I haven’t ranted in awhile, but I have some stuff I’ve figured out recently.

Observation 1.

I managed to score a really good job, and all indications are that things are going well. I am deliriously happy about this fact, and for a short time, things couldn’t have been better. But then my usual old self set in, and I started focusing hard on getting good at what I do. As this happen all the seemingly mundane worries and unhappiness returned.

Then it hits me. I’m not nearly proud enough. My friends will laugh for I deliberately come off an super arrogant simply cause I think its hilarious, and anyone with a sense of humor will agree that more often than not, I pull it off fairly well. This, however is a façade, and all will know that I’m not really taking that side of my personality seriously.

Maybe I should!

I’m so obsessed with trying to become a better person that I often forget to give myself credit because I take my accomplishments for granted. How can someone, anyone, be happy with themselves if they are always focused on the next challenge, and never take the time to bask in the glory of what they have managed to do?

Recently, I’ve been learning how to write informative articles in the form of news. I’ve never had any formal training in writing, and prior to taking this job, my only experience were these very same creative explorations which have formed the backbone of my writing style. This time however it is not sufficient to spill my guts on the keyboard with some pretext of eloquisims.

Getting back to the point, I confided to one of my coworkers that I am dissatisfied with my weakness in business writing, and am working hard to improve it. She thinks my stuff is good, and getting better. She offers plenty of encouragement, but whenever I feel like I’ve screwed up, I become obsessed with my failures and freak out about how I mustn’t repeat the same mistake. On bad days I make the same mistakes multiple times and the whole card castle disintegrates before me.

However it’s come to my attention that perhaps I’m being too hard on myself. Looking subjectively that seems to be the case. Even worse is the realization that I cannot pride myself in my work because I never give myself the luxury of basking in the glory of my accomplishment and walking away with a sense of pride because when I don’t screw up, or when I do in fact merely do a good job, I don’t reward myself or clap myself on the back. Instead I focus on my next weakness and feverishly work on how I’m going to resolve the next challenge.

My quest for perfection depresses me, especially when trying to defeat those small self- sabotaging destructive indulgences which everyone allows themselves from one degree or another.


Observation 2.

I’ve been reflecting on those personal realizations which we all undergo as we progress through this existence, most particularly the life changing ones. Everyone has many of these life-shaping experiences which inevitably shift the direction which they take.

Looking back on my own brushes with destiny, it occurred to me that many of the most profound realizations were actually quite simple and sensible to begin with.

Those who know me know that in the last several months I’ve been obsessed with masculine literature and the quest to bring out the man in me. This was another ground-breaking realization I had hit earlier last year. Having embarked on the quest to embrace my new found manliness, I began drinking more, eating hot-sauce, making off color jokes which anyone with a sense of humor and a brain would find funny.

I know that this exploration of myself was a direct back-lash of my not being happy with my ability to appear sexy to women. I naturally concluded that certain behavioral patterns of my personality lean to the wet noodle persona. Traditionally I have been the shoulder, the good friend, the confidant, the cry baby. Not satisfied with that role I decided to change a bit.

Perhaps I jumped to the opposite extreme because in the past year or so my level of nookie hasn’t appreciatively improved and I’ve turned more into an obnoxious drunk when I whip out this facet of my personality.

Then it hits me. Drunk is not sexy. Not even on women. Wow. It may make the world beautiful, and cause you to consider doing people you’d never give a second glance (or frightened look) to. Bottom line, women don’t dig drunks! Wow.

Another example I will use my physique. Many know that in the past seven months or so I’ve radically changed my eating habits and exercise patterns. In this space of time I’ve lost an awful load of weight and brought my blood pressure down to reasonable levels. This move was a direct result of finally realizing that I wasn’t happy with the way I was. Sounds kind of stupid, but I’ve been moping about my obesity for years, and all of a sudden it hits me. Do something about it. Wow!

