tomcdonnell.blog

Mushrooming Awareness - Part 4

2012-02-06T06:07:00.000-08:00

If you have not yet read the preceding parts, you should start at the beginning.

Part 4: Escape

The ground fell away from me and disappeared into nothingness like overhanging cliffs sometimes do in Sonic the Hedgehog. My conception of myself fell away too so that what was left was only the essence of me that existed outside of matter. I now consisted of pure energy. I was shapeless and formless, and my world was an empty grey void, outside of space, stretching to infinity in every direction.

Immediately I was struck with a conviction that this was the universe in its true state. The world I had previously known was a false facade whose detail and complexity concealed the beauty and simplicity that lay beneath. I did not know how the false world had came to be, and what had caused me to become stuck inside it for so long, but I was not troubled by my lack of knowledge. I felt powerful, and under no pressure to find answers to those questions. Since I no longer had a body, I was impervious to harm. I could take as long as I wanted to puzzle through the mysteries of the universe, and in time, I would know all there was to know.

I calmly surveyed the shapeless void that surrounded me. I wondered how I would occupy myself in my new state of existence. This question confused me momentarily, since in a world outside of time and space, my options seemed limited. My doubts were swept aside however when the answer came to me in a flash - I would spend my time in pure contemplation. Yes! And then everything would become clear. As I formed that thought, the rightness of the answer was proven, and the subject for contemplation was determined. The beautiful synergy of that moment hinted at the kinds of satisfaction I could expect to feel following achievements from now on. Encouraged, I settled in, emptied my mind of clutter, and let my thoughts show the way.

I pondered whether one could be happy and fulfilled, if one had no means of sensing or acting on the outside world. I phrased the question in my mind that way, implying that the 'outside' world existed, only because I had pondered the question in my previous life. Then I had been thinking of what fulfillment would be possible for a person permanently locked inside a sensory deprivation tank. I felt that that situation was analogous to my new situation, even though at this point I was convinced that the world I had known was an illusion of some sort. I felt a vague sureness that I would eventually discover how to use my mind to shape that illusion, and maybe even to conjure an illusory world of my own. But for now, since I had not yet discovered a method, the isolated fulfillment question applied to me directly, and finding an answer was of prime importance.

I was deep in contemplation when my thoughts were interrupted by a voice. I listened. Here was an historic moment. Here was proof I was not alone in this new world outside of space. I was relieved. Happiness and fulfillment have always seemed more easily achievable when I have been part of a community, and so I was eager to meet my new peers. I wondered what rules of etiquette governed meetings between super-intelligent pure energy beings when they bumped into one another while traversing the ether. Whatever would be expected of me, I decided, the entity I was about to meet would understand and accept my present ignorance.

I willed myself toward the voice, and in no time, with no effort, I had bridged the gap. The entity spoke. "Tom! Can you hear me?" I could. I could hear and understand the message perfectly. I even recognised the voice. It was welcoming and benevolent, and it was my old friend Dunric. So, Dunric too had crossed into the ether. His mastery of communication by thought impressed me, but did not surprise me. Time worked differently here. Although I figured we had both left the old world at approximately the same time, if Dunric had arrived slightly earlier than I had, in that time he may already have experienced many lifetimes worth of learning.

The question posed by the entity named Dunric had so far been left unanswered. I figured a response of some sort was appropriate, so instinctively I tried to mouth something in reply. But of course, I had no mouth. I had not yet learned to speak in this new world dominated by thought. The entity named Dunric may have inferred from my silence that I was not yet ready to communicate, or he may have left me for a purpose beyond my comprehension. Whatever the reason, his essence dissolved back into the ether, and again, I was alone.

I returned to my ponderings. Long and hard I pondered, but however much my pure energy brow would furrow, I could not find the answer I sought. The secret to whether happiness was possible for one with no means of sensing or acting on the outside world, continued to elude me. My thoughts went something like this: If one was expecting to rejoin the outside world sometime in the future, one could imagine his future and plan his actions in it. The formation of a plan is in itself an accomplishment, and accomplishments bring happiness. But if one was permanently isolated, there would be nothing to plan for. What would be the point in thinking about anything? Then again, what made accomplishments in the outside world any more valuable than conclusions reached in isolated thought? Our only awareness of the outside world is via our senses, and via our brains, which can sometimes override our senses. The outside world is thus indistinguishable from isolated thought in a very real sense. My mind kept going round in circles. For a super-intelligent pure energy being, I was beginning to seem a little retarded.

My lack of progress allowed nagging thoughts I'd been suppressing to break through into my consciousness. The events I have described began to seem a bit too coincidental. It was time for a recap. In my last clear memory of my previous life, I had met with a group of friends and we had consumed magic mushrooms. Then, a series of strange events had occurred, that culminated in, by some process I did not understand, my own escape from the material world, into a new world outside of time and space. Hmm... First the magic mushrooms, then the new world outside of time and space. There now seemed a distinct possibility that the two events were linked.

