R. A. Davis, c. 2009
Women
As a lifelong confirmed bachelor, the only thing I know for sure about women is this: I don't know a damned thing about women.
Well, there are some things — how could I have survived without knowing at least something about women?
I can close my eyes shut my mouth block my ears and nose, and remember how women smell & how they feel, how women taste, how they look and how they move and all those little involuntary sounds they make under certain conditions, yes, all these things about women are embedded in my psyche.
I love the sound of their voices, even when they're talking in a language I don't understand (usually the case), because somehow they make a certain sense that I can't find by myself, especially when I'm trying real hard to be logical.
I love that for about the last ten years every important message in my dreams has been delivered by a woman, usually someone I've never met & always a different woman. But I suspect they're really all a single Entity able to manifest via an infinity of guises, costumes.
I'm writing this while listening to "Taking the Long Way" by the Dixie Chicks. Thinking about the fortysomething black woman I flirted with on the bus yesterday, and if I ever run into her again I'll invite her to get off with me. Take that anyway you want.
Omygod&goddess, women head up my Bucket List. They end it, too. That's called the "Death of Kings."
I love Sarah Palin, despite my aversion to politics of the Christian Right. Don't know why. Except that 2008's Final Four consisted of two male fuddyduddies, one Tavistock freshman long on charisma and perhaps nothing else, and one woman who speaks straight and who hunts & fishes — which I don't do, having seen "Bambi" preschool, but can certainly respect as long as she eats what she takes. And the press (bless their flinty, mercenary hearts) concedes that she does.
Too preoccupied trying to become a human being to be a feminist. I like being male. Like having some height. Like my deep resonant voice, product of several decades of two packs a day plus lotsa hard liquor. I also like my male equipment — as much for what it gives as for what it gets.
Here's some advice to dudes, from a mostly loser who's learned some things the hard way:
If you're still waiting for the Dixie Chicks to apologize to George Walker Bush, you're an asshole. Go immediately to a porn site so you don't pollute the gene pool.
Still here? okay. BE YOURSELF. Impossible to overstress. BE YOURSELF. If you can't, don't be surprised if your relations with women aren't satisfying, and you end up telling yourself "women play too many games. " You deserve what you get. Look in the mirror, pal.
The major reason men and women have trouble communicating is because women are firmly rooted in something men are not. Men used to be rooted in it too, till they were raised to join armies that went out to kill other men. We men wander around rootless. And it's unfair to latch onto to any woman because you're rootless and she's not — to feed on what her roots produce. Jesus, dude, you gotta be a self-sufficient male!
Whatever this thing is that women are rooted in and most men are not, don't ask its name. You'll know it when you rediscover it.
BE YOURSELF.
And NEVER chase a woman. Because as long as you chase women, you're not gonna get laid.