Flotilla: My Two Cents

For most of the past 2000 years the Jewish people have existed as a cultural entity, or a nation, without a state. However the atrocities of WW2 changed the ball game for them. In the Jewish mindset not having the apparatus of a state is what led to their wholesale slaughter, and the persecution that preceded it. If we are to look at international relations form a Constructivist angle, we acknowledge that each state has a personality and acts in accordance with this personality. In Israel's case having the apparatus of a state is at the forefront of their consciousness. Every action they take is done in accordance with this mindset. And whilst I am both a liberal and someone highly suspicious of states, I'm also not a fucking idiot and quite aware that for whatever high ideals I might hold, one needs to play with the cards that they are dealt. The State of Israel exists, and there's no fucking way in Hell that the Israelis are ever going to give up its existence. That is your starting point for any solution to the Palestine/Israel conflict. Anyone who does not acknowledge this is not serious about finding a solution.

Which leads me to the flotilla. By trying to break the Gaza blockaid in this manner they were being provocative. There was a highly romanticised sentiment involved in their actions, a real glorious hero fantasy at play. And whatever high moral ground they will take about transporting aid to Gaza, these people were well aware that their actions would be seen as highly antagonistic and inviting reaction by the Israeli Defence Force. I can't help but think this was their actual goal. The 1993 Oslo Accords granted Israeli the ability to inspect cargo entering Gaza by sea. Israeli offered to escort the flotilla to port, inspect the cargo, and the transport it to Gaza. This offer was ignored. This was a further antagonistic move. Whilst I don't condone the actions of the IDF, they never should have boarded the vessels, nor should they have used live ammunition. But the flotilla wanted this sort of overreaction from the IDF. They wanted it so fucking bad. This situation is a wet dream to the anti-Israeli crowd. These are people who I am convinced do not want a solution to the Palestine/Israel situation. They are ideologically driven and their only goal is to make Israel look bad. In this regard the are actually working against the Palestinians. The more irate antagonism Israel receives, the more defensive and aggressive it becomes. Which is not a reaction from Israeli I agree with, but one I know will happen. Israel sees hectoring criticism as just another form of continued Jewish persecution, persecution that post-WW2 they will not allow to occur in any form. Activists such as those on the flotilla refuse to acknowledge this side of Israeli psychology. Their tactics lack any sort of nuance or sophistication at all. They only serve to increase the Israeli stranglehold on the Palestinian Territories. This is something that should be completely obvious to them by now, but unfortunately, for the Palestinians, it isn't.

FIA punctures Serbian hopes.

The FIA's decision not to allow Serbian outfit Stefan GP to race in this year's Formula 1 championship would not just be heartbreaking for Serbian racing fans, but also for the country's EU-enthusiasts as well.

Despite the presence of many skilled Brazilians, the occasional Japanese driver and manufacturer and a lone Australian, Formula 1 is a European dominated sport. All of Formula 1's teams are based in Europe, with only one being owned outside the continent (Force India) and the majority of the races are staged in Europe. Therefore it is no stretch to claim that F1 is a thoroughly European institution. In this regard F1 acts as an arm of EU soft power. It is an important aspect of Europe's influence and its appeal, amongst both the continent's sports fans and its rich and powerful, makes it a relevant component to the EU's eastward expansion.

Formula 1 is a sport of status. A large part of its appeal is due to the glitz and glamour of the sport, those involved give the impression of living the (very) good life. In a similar way, to many former Yugoslav Republics, the EU symbolises a similar representation of the good life. For many young people from the Balkans region, there would be a significant thirst for EU citizenship, for not just the status that comes along with it, but the material benefits as well. Of course, admission to the EU comes with stipulations that not only included financial responsibility, but the embracing of liberal-democratic ideas and the processes of good governance (anti-corruption, human rights etc). Like F1 the EU expects a positive contribution.