What if I had never left my previous life, and all my strange experiences were just hallucinations induced by the mushrooms? That explanation was overwhelmingly depressing, and I fought hard against accepting it. My new existence as a pure energy being had seemed so simple and so compelling, and my old life and existence so absurdly complicated by comparison, that I clung tightly to my new belief. Accepting that the mushrooms were the cause of my strange experiences would also mean losing the amazing powers of thought I was convinced I now possessed. That made me even more reluctant to face the truth. Eventually, I yielded. I resigned to the fact that I was not a super-intelligent pure energy being, and that my strange experiences were due entirely to the effect of the mushrooms.

To be continued...

Mushrooming Awareness - Part 3

2012-01-22T05:22:00.000-08:00

If you have not yet read the preceding parts, you should start at the beginning.

Part 3: Disconnection

I was blind and alone. I had asked myself where I was, and found that I did not know. I rephrased the question. Where might I be? I knew that I had consumed a mug of mushroom tea sometime earlier at Gus's house along with a group of friends, and I knew that we had begun walking along High Street Road, with Norton's park being our planned destination. I remembered nothing however that could convince me that I had in fact made it to the park. If the mushrooms had taken effect faster than expected, it was entirely possible that we had become lost or sidetracked, and were now in a place that had never featured in our plan. I estimated that the tea had been consumed about two hours ago, that I walked at a around five kilometres per hour, and so decided that I could be anywhere within a ten kilometre radius of a point mid-way between Gus's house and Norton's park.

I was pleased with the progress I had made with that piece of deductive reasoning. Now, what use was that information to me? What dangers were there to avoid? Roads. Main roads. High Street Road running east/west across the centre of my circle, Burwood Highway parallel to the north, Ferntree Road parallel to the south, and Springvale Road perpendicular to the west. Cars and trucks hurtled along those roads at eighty kilometers per hour. For all I knew, I could be sitting in the middle of Ferntree Gully Road right now. There was no way for me to tell. Not only was my vision gone, I could not feel anything. Or rather, when I felt around me I could not be sure that what I was touching was road, grass, stones, wood, or any other surface I might be in contact with. Sometimes I wasn't sure I was touching anything at all.

If I was on a road, would I hear the traffic? I listened. I heard voices some distance away. A conversation was taking place. Laughter. My level of concentration or interest was not sufficient to determine the identity of the speakers, or what was being said, but the presence of voices told me I was with the others. I was relieved. I decided I probably would hear the traffic, but I might hear it too late, or not know which way to move to avoid a fast approaching vehicle. I hoped the others were more aware of their surroundings than I was.

What if they weren't? What if the voices and laughter I heard was incoherent and hysterical babbling? I imagined the group of us - myself, Pab, Gus, Mikhail, Juan, Dunric, and Aiden, some sitting, some wandering around in the dark, some silent, some babbling incoherently, all with little or no awareness of our surroundings, in the middle of an otherwise deserted Ferntree Gully Road. I imagined a large truck bearing down upon us. My view was from a point high above the side of the road, behind the group, and facing the truck. I heard the loud blast of a horn, and saw the dismally slow reactions of the group. Heads slowly turned around, some in the complete wrong direction. The tyres of the truck locked and screeched as they slid along the road. The collision could not be avoided.

I heard a retch. Oh dear. The trip was turning very bad. Who was vomiting? Was I vomiting? Again I did not know. I saw the same image as described in the previous paragraph, but now we were writhing around on the road in pools of vomit, and had no awareness at all of our surroundings. When the truck came this time there was no reaction. I never believed we were actually on the road, only that that was a possibility. The worst case scenario. The retching sound however seemed real, and that was still very bad. Bad because of the shame of being out in public, out of our minds on psychedelic drugs, and not being in control of the situation.

I thought of how the nation would react if we were all killed by a truck in the manner described. It would be front page news for sure. Advertisements on newsstands would scream "Seven Youths Killed in Highway Tripping Tragedy". The incident would spark a nationwide debate on drug culture among young people. My legacy would be the introduction of new draconian drug laws, and greater police presence at music festivals. That was not how I wished to be remembered.

I made another effort to get back to reality. I felt around with my hands, in front of and behind myself in such a way that if I had been sitting, my hands would have contacted whatever surface I was sitting on. I felt nothing as I did this. Not even the feeling of my arms moving through the air in response to my thoughts as I willed the movements. It seemed that I had completely lost my sense of touch. That was a little troubling. I pondered further. Would I be able to feel pain? I attempted to test this by striking myself on the chest with my fist. I felt nothing. That was very troubling. What if my arm had been severed and I was presently bleeding to death? Would I be aware of that fact? I was unsure.

The list of things I was sure of was shrinking rapidly. While feeling around me in search of the ground, I had been assuming I was sitting down. Now I questioned that assumption and found supporting evidence lacking. I imagined my body acting as if on complete auto-pilot. I could be running right now, I thought to myself. The idea seemed quite plausible then, and still does as I write. I often act or at least carry on acting in an automatic way when my concentration wanders from a task. And my concentration has never wandered so much as that night when I was on mushrooms. For example when reading my eyes sometimes continue following words long after my brain has stopped concentrating on the text. Sometimes when I snap back into consciousness I find myself many pages ahead of where I last remember reading. A similar thing happens when I'm thinking and bushwalking. I snap out of my trance and find I have successfully navigated many metres of ill-defined tracks through the trees, all with no memory of having done so. A similar thing may have been happening during my mushroom trip.

