In Pursuit Of Pabulum (3) >> do i detect traces of bitterness with the prospect that I have an abundance of chat relationships? should i devote myself solely to you? well i assure you that time chatting with you vincent veenstra is a far more momentous event than the rapid firings of a “blue_eyed_baby.com” or a “slick_007.com.” as for looking for a carbon copy of yourself, this i can understand. i often find myself attracted to men who look similar to me and i used to use my imagination to cut away those parts of personalities that didn't correspond with mine. i would hope that i have now learnt to embrace difference. my most recent relationship disaster-from-hell brought me face-to-back with narcissus himself (he was looking into the lake) (sorry to inflict my history upon you) and i started to realise that my narcissistic tendencies were very slight in comparison to this pure specimen. the one requirement for any potential mate is that narcissus does not dwell there! > I encourage you to liaise with as many people as you so desire, provided it yields you pleasure, as it apparently does. I am however incredibly bitter about the fact that you have all that spare time to write to others as time is the one commodity that I do covet. I'm really not the jealous overprotective type - it comes from having a superiority complex. Unfortunately, like yourself, I also have a inferiority complex depending on the day, tides, moon, runes, what my neighbours cat ate for breakfast, who knows what. If I'm not the best at something on a given day then I'm the worst - everything to extreme and excess. In the past I have encouraged my girlfriends to leave me if they think they can do better and would certainly prefer they did before marriage becomes an option. I would hate to think that I was ever holding anybody back from reaching their full potential but then again maybe I should revise my system as it doesn't appear to be working - I'm still single. I was sorry to read about the breakup with your last boyfriend. Sorry because it must have been very difficult to let something so beautiful go. Narcissus this, Narcissist that - it is only natural that you wonder what I look like but why don't you just ask instead of beating around the bush? Just as you have asked me not to apologise for the length of my letters, I implore you not to apologise for discussing affairs of the heart. >> whether my ex was physically beautiful or not is irrelevant. further it was not just an obsession with his appearance which made me diagnose him narcissistic but an obsession with himself in general which meant that, for example, any question he asked would be designed to elicit a response which would relate to himself. as for what you look like I wasn’t pussyfooting around the issue as i’ve already got my own false image of what to expect! what fascinates me is that you’ve expressed no interest in what I look like whatsoever. aren’t you curious? > I find the prospect of an unattractive Narcissist laughable and I need not wonder what you look like any longer as vanity prevents such creatures from tolerating physical ugliness. Like insanity, people are not born with Narcissistic tendencies, they are acquired during life through careful conditioning. Attractive people are continually complemented on their good looks and receive an easier ride because superficial idiots tend to their every whim. Why wouldn't they become self absorbed and think that the universe revolves around them when from their viewpoint it apparently does? I think of you as being the ugliest girl imaginable and in doing so relieve myself of the possibility of disappointment upon our meeting. The wheels of fate are now in motion and your appearance is effectively irrelevant. We will either approve or disapprove of one another’s appearance at that time and no amount of wishing you look like Cindy Crawford will change a thing. I will be unaffected by your looks one way or the other upon our meeting as my pseudo-moral prudery prevents me from becoming too attached at the beginning of any relationship out of necessity rather than choice. >> what exactly do you mean by "pseudo-moral prudery?" that you pretend to adhere to moral concepts such as good and evil in the context of "to go to bed or not to go to bed?" "pretend" being the problematic word. >Your conjectures are misguided as the emphasis should be placed on the “prudery” as opposed to the “pseudo-moral.” I am a prude, particularly by male standards, and a prudent one at that. The “pseudo” was actually hyphenated to the “moral” instead of the “prudery” and is synonymous with “virtual” as in the context of pseudo-code. Moral pseudo-prudery actually still makes sense, is admittedly very common, and is more in line with your surmises. Anyway, my lifestyle resembles that of a devout Catholic boy although to attribute my habits to morality would be a fallacy. I'm sure you would agree that no thinking human being can blindly live in accordance to the dogmas of the Church. So whereas on the surface my pseudo-celibacy may appear to be related to my being brought up a Catholic, and I would be a fool if I didn't think it had