I was talking to an old buddy of mine who back in the day tried to convince me to take better care of myself. Him and another friend spent years trying to drill the logic in my brain. When that didn’t work they tried my self-esteem, but obviously that back-fired. Then all of a sudden, years later it hits me.

Isn’t it odd that as simple as these life changing relations are, they take an eternity to learn and they are so personal that in many cases even your friends cannot show you the logic until you are ready to receive it?

Man is weird. Unless of course it’s just me.

This is going to be another one of those discussions where I’m going to make rampant generalizations which are perpetually disproved, but nevertheless contain some measure of truth. Therefore before commencing I herby absolve myself from offending anyone, and any objections which anyone could raise against anything I might say. Citing single examples doesn’t prove me wrong.

Now that I have that out of the way, let us discuss the transgenderal friendship. Speaking from the masculine perspective there is absolutely no such friendship which has ever happened between a straight male and female, where at some point, usually near the beginning, the guy doesn’t have some sexual interest in the female in question. Following this early phase, the man has a decision. He either faces up to the fact that he actually wants to pursue a close friendly relationship with the female in question, or back-off and allow it to either wilt under the strains of time or other miscellaneous obligations. The former usually stems from the type of guy who continues to harbor some small hope that somehow, someway he will be rewarded with nookie for his unwavering willingness at friendship. Although it is not unheard of, this sort of story seldom concludes with nookie, and therefore most males should be advised that stepping into a friendship with a female, given this frame of mind, is more often than not a waste of time. I won’t even mention how lame it is to perpetuate a false interest in a girl strictly for fucking, when you know in advance that you will never fuck. Now I wouldn’t presume to say that this logic applies to all friendships. In this case I’m talking about the very close personal friendship which sometimes develop between man and woman. For women, such friendships are genderless. We men are perpetually blinded by boobies.

“We will never go out cause we’re such good friends!” Every male at some point in their lives, usually when they are quite young, will have heard those painful words. What many males don’t realize is that the phrase in “woman talk” essentially translates to, “I see you as genderless, and so we can never sleep together.” A man who allows himself to become castrated by his “friend” will hardly ever have sex with her. In many ways this is the fault of the man. See women like their men manly, and manliness seldom allows for traits such as, “understanding” or “empathy”. These are womanly traits to both men and women, and therefore do not fit in the archetype male which all women are seeking. Many males would become offended, even angry at the girl for rejecting him, when clearly he is the one at fault for putting himself in this situation.

Maintaining a masculine image is critical in any liaison where the man wishes to get sex from a member of the opposite sex. I will assume for simplicity that I am speaking of straight relationships since honestly I haven’t discussed the topic nearly enough with my gay friends in order to make any kind of generalizations on homosexuality, so lets stick to straight people since that’s who I know best. The unmanly man is not challenging to the woman who wants to fight for something special, nor is it biologically an appropriate choice since an unmanly man is less likely to produce good offspring. Women simply aren’t attracted to that. True our jaded mothers will try and preach to us about sensitivity and kindness, but a mama’s boy is not a manly boy, and won’t get laid.

That being said, I am not trying to discourage men from having close friendships with women. Friendships are all rewarding in their own way so long as they are seen as just that. Friendships. Keeping that in mind is important in order to not be a hypocrite. If you insist on trying to sleep with the girl you are beginning to become close to in a friendly context, my advice to you would be to back-off a bit and display some manly traits. Make sure you don’t lose your dick, by getting too close. You can do this without being an asshole, although being a bit of one is likely to help your chances. Find that balance which makes you interesting enough to pursue, but not revolting enough to push away, and you will strike gold. Otherwise give in to the fact that you won’t fuck the chick, and take the friendship for all it’s worth. One thing to keep in mind though is that if you reveal too many vulnerabilities to this person, she will likely castrate you to her friends as well so be careful about becoming too close if you are thinking about banging one of her girlfriends. On the other hand don’t be a total dick or you will be branded as an asshole before you even have a chance to prove how big of one you really are. As with all things, balance is the key.

