feel the fear of letting them go for the first time.  Our daughter likes to draw, and our boy loves baseball.  She confides in us about liking a boy, and our son eventually thinks he is in love though it does not last, but he does come to understand that it is a part of life which cannot be avoided.  When they go off to college, we both start to travel again, reliving old memories, loving in new places.  Our son gets married right out of college, while our little lady is much more prudent, knowing the truth about men and their goals.  We treat our first grandchild to an immaculate reception to life and spoil him to death, just to send him home to his parents.  We live our lives to the fullest, love to the exteme, laugh like we are insane, and cry with tears that represent all the happness two people can ever have in this world.  We grow old together, and there is nothing more that we wanted, but to be together to the very end.
    I am the one to fall to old age first, deciding I want to spend the last of my days in the room where we first made love, overlooking the beach, where the sunset rests it's head.  As I lie there, with you sitting next to me thinking of all the joy that the days have brung us, I see such a sad expression upon your face.  I ask you not to be sad, to just hold onto those memories, and think to tell you of that night of the party, the one that changed everything for the both of us.  I don't understand why you look away, into that sunset, or why tears well up into your eyes.  I try to tell you, that if I had died that night, none of this could have been, our lives together would never have had happened, and we should be grateful for every moment that we have had.  Oddly enough, you look at me with that same expression, touch my face so gently like many times before, and you say, "Oh honey, you did die that night.  Your dreaming my love."
    "Oh", is all I can say.  And she was right.  I finally open my eyes, my body is numb from the snow on the ground.  I open my eyes and there are people kneeling over me asking me question I cannot comprehend.  I turn my head to see what is left of my car, and the other one that was headed towards me.  Due to my reaction of tapping the brake and turning the wheel, I had succeeded in avoiding a head on collision, to only turn the drivers side towards the impact.  I see two people holding each other, the woman is crying, they appear to be dressed for a night out on the town.  I don't quite understand in one glance what their clothing scheme represents, but it seems to mean that they love each other.  I think to myself that it is so good they weren't hurt. 
    As my body suddenly starts to feel warmer, I realize I never made it to that party, I never e-mailed you, and thanks to a twist of fate, I will never know if that dream could have been real and as the darkness reaches out to take hold of me, as those who kneel over me trying to preserve a life I had since given up on since losing you, begging me to hold on, I let go.  In those last few seconds before I retire from what was otherwise a wretched existence, I go back to that room, back to that life I led, you welcome me back with a kiss, I touch your face also, and smile.  You lay down next to me, holding each other tightly as ever, and the sun sets.

Tags: Working On Something Tell Me What You Think

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this was an article I found:

After Real Man/Men, "mature" and "immature" are the favourite terms in the arsenal of shaming language a lot of women like to use.

Of course, women's definitions of maturity and immaturity differ from objective fact.

Take two hypothetical men:

Man A is married and works long hours to support his wife and kids ("their" kids in his view, "her's" in her's), his income going on paying the mortgage of the excessively large suburban home and the cost of running a car and an S.U.V. He provides well for his wife, remembers wedding anniversaries and brings home flowers each Friday when he gets home from the office at 9:00PM. He hates his job and the long hours give him migraines and heart palpatations, but he remains stoic and slogs away at his desk to provide for his wife. He doesn't go out to the pub with his mates much because he knows his wife feels neglected if he does so too often. He watches Coronation Street and Friends; not because he likes them but because his wife loves to snuggle up next to him whilst she watches them. She does not like Top Gear and finds Jeremy Clarkson offensive and sexist, so he does not watch it either. His wife's happiness is his primary concern.

Man B is single, lives on his own, works less than 40-hours a week at a job that's either easy or halfway enjoyable. After providing for himself - and no-one but himself - he saves some of his money and blows the rest on his hobbies; building model railways, fixing up motorbikes, reading horror novels, whatever. He goes to the pub when he wants, leaves his socks on the floor, plays video games, runs screaming from any girlfriend who utters the word 'commitment' in a serious conversation, and watches Top Gear and South Park because they're fucking great.