This week, the FIA has made the decision that Serbian-owned Stefan GP would not be able to make that positive contribution to the Formula 1 competition for the 2010 season. This is a decision that would have disappointed many within the country. One cannot dismiss the psychological impact sport has on a national consciousness and both the Serbian public and its political elites must be sick of having war crimes tribunals as their only contribution to international news. A Serbian organisation being embraced by such an elite establishment would have provided some positive national pride amongst the Serbian people and thus had a favourable influence on the reform process necessary for Serbia's EU ascendancy. There would have been a sense that this was a step, no matter how small, towards inclusion in Europe's future, a sense that there was some progress being made in Serbia's reconciliation with the continent. Europe does not need a Serbian nation turning back in on itself. Stefan GP's inclusion would have had contributed, in an incremental way, to removing both Serbia, and the Balkans region in general, from its current status as Europe's backwater. With recent history in the region still fresh and wounds still raw, a positive sense of national prestige within an inclusive Europe could have been a significant event in the country's transformation into a good EU partner. This carrot for good governance is the raison d'être of the EU, and whilst the FIA is under no obligation to assist the EU in this matter, it would have been helpful for it to have considered the wider implications of its decision. Let us hope that the spirit of Stefan GP is not crushed by this decision and commits itself to racing in the 2011 season. F1, the EU and especially the Serbian people, can only benefit from their participation.

It’s strange that you don’t have a smell
For if you’re real I cannot tell
Despite the fact I feel your presence
It clear to me you have no essence
There’s nothing much a human knows
That cannot be filtered through our nose
Attraction, reaction and satisfaction
It all requires olfactory traction
To feel, to love, to laugh and yell
These joys of life they need a smell
So for you your heart will always sink
Because it’s unfortunate, but love it stinks.

Love For Sure

I woke at 6:30am as usual. My internal alarm never fails. No matter what time I go to sleep, I always wake at 6:30am. This doesn't mean I arise at this time. Often I find myself drifting off back to sleep for another hour or so, but there's something within my psyche that requires that I be conscious at this hour of the day. As I gained my wits, I felt my left arm was wrapped around Sarah's abdomen and my face buried into the back of her neck. The smell of coconut and lime scented moisturiser filled my nostrils as I took my first deep breath of the morning. I felt comfortable and happy. This is always my favourite part of the day, waking up, at 6:30am, feeling Sarah next to me and realising that I am in love. As Sarah awoke she turned to lie on her back and twisted her neck towards me. We kissed tenderly and I lingered on her bottom lip for a few seconds in order to savour the experience. "Jag älska dig så mycket" I said sweetly as we nuzzled our noses together. "Jag älska dig också" she replied with a grin. We giggled, made cooing noises and held each other tight.

It is approaching two years since Sarah and I met. I had just moved to Stockholm and was in a pretty raw funk. I had been stagnant, bored and lonely in Melbourne and had decided that this move was the appropriate solution. The idea of moving to Sweden had initially been formed in 2004. I was taking Swedish language classes at the Centre for Adult Education and had formed a friendship with one of the girls in the class. Alice, like me, was a drifter, never feeling settled, always believing that something better lay somewhere else. Both of us were full of grand ideas with little forethought to their implementation, and so we formulated the idea of moving to Sweden together. We were positive it was the place where we would both be able to fulfil our dreams; me as a hot-shot writer and her and something different almost daily. Unfortunately, our plans came to a demise several months later when Alice kissed some 40-plus dad-rocker and I refused to speak to her for a month. Although Alice and I weren’t an item, we were very close and I couldn’t handle the idea of someone I cared about becoming intimate with such a regressive and unsatisfactory being. Situations like this had become reasonably common with me. I’d develop close female friendships that would fail to progress; companionships, but never partnerships. It was a combination of my low self-esteem, tendency towards self-sabotage, and my perplexity at what I perceived as the ridiculousness of heterosexual couplings that consistently caused these relationships to spoil. So, whilst Alice decided to flee to Washington D.C., I suppressed my dreams for another year and wallowed in my languor working a stale job in a lonely town; being perpetually consigned to solitude. However, by mid-2006 I had had enough. My perpetual loneliness and inability to inspire and motivate myself required an immediate solution. So I sold my belongings, packed a bag and transplanted myself to Sweden.

The move, however, wasn’t particularly well planned. I knew no-one, had no idea how to secure a place of residence or gainful employment, and my language skills were poor. Rather than spend my time exploring the various districts of the Stockholm archipelago, trying to meet people or find a job, I would instead lie around in my hostel bed pining for the life I had left behind in Melbourne. One day, in order to prevent further moping, I decided to go for a walk over to the hip record store, Pet Sounds, in Södermalm. The romantic fantasy of meeting a girl in a record store was an idea I'd never tired of, and at that time I was desperate to meet someone, anyone, regardless of gender. As I was flicking my way through the racks of obscure Swedish pop and modern day indie classics I noticed that an interesting looking girl had entered the store carrying a small box of CDs. Although I couldn't make out all of the conversation she was having with the guy behind the counter, it was obvious that the CDs in the box were of music that she had made herself and she was hoping that the store would stock them. I felt like this could be a good opportunity for me to make a connection. I had taken a risk by abandoning my life in Melbourne to start afresh in Stockholm, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to take that one further risk and attempt to engage this girl in conversation. I decided I would approach her and enquire about her music; it was the most obvious ice-breaker. I was hoping that the flattery she would feel in having someone ask about her art would cancel out any apprehension she might normally experience upon being approached by a stranger.

