No Job Without the Word Job
The dream of finally working after a leisurely drought has washed away with a surge of anxiety; has cut loose from my mind with the thread of poverty and the dream has been treated with the balm of cynic belief. Figuring out other people has been an ongoing quest for myself but yesterday I learnt something about my ideology. The key I believe to having a good job is not to think of it as such.
When a job feels like a job, where I get stressed, bored and am blasé with my responsibilities then I won’t have it. However, if I was to find a job that I would consider a hobby, that I would love doing. If a job yields the eagerness of getting out of bed for, the will to be creative and not dull then I consider that not to be a job but a gift to open hands.
These Diary entries, poetry, literature, arts, graphics, typing, the gym, playing the piano, all these things I love doing and if someone was willing to give it to me as a job I would not hesitate. Each night I am working anyway but it is the hobby of working on my diary and poetry that makes me so dedicated, that and the love of it. So there you go, ideology, I will not work unless I can consider it work without using the synonym of ‘Job’ or ‘Labor’ in there.
Girls Who Stare When Lyssa Is Near
Here is another thought now as I was in the City on Wednesday. While walking around by myself at Lunch time I noticed all the girls but none of them took a glance at me. The reason I looked at them wasn’t because they were all hot, some of them were half decent but their tight pants, skirts and good looks lured me into a stare. However, I found that when I met up with Lyssa later in my day the girls started staring at me, isn’t that quite odd. From this I have created some more ideology of how attractiveness of the opposite sex in different situations allures and entices their perception.
To begin, I shall share that I have learnt with proverbial adage ‘Women adorn a man’s beauty’. Taking it in the woman’s perspective first, a woman tends not to be attracted by nothing less than a totally appealing man. Men can look at anything half decent, they are not as fussy as women.
On top of that, women do not stare as men do, rather they glance once if they like a man and that’s usually it. From my continual conclusions, a woman who I would find attractive would not care to think of me in the same manner or even look at me if I was alone, (Despite my wearing a suit but I guess everyone does in the City).
Contrasting belief now and using the proverb, when a man has a woman by his side whom he thinks is attractive then a lady of the same attractiveness would then tend to stare (Not just look) at the male. This does draw strange parallels to my life but it seems to be true.
I believe that the girls looked at me so intensely when they pass both Lyssa and I because they are thinking in their head “She’s beautiful and I think I am as beautiful as her so why aren’t I walking with him.” ‘Women adorn a man’s beauty’ is so true because a woman would only look my way and think me more attractive because of the attractive girl I am with.
Why Men Look at the Other Man
The attraction game is quite on the contrary when it comes to what men see as sex appeal. Unlike a woman, if a lady walks past with a man strapped to her hand then a man would be more inclined to look at the other male instead of the woman. The reason I come to this conclusion and drawing parallels from my own relations, I would think in my mind “God she’s beautiful and if she can be with that loser I can be with her.”
The reason I would look at the man instead of the woman if they were together would be because I know if it was me I would hate other guys looking at my girlfriend. When I was with Lyssa I used to get looked at more than Lyssa from guys because of the intimidation factor.
If at all, there would be a quick glance from a distance, one when getting closer and then one once past if I was to look at a woman with a man. Yet, when a woman is by herself or in little groups of women then by all means, I would be staring my tits off.
Back to Being a Beggar
As you might have drawn from the beginning of this Diary, I have nothing. I am once again just a beggar to society. Fate was not with me to begin working again so soon, it has not yielded me good fortune. Maybe my not finishing a full day of work before quitting on Wednesday signals to me that I should pay more attention to things I love doing, like all my hobbies.
Fixing My Chain and My Fate
Maybe working is just seen as another detrimental factor in my life that will take away from what I most love, my thoughts, my Diary and my Poetry. If there ever was a reason for my chain breaking and my fixing it myself, it would have some significance in this situation. I’m sure to have noted this before but the breaking of my chain was a change in my fate and my fixing it myself shows that I need to dedicate more time to fixing things myself. Fate was in my hands and my fixing fate leads this month towards more poetical freedom.
