The Dynamics between Man and Woman

There are still, even in this time and age, a vast number of women incapable of principles and of an answer to the two-fold question: “who am I and what do I want?” These women have only one answer and it lays in the man that enters her life and gives her his principles, or her principles according to him. It lays in the conviction with which he gives them to her. Man still commands woman, and it is perhaps because that particular woman desires his seed. Perhaps, the drifter form of woman, the woman without principles that are beyond and outside her counterpart, is the one that courts pregnancy, the one with the drive for pregnancy.

This dynamic relationship of command and obedience through conviction has been such a customary means of engagement between men and women that it has hardened into a drive within our women — it has become a hereditary trait in woman. Leaving open, of course, the possibility that there is no woman alive in this world that cannot be lead or made to obey if the conviction is strong enough. “If your conviction is weak, then stick to the women whose principles are weak or not present” suggests the Seducer. “Encourage her to find her principles, and if they coalesce with yours, great, if not, leave her be” sounds the gentle words of wisdom from the Lover.

Principles and convictions come hand in hand, like young feminine twins hopping subtly along and around each conversation, even around all forms of communication. The higher the principle, the higher the conviction — height is measured by the quantity of energy and time expounded on it. The result of these two is command and obedience, there is not one woman alive who is not ready to obey a man with principles stronger than hers. Quite often women lack principles altogether and it has been their source of misery. Now that woman is faced with the push – the command — and encouragement to find her own principles, now she must jump to the opportunity and define herself, as opposed to letting man define her, for whether she likes it or not, he will do so in his favour. What is there left from this but sublimation, but destruction, out of its ashes one hopes for a new set of principles.

The woman with the highest principles will be a force of nature, and mother to a beautiful human being. If she so chooses, or if nature has chosen her to do so. The mother with the highest principles is the highest mother.

Look you at some of these traits we once affixed to femininity:

gentleness, patience, kindness, care, quiet, compassionate and aware of others, motherly, timid, elegant, mannered, obedient and many more of a less fruitful nature i.e. yielding… 

I need not say much more. Woman has been defined under the convenience of man and his needs, his desires, there’s not doubt about it, but then again who could blame man for doing so? This has been and is still the case on a high degree, even in our enlightened era. It is time for women to define themselves, and the only way to do so is strip bare all the customs and hereditary constraints that bind her, even those in the form of drives. This if and only if woman desires to express herself and be a person in and for herself. Perhaps and with the arising of this, man can begin to define himself too in his own image, and regardless of woman.

The golden question arising from this:

“Is this possible?” 

My personal opinion in the matter without much thought into it, is at the moment, that it’s not possible. And I bemoan the pessimism, but I haven’t been able to think this whole thing through completely. How full can the thinking of a 22 year old man be? Unless, definitions take a new form, that are other than linguistic and grounded in the fluidity of the social realm of communication that is apparent to us now, this cannot be possible. Principles need to be established in forms other than the linguistic, and this is the hardest part of the endeavour.  

…

Jorge the Torch on women

When I was at a tender age my mother rested her weary eyes on my face and held them steady with a warm intensity befitting any loving mother, it was as if she was drinking my vision. She then began to bestow me with the following words of wisdom,

“Son, always remember, every woman is special.”

Meanwhile, her actions and decisions were of a different flavour. Later, I was to realize–she was lying to me.

Jason’s Judgment

A toast to the double genitive.

There has only even been one judgment for Jason: “sinner”. The foam of fury that accumulates at the corner of their mouths every time they utter his name has lead to the baptism: Jason the Hedon. He’s always been a peculiar person from birth, the black sheep, with a sharp wit and an unusual self-resolve and self-confidence — he’s always known how to make himself happy. Yet, these two abilities coupled together have been the source of both his pain and wonder. They label the former as pride and the latter as hedonism, as heresy, and both as sin. In his pride they hang their monstrous paws with a heavy torment, they hold their breath in anxiety as they await his fall — their holy book says so.