"Ursäkta mig, talar du engelska?" I said, knowing that my limited Swedish would falter in a proper conversation. "Ja, I do" she replied shyly. From her initial demeanour it was obvious that in order for this conversation to blossom I would have to do a lot of the work. This was not something I was accustomed to, but if I was hoping to make a connection with this girl I was going to have to make the effort. I asked her if that was her own music in the box she was carrying. She replied in the affirmative and I proceeded to ask numerous questions about her music. She was a modest about the details, but I managed to get out of her that she made bedroom electro-pop under the name Action Biker.

Just as I thought the conversation was starting to dissolve, and she would make her excuses to leave, to my surprise she started to ask questions of me: Where was I form? What was I doing in Stockholm? Then when I mentioned that I was having trouble finding a place to live she somewhat astonishingly enthused "You can come stay with me!" She told me there was a spare room in her flat in Gamla Stan. She said the flat belonged to her grandparents, but the confined spaces and cobbled stoned streets of the old town had become too difficult for them to negotiate in their mature age. So they'd decided to move out to Västerås and leave the flat to Sarah at a cheap rent. "I'm sure they wouldn't mind if you moved in.", Sarah said, "there's definitely the space, and I think they'd take pity on a lost foreigner." I was a little taken back by how she could make an offer after such a limited conversation and I gushed "Are you sure?" several times. "Yes, of course", she said, "you are nice!" As if that was reason enough.


Her home was on the top floor of a building down the south end of Prästgatan, near the old parsonage for the German church. The flat had three bedrooms, one of which was, obviously, Sarah's, another of which she had set up a small home recording studio and the third that, for an initial period, became mine. Becoming acquainted with my new surroundings was a delight. The medieval architecture and confined cobbled streets was a vastly different environment to what I had been used to, living in Melbourne. For a while after I moved into Sarah’s flat I would wander aimless around Gamla Stan, exploring the streets and alleys of the old working class area. In recent years the aesthetic value placed on the antique look of the island had significant changed its demographics. No longer a working class area, the island had become a magnet for the educated and sociable middle classes. Whilst this gave the area a certain stench of pretension, it did provide the area with a wide variety of distractions. Frequently Sarah would join me as I undertake my reconnaissance missions. We would eat lunch in cool little cafés and tea rooms or visit secluded and hip basement bars at night. Our rapport was developing and we were growing rather fond of each other's company. Furthermore, I was not only breaking out of my mental stupor and blossoming as a human being, but also starting to actually enjoy myself! It had become apparent to me that my decision to move to Stockholm was genuinely excellent one.

One day whilst out exploring the neighbourhood, strolling down the alleyway of Nygränd, I noticed a Help Wanted sign in the window of a restaurant. Although I couldn't read all of the text, I could make out that they were looking for a dishwasher. Washing dishes was hardly what I came to Stockholm for, but I decided that I needed the money and that I would apply for the position. The restaurant was called Fem Små Hus, served a combination of Swedish and French cuisine and apparently had quite a reputation amongst Stockholm's culinary critics (they'd plastered their dinning room walls with awards and positive reviews). It wasn't the most ideal job, especially for a vegetarian with an acute mistrust of dairy products, but without a fluent knowledge of Swedish my options were very limited. And besides, I told myself, a job such as this would build character, keep me connected to the struggle of the proletariat whilst I was pursuing my bourgeois dreams of becoming a writer.

As one who the Swedes describe as a "native speaker" of English, I didn't find it too difficult to pick up some freelance writing work for some pan-Scandinavian magazines that publish in the language. I began to write for publications such as Scanorama, the in-flight magazine for Scandinavian Airlines, where I'd compose blurbs about Stockholm’s tourist attractions, as well as the Nordic issue of Vice Magazine who were delighted with my witty and cutting music reviews (something I’d excelled at back in Melbourne). Although my evenings were occupied with washing off the disgusting remains of cheese-infused animal carcasses from pots and plates, the position had the advantage of leaving me all day to work on not only my freelance work, but also a series of personal short stories that I was hoping to eventually get published. I thought that once I was able to compile a number of quality stories I would be able to shop them around to a few publishers in the hope that one might express some interest. The idea of having a book of personal and personality based short stories was to cultivate a singular public persona for myself that I could utilise to gain some sort of leverage and repute for other subjects I would like to write about. I knew I had a unique perspective, it was just a matter of being able to gain some attention.