In one final effort to determine how my body was oriented, I willed my leg to move in order to stamp my foot on some solid earth. Despite the absence of feedback I had received when attempting to move my arms, I was unprepared for the psychological impact of doing this and feeling nothing. All my life, the reaction force of the solid earth beneath me had been a constant I could rely on, and the unquestioned fact of its presence must have been foundational in my conception of myself as a space-occupying entity existing in a material world. When I attempted the stomp of my foot and felt nothing - no resistance, no feeling of my leg moving, no feeling at all - my belief that I had a body, and that my world consisted of matter, dissolved.

Continued in Part 4: Escape

Mushrooming Awareness - Part 2

2012-01-20T05:11:00.000-08:00

If you have not yet read part one, you should start at the beginning.

Part 2: Disorientation

We turned into a driveway that was our entrance to Norton's Park and were confronted with a red earth baseball diamond behind a high woven-wire fence. The structure seemed impressive and fascinating. So impressive and fascinating in fact, that despite myself and Aiden having cycled past that very place many times before, we now felt compelled to stop and discuss its merits at length. We pointed out to each other details of the metal joins, and speculated about what methods may have been used in its construction. The scale of the operation was difficult to comprehend. We tried to guess the number of dump-truck loads of red earth that would have been used to form the diamond, but failed to come up with a reasonable answer after abandoning an attempt at a calculated estimate.

When we realised that we had been become lost in conversation and had forgotten the purpose of our walk, we laughed then quickly continued along the path to a car park where we spotted Pab's car. I was relieved to see that he and the others had arrived safely. They had been waiting for Aiden and myself to catch up, and so when we did it was time to begin our trek into the forest.

The paths through the trees were narrow and winding, so we trekked single file. For most of the time we were silent, but occasionally someone would remark on what strange effects they were seeing, or that the mushrooms we had tonight seemed to be stronger than those we'd had previously. I was busy in my own thoughts and could only silently nod in agreement upon hearing such observations.

Mikhail and I had been lagging and after a while we became separated from the rest of the group. This was of some concern to me, since I did not know my way around the park, or where in the park the rest of the group were headed. I was walking behind Mikhail, and had been assuming that he knew where he was going. As our pace continued to slow I watched him and became convinced that he did not.

Mikhail spoke occasionally, and when he did his words were expressions of vague doubt. "I don't feel so good," "I don't know about this," he would say to himself as he wandered around, seemingly lost, with his arms feeling the way in front of him. He looked like a shell-shocked conscript, soon to be captured by the enemy or picked off by a hidden sniper. The others were occupied elsewhere, and so fate had cast me in the role of supporting soldier. I kept him under close supervision. Sometimes he would stop and call to me. "Tom! Where are you? I can't see you." When he lost me I would tap him on the shoulder and attempt to reassure him that all was well and we were safe. Sometimes when he claimed he was unable to see me he was looking directly at me.

I was having problems with visibility too, but not yet to the extent that Mikhail seemed to be. As I looked around everything I saw seemed to have been bleached. I figured the lack of contrast was a natural result of the excess light my eyes were receiving through my hugely dilated pupils. Sometimes I thought I saw a grey diamond grid overlaying everything, as if I was peering through a woven wire fence. I may have been seeing a visual echo of my earlier view through the fence at the baseball diamond. Other times it seemed that edges of objects in my view were lightly highlighted with speckled colour, similar to the effect sometimes seen when compressed digital images become corrupted. These effects came in waves. At the peak of the waves, discerning objects from the background was difficult, and I was unable to follow the path. At the troughs I was able to follow the path, but at a rate significantly slower than would have been possible without the mushrooms.

I figured Mikhail at that time was experiencing similar effects, though at a greater intensity. Watching him was like seeing myself in the worryingly near and fast approaching future. Having heard Mikhail's comments about his vision, I expected to lose my vision soon, and that is exactly what happened. The contrast between the greyish bark of the trees, the grey stones of the path, and the light yellow dried out grass of the undergrowth became so poor that I could no longer follow the path. I called to Mikhail. "Mik, I'm right with you now, I can't see a thing. I think we should stop for a while, since it would be dangerous to move."

Mikhail's faint response was uncertain, but in agreement. I crouched down but remained on my feet, as I realised that I had not taken note of my immediate surroundings, and so was unaware of what dangers were lurking around me. I felt with my hands to make sure the ground was suitable for sitting on, and when I was satisfied, I sat. Despite the loss of my vision, I still felt in control. My plan was to wait until my sight returned, enjoying whatever effects the mushrooms brought me as I did, and then to resume walking the path. I explained my plan to Mikhail, who was a few metres away from me somewhere on my right. Then I settled in for an extended period of rest and recuperation. To pass the time I pondered my strange predicament.