Jason’s notoriety grew throughout the years and the older he got, the more insipid he became to them, and the more wondrous as the black sheep that he is he became to those outside and sometimes inside their circle. He has now become a phenomenon, a test to their faith by his very presence. In the good ol’ days they would deal with someone like him by simply picking up a rubber and erasing him from the book, so to speak. In this commercial and media-infused world of ours, people are waiting with a  camera and story, an unflinching capacity at reinterpretation, at the ready for such an occurrence — they, unfortunately, are wiser than that, and as fortune would have it, infinitely more stupid. They opt for the one thing they’ve lied to themselves about, they opt for a miracle, for the power of their faith and innocence — viewed from the distance, one can only smile and admire as much as feel nausea at such an endeavour. They set on Jason the Hedon, their most powerful item of faith; their glower, their staff of God. They give Jason exactly what he wanted, what he would have hoped for, they give him the attention and spotlight that when viewed from a certain distance, one can do nothing but admire and proclaim, “at last, a real miracle.”

Jason is to be visited by the holiest they possess, by the Pope himself in a direct flight from Rome. They hope to make him see ‘reason’, to make him reform and repent. They believe in the power of their almighty. They believe that ‘he’ can give him ‘faith’, that ‘he’ can ’save’ his soul.

The Pope arrives to Jason’s homely welcome, whereupon they converse for six hours over tea and lunch in the topics of life, death, god and the world. He sets his blue eye upon Jason for the last time, a subtle flicker is to pass through it almost to signal an impending tear of surrender and a feeling of what they call compassion. Jason doesn’t doubt that the Pope is a beautiful soul. A caring and motherly bosom emanates from the Pope’s eyes and Jason can only set forth his ironical smile in both admiration and an unyielding sadness at the sight. Breaking away from that motherly state, the Pope brushes aside his gaze as a fire ascends from the deep blue – he smiles. The smile is that befitting an imminent winner, a proud smile with a furrowed brow of anger that screams one word: irony.  He addresses Jason for the last time,    

“You and I managed, beautifully, to conclude that indeed you are not sure whether God does or does not exist, but it is more likely that he does and that you, with your set ways, impudently ‘hope’ that he does. Granted that he does, please grant me this, and you are likely to find out the truth with your death. What are you going to say and do when and if you appear naked in his presence before all your doings and intentions, with the heretical and sinful life you lead, with that incessant pride that blazes from your bosom, with that unflinching and unmalleable will?”

Jason’s head dropped, and the Pope thought himself victorious as a smile of relief began to ignite his face.

Jason, head down, eyes closed and a sigh of relief bubbling up to the top he thought to himself, “The stench of victory is like the sweet and sensuous odour of a wet and glorious vagina, everyone is ready and fully energized for the experience, men and women alike.”

He took a deep breath and slowly brought his head back up with a smile mixed with half-mockery and half-relief as the blazing pride in his chest began to utter, looking dead into the Pope’s cold and victory-infused gaze,

“I would bend down, take his hand and kiss it. Then I would thank him for giving me the strength to do what I did. For if I didn’t I would have never been happy, life for me would have been an utter misery, a complete torment. I would thank him for making me who I am. I would thank him for allowing and giving me the means to be happy — happy no matter what. Then, if he so wished, I would spend an eternity in hell tortured and in torment. For nothing is more valuable than happiness, and if God wished that I’d be not happy but miserable, then let the Devil and the pain he promises be my home, my eternal resting place, my loyalty.”

So you wish to know…

… the difference between dating and prostitution? Before asking this question I advise you to think carefully and long about what it is your asking and what it is your implying. Perhaps not knowing what the difference is is a better way to live? Once you’ve done this, then I can answer the question with:

 The difference is a little normative thing we have decided to call social protocol.

War and Peace

It is ironic that when we encounter times of peace in history we gloss over them with a sentence or two and a dismissive nod, but in our encounters of war we write and write books upon books, and theories upon theories, with an ignited gaze… Yet, we strive incessantly for the former. Ironic indeed, and fully hypocritical. This betrays a mass paranoia, coupled with sadistic and masochistic tendencies.

War fascinates us and makes us fearful, whereas peace simply bores us. We seem to strive for boredom, unbeknownst to us that war never leaves, it simply changes form and conceals its true face from us, such that it may continue igniting our faces. From physical war with each other we enter metaphysical and linguistic war, or even war against other things, i.e. nature and its creatures. War never leaves, it simply wears another mask. Peace is nothing but war in the process of changing its mask, of transforming.

It is quite…

… interesting as it is indicative of profound ignorance to measure the worth and value of one culture by the worth and value of another. (Presupposing a major difference in the cultures of course.) What does that culture doing the evaluation seek to gain? — one global culture only, without the diversity that makes room for beauty? To become a cancer to the world perhaps? 

