Note to the reader; My Pastor at Kirk recently "downloaded" a box of ancient C.P.E.s to me. Some of these are nearly 20 years old. I had a habit of writing these out longhand, and giving him (often) the original. They are now back in my care, and so I propose a morph. Thus far, the clue has been for you that what you are looking at, is an "oldie" has been in the countdown numbering system at the title. Problem: If I have to number all of these things, then I would be able to predict beforehand which of them I intend to someday convey. Since this sounds to me like work; and also since I do this for the fun of it; we conclude thereby that the numbering will disappear. So, your only clue in the future thus that you are dealing with an "oldie", will be the "date" thing in the title. Since I appear to be unable in any case to directly transcribe, and am constantly editing/updating the things anyhow, that "feature" will continue. Thanks for reading this stuff! On with the show.
So, people are curious, and are all the time "asking" (without doing so) the big "Mike-type" question. Sidling around, and indirectly poking; they would really-really like to know; "So, how come you're still not married?". All this, is very much a suggestive process. Few folks directly come out and ask. We wouldn't want to appear crass or nosy, so we will just be crass and nosy; minus the appearance!
Typically then, the conversation drifts over toward divorce (?), then it moseys over toward the issue of homosex? Getting no bites there, the discussion wends it's way over to "Well, do you have any pets? How do you feel about barnyard animals?". So, the basic premise of these, is that sex is so undeniably and awfully powerful a thing, that there has to be "an explanation"! Sex is a "god" whom we "must obey" in this line of inquiry, it seems to me.
So, how best to politely bring up the truth of the matter? How's about this; "If I were a sperm cell, I'd be a really lousy one.", or what about blurting out, "Fighting others, in order to get to where I never really wanted to go, has never made much sense for me."? The way I see it, somewhere in the fine print of the guy contract, is this business of "winning" (key word!) the girl.
As an outsized sperm cell, I am "supposed to want to have but one thing on my mind, RE-PRODUCE!", and to be honest; I don't. A girl can just hint, or murmur a small section of a hint that "she's not interested", or even more grimly "just wants to be friends". Pow, I'm outta there! Okay, so I heard "No", loud and clear (even if she didn't say it), and sister; you don't have to tell me twice! Adios, aloha and auf wierdersehen. If in single minded success mode, "winning" the girl, is the game, then I'm that poor kid who had to play goalie in soccer because nobody else wanted the job. Allowing four points in five minutes, (severely unwinning) and next seeing the faces of "team-mates" as they "celebrate my success" comes to mind. In brief, I am an astonishingly effective loser. It's one of the few things I actually do well. Women want winners. It's about that complex.
Who knows what goes on inside women's heads? First demanding a "strong decisive man", while simultaneously they just cannot abide "people who judge"? Next, they look for a "sensitive individual", while stoutly condemning "wimps"? Oh, and then there is security, read as a six figure income minimum (which trumps all claims); while simultaneously insisting that being "materialistic" is verboten? I don't get it. We end up with a tall, dark, handsome, romantic dancer, who is some kind of cross between Richard Simmons and Conan the Barbarian maybe? The guy is in actuality, royalty (a prince!) and is (of course, "secretly") independently wealthy. Did I mention his alarming lack of "emotional baggage"? And insofar as I appear to be the exact obverse of "Mr. Right", and also in that those girls who are desiring to be pursued by "Mr Right"; are consistently also making it also quite clear! Not by the likes of me. I've never "got" what I'm supposed to be doing here! So, when the inevitable rejection shows up, I do the ridiculous thing, and believe them!
True, it occasionally occurs to me, that perhaps I could transmogrify myself, such that I might somehow become the single minded man of their dreams? That vato who himself is in hot pursuit of success, and also of them? But I get over it. After all, how does one go about becoming something that you are not, in order to please people you don't like? How do you rid yourself. . . of your own self, in order to become what you actually do not want to be, for reasons you don't buy? And, what, by the way, would be the point of that anyhow?