The previous day I had been working at my part-time job as an electronics lab technician. It was a very modern workplace, with computers and high-tech machinery used in a tightly regimented small-scale production line. I would have to return to that job the morning after next. Presently I found myself seated alone in the middle of a forest, blinded and immobile, with night fast approaching. It seemed as if I had stepped thousands of years backwards in time, to when man's only source of illumination besides sunlight was fire, and when a lone hunter roaming the woods would often find himself far from a campsite when darkness fell.

The reason I had chosen to participate in the mushroom trip had a lot to do with that image. I would have passed on the opportunity had the drug been a modern one such as acid or DMT, but mushrooms have always grown naturally, and so I imagined that throughout the entire history of man, accidental consumption would have resulted in a few lost hours of confusion and strange behaviour for unwitting or lost foragers. Therefore I viewed mushrooms as a natural part of the environment of man, and I felt fine about a little experimentation.

I mused for a while longer on how a prehistoric man, returning from a mushroom trip, would explain his unscheduled disappearance to his fellow tribesmen. A grunt, a raised eyebrow or two, some shrugs of shoulders, and that, I figured, would conclude the investigation. The experience would be purged from memory, and the tribe would go back to hunting and foraging.

My thoughts drifted back to the present day. Now, where was I? I was surprised to find that I hadn't the faintest idea. Just as I had imagined the memories of the cave men disappearing as they returned to their normal routine, my context switch from present to past then back to present had resulted in the purging of my own short-term memories. I was now not only blind and alone, but lost in a more profound sense than I had ever been before.

Continued in Part 3: Disconnection

Mushrooming Awareness

2012-01-18T02:27:00.000-08:00

A few years ago I experimented with magic mushrooms. The first few times I tried them, the experience was quite mild. I noticed a few strange visual effects, and became fascinated by things around me that a straight person would not have found at all fascinating, but for the most part I could still function as a normal person. I could sense and avoid dangers around me, and I could communicate effectively with other people.

The next and last time I took magic mushrooms was only a few weeks after my first experience. I had what I thought to be the same dosage as the earlier times, but the effect was on a whole nother level. In this series of posts I recall my thoughts and experiences during my one intense mushroom trip.

Part 1: Preparation

On the day of the trip, I rode my motorcycle to a Glen Waverley house that was owned by the parents of a friend of mine named Gus*. The basement of the house had become a hangout for the group of friends I socialised with at the time, and five others were already there when I arrived. Present besides myself and Gus were Juan, Dunric, Aiden, Pab, and Mikhail*. Dunric had brought mushrooms that he and Pab had picked earlier near Dunric's house in Doncaster. The previously arranged plan was to meet at Gus' house in the late afternoon, brew some mushroom tea, drink it, then move to nearby Norton's Park to enjoy the trip amongst the trees and natural surrounds.

Dunric, Pab, and Gus were busy preparing the tea when I arrived, and a short while later Dunric announced that the tea was ready to drink. He emerged from the basement carrying seven mugs on a tray, and Gus followed him with the teapot. All were gathered in the bright afternoon sunshine as the drinks were poured and passed around. It was a beautiful day. Some added honey to improve the taste of the tea, then we held our mugs and looked around nervously until Juan broke the silence. "Well, are we going to drink this stuff or not?"

We had reached the point of no return. All who were present raised their mugs and met the eyes of the others in the circle that had formed. We clicked our mugs together in silent ceremony, then downed the beverages quickly. Most of the group left their dregs behind, but I scooped them from the bottom of my mug with my fingers and devoured them all. The taste was not unpleasant.

I had assumed we would all walk to the park as we had done on previous occasions, but as I was preparing for the walk, Pab announced that he intended to drive. That did not seem such a smart idea to me, so I reminded Pab that he had just ingested an hallucinogenic drug, and that the effects of that drug would likely impair his driving ability. Pab was no fool however. He remembered clearly the mushroom tea he had drunk less than a minute ago, and was well aware of its likely effects. He argued that the mushrooms would not kick in for at least another half-hour, and since the park was only five minutes away by car, he would arrive long before he was affected. Pab's decision worried me a little, but I realised that further argument was futile. I ended up walking to the park with Juan, Dunric, and Aiden, while Gus and Mikhail rode in the car with Pab.

A short while later, as Juan, Dunric, Aiden, and I were walking along a service lane of High Street Road, in a rush of heightened perception I became aware of the effect of the mushrooms. I stopped and looked around at my suburban street surroundings, studying the subtle distortions that had begun to appear. I looked at Aiden who had stopped too, and saw that his pupils were hugely dilated. He looked at me and his excited but apprehensive expression must have mirrored my own. Aiden suppressed his giggling long enough to express our shared thoughts in words. His prediction: "I think we're in for a hell of a trip."

* Names have been changed to protect the privacy and dignity of those concerned.

Continued in Part 2: Disorientation

Fishing for Meaning

2011-09-01T05:49:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I've posted anything, so here's another one from the past. A symmetrical dialogue, inspired by Douglas Hofstadter's Crab Canon from Godel, Escher, Bach.