Over this time Sarah and I evolved our friendship into a familiar and meaningful bond. The logistics of our lives became intertwined and I exhibited an ease in her presence that I had never experienced previously. We shared similar ideas about culture and politics and a disdain for ridiculous social conventions like drinking coffee. When our opinions did differ our debates were lively and robust, yet never without respect and regard for the others point of view. I had begun to believe that Sarah and I should take our relationship up a notch and express our fondness for each other in a physical manner. Unfortunately, broaching such a subject is not the easiest of tasks, especially when I felt uncomfortable ethics of heterosexual couplings. This has always been a major problem for me. How could I, as a man, justify intimate relations with a woman? Specifically such a beautiful and amazing woman as her. To me, heterosexuality just doesn't seem equitable. It seems grossly unfair to the female participant. It’s like having a dish from a Michelin Star restaurant on the same plate as a week-old, rain-sodden Big Mac. It makes little sense to me. If I were to become sexually involved with Sarah would I be perpetuating this raw deal women have received since the beginning of time? Surely it would be a selfish act for me to inflict such an injustice on someone I care for? Yet there was an undeniable fire that burned in my loins and the tension that it caused between my principled rationale and my animal instinct was becoming a source of frustration for me. I tried to sooth this anxiety by telling myself that, although Sarah deserved better than the ceaseless and wretched shortcomings of masculinity, at least if she were to become involved with me, my hyper-sensitivity to man's flawed essence, and my willingness to rectify this, would go some way ensuring that she would be treated in the respectful manner that she deserved.

My concerns became redundant when one night, whilst Sarah and I were watching a documentary on 18th century Swedish emigration to North America, she leaned over and planted a kiss sweetly on my lips. I couldn't help but reciprocate, yet when we separated I smiled and asked, "What was that for?” "I've wanted to do that for the longest time. I just couldn't resist any longer. I hope you don't mind?" she replied. "I'll only mind if it was just a once off" I said cheekily, and we fell back into an extended tender and passionate merging of souls. Kissing Sarah was a phenomenal experience and I had never felt so good before. My extremely limited exposure to physical intimacy until that point had given me, what I believed to be, an appreciation of the activity above those who experience it regularly and I felt compelled to savour every micro-moment. Despite my previous apprehension, when locked in embrace with her the idea of us being together seemed perfect. I looked at her directly and gushed "I promise to love and respect you for eternity. I know that's a rather maudlin thing to say, but it's important to me to express this sentiment. I don't want to be like other guys." She laughed, "I know you are not like other guys. This is why I have fallen for you." We embraced again and my heart sighed, wiped its brow and grinned expansively.

#######

I hate having to leave our bed in the morning. I could just lie there and snuggle with Sarah forever. There is nothing that makes me happier. Unfortunately though this morning we had to rise not long after our 6.30am wakening. Sarah had a show that night in Malmö and I had organised an interview with controversial Faeroes pro-independence politician Høgni Karsten Hoydal that afternoon across in Copenhagen. We had borrowed Sarah's parents’ car in order to drive the 6 hours south, so time for snuggling was unfortunately just not available. I consoled myself with the fact that I would at least get to spend the day with her in the car and that after the show that evening we would once again be able to express our affection for each other in an intimate and amorous manner. As we had one final kiss before having to arise I couldn't help thinking how wonderfully my move to Stockholm had turned out for me. My writing was going exceedingly well, with my book of personal short stories having been recently published giving me the levity and self-confidence to pursue topics of my choice. But the most important element to my spiritual contentment was the fact that I had finally found true love. Sarah and I knew that we were to be together forever and that, regardless of any of my other successes, was what made me the happiest.