In our society, it is usually considered mean to call somebody a "loser". I wonder, is it also mean to call yourself one? If it is mean, what then; if it remains yet true? We over here in reproduction-land, are all about success, prosperity, influence, fame and whatnot. In short, we are all about being teen-aged sperm cells, directionally focused upon "one thing". But, if one word summarizes my understanding of fems, that would be the word "mean". Just coincidentally, that word applies to the successful also! Now, since the little fact that the one thing I happen to truly excel at in this life. . . is failure, and that I don't even want to be around mean (successful) people, this makes me (directionally) rather like a sperm cell, but one which just happens to be going the wrong way!
In my book, success is the license to "look down" upon others, to gloat, and to mock the efforts of the weak and the misguided. To "succeed" is to (ethically) be okay with despising. My alarmingly successful track record of serial collapse, my batting average of .052 has offered me plenty of first hand evidence, of what being gloated-at, is like. In brief (ala' Harry Truman); the buck stops here! I, for one, refuse that "freedom". "Freed winners" appear in public, rarely as they actually are in private; imperious, demanding, "freely" demeaning the little people. In brief, I don't like people of this stripe (and don't see how I could). I strongly happen to believe that becoming one "of them" (the successful I mean) would generate in me much the same fruit. I refuse the "prize", and so, what's the point of playing the game? See? Secretly, we all think of ourselves; "If I had real money, I'd never treat people the same way that this jackass does". And it is "here"(!) I believe, that the real issue resides. Newsflash; you don't change the power of wealth, it changes you! Power twists, it bends you into it's mold. And that pre-shaped mold is looking "downward". Everybody privately assumes that such a thing would never happen to me. I strongly doubt, just "here".
The successful loser thus sets up an "anti-goal", so as to "not become like" the success. He has tasted what that crud tastes like on the receiving end, and vows to never serve up a dish! To his surprise, he finds that the harder he "tries not to become like", the more of his energies he has to devote to said eradication! The yard is overwhelmed with weeds, and the faster you pull them, the more rapidly they sprout! He officially set out to "not be like", and this very action (appears to, at least) spawn those very traits in him! It's very exhausting being a loser.
True, he occasionally wishes to just reset the whole deal, and simply become another successful teenaged sperm cell, and quit it with all the mental gymnastics. But he gets over it, as soon as he recalls, "I'm not interested in the prize!".
Some people have hobbies. The successful loser's hobby is somewhere amid all the negation of existence of those anti-types he is ever so busy generating (the weeds) while in the process of not-attaining his ungoal. . .or something like that. As a rule, he is a very busy chap, what with attempting the impossible and all. Frankly he is so swamped time-wise with his inner wreckage, he simply hasn't the extra hours to reformat himself as regular sperm cell (that desirable, and single minded success). Moving forward from that imagined reset point, is a day-dreaming hobby for the guy, but in the end, he is always glad that he can't really get there anyhow.
So, to return to our theme, how does a true loser explain why he's not married? Does he just allow others to think privately that he is fornicating with every woman he mentions having had dinner with? Does he allow others to assume he is "gay"? Does he allow others to make the barnyard connection? I cannot speak for other losers (that would be a form of winning after all), but in my case, "none of the above" enters as the strategy. Each of the three bad conclusions posits a kind of "secret winning", and for instance, with the homosex crowd (nowadays) "out of closets", and achieving true political clout, for the loser to be aligned there (especially) would just ruin everything! They are the new teenaged sperm cells. No, my strategy has been instead to "suspend". Having thought it over (for decades) I conclude "I don't get it". I don't come down. . . anywhere! If a guy "doesn't fit", it's because he does not, in fact; fit! "Trying" does not begin to deal with the reality here, and "un-trying" only compounds the problem (damned weeds!). If there was a "fix"; it would violate the cardinal rule of failure in any case, in that; by fixing failure you succeed. But then, this would prove to be a worse kind of failing! There are no "good options" here. Do you prefer better stabbing someone, or being shot-at yourself? Uh, neither? If it's all about the loser finding a "destination", you just can't get there from here.