Be wary of the culture that enters another via the backdoor and injects its values through media, and alas, even education, then proclaims to possess the ultimate values, the values par excellence. A major seduction occurs in this moment, the person will adopt the values of that culture simply because they are something new, and at the same time because they appear to be the values par excellence. We are seduced by the new, but also by that which empowers us, and tickles our ego. This culture will disrupt the well-being of another culture from its very roots, from its values, from the well-being itself. No matter how profound a value is, it’s after-all just a value, a matter of taste, something befitting and benefitial to one type of human being only, and no-one else.

This insipid and cancerous culture does one thing however, it challenges values and their stability and makes room for the possibility of new values, ones that do not have to be the same as either the first or the second culture. One hopes for a chimera of both; now that would resemble beauty. There is no value par excellence, the sooner we humans realize this, this total immanence of life, the sooner can life become a revel in diversity — a joy, a what other thinkers found it soothing to call, a cheerfulness.

One of the issues…

… that haunts modern romance, and especially modern marriage is this peculiar little tension:

- a man desires two polar opposite women, whilst a woman desires a man to do two polar opposite things.

The demon of tomorrow…

I am a walker. I walk the dreary road of existence with a smile befitting any fool who fancies himself a lover of life and thinker of the world. A road worthy of those who are too much for the too-little. A road marked out conspicuously for those who fall on the outskirts of what-is-given. For those who court the skirts of the new, the original, the alive, the creative, the sublime, the self-surpassing. One fine morning I watch upon that which makes my heart tingle with life. I look upon that which makes me burst with a fire from my bosom and sends a pleasant current to my head, making my face extend a warm smile. That which awakens me from torpor – she, is more to the point. I am, alas, at the heights of the romantic age, I am a young man. Yet, this day is different from all the rest, a demon decides to make my acquaintance. A demon who’s truly an angel in disguise, here to test my strength of heart – here to test just how much power is me, and I am her. There is a yardstick to power my good friend, a good healthy and simple yardstick for measurement of power. It’s not in metres, centimetres or miles, no, it is in degree of attachment. A lesson I learned the hard way from an angel disguised as the demon of tomorrow, which we shall call Kalxara. It spoke thus to me:

Kalxara: I see thou thinkest and feelest most deeply for she. Thou art a remarkable man.

Me, You, No-one: I think and feel yes, but why don’t I do?

Kalxara: Thou knowest the result of thy doing before time, thy doing prematurely.

Me, You, No-one: Yes, but I yearn emphatically for her embrace, for her touch, her kiss, her hand on my heart, her head on my bosom, my hand on her head and playing with beautiful, short, blonde hair.

Kalxara: Thou are a true romantic, an emblem of thy age. For thy distance arises not from distance, it arises from intense proximity. Thou fight thyself most profoundly for thy desire. Thou fight thy desire for desire itself, thou fight love for love itself. Thou art a silly man to the world, but an emblem to and for its future. Thou pushest the world to its limit, and in the process, thou causeth thyself harm.

Me, You, No-one: Oh, how you understand me. And how you bring misery to my paradox. You know I’m sure of my capability, you also know my desire. You know how easy doing is, how simple it is to do. Yet, something inside fights me, it will not allow it. It implores me, and reasons with me to be patient, to allow, to be open.

Kalxara: That it does, and it pains thee so. Does it not?

Me, You, No-one: Yes, it does, it really does. But why? Why this tension, why this torment? What am I being prepared for, what is testing me so?

Kalxara: I will tell thee. Rather, I will show thee. I will also speed thee up, take thy preparation, clutch it and place it a gear higher. Dost thou liketh this idea? 

Me, You, No-one: … Show me.

Kalxara: Let thy eye rest upon thy beauty. Let it fall upon her and feel her presence. Let the emotions betake thee, thinkest and feelest most deeply for her, as thee always do. Now, I will tell thee the truth about thy beloved whose name thou knowest not – what a hopeless romantic thou art, what a work of art, what a bizarre creation, truly incomparable. I will tell thee, for I am after-all a demon and I know the minds of the mortals, all too well. I hear her think and feel.

Me, You, No-one: I understand.

Kalxara: She cares not for thee. She has seen thee and thou have seen her, and she thinks thee handsome, but shares not thy passion. She loves thee not. She thinks thee only interesting, but she harbours a passion that’s not to thy degree.