BANKER:: Good day, my friend.
FISHERMAN:: It certainly is. I enjoy talking with you. It's been a while since I've seen you.
BANKER:: Providing for one's family, while sitting on the boards of the fragile banks, is a thing that can take up all of one's time. But it is also a thing that can bring one much pride.
FISHERMAN:: Indeed. How did you cope with the recent crises?
BANKER:: You mean the panic, shortages, collapsing banks, etcetera?
FISHERMAN:: I do. I have been up to my armpits lately, wading through all kinds of muck. But I always get by. These areas were densely populated not so long ago. Now one can work all day without seeing another soul. There is much to worry about these days.
BANKER:: Many have been struggling to find a meal lately. But I am surprised by your level of concern. You are one who always seems to cope well with adversity.
FISHERMAN:: So I am. That is the reason I have caught so little, while others have struggled with the weight of their load. But I think the main reason for my poor fortune is that those responsible for the management of the banks have acted incompetently.
BANKER:: You are out of line.
FISHERMAN:: I'm sorry. I did not intend to be critical of you personally. I am just struggling to find a reason why my yields this season have been so low. Perhaps you could check my setup. Am I doing something wrong?
BANKER:: Fund management is a difficult and thankless task. One must try to be completely objective when making decisions. But I am not to blame for your problems. And I am tired of talking about banking. Tell me of your fishing.
FISHERMAN:: I'm sorry. I did not intend to be critical of you personally. I am just struggling to find a reason why my yields this season have been so low. Perhaps you could check my setup. Am I doing something wrong?
BANKER:: You are out of line.
FISHERMAN:: So I am. That is the reason I have caught so little, while others have struggled with the weight of their load. But I think the main reason for my poor fortune is that those responsible for the management of the banks have acted incompetently.
BANKER:: Many have been struggling to find a meal lately. But I am surprised by your level of concern. You are one who always seems to cope well with adversity.
FISHERMAN:: I do. I have been up to my armpits lately, wading through all kinds of muck. But I always get by. These areas were densely populated not so long ago. Now one can work all day without seeing another soul. There is much to worry about these days.
BANKER:: You mean the panic, shortages, collapsing banks, etcetera?
FISHERMAN:: Indeed. How did you cope with the recent crises?
BANKER:: Providing for one's family, while sitting on the boards of the fragile banks, is a thing that can take up all of one's time. But it is also a thing that can bring one much pride.
FISHERMAN:: It certainly is. I enjoy talking with you. It's been a while since I've seen you.
BANKER:: Good day, my friend.

Of Mice and Children

2011-07-10T05:25:00.000-07:00

First, a warning. This story starts innocently, sweetly even, but ends with some of the most gruesome imagery ever to have entered my visual cortex. Those prone to queasiness should consider leaving this story unread, and skipping to a lighter, cheerier read.

Prelude

The story is set in and around my parents house, at a time when my sister was about ten years old, and I was a couple of years older. A young friend and neighbour had given my sister a few pet mice as a gift. My sister kept the mice hidden from our parents in an aquarium-style cage under a shelf at the bottom of her wardrobe.

For a short period after she was given the mice, my sister was very enthusiastic about keeping them. She would rush home from school, then disappear into her bedroom, where she would take the mice out of their cage and teach them to perform tricks. Her training method involved offering small pieces of cheese as a reward for acrobatic feats or cleverness. Sometimes, when she thought she had a new trick perfected, my sister would invite me and her other siblings into her bedroom to serve as an audience for her amazing mouse circus.

The mice and the circus kept my sister amused for a couple of weeks. Soon after however, the pain of chores associated with ownership of the mice began to outweigh the pleasure she derived from keeping them. She became neglectful of cleaning their cage, and then the smell of the mouse droppings provided another reason to resent the impact the cute little creatures had had on her otherwise carefree life.

My sister faced a dilemma. She wanted to get rid of the mice, but could not bring herself to release them into the backyard, knowing that if she did, the mice would likely be caught and killed by the family cat. Also, there were plenty of other ways the mice could be accidentally killed if they were set free - they were so small and fragile that they had almost been trod on and killed a few times already when they had been allowed to run free around her bedroom.

The solution my sister settled on was to continue to keep the mice in their cage, but to store the cage in a old disused tin shed in our backyard. She very loosely figured that she would tend to the mice from time to time, and that she might grow to like them again if only she did not have to live with them constantly. To allow the mice to survive for extended periods between her visits to the shed, my sister devised an ingenious slow feeding mechanism consisting of a Milo tin with a small hole in the bottom. She filled the Milo tin with birdseed I think.

My sister was not a very dedicated carer, and so predictably, a short while later her carefree life of dress-ups and pool parties resumed, and she forgot all about the mice. I forgot about them too.

Shock

A month or perhaps two months later, after searching the house for an old toy or bike part or piece of sporting equipment maybe I expanded my search to the backyard. I beat back the ferns that surrounded the entrance to the old tin shed, then slid back the bolt that held the door in place. The thin door wobbled outwards on its own due to the shed's age and shoddy construction. The makeshift wooden chipboard floor was bloated and damp due to the leaking roof. Only when I spotted the aquarium-style cage in a dark corner of the shed did I remember about the mice. I hesitated, having no clear idea of what might have happened to them after the long period of neglect, but nonetheless being filled with vague premonitions of unpleasantness. The shed was too dark for me see anything looking through the glass, so I picked up the cage and carried it out into the light.