It time to talk about strippers again. And weight loss.

In order to best set the context for this story the first thing I must do is set a bit of background information. This background story concerns my very good friend Number 65, at strip club which we frequently frequent. I must also add that although I was not actually present for this background story, I did have the honor to witness one of Number 65’s many masterful retellings. I doubt that my prologue will do justice to.

The scene is set, once again in this very same club of which I speak. Most unusually Number 65 was approached by a female, who, after extensive verbal foreplay, “hello my name is so and so, where are you from, what do you do etc…” quite literally asked him if he wanted to watch her “get hot and horny.” I myself am no novice at the whole strip club experience, and know that this aggressive method of picking up a customer is quite unusual. As Number 65 is a true connoisseur of the customs of the gentlemen’s club, it was only natural that his interest be piqued by this female’s direct methods. Since she was hot, he naturally accepted her offer to go upstairs for a feel. Now understand that in the Montreal strip clubs, during a lap dance, customers are allowed to touch the stripper anywhere with exception of the g-string. Furthermore, no contact is allowed involving tongue, nether-regions, etc… The stripper of course is allowed to basically do whatever she likes.

Number 65’s experience was unusual, firstly from the forwardness of the stripper in question, and the fact that during her “dance” she asked him to spank her again and again, pleading that he hit harder and harder. Obviously he found the experience, uncomfortable, and so he did what anyone with a naked woman in front of him, who he is paying to be there, does. He laughed his ass off. I might add that whilst the males find the story quite fascinating, a female or two has been rather shocked by this story, but I am digressing as usual.

I should also add, before proceeding that several months ago I found myself in conversation with a male and female acquaintance of mine, who’s fake names I’ll not mention, discussing the etiquette behind the lap dance. The feminine friend of mine related that she had received a lap dance from a girl who proceeded to ask her for her telephone number. Whilst I asked her weather or not the stripper had in fact de-clothed herself completely, my masculine friend and female friend both looked at me like I was asking them something unusual. Turns out they had never received lap dances which didn’t involve complete nudity of the stripper. I admit that a small part of me was saddened by this fact. After all no stripper removed her string for me.

Since then, I’ve lost 14 kgs for unrelated reasons, which I’ll not go into right now. My story begins several months later; this past Saturday night in fact.

Number 65 and myself found ourselves out, as is our custom during the weekend, consuming various alcoholic beverages. A few drinks later, we both had the same idea on our mind, but neither of us gusty enough to go beyond the odd joke about frequenting the peelers. Several drinks later, found our courage, and we promptly exited out watering hole in search of another kind of hole. This we found in our friendly downtown strip club which we so do adore.

After sitting down, and discovering that straight alcohol is much cheaper than the carbonated alcoholic beverages which these institutions try to pass off as beer, we were approached by a rather attractive, tall platinum blond, who introduced herself by some name which I do not recall. When she asked Number 65 if he came here often, he responded with a, “Nope, this is my first time here, but it looks very nice!” I know my friend well enough to know that he was being sarcastic, and just as a tomahawk missile slams into an unsuspecting Muslim dude, I knew that this was the, “Spank me” chick.

Her approach was very smooth. She made light conversation, and then showed us this neat little trick involving flexing one boob at a time. Number 65 related that he had once seen a clown do the same thing when he was a wee lad of a mere ten summers. He also added that the experience had scarred him for life. I was reeling with delight at his wit. He was truly on the ball, so to speak, and I had consumed just enough vodka to find his shit not only funny, but outright hilarious. Finally the girl quit her small talk and outright asked us if we wanted a lap dance. I think her exact words were, “So which one of you two is hornier?” His answer went something like this. “Well you know when I’m in a grocery store I don’t like buying the first this I see on the shelf. I like to browse around first.” BOOM. I must say I am still in awe of my friend’s balls. The girl recovered quickly, having the good taste to eschew a token giggle at my friend’s burn, and turned her attentions towards me. She was hot, and I wanted to see if she would let me spank her. I like spanking. I was game.

