tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-245280202011-04-21T18:10:11.713-07:00halfcocked manhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05175773833877652073noreply@blogger.comBlogger11100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24528020.post-1143024140987946532006-03-22T02:01:00.000-08:002006-03-22T02:43:52.046-08:00"Once again, in the world of twelve hundred feelings, all in electric lights - we see what we can."<br />(Bonnie 'Prince' Billy - <em>Even if Love</em>)<br /><br />Good morning.<br /><br />Michael Bywater, in <em>Lost Worlds</em>, has written:<br />"...the bachelor, un-hamstrung by domesticity or the call of the bedsprings, was considered more of a man, freer to preach or fight or build or conquer.<br />Now, he is less. So much less that we cannot acknowledge him as such. He is denied a status, merely accorded a state. He is...single. And when he leaves the room, we glance at each other and the unspoken question hangs in the air. What, exactly, is he? He can't be just a bachelor."<br /><br />He's right. I'm not, <em>just</em>. Hence the title of this diary. My actions have been incomplete.<br /><br />Bachelors boast a Proustian richesse and are able to <em>take rooms. </em>Or else they are Bleaney-type characters, scuffed by experience, pondering the racing news with a watery mouth, looking out on a little plot of land they tried to "take in hand"...<br /><br />Experience is administered through instillation, like eyedrops - blink and you'll miss it. Is it too much to say that time is the puddle collecting at one's feet? If so, I am too young to be standing in anything except a fresh pool of just-fallen rain. It often feels deeper than that, however.<br /><br />Let me tell you what I did last night.<br /><br />I couldn't get to sleep because I thought I was having a heart attack. My chest was pounding in the most horrible way.<br />I wasn't.<br />Instead, I went into the living-room in my pyjamas to look at pictures of beautiful women gorging themselves on huge phalluses.<br />Then, I sloped across the cold tiled floor to the downstairs lavatory where - in hunched, concentrated position - I managed to enable my flaccid penis to emit the barest dribble of semen onto the shiny enamel.<br />Afterwards, against my better instincts, I leant out of the back door - in a different, but still hunched, pose - to smoke a cigarette. I don't own slippers and my feet nearly froze. I walked up the stairs with images of beautiful women gorging themselves on huge phalluses in my head.<br />I got into bed and slept like a baby.<br /><br />Good night.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24528020-114302414098794653?l=half-cocked.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>halfcocked manhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05175773833877652073noreply@blogger.com1