I have to keep reminding my self to stop asking the Internet for advice. With some people one can do every thing "right" and still be met with disappointment. When one is blatantly robbed I refuse to call that failure. When one is denied one's God-given rights on a whim then I refuse to blame the victim.
This lecture done in Australia, in typically Aristotlean fashion, was by a clean-shaven man who insisted that women were like tests. So basically he went on about things I all ready knew when I met you. How if a woman that you get along with does not want to have sex with you then you're not supposed to give her reasons to; you are supposed to act as THOUGH you did not care.
Ours was a different situation. Honestly I probably possessed enough natural detachment as a Zen man to accept a sexual rejection. I know this for a fact. Because I did. Yet I kept trying. What I could not hide was the extent to which I cared. It was not I who broke the band up; Tapeworm did. How did you expect me to react to that?? We were supposed to meet under totally personal auspices. And now I am reminded of the concept of the Third Person. All these lectures and how-to's reduce you as an Other to an object. They insist that I ought to lie, to hide, or to adapt my feelings to a set of circumstances as though they could be made an object of universal knowledge. They objectify YOU, and not on your authority but upon some one else's. Rilke warns about this in his writings when he writes about the third person in the room who interferes with the respect that each of two people owe to one an other as individuals. Sartre takes that concept and explores it as a sort of jealous torment in his play No Exit. Funny that I was reading Sartre whilst volunteering at the tournament on Saturday the day before that dreaded Sunday Night.
It was Tapeworm that was the third person in the room. He destroyed every thing. Life is not a game. It's not some amusement you engage in for fun. The rules predate the game itself. The first rule is that every one involved must agree to play. The second is that you do not play against people on your team. The third is that you cannot switch teams. The fourth: no traitors. That is cheating. And the fifth: I do not want to play. Not if some one like him can win. And not if he can simply pride himself in having done every thing pragmatically right and pretends not to know what he fucked up ethically.
But you were different! Weren't you? Weren't you? You convinced me that you were. I could see it any way. That's why we had to wait so long to meet. That's why my desires were law. Because God surely appointed you to me. He must have. Women are not a skill! They're not a test. They're not a game. You are PEOPLE. And so am I.
So who were you to reject me?
Were you trying to be typical? Often you sounded that way.
The point is: I don't give a damn about any fucking amoral, unchivalrous trick that he used to get inside of you. I am triggered each time I hear this bald-faced Aussie reference his own exploits. For that is what they truly are: exploitation.
If a guy can by being indirect change a woman's mind over half an hour, he is a danger to society. Even as a debater (or especially as one) I would elect for the opportunist to be shot.
He raped you. That is my position. And nothing will change that. Not now.
The point is that I spent an entire year trying to make YOUR delusional dreams come true. If that does not get me an A on your "test", what ever will? The lies and treachery of some one who used you to cope with his ex's engagement? Who used ME for my connections in the music scene?? I know you wanted that band badly. But what a cunt. You had me seek the companionship of a miserable parasite who BETRAYED me. Shameless of your own betrayal! I could not even SLEEP that night or any other night that I caught wind of the two of you, fraternizing without my permission. My only delight could be within the fact that you hurt inwardly. And I could make it worse. I deserved that.
So again: WHY would you not fuck me?? You owed me. You. Owed. Me.
And do not hide your bullying conceit under the banner of "autonomy". You had no autonomy. He bypassed any rational, ethical inclination you had. He drugged you verbally and drugged you physically.
He raped you.
And practically speaking I was raped as well. For what is rape if not sex irrespective of consent and morality? Well. I did not consent towards any thing the two of you did. And it was at my expense, and so therefore immoral.
So WHY WON'T YOU SLEEP WITH ME?
Are you here to corrupt me?!? I did every thing within my power. For BOTH of you. Where is my reward?? You do not only ACCUSE me of self-interest. You try to REDUCE me to it. Even if it does not afford me YOU. And you I deserve. You alone I deserve. And you deserve only me.
You cannot sabotage my reasoning. I at least am able to remain rational and non-competitive. I at least retain my virginity, my commitment, and my honesty.
Obviously you were on some thing when you thought I could ever play music with him again after what he did. You think I failed your test? You both failed mine. I trusted you both. Trusted. Trusted.
I will not be blamed for that.
To this day your insolent imagery in my ears as it burned my eyes: you were not the better choice.
That was no longer your choice to make.
You owe me. I came back to you. I came back to HIM. Against all decency and intuition. I worked with you to impress HIM.