The platinum blond got completely naked. Score! Unlike most of my previous lap dances she spent a long time complementing my physique, and licking my ears. Now I’ve been known to hit the peelers from time to time, but this was way unusual for me. She asked me to spank her. I asked her weather or not she was trying to get me kicked out. She insisted. I obliged. Without offending Number 65 I will say that after the first slap she didn’t ask me to do it harder. Likewise I didn’t wait for her to ask me to do it again. She asked me if I was single. I said yes. She asked me why. I said it was convenient for me to be single. She said she that explained why I was in a titty bar. I said that relationships never really stopped me from frequenting titty bars. She said that was good, since the last place a man was going to get sex was in a strip club. I agreed, with her at the time. I later discovered that she was wrong. Perhaps she was on the defensive. Eventually I lost track of the number of dances I had had. I seemed to have been sidetracked. She lied and told me I had had five dances instead of four. Number 65 later confirmed this to me since I genuinely didn’t know at the time. I paid, and returned to my table reeling at the unique experience. Totally worth it.

Number 65 and I then began discussing prostitutes, and he confided in me that he was not accustomed to being propositioned by sex workers in general. This is the sort of thing which happens to me all the time. I’ve always had this feeling that women look at me and see sucker written on my forehead, since they’re always coming to for some favor or demeaning proposition or something rather. I’m probably reading too far into it, but I am slightly bitter. Following this conversation I ordered another vodka, and Number 65 went off to hit a girl who had caught his fancy, leaving me all alone to fend for myself.

After bouncing two strippers a skinny black chick comes up to me. She outright asks me if I want a dance, to which I reply, “I’m good.” She says, “I don’t think you are.” I say, “Ohh?” She says, “You’re not good until you’ve had some chocolate baby, and you haven’t been with me yet.” I say, “Sounds like a challenge.” She says, “Yes.” I oblige.

She begins talking about how horny she is, and how hot she finds me. She asks me if I’m single. I tell her yes and she moans with delight. She strips her clothes and starts feeling me up. She pokes a my pocket. “Ohh that’s your wallet. I thought it was something else.” Actually it was my ipaq, but I don’t correct her since I don’t wanna appear too geeky. Then she grabs my crotch and asks me how big it is. I consider telling her she should find out, but realize that I am paying for a fantasy here. My silence is rewarded with her asking me if it is bigger than her wrist. It is. It tell her. She gasps. I tell her she has small wrists which was true. I’m laughing on the inside. Then she tells me how horny she is and takes off the g-string. She starts fingering herself and says she wants to get fucked. This sort of thing never happens to me, but I take it all in stride telling her she is trying hard to get me kicked out. I’m desperately trying to appear smooth. She tells me she wants to go to a hotel. I coyly tell her that a hotel is beyond my means. She is still playing with herself, and I’m grateful for the black light which is hiding my furiously blushing face. She makes me spank her. She grabs my hand and forces me to choke her. She grinds her string-less crotch against mine. I’m trying very hard to look comfortable. When I finally tell her that I’m ready to stop she plays with my hair and begs me to leave with her. I’m not stupid enough to think that she’s not trying to make more money. I thank her for the lovely time and move… quickly.

I ran into her a little later and she bit my left nipple through my shirt with a smile. I’m still sore.

So that was my very unusual stripper experience. I completely blame the fact that I’ve lost thirty pounds. Now I’m not going to suggest that I’ll be going to the peelers more often because truth be told, the whole thing did make me a little nervous, and to tell you the truth I wasn’t really turned on by the whole thing. On the other hand my ego did take a bit of a jump because of this story. Guys are weird that way.

I am now going to make all sorts of statements and observations. Almost all of them are generalizations. I’m going to use phrases like “Women tend to do this,” “more or less,” or “In general.” There are a huge number of exceptions to these statements so I don’t want to hear about isolated cases which disprove what I’m about to say. Isolated cases are just that, isolated. I will also state that this essay deals with Attraction and Attraction only. The Relationship, which often hailed as the next step after Attraction, is a more complex beast, and as such will not be explored too thoroughly here. Now, on to the next part of this exercise.