The breaking of my chain has purpose indeed and some that I have not explained as of yet. It came to me at a time when I was at my lowest respect of myself. There was no pay coming in, I was poor, no girlfriend, no social life, no real friends, no Gym and no work. The breaking of my chain was pretty much the final straw.
However, when I broke the chain and decided to fix it myself I took upon a journey to once again find who I really am. Holding fate in my hands I did repair the true disparity of my ambitions.
No one needs not fix my fate, no one should help me, I should fix my own life, my own fate and I should be held accountable for my happiness. Thus, fixing my chain represented the ‘chainge’ (Notably a pun) I needed to show the real me. The real me, where I am independent, self-reliant and care not to be bossed but be the boss of my own work and actions.
For years I have tried to fool myself into believing that I was the kind of person to work well in a team as opposed to by myself, a person who didn’t mind being told what to do instead of doing what comes naturally. The thought of work and being accepted into a nine to five civilization has drained the true empathy to the artistic side of me. One that does not care for the nine to five life, for the side of me that is unstructured, expressive and artful in every sense.
Who Calls Who Now
Before I begin my Poetry I would just like to note two philosophical thoughts that have been arranged in my mind’s composition. I can’t help but to think that the roles of caring between Lyssa and I (or at least the anxiety of calling each other) has been switched around. Ever since Lyssa and I had our last fight our moods towards each other have changed.
Sure Lyssa was the first to call me after almost two weeks but that continual loneliness was breaking on the shards of my mind. Lyssa used to be the obsessed one to call me every night and get all teary and upset but now she is the complete opposite. Lyssa has learnt to restrain herself from calling or even hinting care towards me. That used to be how I was before our big fight and to some degree I still am like that but giving up to the pressure of calling
Lyssa broke from my tradition of being arrogant and stubborn. Promising myself that I would never allow Lyssa to come over my house or for me to even speak to her, I broke my own promise in the harshest way.
Lyssa keeps stringing my dick along by teasing but not fulfilling (even though she appears to be naïve to the fact) and I feel that this is causing me to be the obsessed one, obsessed for satisfaction. Power in the tread of this relationship has certainly been in Lyssa’s hands for quite a while but it has only been strengthened as time has progressed. There was a time when I had the power in the relationship but some time between my confessing to Lyssa about my betrayals and recently power has changed hands.
As the power changed hands I felt the need to satisfy more but somewhere in all my satisfying and Lyssa’s slapping me back in the face I became resilient to her neglect of power. Lyssa now has more power than ever before as I feel the need to call her probably more than she does for me. I slept with Misty Moo for God’s sake and I lust for Lyssa to fulfill my needs but I know the ball is in her hands as the power has alternated.
Dreaming of a Laptop Under the Tree
The second thought is my wish to have a laptop computer, no biggie. When sitting in Hyde Park under the tree I made famous I began to think what it would be like with a laptop computer. Not just a laptop computer but a CD Rom to play CDs and headphones to listen in my calmed state. The gild of the sun stretching across my chest, sunglasses on my eyes and a little blanket for me to sit on as I typed away at my poetry and literate thoughts.
The Laptop would come with a black carry bag, which would have just enough space to fit a couple of CDs. As an artist and poet I would be, I would need artistic clothing. You know, the painter’s hat, the photographer’s vest, cargo pants, the lot.
As we are still on the thought of calming hobbies, I would love to invest in the repair of my racer so that I can buy competitive gear and start racing it again. This used to me my most favored hobby and it can be again with money and dedication to what I most love in life. If only the hobby of getting to know girls was so easy on my confidence, I would love to know all the beautiful girls in the world, some more intimately.
Diary Of A Mad Chaos is a daily diary written from March 1996 until today, of which individual books and book series have been created, namely “The Lost Years” an exploration of young, entwined love, the “Wubao In China (猎艳奇缘)” book series which provides an extensive comparative analysis of the cultural differences between Eastern and Western societies, and the book titled “Foreigner (华人)” an exploration of race relations in Australia.