High On Diesel And Gasoline

Before the inevitable cocktail of smack, crack and old age kicked in, Brett Anderson was a lyrical genius. Now before you all choke on your Pitchfork Media bookmarks, just hear me out.
Whilst the less self-conscious amongst the music intelligentsia will be willing to admit that the band's self-titled debut and its follow up, Dog Man Star are great albums, the general consensus is that Suede's quality left with Bernard Butler. This, however, is entirely false, for the band's third album, Coming Up is quite the masterpiece. Far from being some bullshit Britpop brush-aside, Coming Up is a knowing and clever pop gem. What people fail to realise about this album is that it is pastiche. It knowingly apes the cultivated public persona of cheap and sleazy glamour of their previous material, as well as the band's style and mannerisms. "Maybe, maybe it's the clothes we wear, the tasteless bracelets and the dye in our hair...maybe, maybe it's our nowhere towns our nothing places and our cellophane sounds." That shit is witty. Bands who shift units like Suede did are not supposed to be that self-aware. But for me the killer line on the album comes in the 7 minutes epic The Chemistry Between Us where Anderson sings "Oh, class A, class B, is that the only chemistry between us?". To me, that line is a good summation of the band, it's a line loaded with wonderful imagery. The thing is no-one credits Anderson with being able to be that wry. In light of some of the abysmal lines that he was to write on subsequent releases maybe it's best to be cynical, but I like to think that he had a knowing smirk on his face when he wrote that lyric.
Beside being such a literary masterwork, Coming Up also contains some of the best glam-pop hooks Bowie never wrote. Where previous Suede albums were much suited to being consumed smacked out on one's bed in a dingy council flat, Coming Up is a motherfucking party starter. The Beautiful Ones is mandatory for any UK-centric club night and Filmstar should be on every single one of those bullshit "driving songs" compilations they sell at motorway service areas. Unfortunately, due to the band's lack of coolness amongst the tastemakers Coming Up is destined to be one of the great overlooked albums of the nineties (that said, Dog Man Star is better).

The Book Lovers

A trip to the psychologist.

Doctor Veronica Clarke: Hello, Grant. How are you?

Grant Wyeth: I'm feeling great, Doctor Clarke! I met a girl!

DVC: That's excellent. What's her name?

GW: I don't know yet.

DVC: You don't know?

GW: Well, I haven't actually spoken to her.

DVC: But you said you'd met her?

GW: I know where she works.

DVC: OK.

GW: Borders, in the city. I go in there every few days just to see her.

DVC: So this is a girl you do not know, have not engaged in any conversation with, yet you go to her place of employment every few days to see her?

GW: Yeah, but I don't know when her shifts are, so I've only seen her the once. Which is unfortunate. I'd really like to see her again.

DVC: Do you not think that this behaviour is a little creepy? I mean, it could be said that you are stalking this girl.

GW: But, she doesn't know that I'm going in there all the time. She hasn't been there.

DVC: I'd say that still constitutes stalking. You're still attempting to see her, even if she's not there.

GW: No, it's only stalking if they catch you doing it. The next time she is working and she sees me, she'll just be like "Oh, there's that cool guy who was in here the other week." She won't know how many times I've been into the store in the meantime.

DVC: But, the fact that you are attempting to see her each time you go indicates you have some sort of fixation with her. Regardless of whether she is there or not your behaviour could be deemed inappropriate.

GW: I think it's nice.

DVC: Nice?

GW: It's nice to have someone think that you are special. I would like it very much if someone would attempt to see me on a regular basis. I would find in flattering. And besides, it wasn't even me who first noticed her. It was Katy Stevens. She's the one who told me that I had to make her my girlfriend so she could borrow her dress.

DVC: That sounds like something someone would say in jest.

GW: No, I don't think so. It was a lovely dress. Why wouldn't Katy Stevens wish to borrow it?

DVC: I'm sure it was a lovely dress, and I'm sure that Katy Stevens would have liked to have worn the dress at some stage, but instructing someone to get involved in a relationship with another person just so they can borrow an item of clothing isn't really a serious suggestion. And for you just to blindly follow that suggestion is a little disturbing. Did you find the girl in the dress attractive of your own accord?

GW: Yes, of course! I thought the girl in the dress looked fantastic as well. Although, I think she'd look better without any clothes on at all, if you know what I mean?

DVC: I think it's fairly obvious what you mean.

GW: Well, it's just an expression.

DVC: Usually it's used after a statement a little more subtle and ambiguous than the one you used.

GW: No it's not, it's just used to indicate sexiness.

DVC: Well, there was nothing sexy about what you said.

GW: Yes there was, I said she'd look good with her clothes off. That sexy. You can't have sex with your clothes on.

DVC: You can. But the point is that sexiness is usually a little more nuanced than that. Being blunt is rather crude. It's fairly unappealing.