I am a big fan of this movement going on called Fratire. Fraternists are of the opinion that some feminists took the idea too far, and that in addition to demanding equal rights, they also pushed for the dissolution of gender differences, lumping everyone into either an androgynous being, or for men to be put beneath women. Naturally many obnoxious male qualities are nixed. Heavy drinking, whistling at a hot babe, hot sauce, staring, smiling under certain circumstances etc… Fraternists believe that men and women are indeed quite different, and as such can never be lumped into the same category. Men are men, and we should embrace that fact rather than making apologies for being what we are. We don’t imply that men are better than women in any way, nor should they be treated with any less respect. We just feel that boys will be boys, and girls will be girls. Embracing that, and accepting our differences, rather than trying to deny them, is a healthier thing. We violently oppose those who try to make our manliness a negative thing, and usually will go out of our ways to be extra obnoxious to anyone who demands we make excuses for what we are.

Lets face it. Men and women are different. We have different hormones which affect our brains and bodies in different ways. Women menstruate, which will most of the time affects how they act and feel, and I’m not even going to begin to explain what goes on around pregnancy time, both before and after, since I honestly, have no inkling of the science involved. They don’t lose sight of logic. They know that most of the time they shouldn’t be feeling the negative emotions they feel when they are PMSing. Depression is natural phenomena for both genders except that it hits women more frequently due to the violent raging hormonal shifts they experience. I don’t claim to understand women, and there is no man alive who can honestly understand some of the things which to other women seem obvious.

Guys are less discrete than women. A guy will stare appreciatively without realizing it, and we like to hangout among boys, and drink beer, and tease people, and be assholes sometimes. That kind of behavior is fine so long as no one gets hurt… well seriously hurt anyway. We tend to get less depressed than women because we don’t have the bodies women do. I’m talking specifically about chemical depression, and not the kind related to stress. This is why we have, more often than not, been described as insensitive, or just plain stupid sometimes. Women tend to be more empathetic than guys. Ever wonder why more women have fooled around with women than guys with guys? It’s science. Our insecurities stem from simple things such as other people scoring more than we do, or being physically weaker than another. Simply put, we want to be manly men. And nothing is more unmanly than having sex with another man. On the other hand women having sex with each other is most womanly. At least to us.

The other major differences between men and women lie in the fact that women tend to be better suited to taking care of babies by virtue of the bond which is formed during pregnancy, birth, breast feeding, and overall more physical contact. It is something which no man can ever truly appreciate. We note that women tend to be smaller than men and overall usually have to work harder to achieve the strength which males seem to acquire naturally (Usually athletic females take testosterone and turn into Venus Williams, the true symbol of andogeneity). Since guys can’t get pregnant, it was up to us to take care of the perpetually pregnant wife (lets face it, throwing a spear at a wild boar when you’re 8 months pregnant can’t be easy, and early woman was almost perpetually cracking out babies. No birth control remember?). Therefore, natural selection dictated that we evolve in such a way which granted us better aptitudes to physical strength and speed. Since guys were stronger and not as well suited to raising children, we became the providers, and women the managers of that which we provided.

Then one day someone invented birth control. Suddenly society became such that women began to realize that there were certain rights which they should have been originally entitled to (Maybe it was the violent hormones of the birth control pill which made her this way). When we figured out a way to enjoy sex without having to worry about pregnancy, women became truly empowered because finally the consequences of choosing between a career and a family were not so unforgiving. I admit that a lot of people did indeed have to make severe mental readjustments to allow women into “man affairs,” and I am certainly not implying that it wasn’t necessary. Everyone fucked up good denying women these rights, but I see why it happened the way it did, even thought it was wrong. However, in spite of everything I have just said, the biggest argument for gender differences are plain and simple. Women like their men manly, and men… like women.