something to do with it, it is in fact a choice that I make to suit myself best. So I guess that what I meant by “pseudo-moral” was that although I have all the symptoms of austere morality the root cause is not doctrine, it is personal preference. I must concur that "pretend" is a problematic word but it is your word so use it at your will. There is nothing pretentious about me and I regard candour as one of my better virtues. I aim not to conceal but to inform. >> it appears that you cover your eyes and your heart. for i am going to be candid with all its beauty and its brutality. i am catholicism gone awry. i am no prude. i have discarded the shackles of catholicism long ago and though i am no atheist i loathe institutionalised religion. i am a pseudo voluptuary because i not only seek pleasures of the flesh but cerebral peaks as well. my research and character studies include exploring the sensuality of others. ahem. > Accuse me of covering my eyes from the burning sun but the blisters on my heart lay testament to my inability to shield it. What's this pleasures of the flesh and mind adolescent drivel? Haven't you forgotten the most important, most overlooked ingredient - the soul. What is sex without love? Nothing to do with sensual satisfaction but merely physical gratification. How can one live to the extreme without pushing all the limits? Extremity involves risking everything and daring to love more than life itself as opposed to living a life of half truths, half sensations and half feelings. Free love is an antediluvian concept that died with the Ancient Romans but occasionally witnesses a revival among lower classes of contemporary societies (ie. hippies, swingers, rock & film stars ...). I pity lack of commitment in anyone, especially in women where it is rife, as it is synonymous with weakness. Of course I'm being a tad Quixotic but answer me this, surely a woman of your quality must believe in true love and fidelity? Even every Womens Liberationist knows that sexual liberation was nothing more than a guise for sensual entrapment - don't they? Do you really think there is an audience that wants to read half truth’s from an author with a half lived life? To write without heart is to surrender bite for bark and I’m afraid that you also fail to get a gold star for maligning Institutional Religion as that’s simply generalisation to the obscene. >> i don't think that lack of commitment is necessarily synonymous with weakness. your statement is too bold. caution and independence are other reasons for not committing. you may see these, also as weaknesses. and perhaps there is a certain strength in relinquishing some independence in order to have a relationship with another person. but it’s a lifestyle choice and i don't think that you can plant these trees, impose these structures, and say those who don't commit are weak whereas those who do are strong. some people commit out of fear, is that strong? > I was talking about commitment in general and not specifically with regard to relationships however my argument still stands. I'm bored to death with hearing “Gunna’s” relay how they are gunna do this and gunna do that, when in actual fact they are gunna do nothing. Similarly, people who can't make a decision, show up on time or complete what they started frustrate me to tears. I feel like locking them in a room for days with a NIKE commercial playing on a loop tape (ie. just do it). This would be a waste of time because most of them still wouldn't get it or do it. With regard to relationships, caution and independence should naturally be steps prior to committing, but committing is committing - in for a dime in for a dollar. Besides, I'm not sure whether one can really make rational decisions when under the influence of LOVE. At the risk of contradicting myself love is certainly no excuse for infidelity - it is weak. To answer your question, people who commit out of fear are weak and the weak always cling to the strong, that's how all parasites survive. We are all scared, particularly those of us that have been hurt, but not committing only perpetuates the pain. >> oh vincent, it is apparent that you're a tree and i'm a hunk of ginger. you know the way a rhizome grows, it just sort of goes off laterally in all directions at once, with no apparent starting or finishing point - as opposed to a tree, which has one basic root structure and then a secondary structure (trunk) and then tertiary structures (branches) and then leaves and so on. you prioritise and analyse whereas i don't. > I am impressed by your astute comparison of our approach to life allegorically represented by flora. You are quite correct in that I am organised, structured and systematic. "My logic kills" as a previous girlfriend bemoaned but don't worry about her, she was highly irrational. Twenty-eight years of construction on a highly geared mathematical foundation has made me what I am. You are quite correct I do prioritise and make no apologies for doing so. Similarly, you should also make no apologies for your method of operation as both systems are valid and get us where we're going. The truth of the matter is that I