Amateur Melodramatics

So last night was fun, to put it mildly. Shortly after finishing work and putting up the previous post I get an urgent phone call from a friend. She was absolutely panicked, since she had just had an argument with her ex-boyfriend and he had stormed off, swearing vengeance and that he would return. After barricading the door to her flat she had called me, expecting me to come and help. She is an old friend, if not the brightest bulb, in fact she barely registers as a candle, and I knew the boyfriend concerned. He was not an old friend, anything but, and I must admit that the opportunity to do anything that would foil revenge plans he might have was like sweet nectar in my mind.

Due to all of this I ended up not going home as I originally planned, but instead driving over a hundred miles northwards through traffic from hell, eventually arriving four hours after I left and leaving my car securely parked, after collecting a handy toy which my paranoia insists I keep close to hand in my vehicle. There are reasons for this paranoia, but let us just say that I have been the victim of road rage and leave it at that. Following this me and my little illegal toy made our way to her flat building, and inside.

I should clarify, the little illegal toy I am referring to is nothing serious. I do not keep a gun in the car, I do not even own one, though I do have a stab-proof vest which occasionally accompanies me to areas where I am not popular. The toy is essentially an extendable baton, titanium sheathing over a soft iron core extending from six inches in length to eighteen and weighing in at a comfortable four kilograms. It was bought legally, before the law changed, and personally I believe it is much more tasteful than if I were to start carrying a knife.

After some rapid deconstruction work on the barricade and reconstruction I settled in to help talk a now moronically drunk young girl out of the idea of doing something truly stupid. Her plan was to call on certain old friends of mine from the same area and encourage everyone to go looking for her rather despicable ex-boyfriend. My resolve wavered somewhat when she showed me the list of messages he had been sending to her mobile, the last one sent a few minutes previously. All were unpleasantly abusive, unpleasant in a way which turned my stomach, and became gradually more so as the barrage of communication had continued.

It was another several hours before anything actually happened. My guess is that the ex-boyfriend had been gathering his courage, with the help of certain legal substances and possibly illegal, and building up his rage before deciding to return. Return he did, and spent a good half an hour hammering on the door and cursing in drunken incoherence. Others in the block of flats later claimed to have called the police, but I have my doubts. Then again the area we were in is not known for its rapidly responsive police, mainly due to work volume, so I find it hard to fault them.

Eventually I tired of holding a sobbing girl and lost my temper. The ex-boyfriend seemed somewhat suprised when the sound of a barricade being removed from behind the door appeared, but must have only been startled for a moment as his hammering efforts redoubled. Sadly for him the door opens outwards, and I am of a fairly respectable weight. Not to mention that the door was of fairly heavy construction, good, solid wood. This he discovered when I opened it a crack prior to throwing my full weight against it. The door collided with his much smaller frame, and knocked him from his feet.

There is one particular reason that extendable batons are one of my favourite weapons. Despite the fact that they are relatively non-lethal, at least in comparison to a bladed weapon and when used with care, and not often used there is something intimidating about the 'zzt' sound of twelve inches of metal suddenly extending and clicking into place with a flick of the wrist. Threats were exchanged, various important points were made, and the ex-boyfriend left.

Afterwards we somehow ended up sitting outside in the rain for a while, with me attempting to persuade her that none of what had happened was her fault. I love the rain.

In the morning the police were called again, the council were informed that a certain girl would be needing to move shortly, and my family lawyer was called and put in touch with the lass in order to try and arrange civil proceedings, mainly a restraining order. I then, at last, finally returned to my homestead in order to bathe and relax.

Now, sleep.

The Art of the Insult

I have grown bored on the insults that people resort to in these days of simplicity and convenience. Such thrown insults as wanker, bastard, bitch and so on are simply too light in their substance. They are a fast food format, they are the McDonalds and the Burger King of the slight against another person. They may be filling temporarily, but that full feeling is only temporary, and so lacking in taste and texture that you will soon wish you had another. These insults are truly pitiful, there is no emotion to them, and no impact, they even appear as friendly nicknames on occasion.

What happened to the days when killing insults were used? When people would duel to the death, or be provoked into violence or fleeing by a well-crafted phrase? Why do we no longer take the time to construct an insult that will reduce a person to tears or pale-faced shaking in their boots? Are our enemies no longer worth this effort, or has the diet of flavour-free entertainment robbed us of our imagination and reduced us to simply parrotting those insults and curses we hear through our favourite media?

So I say no more! No more will I resort to this simple, ready-packaged insults devoid of depth and impact. From this moment on any insult I utter will be carefully crafted, unique to whomever I am insulting and with the full force of my passion and belief in the need for them to be cursed or insulted contained within it. No more shall I say simply 'you wanker', when instead I may say 'you are an ignorant cur who should have been cast unto the rocks at your birth and dashed apart by the waves', no more will I say simply 'fuck you' when I can instead throw 'I hope for the sake of the future of humanity that any children you have are still-born and any wife you may take poisons you in your sleep'.

I am now going to research the historical greats of the insult, Shakespeare, Churchill, Wilde and many others besides. I will study their skills and arts, and return armed in verbal warfare.

Missing Words

English is extremely short on words and phrases to describe certain concepts, so I have taken it upon myself to rectify this error with regards to certain topics. For tonight I have chosen the rather obvious topic of relationships. Now it is known my many that the Greeks had three words for love, using Eros, Philia and Agape, each used for different aspects of love but sadly these days simply translated, all three, as just 'love'.

Eros is love as it is generally used today, a romantic, passionate, sexual love. It includes a desire for the body of another person as well as a lust for their companionship. Philia is an almost dispassionate, friendly love, a philosophical and mental love of someone rather than any lust for them. Agape refers to a love for the family, in simple terms, including the spouse. Once Eros has been worn away by the passing years Agape is the name for what remains if anything does.