Most of the people I know both men and women, like having mates who are confident and proud (proud does not imply arrogant, and hurtful, although you could probably get away with a little of that if you’re playful about it). We like men and women who are strong and independent. A soppy drama queen (or king) is unattractive because of all the maintenance involved, and the fact that eventually, listening to someone complain all the time gets fucking annoying. That being said, should we not be proud of who and what we are? I am a man. Personally I’m fond of it. I get to pee standing up, I achieve quick easy orgasms, and I wanna fuck every hot woman in the world. I am constantly challenged by the mystery of the opposite sex, which I find extremely interesting. I doubt that I would enjoy myself nearly as much if women didn’t exist.

Women should be proud of being women because they tend to experience the more intimate relationship with the children, they crank out orgasms like machines (which we as men never completely figure out), and they enjoy sex more than we do (at least according to Greek mythology and my personal experience). If I am indeed wrong about this, it means that I’m really good in bed or that the women I’ve slept with sucked, and I didn’t know it (pun intended). Women also have this ability to empathize better than we do.

People always say that if you want to appear attractive to someone you need to appear confident. You can do this by accepting who and what you are, and/or by challenging the things you want to change about yourself without looking like a douche. I’m of the opinion that people are never perfect. Therefore, we are constantly trying to better ourselves in various ways. The point is that if you are going to be comfortable with who and what you are, you need to come to terms with your own sexuality and the differences between the opposite sexes. I like women who can defend themselves, and who are not completely dependent on me. I like that slight uncertainty about my relationship which allows me to never accidentally take my partner for granted. But more than anything I like a woman who is proud of being a woman.

Likewise, women don’t like guys who are weak and complainy all the time. They like their men manly. Should a man begin to exhibit some womanly traits like sensitivity or understanding too early in the attraction phase they more often than not become less interesting or relegated to friendship status (which basically means you are castrated). This prevents us from getting nookie from a chick who we found interesting enough to pursue. To quote the Okcupid online personality test, “A shoulder to cry on? Sure! A penis to hold? Never.” Everyone has that guy friend who complains all the time about the, “Oh we can’t date we are such good friends!” excuse. In woman talk that means, “You’ve proven to me that you don’t have a penis. I can’t fuck a dickless freak!”

Men and women also have different objectives. It is difficult to make generalizations about what it is we seek from an encounter with the opposite sex because such altruistic desires are governed by hormones, culture, and age. I think that by in large, most young men are seeking sex before a relationship. Shoot first, ask questions later. As guys get older, they start having difficulty managing to keep up with their former younger selves, and they usually try to focus on settling down. However no matter the man, if he has slept with many women it does nothing but boost his confidence. Some guys become so obsessed with the idea of poking as much as possible that they forget to consider the woman’s emotions in the equation. True this is not a nice thing to do, but it is manly isn’t it? It’s what women like? I guarantee that any woman who knows that a prospective fuck is not used to getting sex is going to wonder what is wrong with the gentleman in question. A dude who sleeps with an ugly chick, will be scrutinized. Likewise, a guy appearing too obvious about his sexual intentions is screwed (or not) since a woman also wants to feel special, and nothing says un-special like a dude who hits on everything that has boobs. On the other hand, the guy who manages to convince a girl that he is hitting on her when he could have anyone he wanted in the bar, is going to score. In essence, this “negative” masculine quality endures because women encourage us to be that way. Hell, even the homosexuals like their boyfriends manly! And they cheat on each other at least as much as we do.

With women, objective is completely subjective since the female orgasm is quite a bit more mental than the male one. I know some women who want to get as much tail as possible and wreak havoc among the hearts of man. I also know other more conservative types who want to score a great guy and dig in and hold on to them. I find it difficult to comment on the aims of women in relationships since every one of them seems to want something different, and go about it in different ways.