often look for partners that do not think like me. A lateral school of thought is often what is needed to restore lifestyle balance and broaden my mind's horizon. >> your willingness to accept difference is commendable as often strong men try to bend their women into being what they expect rather than accepting them for what they are. i’m afraid that far too often talented woman meets talented man and they fall in love but while talented man manages to love and still follow his passions, talented woman is prepared to sacrifice passions or belittle those passions in the face of love. the relationship doesn't work out and talented woman goes mad. forgive my impertinence however failure to commit is effectively self preservation for the emancipated woman. > I can match any example of female asphyxiation with a male equivalent, one for one, and find your association of this topic exclusively with women positively offensive. I can think of many examples of good men gone to the wall, unable to bathe in the bliss that life has to offer, all because the shadow of women enveloped and poured down her wrath upon him. I can produce cases of men who have become completely dysfunctional, except perhaps sexually as this would be their salvation, when under the influence of love and similarly when love is lost. The fact is that once touched by love, none of us are ever the same again. The way we are influenced is as different as the way each individual is affected by elicit drugs. I would not care to judge what is the more pitiful sight - a grown man besotted or broken hearted. So what is the alternative - to live without loves tragic, horrific, terrific, wonderful, delightful touch? One does not live if one does not love, and fortunately one cannot choose whether to love or not, so in the end we all live. Enshrouding yourself in the enigma of witticism will only thwart, and not prevent our destinies from colliding. >> my unwillingness to divulge is not based upon any desire to leave you floundering in my penumbra but rather a reluctance to relate the intricacies of my personal life to someone who i barely know. correspondence with you is lovely, but as i've indicated before, we are both just internet characters concealed behind a misty screen, investing ourselves and one another with the refinements of our imagination. Vincent started with the apparent coldness of the last response from Phyllis. The lack of sensitivity and sensibility in her responses made him wonder if she was in fact a male. He reminded himself that she was a lawyer, and had been conditioned to be cold and distant, thereby dismissing this idea from his reflection, but there was anguish in his heart as he contemplated how his vision of romance was not being realised, and in fact was moving backwards as the correspondence between them grew more strained and belligerent. Vincent was by no means comfortable with correspondence as a means of communication, and giving someone an opinion completely uninterrupted was not what he was accustomed to, but maybe that was its true beauty. Irrespective, it appeared impossible to expect romance from such anonymous puerile prattle and despondent with this thought he decided to force a progression of the relationship which he ultimately knew would result in its making or breaking. > You are quite correct you barely know me. We have not seen each other and had the opportunity to exchange glances, talk about the weather and discuss how nice the weekend was. That's why I yearn for our meeting so we can get the really important issues out in the open and I can earn the rank of friend. Ohh the false facade of distance and denial but perhaps it is best that you temper my alacrity with your moderation. I would be interested to hear your criteria for establishing if you know someone as most people don't even know themselves. Don't tell me you gauge knowing someone by duration! Although you hardly know me you probably know me better than people I have known for years. This is because they cannot understand my ways as intellect is completely invisible to idiots. Do not underestimate the power of intrinsic knowledge because although you may not know who I am, you certainly know what I am which is far more important. To define is to limit and your virtual operating terms and conditions amount to outright character assassination. I am a human being, just flesh and blood, and have zero interest in the Internet. You may choose to desensitise yourself behind a virtual masquerade but I certainly do not. This whole chat line caper is not working out for me and I'm afraid is becoming too much of a chore to pursue. Please do not misunderstand and think that this is an indictment upon you. The truth of the matter is that I am positively infatuated with you and my heart skips a beat for joy each time my monitor feels your silent presence. Perhaps we could move to the medium of telephone for continued conversation? Can you please ring me on 8766 3771 tomorrow night at 9 pm as I wish to talk with you. The cursor flickered periodically on the screen in a fixed position as if alerting Vincent to the fact that there was no response. He