GW: So what you're saying is that I shouldn't try and get this girl to remove her clothes? That I can have sex with her with her clothes on, and this is, in fact, a better form of sex?

DVC: No, that's not what I'm saying at all. I merely meant that when verbalising sexual interest it is much better to be subtle. It is less intimidating and more imaginative. That said, I'm speaking in general terms here. I'm not suggesting that you attempt anything even remotely along these lines with the girl at Borders. Unless you are able to engage with her in a natural manner.

GW: So, if I engage with her naturally, say, I ask her about a book or something, and then when we become acquainted we should have sex with our clothes on?

DVC: Ok, look, just forgot about having sex with your clothes on. It's completely irrelevant. In fact, sex in this whole topic is irrelevant. What we are discussing is the appropriate way for you to approach a girl that you are interested in, and this doesn't not involve stalking her at her place of employment.

GW: So how do I meet her then? Her place of employment is the only thing I know about her. That, and she owns a nice dress.

DVC: You just can't be constantly going into the store just to see her. Maybe, if there is a book you wish to purchase you can go to the store and if she is working then that is fine. But you can't just keep going in constantly.

GW: But the more often I go in the better the chance of her being there.

DVC: Well, that is true, but it's inappropriate. It makes you seem obsessive. Something that is deemed suspicious by most people.

GW: So how often can I go in? Once a week?

DVC: There's not set amount of time. You should only go in when you are in need to purchase something form the store.

GW: What about when I want to read a magazine? That's the best thing about Borders. You can just go in and read magazines. They have chairs and everything. You can sit and read the whole magazine if you want. You don't even have to buy it. I do it all the time. I totally swindle them.

DVC: Yes, but magazines aren't released daily. You don't have to be in there every day reading magazines. What I'm saying is that whenever you require something of the store, that's when you should go there. You shouldn't go there just in order to see if this girl. And if she does happen to be working the time you go in, then that is a lucky coincidence.

GW: Ok, so say she is working when I go in to purchase a book or something, what do I say to her?

DVC: I don't know what you say to her. That's not what I'm here for. I'm not a dating instructor.

GW: But you must have some handy hints? I mean, you're a woman, what do you like to hear from a potential lover?

DVC: That's a bit personal, don't you think? I need to maintain my professionalism.

GW: Ok, well, just, like, stop the clock and let's talk about it just as two friends.

DVC: I'm not going to "stop the clock", you're here for me to assist you with your psychological problems, not for me to help you get laid.

GW: But aren't they the same thing? I mean, if I had a girlfriend I wouldn't need to come here. Everything would be fine. In fact, it could be said that you are hindering my attempts to get a girlfriend so I will continue to give you money. That's why you don't want me to go into Borders on a regular basis because I might actually get somewhere with her.

DVC: Do you truly believe that? Do you think I would act in such an unprofessional manner? Furthermore, I think your problems are a little more complex to just be solved by your entering into a relationship.

GW: But isn't that the ultimate goal here? For me to be able to be a proper functioning member of society and have a partner like everyone else?

DVC: Is that what you think, that having a partner is a sign of being a functioning member of society?

GW: Of course, that's what it's about, isn't it? That's when you've won, when you've got a partner.

DVC: What do you mean by "won"?

GW: You've been victorious. You've achieved the aim of life. Being in love, surely that's the goal? Everything else is rather insignificant.

DVC: Well, I guess that is somewhat true. But I'm a little concerned that you see that as what you need to achieve in order to be happy.

GW: Why, because you don't think it's achievable for me? You don't think I'm able to have a girlfriend?

DVC: That's not what I'm saying. What I mean is that for you to see this as your primary goal might be placing a large amount of pressure on yourself.

GW: Pressure that I can't handle?

DVC: No! It just seems like you have this obsession that finding a partner, it is your sole focus. You need to not be so myopic.

GW: So what else should be be focusing on?

DVC: Anything, your university work, or a hobby.

GW: What, like fishing or something?

DVC: If that interests you.

GW: It doesn't.

DVC: Why did you say it then?

GW: I don't know, that's the sort of hobby normal people have. You know, going away, getting outdoors, shit like that. I hear that's the sort of thing people do. It happens all the time. I can't say I understand it though.

DVC: What don't you understand?

GW: The outdoors, going away.

DVC: Well, it's just about spending time away from the hustle and the bustle.

GW: But, I like the hustle and the bustle. In fact there's not enough hustle and bustle. Everything is in the city, why would you leave?

DVC: Well, not everyone thinks like that. Some people can't handle the pace of the big city.