In many cultures women still don’t have the same social status as men, and a woman is pressured to keep her sexual integrity as intact as possible. Some dudes like their women inexperienced so women do everything they can to stay that way. I think that in North America and Great Britain, the sexual revolution has made women more open to the idea of a random bang, so more power to the dudes out there. In these cultures the girl who screws around a lot is not necessarily unattractive. Irregardless of the aims however, in any culture women are attracted to men who are manly. If a guy is not acting like a guy, a woman will get turned off. A woman who is acting womanly or manly, we want to poke at least once (unless she’s still ugly after five rounds). Should pokage occur or not, it is at this stage, after Attraction, that we decide weather or not subsequent encounters are worth the effort.

Bottom line, men and women are different. There are reasons that this difference is perpetuated just as there are reasons as to why these differences will perpetuate. The hardcore angry feminist will never win simply because women like us the way we are, and woman will never be as manly as we are for biological reasons. We are the way we are for a reason. Embrace it and rejoice for there is nothing sexier in this world than a confident member of the opposite sex. This is perhaps the one thing that we have in common between the two genders.

Back when I was living in Zimbabwe I had this group of friends. We weren’t by any means considered cool in any way except for perhaps myself since I was a novelty in the school. In an ultra-conservative environment, outside the United States, pretty much everyone you meet is going to judge you with this preconceived notion that, by virtue of your Americaness, you must also be quite devoid of original thinking or any measure of intelligence. It also means that the rebellious types flock around you for being a preconceived badass. Those intelligent enough to make their own judgments, also befriended me, since I was smart and funny. I probably had the largest mix of acquaintances in that institution, and I made a point of being friendly to everyone no matter how retarded they were. I was after all trying to change the stereotype. Fortunately I also found a handful of enlightened people or two who to call close friends. In the meantime my popularity grew among both teachers and students as being the most unusual American they had ever met. Then again, I myself am the most unusual American I know so perhaps my efforts to educate were in vain. I’m digressing.

At the end of the year my comrades came up with the rather brilliant plan to pour two liters of potassium permanganate into the swimming pool at St. George’s College. We had considered gelatin, but that idea proved too costly and complicated. Our hypothesis stated that the pool water would instantly turn a dark deep purple color. We also reasoned that since potassium permanganate is antiseptic, we would, at worst, be giving the pool a good cleaning. I considered it atonement for the numerous times I had urinated in its waters way back when I was forced to humiliate myself at the back stroke.

Since I am not a very good burglar, I offered my contributions as the financer of the project, funding my compatriots with the chemical in question. In the end, I had little to do with the plot.

The plan was simple. One of my comrades had stolen the key to the grounds, and snuck himself, and another, in the dead of night. Apparently they only had one run in with a security guard who stopped, thinking he had heard something, and then moved on. A quick hop over the swimming pool’s fence, and a few moments later, the package was delivered, and my friend made out safe from harm.

The following day was monumentous. The pool was a deep deep purple color, and the whole school was in awe of the feat. People began proclaiming that they had perpetrated the crime. Rumors were flying everywhere, each one more outrageous than the last. I’ve never been in the situation where everyone is talking about something where I am one of the few who know the true facts. Someone said they had tasted the pool water and that the substance was grape syrup. Another said he had poured the paint himself and defiantly declared that he didn’t care if they kicked him out of school for it. I was shocked and angered by the fact that anyone would even begin to take credit for that which had been done. People were questioned extensively. And then the school began a bout of pathetic psychological warfare on us.

First they said that they knew who had done it, and that if the student turned themselves in, they wouldn’t be expelled from the school. Failing that, they claimed that the pool system had been ruined, and threatened to charge every student for “fixing” the problem. That was a pretty dumb move since the parents went ape-shit at that prospect. Finally they began taking random people, and accusing them of having done the crime outright. One of my buddies was confronted in this manner, but he held up under the questioning.