Strangely I don't remember anything about the smell of the cage, but I remember the sight. As the bright summer sun shone through the glass walls of the aquarium, distinct red smears became apparent. The smears were about two centimetres wide and rose from the bottom of the glass walls to about a third of the way up. There were about ten smears in total, spread haphazardly over all four walls of the cage.

Inside the cage was more red. Red was everywhere. The spinning wheel and other mouse toys looked like heavily used and never cleaned instruments of torture. The white fur of whole and partial mice was littered about the cage floor. I remember a mouse near the centre of the cage, largely intact but with its innards having been eaten out and the red of its body cavity contrasting with its exposed thin white bones and the clean white fur of its exterior.

Before I had come up with a satisfactory explanation for the apparent massacre of my sister's pet mice, another sight inside the cage confused me. I saw a row of little pink piglets - plastic toy farm animals about a centimetre long from a play set that was kept inside the house. That those plastic toys had at some point been given to the mice seemed the most likely explanation initially, but I soon realised that what I was looking at were not plastic toys, but hairless, newborn, baby mice. A glance around the rest of the cage confirmed that the newborns were not the only additions to the mouse population. Adolescent mice about three centimetres long were among the mutilated.

The horrifying reality of what had happened dawned on me. The mice had bred to the point where the bird-seed food supply was no longer sufficient, and had turned to cannibalism. The red smears had been created by a mortally wounded mouse, trying vainly as it bled to death to escape the hell of its surroundings by throwing itself against the cold and unyielding glass walls. I shuddered at the thought of that poor mouse's agonising last moments.

While in shock I looked over the cage for any signs of life. I found a single live, fully grown mouse, quivering in a corner of the cage, partially hidden under a small plastic shelter and peering out with frightened eyes. There may have been others not so obviously alive, but those frightened eyes are all that has stuck in my memory. The quivering mouse was surrounded by the aftermath of a life and death cannibalistic struggle that no creature should ever have to experience. I wonder how the mouse felt about its victory.

What I did with the mice and the cage I have blotted from my memory. Most likely I tipped the contents of the cage into the compost heap at the back of the garden, hosed out the cage, then returned it to its place in the old tin shed.

Reflection

The thing that struck me most about this gruesome episode was the appalling amount of suffering that was caused by such a minor lapse of judgement. In most circumstances, the upper limit of suffering that can be caused by an action is the loss of life of all who were present when the action took place. Future Hitlers of the world should take note that there is no limit to the amount of suffering that can be inflicted if breeding is allowed.

Book Review - American Psycho, Brett Easton Ellis

2011-07-07T04:06:00.000-07:00

Following on from my previous post, a book review written a couple of years ago, shortly after I read the book.

An extremely entertaining read. The book alternates between chapters that are amusing (descriptions of the interactions between a group of entirely self-centered people), shocking (graphic descriptions of killings), and seemingly irrelevant (intellectual critiques of popular musical groups).

The most effective humour involves meetings between the main character (Patrick Bateman psychopath) and 'real' people as opposed to the entirely self-centered cardboard cut-outs of people that make up the majority of the characters. Patrick and his peers are for most purposes of social interaction interchangeable since they all look and dress similarly and discuss only the most superficial of topics (eg. restaurant menus, dress etiquette, gadgets). Patrick and his peers do not seem to care who they are speaking to at any given time, frequently mistaking each other for other people with little or no consequence. When 'real' people who ask questions with more depth (eg. Patrick's ex-girlfriend Bethany, his secretary, or the private detective) enter the scenes, Patrick does not know how to respond and hilarity ensues. I could not contain myself and laughed out loud while reading this book on the train on a few occasions.

Another thing I liked about this book was the style in which it was written. Normal rules of grammar are disregarded. Some chapters start or end mid-sentence. Italics are used liberally throughout. Sentences regularly exceed a third of a page in length. Despite this, the prose flows. This book expanded my view of what creative writing can be.

Get to Know Me

2011-07-06T06:27:00.000-07:00

A couple of years ago I had fun with a facebook app called Get to Know Me. It was a simple app consisting of a few short questionnaires. The questions were mostly only one or two words long, designed to prompt similarly short answers. However, there was a generous limit to the length of the answers accepted, and so I had fun trying to shape my answers so as to form a conversation.

Here are two Get to Know Me questionnaires, reproduced for your amusement.