GW: Well, it's hardly a "big city", you know? This city is kind of weak, it needs to be bigger and busier, like a proper city.

DVC: Is that something that would interest you, being in a bigger city?

GW: Yeah, it would, I find bigger cities more interesting. A plus, the more people in a city and the greater the chance of being able to meet someone.

DVC: Jesus.

GW: What?

DVC: You want to move to a bigger city because you think this will increase you odds of meeting a potential partner? I tried to engaged you in conversation about something else that might interest you and you just bring it back to finding a partner. Is there nothing else you think about?

GW: Not really, no. Sometimes I get hungry, but that's a fairly easy dilemma to solve. It doesn't take much effort.

DVC: Before our next session I want you to try and find something you are interested in. A sport, playing a musical instrument, anything that exists purely for its own enjoyment, not something that you are interested in solely as a means to find a partner. Can you do that?

GW: I guess so.

DVC: Good. Well, I'll see you next week.

GW: Alright. Bye bye.

DVC: Good luck. [whispers to herself] You'll fucking need it, nutjob.

I Need All The Friends I Can Get

It wasn't supposed to be like this. This isn't how I envisaged it. I was meant to be the campus hero. The cool and interesting mature-aged student, worldly and hip, everyone should have wanted to be my friend. But it's been two semesters now and there is still no-one I have an significant relationship with, in fact, there's no-one I really talk to at all. When not in classes or lectures I sit in the library by myself, not getting fucked up on vodka in the university bar, or gossiping in a café over warm beverages about whether Jennie is really having it off with the Sociology lecturer, Mr Pingus. It's sad. These are last years I have in order to enjoy myself, once my study is over only a life of responsibility and hardship awaits me. Maybe I just don't make enough effort to engage with other people, or maybe I'm just not as likable as I think I am.

One night late last year I was preparing myself for bed. As I was slipping into something more comfortable in order to sleep I looked down at my penis and noticed that the eye of the appendage bore a striking resemblance to a human mouth. "This is rather interesting", I thought to myself and I opened the drawer of my desk and grabbed a black marker. I drew two eyes, a nose and some hair onto the penis in order to compliment its mouth. It gave the penis a bit more personality, something that, due to its limited usage, I felt it thoroughly deserved. I retired to my bed and thought nothing further of it. The next day I was working in the library at university when I felt the urge to urinate. As I walked into the toilets I noticed that not only were each of the stalls occupied, but the urinal trough was also heavily populated. Unfortunately, my urge to relieve myself was too strong for me to wait and I decided to utilise the one empty space available at the urinal trough. As I pulled down my zip and removed my penis from my jeans I noticed that the man standing to my right twisted his neck slightly in my direction and peered down at my manliness. Then I heard him scoff. He had obviously noticed the face I had drawn on my penis and found this to be both amusing and disturbing. I finished my business and returned to my studies, slightly embarrassed, but too occupied with my work to dwell on it.

Several weeks ago I decided that I'd had enough of being friendless at university and I resolved to do something about it. There was a girl I had noticed throughout the semester in my politics lecture who not only seemed like a lovely and charming young lady, but also dressed in a manner that I found enticing. I saw her studying near me in the library and realised this was my opportunity to befriend her. Unfortunately, being rather shy, I wasn't confident enough to approach her and begin a conversation. So I tore a page from my notebook and I wrote "Hello. You are the best dresser in the whole university!" in green ink. I walked past the desk where she was studying, dropped the note next to her laptop and kept walking. I didn't leave my name or number as I felt this might be too strong of an action. I just thought she would notice me as I left and the following time we crossed paths the note would be an amusing ice-breaker to aid us in the commencement of our friendship.

It has been several weeks since I gave this girl the note and we are still to have our first conversation. Rather than be a potential friendship instigator, this note has instead resulted in this girl shooting me suspicious looks whenever we have been in each other's vicinity. Initially, I failed to comprehend this and it quite upset me. I mean, I'm a super-nice guy, I'd say reasonably good looking and definitely harmless, I didn't know why she wouldn't want to be friends with me. But then it struck me. Of course, it is obvious now. I am the guy who has a face drawn on his penis. The man at the urinal would have undoubtedly spread this information as widely as possible, he would have found it irresistible to do so, and it obviously must have reached the girl from my politics lecture. It seems not only this girl, but judging from my overall popularity, a significant percentage of the student body believes that I am some sort of weirdo. And so this, it seems, is why I haven't become the campus hero I expected myself to be.

