Thursday, 28 October 2010

Drunken Ramblings

Tonight I got drunk, I danced, I clubbed. All in all, it was an interesting experience.

The latest episode of Lie To Me had an interesting ending, where Tim Roth's character (one "Dr. Lightman") wrote that he understood very little, least of all those close to him. I too will admit, I understand very little. I see people and I know what they feel, happy, sad, angry, annoyed, aroused, excited, but all in all I understand very little. I know they are experiencing something, but I do not understand. I know I am required to do certain things at certain times, but do I understand? Of course not. Do any of us? I don't know. But people seem to.

It seems as if almost everybody I meet was handed a blue-print to behaviours, a list of requirements, of responses and of reactions. And it seems I missed that handing out, missed the instructions, missed that which is needed to be...well, human. I have to make due with what I can figure out by myself. If anything, being an unknowing outsider has made me stronger, more alert, aware and adaptive.

I will gladly dance, in a loud club it is a benefit to dance. In a loud club, you can't hear the words people say with any ease, their tonality is barely noticeable, all you have is body language. That means 2/3rds of my wasted social energies can be redirected to body language (both mine and theirs) and other attentions. This is a boon, is it not? It's simpler, it lets me relax my efforts. At worst I can redirect them to other social elements, at best I can redirect them to more important elements. Things may be not harder, may be not easier, but there is a simplicity to it none the less.

Maybe that is why others find clubbing so interesting, or maybe they are other reasons. Again, maybe they get something inherently "deeper" out of the experience. As I said, I know but I do not understand. Human life occurs all around me, and I can not help but watch. An outsider looking in, and I wouldn't want it any other way.

Monday, 18 October 2010

Good Books?

So I put up a page called "Good Books". Basically if I read a book and think it's interesting, or begin reading a book and think it's interesting, I'll put it there with some kind of link. I'll try and keep them vaguely topical, at the moment they're a couple of Robert Greene's books and a couple of Psychology books.

Better the devil you know, after all.

Tuesday, 12 October 2010

Cats and Roads

This night I saw a cat get run over. It got clipped on the head and sent flying by a car, and landed with half of it's head missing and it's eye hanging out, blood pouring over the road. The people I was with looked horrified, one even on the verge of tears. I didn't and still don't understand why, so I just tried to match their expressions as best I could.

The cat was it, seemed, for a time still alive. And it was seizing. It's whole body was shaking violently, the last efforts of a dying body to move to safety perhaps. The image seemed more comical than traumatic.

One of the people I was with said he felt ill, another said he felt "sorry" for the cat, another just stood near tears. Me? I frowned and looked sad, horrified and shocked (a combination that is surprisingly rarely required), but said nothing and definitely didn't experience any sympathy, illness or tears for what is just a dead cat in the road, it's blood flooding onto the black tarmac.

Monday, 11 October 2010

Generic Background Information

I was conceived and born in a working class family, but my "biological father" decided that whilst I was still in the womb, cheating on my mother would be a smashing idea. Long story short, she found out and only six months after my birth I was living with my grandparents, a decidedly middle class family.

I don't really know my "bio-father" because he was presented with a choice between visiting me, or not paying child support. He chose the latter option, and so I don't really know him. All I know are what my mother and grandparents have told me, and some fractured memories, and news that travelled down the grapevine about his activities. Everything I have heard has left me suspecting even if I'm not a (psycho/socio)path, the man was.

Maybe that's where my own "uniqueness" stems? It was often noted as I developed that some of my mannerisms were reminiscent of his, which could be biological, or just coincidence. Either way the man got married at least twice and has at least some children in the world (my "half-relatives", none of whom I have met or are particularly interested in meeting), so he must have been doing something right somewhere along the line.

I was raised in what could be called either upper-working class or middle class by a mother and step-father. Both could be called "caring parents" and I can't blame them for anything. Internally blaming your parents is a cop-out anyway. We all know full well who we are, we all make our choices and we all have to deal with our own consequences.

In my early teenage years, I was definitely the loner and outcast. Foolishly, I didn't try to fit in. I knew everybody around me was different from me somehow, but couldn't figure out how. I describe it as if everybody had been given a blueprint on how to behave, and I had been ill that day. I had to figure out how to fit in based on how others behaved, and that just seemed like so much effort. It seemed easier to ignore people and just move through life as a shadow in the corner. Even now, I mess up. Some subtle rule (or even exception to a rule) I have not yet encountered arises, and people for a brief second see something else behind the smile. Fortunately, they usually dismiss that glance and life carries on regardless.