Me, You, No-one: *With a smile.* I understand…

Kalxara: She is most hopelessly in love – it is not with thee. She wishes to be wed, and the future holds her wedding, two children and happiness, but not with thee…

Me, You, No-one: I understand… do continue… I see in your eyes more waiting to pour forth from within you.

Kalxara: She finds more interesting thy friend than thee. Thou art nothing compared to thy friend – thou seemeth emotionally decayed and oft over-confident, thou shineth arrogance in her eyes. She thinks thee a liar and a fake, she thinks thee a child. How dost thou feelest?

Me, You, No-one: I desire and love her more.

Kalxara: But she cares not for thee, thou art nothing but a passing glimpse, a passing feeling, a fleeting candle light that gives itself away in smoke as it is confronted by life’s winds, by life’s temporal gusts. Thou art not as important to her as as she is to thee. What dost thou hold onto?

Me, You, No-one: For the first time in my life… nothing. I am. It is. She is. We are. I hold on to nothing. Finally I can now feel… free. I can now not own or be owned, I can finally… be… I can love at last. Whether she loves me or not, or I love her or not, it matters not – so long as she is happy, and I am also. The feeling speaks its own language, and my distance, my paradox does its own job. I am incapable of judging. I can only admire, and I can only celebrate. I can only live… as I am… as I feel… I can only be.

Kalxara: I have lied to you.

Then, out of nowhere, Kalxara tore her clothes apart and revealed herself to me. She flicked her fine, long and radiant blonde hair back, spread her beautiful wings sending a gust in my direction that almost blinds me. Saluting me with a wink, a nod and a smile, she thrusts her wings and flies away.

The modern yardstick of power: attachment.

The Bourgeois, the Seducer and the Lover

The room is lit with a piercing glow, whose source is the vertically affluent lamp above their TGI Fridays cubicle. It is a most unpleasant evening; cold, wintry and the raindrops batter at your skin with every step you bravely decide to take in the deluge. Dinner seemed the most convenient option for these three and their ‘lad’s night out’. The food had long been over and they were now enjoying a beer or two, and a conversation most becoming of three bachelors out on a Friday night. Jack speaks of the dates he’s been in with the recent woman in his life. Jack’s a very down-to-earth kind of fellow, quite introverted, polite, well educated and successful in his field – Accounting and Finance. Mark on the other hand, is a very energetic and extroverted man, left school very early, but made the most of his life in all areas, a live-fast kind of guy – he now works for an Estate Agency and owns a few properties here and there. Ren on the other hand is an eccentric fellow, not much is known about him. Ren is the kind of man who lurks in the shadows beaming with light to one and all – they’ve become accustomed to his peculiar ways. 

Jack: She’s 5”4, blonde and hazel eyes. We met during a conference, she works for the sales guys on the third flour. We’ve been on three dates so far, I really don’t want to mess it up.

Mark: You’ve had sex? 

Jack: No, not yet. Her idea. She says she doesn’t want to rush things and that she doesn’t sleep with guys until she’s ready. She’s had too many bad experiences in the past.

Mark: So what did you say to that?

Jack: What could I say? I accepted. I like the girl, I don’t meet many like her. She’s out of my league I tell you! Plus, I really like her, I want to be in a relationship with her.

Mark: You can’t be serious? Fuck that! I mean… yeah, fuck that! You want a relationship without sex? You’re going the right way about it. This girl is having sex with someone else while you wait, I promise you. Girls don’t want to wait, and no they’re not worried about rushing things. They’re worried that there are only two kinds of men in the world: nice guys and bad boys. They don’t believe in the in-between, so what they do is they arrange the nice-guy for one show, and the bad-boy for the other show. One is the fashion show, the other is the fuck-show. My good friend you’re headed for the fashion show, you’re heading for the husband category – the nice guy with the good job but who she knows can’t excite her, but can definitely take care of her.

Jack: What are you talking about? She’s not like that.

Mark: If you think so, she’s done her job well. Jack get it together buddy, if you want something from a woman, tell her! Don’t hold your feelings back because you don’t want to offend. Be true to yourself.

Jack: I don’t want to offend her though. You know what girls are like about these things, they don’t want to feel like hoes.