Even these I believe, were we to absorb them into our language, would be insufficient. Eros for example refers to passionate love, with a touch of lust, but what about those feelings which are almost pure lust, with a touch of philia as an almost seperate feeling about someone? Someone whom you care about, and feel lust for, but not necessarily passion? None of these can be described even by those philosophical Greeks.

So, the different types of relationships, simplified and reduced obviously, that I believe exist:

• eros - an inflamed, passionate relationship, the first part of many relationships where those involved cannot keep their hands off one another
• philia - long-developed friendship, any feelings of lust dealt with long ago so that only an enjoyment on one another's companionship remains
• agape - love for the family, simple, instinctual feelings of protectiveness and care for family
• storge - again stolen from the Greek and changed, feelings of gentle affection. a child's relationship with their 'girlfriend' for example, that slight crush that makes you smile when you think of them for no real reason
• frato - sticking with the Greek theme, feelings more developed than just friendship but still non-sexual, a friend you would count as part of your family
• destro - my own invented word (I think), an obsession with someone to the point where a relationship would be destructive to both, being unable to resist a particular person, and doing anything they ask
• calc - a cold, unforgiving relationship where someone is simply out for what they can get from it and have no real feelings for the other person

I will most likely be adding to this list over time, as I think of more, and others are welcome to add their own.

Miniature Geekiness

Another short entry I am afraid, I have spent far too long tonight cutting, glueing and laminating in order to construct games. This has meant that my imagination for posting has been somewhat curtailed, so I am reduced to writing about some of my more publically-condemned interests. Admittedly I do not quite understand why my interests in games and comics should be less well-regarded than the fact that I regularly sleep with, and pursue, a variety of women but it is thus.

So yes, I am in fact a self-admitted semi-geek. I read comics, I read a lot of fantasy and science fiction, I play roleplaying games both tabletop and live-action and a large number of other games. Since I suspect most of my readers would have little interest in the details of the roleplaying games I have decided instead to focus on the other matters.

One of the main comics I check regularly is something called Least I Could Do, possibly because other than his much more prolific success with women, his personal ownership of his place of living, his very successful work-life and the fact that he seems rarely to wish for the death of his 'friends' I identify a lot with the main character. This is probably the comic that would most interest readers here, so feel free to take a look. It is free, will not cost you a penny unless you pay per minute for your connection.

Two games I have recently acquired, after being exposed to them in Ireland, require a rather sick and twisted sense of humour. One is Final Straw, though I hesitate to mention the topic of the game for fear of being savaged by any person with an ounce of decency, or children. I will admit that the game is absolutely sick, though it does play well. The second is equally as twisted, though less likely actually cause me to be lynched, and is called Hentacle. I will say now that unless you can take extremely dark humour then you should not look at either of these games. It would also be best to avoid them at work, or with children nearby. Possibly with adults nearby as well. But they are both enjoyable games and I spent several hours whiling away the time last week with various people and each of these.

In other news I have decided to break my anonymity, potentially. This coming weekend I am being fitted for a suit with top hat and tails in order to be an usher at my sister's wedding. Despite my most ardent requests I am not being allowed to carry a sword-cane for the wedding. However if I can get a good picture of myself in this suit at the fitting, I will be revealing what I look like for the enjoyment or amusement of my loyal readers.

Sleep now. Work tomorrow. Boss will be in. Great.

As Close As Possible to Home

This little entry is unlikely to be a particularly happy one, though I am in fairly good humour at the moment. I have returned home from my trip to Ireland, or as close to home as I can get at the moment. The last time I actually had a place I could really call home it was a rather shabby, run-down one-bedroom house with a gas fire as the only heating for most of it, a gas stove as the only cooking implement, several items from my various collections hanging from the wall, and second-hand furniture scavenged from various charity shops.

In case you have not worked it out yet, I am talking about when I used to actually have my own place, even if it was rented. You have no idea how much I miss that, just being completely independent.

It has got to the point several times that I have thought about simply vanishing, becoming one of those people who simply vanish in a puff of statistics and low-priority missing person cases and see what I could do.

Not going to happen ofcourse, at least not any time soon. I have too much to do first.

Restless Night

Last night was not a good night. Slave's housemates had some friends round, and evidently decided to experiment with certain chemical substances I would prefer to avoid, except potentially in a clinical setting. I have an absolute fascination with hallucinations, and particularly a condition referred to as synaesthesia, but if I am going to experiment with substances that can cause either I am going to be extremely careful about it.

This led to one of them suffering what is known in common parlance as 'a bad trip' and spending the night on the stairs outside the room I am sleeping in alternately ranting, raving, and trying to break down the door. Quite evidently he was utterly off his head, and completely ignoring the people trying to talk him down.

Personally I just attempted to sleep. There was little I could have done had he actually managed to break down the door except hope that being completely sober and level-headed I would be capable of fending off someone a foot taller and of much heavier build than myself. I like to think that I would have managed, but I have to say that this was the first time in my entire life I have felt that helpless in such a situation.

Normally I can talk someone down from a rage easily, but this person seemed barely able to understand English. Failing that were I at home I would have access to various handy, but non-lethal weapons which are stashed around my room and the house. Okay, so I am a little paranoid, but I have my reasons. Even failing that I would have been able to run away, or call for help.

But in this case there was absolutely nothing that I felt I could actually do, except maybe unlock the door and hope that I was faster than him, and I was not ready to take that chance willingly.

As soon as I get back home I am joining the gym and finding a martial arts class. I want my complete self-confidence back.