A Face Odyssey

Simple is the brand I use for most of my feminine hygiene purposes. I started using Simple back in the day, at the time my skin wasn't so flash. Not that it was really fucked up or anything, but I had a few blemishes. The main problem was that as I felt it was absolutely essential to shave daily I would inevitably shave over these blemishes constantly preventing them from having sufficient time to heal and disappear on their own accord. It was during a (northern) winter, early on in the year, that my former best friend Katey Lee suggested that I not only grow my beard for a period in order to give my face a chance regenerate itself, but also that I use an oil free facial wash, one that wouldn’t irritate my skin any further and establish a clearer complexion. Simple was the brand she suggested. Although the idea of growing a beard repulsed me, I took Katey Lee's advice and within two weeks the results were obvious. Once I could see through the thick bristle of my hideous growth that my face was blemish free, I didn't hesitate to remove said facial hair and revel in the beauty of my new found smooth spotless skin. I was a new person, not only did my face have the pure clean looks of a 9 year old Norwegian boy, I was able to harness the confidence that flowed from such an attractive appearance.

This morning I ran out of Simple's Softening Facial Cleansing Mousse, so I took a walk from my parents place (where I was attempting to write an essay, away from the hustle and bustle of my inner-city neighbourhood) to the Priceline at the Mt Waverley shops. Inside the store there was an array of beautification products, obviously some more effective than others, yet I knew what I wanted. I located the skincare aisle and headed directly to the Simple range, immediately I grabbed a bottle of Softening Facial Cleansing Mousse from the shelf, but as I headed toward the payment counter something within the Simple range caught my eye. I swung back around and took from the shelf a container of Age-Resisting Facial Wash. Now that I am getting older I have become quite concerned that I am losing my youthful good looks. My face is starting to show significant signs of aging and, quite frankly, I am worried that this will reduce my (already low) chances of finding a female woman to procreate with. Upon further inspecting the Simple range, it seemed that they had a series of products titled Regeneration that were specifically aimed at those consumers who were weary of the unfortunate effects of aging. As I further inspected the label on the Age-Resisting Facial Wash I read that the product's ingredients would ...help stimulate your skin's own immune system...improve skin tone and conditions...and leave the complexion visibly clearer. These were all positive attributes, I thought to myself. With this new compulsion to reverse my horrific seasoning I decided that I needed more of these products to assist with my appearance. So I also plucked from the shelves Simple's Smoothing Cleansing Scrub, and although I am not quite through my Shine Manager Moisturiser, I decided to also purchase the Replenishing Rich Moisturiser as well. I am hoping that frequent use of these products will help me to become the beautiful boy I so desperately wish to be and assist me in becoming appealing to female women.


Now it is all very well attempting to prevent blemishes and wrinkles on one's face, I mean, this is something we all have to deal with, however, unfortunately, as a man, there is one further issue that hinders my presentability. Facial hair is something I completely detest. I find it extraordinary that this apparently "civil society" that we live in tolerates such an overt display of masculinity. Not only is it an blatant demonstration of the brutish beast that lies within, but also the scratchiness of said facial hair is completely unfair to the female partners of these men. I mean, these girls are already getting a raw deal by being attracted to men, they don't need a raw face to go with it! This is why I believe it is essential for me to shave on a daily basis. Not only do I believe that it is a far more attractive look, but I also need to prove that I am actively protesting against the deplorable and selfish instincts of men. Unfortunately, however, this constant shaving comes with some untoward side-effects, namely shaving rash. Whilst I have been successful in removing any blemishes from my face that incubate beneath the skin, unfortunately I am yet to find a solution to this problem that is generated on the outer layer. So whilst I was in the Priceline I decided to search out a product that my help me overcome this problem. Now, for many years now I have not used a shaving cream. I've found that they tend to clog my pores and decrease the effectiveness of the facial washes that I use. Instead I have used said facial washes as a lubricant themselves. I have found them to be reasonably effective in this regard. However, it has become apparent that in order to prevent this shaving rash from occuring I needed a product specifically designed to deal with the problem. Luckily I was able to find Trishave's 3 in 1 Anti-Rash Shaving Crème. According to the packaging it functions as a pre-shave cleasner, provides a soothing shave and is also a moisturiser that leaves skin feeling soft and looking re-hydrated and healthy. It seems to be just what I need to solve my shaving rash problem and help me exhibit a beautiful and respectful appearance to all those who cross my path.