Basics

Full Name:: Tom McDonnell
Single or Taken:: There's just one of me... What do you mean by 'taken'?
Sex:: Taken by sex? No not presently. Now's not the time.
Birthday:: Yes. That would be a better time. On the evening of my birthday, visit me.
Sign:: When you approach my door, knock thrice in quick succession. I will be waiting.
Siblings:: If you have attractive sisters, then by all means bring them along.
Eye colour:: What you have on now is fine. But make your sisters look like whores.
Shoe size:: Go for style rather than comfort. You will not be wearing them long. High heels.
Height:: The higher the better. I trust you can walk on them elegantly?
Country born:: That is unfortunate. A lower heel then. What vehicle will you be arriving in?
Innie or Outie:: Take the Audi. I have not heard of that first make and so will not recognise it.
What are you wearing right now:: My chainsaw chain is in need of replacement. Err, I mean - A double-breasted three-piece pin-striped suit by Louis Vuitton.
Where do you live:: On Wall Street.
Righty or lefty:: Take a left from Broadway when heading south.
Any pets:: Excellent suggestion. Nothing excites me more than to see and feel a soft, warm, furry animal, rubbing and nuzzling against me, blissfully unaware of its impending violent death. Bring any pets you and your sisters may have.
Where do you work?:: On Wall Street.
When did you start using Facebook?:: I don't know what you mean. My tan is naturally radiant.
How much time do you spend on Facebook a day?:: I told you I have not been to a salon in months.
Do you own a cell phone?:: I work on Wall Street.
Do you like to text?:: TuTechxt though German, are an inferior manufacturer. Stick to the Japanese.
Play an instrument?:: Another good suggestion. I shall seduce you with sax.
Have any Tattoos?:: No, but if you have needles and ink, bring them along. We can have some fun with those items.

Favourites

Favorite kind of pants:: Thank you detective. But what of these two corpses?
Favorite Number:: Mine too. There is something alluring about a pair. But that the dead number two is pure coincidence.
Boys Name:: I did not know his name. Pity his face was so badly burned. Perhaps his name is Ash.
Girls Name:: ...Pamela? Even dead she is ravishing. Though her blood has stopped, mine is pumping.
Animal:: Detective, lust though admittedly primal, is concomitant with man's nature as well as beast's.
Drink:: Alcohol has nothing to do with it. When I taste lust's sweet elixir, I feel a competitive urge akin to...
Sport:: Yes! Exactly that. But I digress. Where were the victims found?
Fast-Food Place:: I see. And how long had they been in the freezer?
Month:: That long? Pamela still looks deliciously fresh. I so enjoyed her strip shows. Unfortunately I was -
Band:: Yes. Following an incident involving a gerbil and a can of mace. But if you'll excuse me I have something to return.
Movie:: Thats right. I'm returning videotapes. I must return "Rapefest at Tiffany's".
Breakfast:: No. What I said was - Never mind. Detective you are wasting my time. You have nothing on me.
Perfume:: The gerbil in that bottle had nothing to do with the one at the strip club.
Cologne:: So my cologne bottle contained fragments of her skull. So what?
Favourite cartoon character:: The Bananaman tattoo I gave her is completely unrelated to any act I may later have performed.
Color:: That the color of the paint found at the scene exactly matches that of my car I suppose does need explanation.
Food:: For thought? Indeed. What must I do to clear my name?
Ice Cream?:: Must you talk in euphemisms? If a semen sample is necessary, I will provide it. All I need is a cup.
Shoes:: You offer me your shoes? Very well. Give me the shoes. But I can't fill them here.
Place to relax:: Yes. Somewhere private. I am not an exhibitionist when it comes to things of this nature.
Magazine:: I need no stimulation. My imagination alone will suffice.
Person to hang out with:: A seductive female officer though could be of welcome assistance. At the clinic I'm left all alone.
Place to go on the weekends:: That's right. I visit a sperm clinic on weekends. Normally what gets me off is to imagine a girl in her negligee...
Thing to wear to bed:: Helluva thing. I don't know about you, but even thinking about it is getting me randy.
Time to shower:: I know, I know, but I'm so close and you still haven't given me your shoes! Hurry up man! I told you I need to return some videotapes.
TV show:: No, damn it. A movie. I told you, "Rapefest at Tiffany's".
Season:: I believe it was set in Spring.
Holiday:: We all need a holiday. Your job ain't so tough. Pushing goddamn pencils all day.
Smell:: Occasionally you must visit the morgue, granted. But to me this place smells terrific.
Perfume/cologne:: Yes. A very arousing scent.
Memory:: O how it haunts me! That night at the fast-food place!
Book:: No! I've slipped! Your treacherous questions have befuddled me!
Thing about the opposite sex:: They seduce you with their looks and charm, then when you beat off on their corpses, you get booked!
Cereal:: I'm not sure two victims qualifies me as a serial killer.

Evidently the questionnaires above were completed at a time when I was reading or had just read American Psycho, by Brett Easton Ellis.

Advice for Car Buyers

2011-07-02T00:03:00.000-07:00

My mother is planning to purchase a new car. I visited her recently and found her sitting at her kitchen table with an old friend of hers, whom I'll call Madge. They were discussing the relative merits of different car makes and models. While I removed my jacket and hung it on a chair I began listening to their conversation.

"Get a Magna," Madge said. "I've been driving one for ten years and I've never had any trouble with it."

That's odd, I thought. I've seen Madge visit my mother many times, and never seen her drive a Magna. My mother's reply indicated that she was also confused.

"Do you have two cars?"

"Nope. Just the one."

My mother and I paused to think about this apparent contradiction. My mother was the first to formulate a question.

"Hmmm. Do you often borrow your husband's car?"

