For me, women -- or at least many I have known personally -- have represented a sort of primordial chaos that is hard for me to comprehend. Always in trouble, always searching for me to help them out. I guess it goes to my part of being for women a safe brother/father substitute, and being at turns a teddybear and a punching bag (as I was for S., for example). I suppose I should be a nastier person, or what? Because it's always been that when I have expressed to a lady that I want to be more than a friend with her (not just sex, but, you know, having an actual relationship and everything that goes with), it's usually been: "pHinn, you're a nice guy, but..." So, I guess it's OK for those women to fuck casual strangers they pick up from a club when they are drunk, free of inhibitions and full of erotic urges, than me, because it's not just my role -- which is being a safe and cosy father confessor for the ladies to tell about their latest erotic mishaps: "Oh, I'm such a bad person, Father; forgive me, so I can have a good conscience to get drunk and get laid the next time". Woman wants freedom, sexual and otherwise, but what is the real price of freedom is responsibility. Unless you're responsible for your own actions and their possible consequences, your freedom is nothing but escaping. But of course this is patronizing, patriarchal misogynist talk from me; I just can't help it that these situations piss me off. Perhaps it would help if I wasn't such a shy, timid, inhibited and hung-up person myself; sometimes these things just feel overpowering.
Last week Alex of Chicks on Speed sent me mail asking for the contact address of Ann Shenton (a.k.a. Large Number, ex of Add N To (X)), explaining me that Melissa of CoS has currently some kind of health problems and they need someone to replace her for this month's CoS warm-up gigs with Red Hot Chili Peppers in England.
So I sent Alex the address of Mark Hunter, who is a sort of a manager (I suppose) for Ann. But it's funny that I usually never hear from Alex or any of the CoS these days; obviously only when I'm needed to save the day. [See previous entries for backgrounds.]
Then there's this other girl I know and have been in contact with now, but I don't know if I'm coming or going with her. Somehow it feels I've learned to like her quite a lot, she's got a personality of her own, we seem to share the same wavelength on certain things, but somehow I'm wary about her too. Which means I'm afraid what would happen if I seriously fell in love with her now (which is not that far at the moment, I have to say). Because I don't want to repeat this same chaos I've been through with women all over again. I would only like to learn to know her better now, but I'm not interested myself in passing drunken erotic lust, sordid groping in the dark and quick fucks or one night stands. I want to do things properly. I want something that is more solid and stable. Probably that's called commitment, a mutual one, but perhaps that's such a dirty word these days. That you should expose your soul, sacrifice something of that illusory freedom of being able to run around, go through the thick and thin and the days that are not so glamorous and ecstatic. I'm willing to do that; how about you, lady?