Then I began hearing whispers among the professors that they were of the opinion that the only American in the school was responsible for this, as it was the most ambitious prank ever pulled in the history of the institution. Fortunately my alibi was ironclad. I was with my parents all night. The school left me alone, but I know many people had decided I was behind it. That pissed me off.

In the end, they got away with it clean and simple. The plot still remains legend at the school. I sometimes imagine myself returning one day and reveal this longest unsolved mystery just to see their faces, now that I am invulnerable. In the meantime I remain bitter towards many of the people over there who automatically judged me guilty by virtue of my land of birth. I would eventually have my revenge after I left the school as my A-level results came in, thoroughly blowing all but three or four students out of the water.

I don’t really talk to those guys anymore. Random stuff happened which broke us apart, but that’s a different story.

Among the moaning winds of Earth,
The rolling hills with rolling blades of green,
The roots of stout oaks cling firm,
Deep within the solid earth.
The rain falls lightly, littering life,
And fire falls as if to smite
Anything upon the land.
This my friend is where the old magic began.

The peoples simple simply put,
Smiling strong against the elements,
The futile buffeting of that which would return
All to that primal urge.
The old ways never cease a weakness seek,
Against the rising stones of man,
But, they have a plan.

On Earth runs magic strong and old,
Which nary agéd could unfold,
For long ago has man since turned,
And such it was that human learned,
Of civilization, and organization.

Against the winds, they built the mill,
To harness harshest fury chill,
And make the magic work for them.
The air protests and it portends,
The harshest hardest huff and puff,
But all its fury ‘vials it not,
For stone of man is study stuff,
And easily will not be conquered.

The land it did begin protest,
When man began to dig within.
Her surface changed unnaturally,
And chunks of her body were erected
To guard against the elements.
But earth is patient slow and strong,
Its vengeance not felt for years come.

Water was the fluid one,
Changing as it’s always done,
Granting life to that it touched.
For man it seemed t’was not enough.
And so he forced the water blue,
And granted life at his own whim,
And this perhaps was greatest sin,
For through the element of life,
Did man begin to cause the strife.

Ever chaos fury Fire,
Burning, passion and desire,
Boiling, branding brazen brash,
But even fire did we stash.
It rages ere the iron shackles,
In lanterns, candles does it cackle,
Plotting its revenge.

Thus do the old magics persist,
Ever immortal in their tryst,
Until the man will take for granted,
That power which he underhanded,
Stole from That who lies above,
Watching us, and judging us with love.

And man it seems forever stronger,
Tightening hold forever longer,
Twisting turning molding sculpting.
As gods we play forever longing
Mastery o’er the old magics.

There will come a day my son,
That man’ll regret what he has done.

Ellestor was peaceful land
Though many gods forsaken had
Let the land the life they live
And little care they did
Give unto the many things
And promises and dreams
Forgotten long throughout the age
And thus the length of time to gauge
Went on and on man many moons
Until the darkness did ensue

The field were long and green and true
The barely shone in afternoon
The peoples simple small and sane
Their children bright as colors gay
Knew not the woes of mortals sin
And there out tale it does begin

One morning bright there was a knight
Who many held un much regard
His hair was light his smile was bright
The crimson burn upon
Though Ellestor was peaceful land
Little knights and little deeds
Belittled little memories

Alas our hero hero true
Foresaw the evil did ensue
He strap his sword and fluffed his plume
To battle ride to battle tune
Which softly sang upon the winds
And then the darkness did begin

It came so sudden sudden wrath
The gods themselves they parted path
For Ellestor was peaceful quiet land
And none of them they ought to

It occurs to me as I am writing this that the vocabulary is quite lame and childish. The theme is one which I have ardently been attempting to address for I am a big big fan of the Arthurian, and for some reason I’m recalling a poem by Coleridge “Kubla Khan” one of my all time favorites. I really like poetry and I would like to write something really good someday, but none of my stuff measures up yet. Note to self. Less baby talk, more flowery embellishment. Keep some sense of rhythm and rhyme. Im gonna try doing another... Consider this one a failed attempt.