Mark: Hehehe, au contraire! They love to feel like hoes! They just don’t like to think they are hoes. Jack, I am not saying make her feel like a hoe, I’m saying don’t deny and hide yourself and your feelings in hope that it will get you score-points from her! That’s ridiculous, be true to yourself and to her – it’ll turn her on even more. Then seduce her, of course.

Jack: What? No way! Girls don’t want to be seduced, they want to be courted and complimented. You buy her dinner, treat her like a lady, be polite, nice and caring. That’s how you charm a girl.

Mark: Jack. You’ve got it all wrong. Somewhere, somehow you’ve been misled. Women love to be seduced, they love to feel desired and naughty. They love to feel alive. Forget the other bullshit. Don’t date her. Do what I do: meet her, make her laugh a little, take her for a coffee, blow her mind then blow her brains. After tell her how it’s going to be and no other way, no reasons either; she don’t like it, then she can go. What those things are are entirely up to you: marriage, relationship, friends with benefits, just friends etc.

Jack: You use women. I don’t want to be associated with that repute. I refuse to make women objects and playthings. I don’t want to take advantage of women.

Mark: There is no advantage my good friend. All is fair. Love is a game, you either play to win or play to lose – either way it is down to you. Play the game and lose, but get better, or don’t play the game and always lose forever. Every woman you will meet will play a power-game with you, there’s no avoiding it. We are hierarchical creatures, even love is a hierarchical relationship. You are either a master or a slave, a creditor or a debtor. Choose Jack.

Jack: No way, that’s bullshit. I don’t believe that, I believe in Romance.

Mark: Romance is the battlefield of love. It is where the war is settled, where you either win or lose. The more romantic you are, the worse it is, the true romantic hides his romance from the world, but blinds his woman and his woman alone with its torch. The true romantic makes a gesture that is seen by her and her alone. A gesture that the world looks upon and sees nothing, but she looks and sees the world. That is how you win Jack, by giving her what she has never had but always dreamt of and yearned, that’s how you gain power over woman – that is how you seduce her. And she wants this with every fibre, every ounce of her body and soul. Whoever lied to you about what women want, ignore them, they don’t know women. I have a feeling women themselves told you what they want, but evidently failed to tell you that what they want is what they feel, not what they think. Women are flawed in that they know when it is there, and they forget when it is gone; they cannot think their feelings, but they can feel their thoughts. This is the paradox that is woman. Understand this paradox, and you will have women at your feet.

Jack: …

Mark: Trust me about this, let’s ask Ren, he’s the thinker amongst us. Plus, you’ve been awfully quiet Ren, why so? Why not speak? I know you know all this, I know your potential, I even know your heart. It hurts you doesn’t it Ren?

Ren: You’re a fascinating guy, Mark. You are right, everything you say is absolutely right. The world and woman is as you say it is. You’re well read, and you’ve listened to me well in the past – listened and applied most affluently it seems.

Mark: If but you had the courage to practice what you know Ren, you would be unstoppable, and I know you know and can do more. Women would weep for you upon mere contact with you. Yet, for some bizarre reason, you struggle with yourself like our friend Jack here. You refuse to accept the truths you understand, and you know them for truths.

Ren: Truth is a hefty concept Mark, you know how I feel about big concepts like that, hehe. Speaking of concepts, there are two categories of concepts Mark. These two categories is why I do not speak, and why I know what you say works and is right. The last two and a half thousand years have been spent on trying to eliminate one category in favour of the other. Now, people like me, are trying our hardest to revive that category, to give it life once more. This is why I do not practice what I understand. Because although things are like what you say, it doesn’t in any way imply that they can’t be otherwise or that they should be as such. A fact is that powerless, it works only once it has passed, apart from that a fact is useless. Even facts are interpreted and brought to bear upon the person who interprets.

Mark: You’re too smart Ren, if only you stopped and lived for a second. If only you switched your head off and lived what you understand, if only you tasted that bit of life that I tasted with your help. That blonde, that brunette, that red-head…

Ren: I am not smart, not at all, I just have too much energy to burn. Too much passion. Too much heart, that it cannot be satisfied as easily as you assume and as easily as your very own heart is satisfied. 

Mark: Women love you. Every woman I’ve introduced you to always asks me about you, she always wants to know, and I never know what to say. What do you do to them? And why don’t you finish what you start? They are always disappointed by your distance and lack of involvement – disappointed and turned on, they love your mysterious ways. Yet, they always think that you are too good for them, they think that you do not fancy them. I am always bewildered, for I do not know what to tell them, for you do not speak about it to nobody.