wanted to take back his most recent missive, which he had discerned to be hasty after its lodgment, but it was hopelessly late to recall it and the indelible written message had undoubtedly produced a profound effect on its intended reader. “Given the opportunity I will make it up to her tomorrow,” he affirmed aloud, “by gauging her expression in conversation and not swamping her with too much information. That is the last time I ever write anything of importance as it is simply far too risky!” As much as he felt his heart sinking within his chest, with every beat that passed without reply, Vincent could not bring himself to send another message when he was still in want of one himself. The wheels had been set in motion and now he would simply have to wait and see what would transpire. Vincent lay casually on the couch next to the telephone with ten minutes to spare before his arranged appointment. The minutes nagged his soul as he pensively gazed at the sloping attic ceiling, all the time wondering if his hasty demands would be met. His muse focussed on how of the three vital ingredients for any successful relationship, attraction of the mind, body and soul, only the first of the three prerequisites had been, and indeed apparently could be established through Internet chatting. It is true that the body could be roughly gauged by a two dimensional image, although the integrity would always be in doubt, but the content of one’s soul could in no way be properly established without observing her in the flesh; to watch her walk, share in her smile, and inhale the simple things that constitute a woman’s true persona. Phyllis was a great two-dimensional thinker without question, able to perceive with the eyes and report her findings accordingly, but would she ever learn to feel with the heart and live through her senses? For if one does not focus on the mind as well as the heart, one runs the risk of remaining a 2D “thinker” (mind and body) like the plebeian masses instead of evolving into a 3D “thinker” (mind, body and soul) like a person of great distinction. It was evident that her mind was in good order although Phyllis gave little away regarding the state of her heart. Vincent could sense that she was a very feeling and caring person, and could appreciate the distance that she rigorously enforced, as commitment to life in its entirety involves significant risk, and if the gamble does not pay off can also result in significant pain. A shiver traversed Vincent’s spine as he pondered how he was starting to hate her coldness and distance. “Perhaps hatred is a good basis on which to form any meaningful relationship because after all isn’t it tempered with the same primal emotion and doesn’t it originate from the same sector of our hearts as love?,” he thought. Just then the phone began to ring, one, two, three times as Vincent’s mind slowly crawled from its convoluted web of thought to the conscious and then permitted him to answer the phone. “Good evening Phyllis,” he answered in the most sprightly tone within his repertoire. “Hello Vincent,” drawled the quiet feminine voice on the other end of the line, “I’m afraid that I cannot talk for long because I’m an insomniac and can feel the desire to sleep dragging my eyelids to a close. I must therefore go to bed immediately in order to take full advantage of the situation while it lasts.” Vincent was taken aback by the weak stammering voice on the line and had naturally, yet mistakenly, assumed that the voice of an orator would be associated with the mind of a genius. “You must be joking, we have so much to talk about,” he replied in his usual overpowering nonchalant fashion. “Like what?” Phyllis retorted flimsily in an inane attempt to salvage some credibility. “Like when we should meet for instance - I can hardly wait - can you?” There was a pause on the line until the shaky voice replied, “Sure I’m looking forward to meeting you, more than ever, but it may be inconvenient ...” And Vincent interrupted, “Now, now lets not be indecisive my dear, lets set an affirmative time and place as opposed to wasting energy discussing impossibilities!” Suddenly, to Vincent’s dismay the line went dead in his ear. The dragon slayer lay dead, impaled on her own sword thrust deep into her heart with Vincent’s overpowering alacrity and insensitivity. Drawn out of the comfort zone that her veil of silence afforded, she had been exposed, a fatal layer of her armoury removed, and hopelessly convulsed and writhed like a fish out of water to an ignominious death. “Thanks for the push,” he muttered into the handset disbelievingly as he replaced it on the receiver and resumed his usual station by the window. Perhaps it was true that the possibility of their relationship succeeding was as likely as that of the mermaid and the sailor, whereby it could only be sustained and indeed nurtured at an impregnable distance. “I guess it’s true that if you give a girl enough telephone cord she’s bound to hang herself,” Vincent sniggered with misogynistic sentiment as he resumed his pacing, familiarly going nowhere, to and fro, before the tiny window.
Copyright © 2001 Bradley Postma |