In a woman's mind, Man A is 'mature' and Man B is an 'immature big kid.' And women love to speak their mind. I've been condemned as immature many times in recent years by women, just because my lifestyle is similar to the latter example.

To me, immaturity in males means harking back to infancy, of avoiding behaviour that may incur the disapproval of Mother. Say 'please' and 'thank you', don't get into fights, don't say the word 'willie' in polite company, lest your mum cross her arms and glare at you with that look that says 'I'm not happy with you, you have disappointed me.'

Not that there's anything wrong in mothers employing the threat of a withdrawal of approval in their young son's - or young daughter's - behaviour. After all, saying 'please' and 'thank you', not getting into fights and not saying the word 'willie' - or 'cunt', 'shitfuck' and 'meecrob' - in polite company are lessons kids must learn to become proper social beings (not there's much of a society out there to be being in these days.)

However, to become a fully-fledged man, a boy must learn to shrug off the yearning for female approval, primarily by not giving a flying love about whether a woman denounces you as 'immature', 'a big kid' or 'not a Real Man(TM)'.

So in my view:

Man A is immature. He has thrown his life - and his happiness, freedom, financial security and, above all else, his bollocks - into the handbag of a woman. Bearing in mind the fact that, thanks to feminism, marriage these days offers nothing but risks and obligitations to a man, this individual is acting against his own interests; he had nothing to benefit from getting married, save for the approval of his future wife, and her approval meant more to him than his own happiness and security. He is stuck in mental infancy, desperately seeking the approval of 'mother', the personification of which he now transfers to his wife, and it's her glare of disapproval (and threat of divorce and associated financial arse-ramming of course) that he fears.

Man B is mature. He has thrown aside the residues of Woman Worship, sneered at the pressure the Matriarchy places on a man to become a slave to a woman and 'her' kids, and basically thrown a spanner in the works of women, big corporations and the government by working just enough to get himself by and putting his energies into basically having a good time, rather than ensuring a woman, big corporations and the government have a good time at the expense of his labours. This guy loves his mum and even remembers her birthday, but nonetheless he has long since outgrown the need to win the approval of her or any other member of her lovely at the expense of going his own damn way.

The paradox is that if a woman tells a man that 'if you were a Real Man you would do X' then, if he does X, he is not a Real Man. The term Real Man is absurd, a joke, the primary tool in the lexicon of shaming language, but whilst neither I nor anyone else can declare objectively what a Real Man is, I can certainly tell you that it isn't a guy who will do any stupid shit (invariably against his own interest) to prove to a woman that he is one.

Similarly, a man who abandons hobbies and behaviour just because a woman accuses him of immaturity is, paradoxically, immature, as he is still stuck in the infant stages of desperately seeking Mother's approval, just with Mother projected onto another woman.

On the other hand, a man who is 'mature' has outgrown that dependancy on female approval. He is not neccesarily hostile to women or their opinions, but he most certainly does not change his behaviour or adapt his lifestyle just so a woman will nod her head and declare that she bestows her approval of him. He laughs in the scowling faces of disapproving women, and tweaks the nose of shaming language.

Tags: Menwomen Life

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I'll tell you about me here.  I am that guy, who always was around but never much payed attention to, cause I was quiet and shy.  Sometimes the source of comic relief, but not much more than that.  The person that stand in the corner during a party, never knowing what to say or do.    I only had one dream, just to be loved. It's so funny and sad, that after 31 years of life, I've got nothing.  No friends, my family is as distant as the sun, and I spend nearly everyday alone and secluded trying anything and everything just to connect with anyone.  I already know this is how my life will end, dreaming of something that just was never meant to be.  Maybe there is something wrong with me but I won't ever know, cause there is no one close enough to tell me, even if there was.  If you take anything from this just know that maybe there are some people who just weren't meant to be loved.  If you find yourself being one of those people, just grab yourself some vodka, find a dark corner in the world, and just sit and wait for the end.  There won't be anything else, no matter how hard you try.  Real dreams worth having die like this.  Quietly and unnoticed.  'Nuff said.

Tags: Meacceptingfate

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