Ren: There are two categories of concepts: concepts of reason and concepts of passion. These are things I have never spoken to you about, and these three things are precisely why you are right and also why you are wrong. Love, Faith and Self are the three concepts of passion, the only ones I can think of, that stop me from talking. In their presence I tremble and am likely to weep, sometimes with joy, sometimes with melancholy, other times just laugh or fall completely silent. These three I cannot speak of, my heart screams at their mere mention and my body is consumed by a current and I cannot control myself and the emotions arising from their mere mention or presence. These words are glitches; mere glitches in language, and I have no idea how they found their way in – for they’re furthest removed from language than anything. I cannot speak of women Mark because although what you say is true, you make one and only one assumption: that you know two of the three concepts inside out and can manipulate them to seduce. You claim to know the Self and Love. What you know is what the women you meet know but a little more, a little more that I gave to you and nobody gave to them. You will meet your match though Mark, someone will seduce you. I speak not of those three, for they are not be spoken about, they are to be lived, felt, experienced, cried over, laughed over, angered over, desired…

Mark: Why is it that what I do works to give me what I want though, and what I do is what I know; what you’ve helped me understand?

Ren: It works because we’ve spent the last two and half thousand years making sure it would work. We’ve conditioned ourselves to make it work. We’ve brought reason to passion and sold it at a cheap price. Where once Love was something people celebrated and died for, now Love is being sold to the highest bidder, sometimes to the lowest. Where Self was something respected and admired, now it likewise is being sold and made a science of. We’ve made automata of people and then wonder why these things work so mechanically. We wonder why prejudices are so consistent and why we’re in an age where if it wasn’t for drugs or alcohol, a ripple of suicides would spread from one corner of the industrial globe to the next. We see all these things, and like idiots blame the symptom, we think its the symptom’s fault, unbeknownst to us that the symptom is not the disease – it is not the source. We’ve been trying to cure symptoms for much too long, we’ve forgotten that a symptom is a sign, not the thing that does the signalling. I do not speak because I weary of this, I weary of the mediocrity. So I sit here and wait, just wait for a light, something that makes me come back out of the depths, out of the shadows, where it’s safe but lonely for people like me. Meanwhile I wait and do what I can to aid us to reach that day, where we’ve finally surpassed this painful torpor we’ve entered, this mechanic existence we’ve bestowed ourselves with. I wait.

Mark: What about the power relationship you spoke to me about, and how power is more seductive when it’s subtly taken, than when given, especially with women. That has to be something real and eternal.

Ren: That is the plant with the deepest roots into our social existence. Power is the biggest and most necessary illusion. I told you a truth that aided you to live in a time where that truth had its import, but all truths are in their context and made so by relations with other things that condition it as much as it conditions them. Power cannot play a role without people, but it does so nonetheless because people have erected it as something beyond them – as a possession. The most powerful person is the one who doesn’t understand what power is, who has forgotten the very concept and it plays no role in their life. The one who has forgotten it, by becoming it. One doesn’t give or take power, one is power. To be power is to forget all games, all war. Only he who is not powerful goes to war, and they go to war for power – because they lack it, or, which comes to the same thing, they need more of it. If you were power and power was you, why go to war? Power seduces only those who have power and those who do not. Power can’t seduce someone who is power. This is the problem Mark. I cannot seduce women. I cannot even date them like Jack does. I cannot even admire them. I can’t do any of those things. All I can do is love them, such that when I hear the word Love, or see a woman that my body desires, I am stunned, I see eternity. I see life itself and I am stunted. Unable to speak and unable to move, I am only able to be drenched in the vision, consumed by the experience. Be in utter awe, in utter love, in utter desire. And I cannot, not even for a minute, think it through, I am lost in it and right after I forget what happened.

Mark: …

Jack: … I don’t understand.

Mark: In other words, he is crazy.

Ren: Hahaha!

It was getting late, and they all had engagements in the morning. Ren was preparing a presentation. Jack has family guests over from abroad. Whilst Mark had a hot girl pass by for a coffee in the afternoon and he was always a late sleeper.

The fleeting words of a sharp silence…

“You know you’re ready for Love, when and only when you’ve found mother and father in yourself and not in the beloved. Until then, tears, anger, frustration, hate and nihilism are your eternal courtship and currency of every romantic encounter.”