So, I think that the loser's problem is a (weird) kind of excessive morality. A righteousness of always avoiding mistreating others, and of it's attendant sneering; generates (over time) a hope-less future! When girls say; "Oh, you're hopeless", I often wonder if they ever realize the truth, the sheer facticity of what they just said? It works out as a "standard", of which I suppose He rather frowns upon. A kind of "knowing" develops which is so "deep" that the listener drowns? A wisdom is revealed, so "wise" that it is incomprehensible? We keep generating the reverse of what we intended. Thus, I infer that my "morality" the truly good would find deeply offensive; supposing we ever found any of them, that is. The nice guy loser syndrome is ultimately at war with God, over the very issues of "fair and right". Even the loser ends up realizing that his version of "good" is a mass of abominable nonsense. The loser's moral "high ground" keeps on forgetting one huge item, and that is that he himself (Mr. Loser-pants); is positionally "looking down" at the Almighty!
The loser refusing to snub a mere man, only to end up blaspheming He Who Is; this is progress? For instance, a "morality of niceness" per se, could never approve of Moses singing "Our God is a Man of War!". Refusing to belittle his human neighbor, he yet absolutely shrinks (in his estimation) the Maker of the neighbor? Brilliant. . .The real answer (in His presence) to; "Why aren't you married?" is; "Because I'm significantly nicer than the Almighty! And even I realize (somewhat) how completely crazy that is. No woman in her right mind wants any part of that action!". A woman would have to be nuts to put up with me. And why (prey tell), should I be associating with those lunatics who fail to reject such nonsense out of hand? What do you take me for anyhow? As a "righteous" standard then, the loser develops a strange kind of "unstable plus boring" persona. It is like a distance generating field which keeps others "safe" (from him!). But you must admit, it does (after all), drive off girls, and we (losers) certainly can't argue against that! At heart, he simply refuses to grow up, in that there are no "good options" to grow up into. Loser status is bad, and winner is worse! The High king disagrees, and so the loser is opposed to God, man, and himself. This is his "normal".
Our fallen pattern then, apparently always the one bad choice, versus a worse "opposite", it is this mess which kills hope. With no good options left open, having kids, so to generationally clone this mess forward, is an absolutely terrible idea! Shall I bring this mental wreckage forward into the next gen? I think not! The loser succeeds at not making the catastrophe. . .more widespread? A loneliness almost unendurable, while remaining perpetually alienated, is the price of the package. I bought one, did you? It's junk, but it's the best junk I could do. Even I disapprove of it, and so; how much less does the High One welcome the bankruptcy which is me? That's what I figured out, "all on my own". The successful loser learns how to live without hope, and he disapproves of that hopelessness in him too! Two moralities, one living, one dead, His just ain't the same as ours. . . at all!
His morality isn't like ours. Ours, mostly a finding of ways or reasons to "not do" something or other, which (incidentally) we'd prefer to do; if we could do so secretly. His, on the other hand appears largely as a kind of joy in dancing, a freedom in love, a loyalty to the end. His place has these really juicy pears (see?), which crunch! He's crazy about good wine, "toasts to health", and song. See? His morality, isn't about "not-doing, or not-being", His is about living, and thriving. To do so, He (apparently) "forgets Himself". And here is our best view yet (this self-forgetfulness) of precisely my premier area of inexpertise. How does one "not remember" the pain of never being "good enough"?
My system is all about dying in a "mildly tragic" fashion, and might I add, in a swift and painless manner? His, is about embracing the lonely, dancing with the sad; and taking their place of grief and guilt upon His Own Self, so to free them. He greets death, but never as a friend, and that is basic to the difference between us. View then, two worlds crashing into each other. One is "tragically" going down, one is rising, ever rising from the ashes, glad and (now!) unkillable! Those worlds really have nothing to do with each other, unless the risen One (Himself) takes some interest in ours. He has.