During those years, people definitely picked up on that I was a void in the room of "empaths". I would sometimes even be randomly attacked with questions like "Do you love your parents?". Very perceptive children, these must have been, to go straight for the jugular like that. At the time my response was a charmingly weary, "uhm...I guess". Not the correct response, it seemed. Do I love my parents? Well, considering the amount of varying definitions of the word love I'm sure one of them must match in such a way that I can answer "yes, of course".

I must admit never understood family ties or "kinship", but I wish no harm on my family and they definitely are better for me well and healthy than they are suffering. So I guess yes you could say I love them, in a very selfish way. Every instinct ingrained into me is screaming not to write that, because it's definitely not something I'd say if I weren't anonymous, but I'm trying to be honest and this is my honesty.

Eventually the importance of fitting in did catch on, as did that whilst confusing and irrational, people were amusing to be around. I suspect the aspects of themselves I found most confusing, irrational and amusing weren't some of their favourite traits, but didn't let that show. In my mid-late teens I caught a lucky break that enabled me to "socialise" more. My previous reclusion, ironically perhaps helped me in this. I could be charming and friendly, and when my attention to the mask dropped and I let something horrible slip out, they dismissed it as me not quite being out of my shell yet.

The social mask seems like a muscle for me, the more it is used the longer I can maintain it, but if I go too long wearing the mask then the social fatigue tends to bring out my more destructive tendencies. Moderation, I have found, is the key to maintenance.

Something I discovered was people responded best to a kind of quirky, flamboyant personality. It meant I didn't have to keep up with sports but could still befriend males, a welcome lack of effort on my part since I've never understood the appeal in watching sports (all I see are people shouting at a screen like apes, as if the screen could respond back. What's the point? Why watch when you can find out the score after the fact anyway?), which seemed to be the key point most of the 'alpha males' bonded around. Woman were more comfortable around the flamboyant behaviour too, and I didn't have to mix behaviours up too much so that avoided suspicions of it all being a carefully crafted act. And I could easily change into this mannerism because, as I mentioned, people who compared me a couple of years ago to the "new me" would simply assume I had come out of my shell.

I've never had much interest in sex, which also may have helped put the females at ease. It's just never been a preoccupation of mine. I don't think any of the labels apply to me. Most men and a lot of woman I know definitely seem to have some kind of physical attraction to people, but I've never felt that particular baseline emotion. I know who is attractive, but it's more like I have a check-list of what is considered attractive and I'm just comparing people to that when I have to comment or consider physical attractiveness.

I guess either "bisexual" or "asexual" are the appropriate labels (or, to sound obnoxious, pansexual), since I can as easily imagine sex with a man as I can a woman. Human sexuality is a complicated thing and, to be honest, I don't automatically get anything positive or negative from the mental image of sex or even pornographic videos. If it suited me to do so, I do know I can perform in both situations. Of course, until a situation arises which "outs" my sexuality or inherent lack of, it's easier to openly identify with the mainstream heterosexuality. Sex definitely seems to me to be more like a means to an end than an end in and of itself.

I nearly miss that early learning period where everything was new and interesting. I made mistakes, but I recovered from those mistakes and carried on. At first I managed to fool myself into thinking I was like the people I socialised with. I never cared for them, but I could pretend I cared. I assumed everybody else was doing the same, they were just ahead of me in the game. I was trying to fake it until I made it, they had already made it. I have since come to know otherwise, and accepted I will never make it. It should depress me, but there is something almost freeing in this acceptance.

Friday, 8 October 2010

On Long-Distance Relationships

People in relationships are fascinating to watch. I've seen some people move lately, and start up "long distance relationships" with their partners.

Why these people maintain their relationships like this makes no sense to me. Logically, they could find another person capable of giving them the same or more as the other person, but who is closer to their present location. Are they too lazy to contribute the effort required in finding their next partner?

For whatever reason (laziness and fear of change even in a changing environment is my bet) they don't do the sensible thing and call it all off. Instead they put themselves through what appears to be considerable amounts of loneliness and pain just for a few moments of expressed "happiness" when they briefly reunite, and then more pain and sadness that follows when circumstances naturally separate them again.

