I am scared about what I know about women. I live in perpetual fear of what I know about them and what they know about me, and how my sordid life will one day burst into the open. I could tell you ghastly things about women. I am amazed how everything comes back to women. Women. Women. Women. I could tell you about kind women, and cold women, and cheerful women and simple women and intelligent women, but I realise some things are unwritable. I am trying to get to the rotten core at the heart of this rant but here I go backing off again. Over time I have learned that it is the synthesis of the knowledge derived from the experience that matters, and not the detail.
Early in life, we men start by relishing our sins and proudly cataloging our exploits but after a while we get bored of our deeds. We get bored but we don’t stop. Yes men are children. Yes there is a polygamous streak in all of us. Yes 60% of our thoughts are sex related. Yes half of us are nymphomaniacs. Yes we don’t care for the children we spawn. Yes we are irresponsible. Yes we cant feed ourselves. Yes we are rapists. Yes we are wife beaters. Yes we spread AIDS. Yes we are weaker than women.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
So I am a snitch arent I? Blaming men. Writing this unthinkable stuff. Shaming myself like this. I can see you shaking your head – rolling your eyes.
I hate men. But women are no better, really. Women can be beautiful and intelligent and they can make me open up and think and talk, but they sometimes have a curious way of thinking. They always think somebody is out to get them. They can take you to task for a wrong word. They … But let me not get into that. In case the feminist brigade come after me.
I need friends. I hate friends. I need friends and I hate them. I cant stand friends interfering too much in my life, but I ache for company. I admit I have not always looked for love and friendship in the right places but I think there is more kindness, more understanding out there than one would believe. I have discovered that real insight and intelligence have less to do with background or class or education than what the cultural gatekeepers would have us believe.
You don’t really know me. You will most likely never know me. Nobody knows me. All I have is this beautiful mind and these flimsy words to show for it.
*Drops pen and walks away*