You fucking nymph.
And STILL you doubt my masculinity and my detachment? STILL you doubt my character? My valour? My forgiveness? My humility? My commitment? My total adaptation as a mate?
And now this fucking Aussie has the gall to brag about some cunt that he got into within half an hour by lying? By hiding his emotions? By refusing to reason and negotiate? As I was FORCED to negotiate, for you could not handle your own SHAME at what the two of you had done to me, and so you projected your own self-entitlement upon me? That you could not admit to your own selfishness, the degeneracy of your flesh, the stolen innocence that was mine to dissolve with my own, the inferiority you felt before my piety, my lingering virginity and sanctity, my blameless private passion, and the ruthlessness with which you pursued that dream career that I had to offer you, at the expense of my own dignity? My fucking nose was bleeding, head was spinning, shock possessing my entire nervous system at the dawning comprehension of what was happening, that all the instruments of Reason had forbid me to believe? And you smiled, as he grins now at his own parasitism, and you LAUGHED at me?!?
That I even braved the exhausting, and yes: INCONVENIENT trek to San Diego State to see you again absolves me of all doubts regarding my stoicism and masculinity. All of them.
To think that that same band was but a fleeting whim to you. As fleeting as your arbitrary and emotive desire to sabotage my meeting with you to run off with some one who had infiltrated my own comfort zone and stole from me nearly every thing I loved.
And *I* failed the test?!? No. Whatever the initial sparks of attraction might have been. It was your obligation to let them fly by like fireflies against a night sky.
You cannot do this.
You.
Cannot.
Do.
This.
You cannot allow him this victory.
You cannot have wasted my time when your own was so precious to me.
You cannot allow him to keep making these excuses and mistakes.
I only agreed to see his ass again under the auspices of reforming him.
You traitorous cunt.
He besmirched the name of friendship that you so wistfully assigned to me by way of marginalization.
You women and your neuroses. Your friend zones are in fact the only space in which any rational man can demonstrate a lasting loyalty. Your tests are lamps to draw in parasites like moths. Your cunts are honey for thieves.
But you were different!!
You said so yourself.
So prove it.
Fuck me.
Sleep with me.
Before I turn twenty-six.
Not because it would redeem your honour.
But because it would redeem your entire gender.
Oddly enough Tony said some thing right once. I guess he really IS connected.
L.S.D. does that.
I passed your test, Alanna.
I remained calm in the face of rejection.
I earned your sex.
The band was a family.
And he broke up that family.
By giving you what you thought you wanted.
But did not deserve.
Because you deserved better.
And now you deserve worse.
Be grateful I offer you even more than I had to offer hitherto.
No one in my band betrays me.
No one I give to takes advantage without asking.
No one.
So take your own medicine.
Be grateful that I made you the exception.
That I offered you this opportunity.
Despite your own decision to betray me.
That I saw you as a victim.
A victim, like my self, of a violent crime.
Of consent won unjustly.
Tantamount to rape.
Prove to me your own masculinity.
That you can be mature enough to see how some thing that had made you happy was wrong. And how being privileged did not entitle you towards this band's continuation. How you do not get every thing you want at the expense of men you marginalize like a stereotypical whore.
And how this is not even remotely controlling. Not compared to the abuse I went through my entire life. The culmination of which was my codependent parasitic relationship with Tapeworm.
Prove to me that women are capable of Reason. You owe me.
Or may be you were right.
May be it was all just your attempt at Power. A merely curious stroll through the land of men.
And you held it not against me that I wanted you so badly. That you respected my diligence and honored my commitment.
That you felt sorry for your infraction and were sincere in your final apologies.
That my time was not wasted.
And that our friendship mattered so much to you that you could not ultimately blame so noble a friend for having let go so despicable a traitor.
And that you will never allow such betrayal to be rewarded. Because you value character above mere tricks of persona.
And you did not know any better.
And accept my forgiveness.
And you understand why I get desperate enough to listen to Aussies give advice that I could never use.
Because the only women that I love are crazy.
And that I was not wrong to defend your honour for two years.
Nor to condemn what I believed you to be capable of.
But that you were too kind to really do.
And that I will get laid.
And do not need tutorials or tricks.
And shaving really is a douchy thing to do.
And I need to stop asking the Internet for advice.
Dm.A.A.
P.S. All so note that were my yearlong attempts to make your dreams come true mere acts of desperation then you were not entitled to their fruits to begin with. I did not owe you the continuation of that damned band. You have nothing with which to attack my pride now.
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