Nothing is inherently special about themselves or their partner. Why not just find one of the many other potential partners? People in relationships need to learn when to cut their losses and maximise their gains. If a long distance relationship becomes the most beneficial relationship possible, it's a sure sign you've found yourself in one of those situations.

Inwardly I have to laugh at the people who do this. I know better than to be so "harsh" as to point out what is painfully apparent, so I play along and listen to their depressed ramblings. I even try and provide comfort when I can (maybe they just like the attention it gets them?), as is dictated by the rules of society. After all, those rules are what allow me to keep them my friends and not make them enemies.

So to recap I don't understand why they say they feel so sad about maintaining the long distance relationship, I don't understand why they insist on complaining so much about maintaining something in their control to end, and I don't understand at all why they don't just find some other person with whom they can drop the "long distance" from that term. I find it staggering they keep the relationship going long after being capable of keeping input vs output balanced has been clearly thrown out of the window...

I am curious to see what comes of their self-imposed suffering and wish I could ask them what makes it worth it in an honest setting, where I wouldn't risk losing their friendship by talking like the "heartless bastard" I am inside. If another person can give you more, or the current person is giving you nothing near enough, why stay with what you have?

Thursday, 7 October 2010

Why Mr Fox?

Fox Amongst Hounds seems an odd name for a blog, does it not? Well, I got the idea from this picture:

Except it had the text "When you are in deep trouble, just keep your head down and act like you know what you're doing". It's a very obvious photoshop, but I like the message. It's how I learnt to be sociable, after all. Learn the rules, follow the rules, and then subvert the rules when the need arises.

One could take the "Fox amongst Hounds" metaphor in all sorts of directions, and it's definitely less threatening than the standard "Wolf amongst Sheep" attitude. After all, Foxes and Hounds are both just different kinds predators.

Wednesday, 6 October 2010


There are some who call me friend. Some who call me an acquaintance. Others, merely "that guy I saw that time at that place". I know of none who call me enemy, but there may be people out there who do such. Wasted energy on their part if they do.

Others who fit into any of those categories still tend to have other words to use in addition with which they would describe me. People seem to like to describe things, give them traits and characteristics.

Some have described me as a complete fake, a person who will "ignore himself" to get what he wants. I can think of many situations I have lied to get what I want. Heck, there is no guarantee that here, right now, I'm not lying. You have no reason to trust what I write. Since I stand to gain very little from lying here, I can afford to be reasonably honest. None the less, I can guarantee if I stand to gain more from lying than telling the truth, I will take the logical and natural course of action: I will lie. Is that not the sensible response?

What makes a person fake in the first place? I have asked this question many times, never got a satisfying answer. So maybe the label applies to me. Obviously I deny fakeness, and even if I were fake wouldn't admit to being fake. People tend to avoid known fakes and that makes the life of the fake so much more difficult. Admitting to it in public would just be pointless and self-defeating, so why do it?

I have also been described by others as one of the most "real" people they had ever met. The conflict in perceptions of me is interesting, to say the least.

I had a discussion with another recently. It was one of those talks which jumps from one random topic to another, I'm sure you know the kind. This conversation managed to flow from friends back home to human morality.

At one point in this conversation a word got thrown around casually once or twice about my views on human morality (or the inherent lack thereof), and the reasons for human action: Sociopath. Obviously they did not mean I was a sociopath, just that I had a "sociopathic" outlook on the world (whatever that means).

"Oh no", you go, "Another of those blogs written by people bragging about how much of a sociopathic nutcase who feasts on human flesh they are!" Well, no. I'm not going to say I'm a sociopath. Actually, medically speaking there's no such thing. Those words may be terms used by professionals and laymen alike, but as disorders they no longer exist. They were once considered to exist, now the various classification guidelines have replaced them with disorders with names like "anti-social personality disorder" or "dissocial personality disorder".

Anyway, I digress. I'm not going to claim to have such conditions. I don't know, and I'm not about to walk into a therapists chair and receive any of those particular labels. It wouldn't benefit my life in any way to paint a target on my back like that, would it?

And now the big question: Why am I writing a blog?

Well, why not? I was bored. It's a bit of a problem for me. Sometimes people bore me, sometimes being alone bores me, sometimes both of those bore me. I can seek out something interesting (video games, drugs, rock and roll, television) and that's what I'm doing: Seeking out something to interest me and writing this mini-essay introduction to a blog has mitigated the boredom slightly. Soon that boredom will return, obviously. At least time has passed between then and now where I was less bored.