The successful loser is busy (very!) keeping himself unattractive enough to guarantee distance, so as to limit the potential damage (which is within him), being visited upon others. In his refusal to make things yet worse, he "fails to aggravate" the bad situation of life, which is never the same thing as "progress"; but it is better (it would seem) than the other choice! So, in the long haul; losing is about not-living. This strategy itself collapses in the face of the Son of Man; The Living One! If my goal was to "prove" that I'm not "good enough" for women, that usually proves to be an absurdly simple task, and they heartily concur in the estimate. Yet, it (the ethic of failure). . .fails in His presence. If I say, "Stay away, I'm a monster", to a girl, I can get a fair amount of co-operation; and she promptly bugs out. Apply this however to the I AM (that Am), and the sucker blows up in my face! Instead of friendly co-operation, and Him leaving me alone (as He ought), He essentially responds with; "So, you think you're a monster eh? You should see it from My side, you don't know the half of it Bub!. . . AND I love you.". See? He ain't playing fair!
Do not we all very clearly recall the parent drill; "We would all be so proud of you, if only you'd. . . (become a lawyer or a doctor, or such)". The loser concludes; "Apparently then, you are not proud of me now? So you are waiting to be proud? Uh,. . . keep waiting?". Our human rules are very, very clear just here; acceptance comes AFTER achievement. That is what success IS! My morality, has (oddly) become more "righteous", more "righteous" than His? How in blazes did that happen anyhow?
How can He "not see" what I am? Even human girls can see, what a bad bet I am; how come He cannot? What is wrong with Him anyhow? Just how desperate is this Guy for friends? Why can't He just do His job, and get around to rejecting me like every other person on earth? Is He blind? My anger only makes this wretchedness worse, when I begin to rant at Him about Him growing a spine, or whining "When do You ever get around to doing Your job anyhow?". Apparently, my thinking has made even God out as just another ineffective loser nice Guy? Swell. The Dude is thereby crashing in on my turf? This is outrageous!
This swift motion of His to "take my place away" is where the loser loses at losing. Egad, the Loser is become some sort of ersatz winner, based upon the Champion King's astonishingly good track record? I was right! God is become like blind Pappy-Isaac, and switches the blessing. The elder brother walks away empty handed, and rat boy (Wrestles-with God) gets the inheritance. I "belittle" Him? I "look down" on the true Son? And He does not immediately blow me off planet? I'm doing to Him, what I swore I'd never do to any other man? I've become a "winner", and it's awful!
The authoritative command resounds; "Drop your weapons and come out with your hands up!", that is what I was expecting of Him. Expecting Him "to deal with" those insoluble mysteries of the psyche. Passing on hard-but fair advice, or of well conducted and informative talks, on "how best to deal with women"; that's what I expected. or at least something along those lines, you know; stern but sound counsel! I tell you, The Man is ruthless; and is taking my place! Literally true, He hijacked my gig, of being "the world's biggest failure", by "failing" at Almighty levels! View, with me; The Father turning His back on, rejecting His "wayward Son". Of course, the King was framed, and had done no wrong, and yet was punished for it nonetheless! He, the One rejected as "failure" is the Champion "Loser" of all time! That is definitely "not playing fair"! His knife drives directly for the heart. And in His capturing of that, all-else comes with. It "has no choice" but to surrender.
He's a genius you know. And my little self-consistent world collapses. He remains standing, and offers His hand, for me to stand up again. . .with Him! My smug expectation of being eventually able to force a rejection from every-body (including Him!), just folds up and dies at Calvary. In The King of Jews, serial refusal has been refused, and my death-system died! Net result? Hope lives. Or better yet, He lives.
Patiently He endures. . .even me! Finding Him Who Is, (or more accurately, being found of Him) we (incidentally) find we who were, and are; and who we shall be anew. Today, we are rather like amnesiacs who have forgotten mainly our home, our identity and to which family we are of. Patiently He endures. . .even us! In the world-coming those newly-named, recently welcomed home, "remember" (for the first time!) themselves amid their kin. In that glad day, shaking off their "enchanted sleep", they awaken "then" (in that coming "today") really for the first time. And I tell you, those sons are just damned glad to be there! Toasts to health, glad song, crunchy-juicy pears, good wine, dancing princes?
So, you think it will be a marvelous fiesta of light; an immense hall filled with the fiercely glad eh? You should see it from My side! You don't know the half of it Bub. . . AND you are loved!