"You know my husband would never let me borrow his car!" Madge joked, "But I'm not bothered by that, since I love my Magna so much!"

My mother smiled but then struggled again to find an explanation for the fact that when Madge visited, she often if not always, arrived in a car that was clearly not a Magna.

"Have you been borrowing a car from a friend?"

"Why would I do that, when I have a Magna that I love?"

Madge was becoming confused too. Her and my mother's brows were furrowed as they tried to read each other's thoughts. My mother then looked to me, as if to ask whether I had made any sense of the conversation. I tried to help by taking over her questioning.

"Did you drive the Magna here today?"

"Yes! Like I always do!"

"Where did you park?"

"Right outside the house!"

I opened the front door and looked outside. There was one car in view. It was yellow, and not a Magna.

"You mean the yellow one?"

"Yes!"

"The one that says 'Falcon' in big letters on the back?"

Silence filled the kitchen. An ashen look fell on Madge. She had searched for reasons to support her belief that her car was a Magna, and found nothing. It was probably the first time in years her mind had dwelled more than a passing instant on the car she drove almost every day.

There was no need for me to say anything else, and so after exchanging concerned glances with my mother, I left the conversation and the room.

Madge drove an XF Falcon. I cannot explain how she came to believe it was a Magna, and how she failed to notice the big 'Ford' and 'Falcon' badges, and how she failed to notice people around her referring to her car and similar cars as 'falcons'.

There is a moral to this story, and the moral is: If you seek car buying advice, seek it from someone who knows what kind of car they drive.

Textual Favours

2011-06-04T11:15:00.000-07:00

The following is an annotated record of a text-message correspondence that occurred over a few days between myself and an anonymous female. I have attempted to tell the story a few times to friends, but each time I have forgotten crucial details or the order in which messages have been sent and so the story has come out garbled and incomplete. In order to do the story justice I have decided to write it down.

The text messages are printed verbatim. The received messages are timestamped, but the sent ones are not due to that feature being absent on my phone. Some of the content I find embarrassing, but to edit or omit parts would change the honest nature of the piece. I hope that readers will enjoy an insight into the mind of a good natured but socially inept male as he deals with an unlikely and tantalising offer from a female stranger.

The story starts one afternoon as I was working at home on my computer. I received a text message from an unknown number.

2010-03-06 12:32pm
U up 4 some fun?

The friends I regularly exchange text messages with do not tend to use the type of abbreviations that the received message contained, so I was immediately suspicious. I have on rare occasions received spam texts before, and my mobile number was at the time available online on my facebook profile. I figured the sender was likely a marketer (machine or human) maybe from an internet dating website. There was also the possibility that the sender was a not-so-well-known friend who was assuming I had their number stored in my phone. I sent the following reply.

Me:
Maybe. Identify yourself. I don't know who you are.

A few minutes later I received a response.

2010-03-06 12:36pm
Blond hair, blue eyes, 5ft 2, slim 2 medium build. Up2 u.

The response in my mind almost certainly confirmed the internet-dating-site scam theory. But since I was curious to know which site and how they got my number, I asked again.

Me:
Give me your name, and tell me how you got my number.

2010-03-06 12:40pm
I dont c how thats important. U either want fun or u dont.

This response told me that the marketer was human, not machine. I enjoy communicating with humans, and I figured that even if this person was only interested in my money, since we were texting I could simply ignore him or her if he or she become annoying. Also the closing statement had an undeniable logic, suggesting that the person could be reasoned with. I played along.

Me:
Sure then. I want fun. Who wouldn't want fun? What comes next?

2010-03-06 12:44pm
Tell me what u look like?

I was disappointed by this response. The marketer had not done his or her homework. My photo is displayed along with my mobile number on my facebook profile, and also I have a personal website that contains photos of me. If the marketer had got my phone number manually from the web, then he or she was just plain lazy and hadn't bothered to read my profile. Alternatively the number could have been read from a large list of phone numbers automatically gleaned from many web-pages. Either way I did not want to waste time talking to someone who knew nothing about me, so I sent a closing message.

Me:
If you don't know who I am, then I see no point in continuing this conversation. Call some other random person. Good luck with whatever it is you hope to achieve.

2010-03-06 12:50pm
Ur loss. Who knocks back a fuck.

This response was consistent with my hypothesis, so I considered the matter closed. A few hours later however, I was a little surprised to receive another text from the same number.

2010-03-06 04:55pm
If u dont want it. Do u have any mates that are?

I figured that maybe a new employee was struggling to meet his or her quota of suckers for the day, and as home-time was fast approaching, he or she had decided to re-try those few leads who had actually responded to the first message. I felt some pity, as the marketer obviously had a low level of literacy, and might struggle to find another job if fired. Since I was at home when I received this message, and two of my housemates were nearby, I verbally forwarded them the poorly worded offer, along with a brief description of the preceding messages. I did not mention my theory of internet scammers being the source of the messages, and my housemates came to the same conclusion I did. This reinforced my conviction. Neither I nor my housemates sent a reply, but a few days later I received another text from the same number.

2010-03-09 01:10pm
Dont u even just want a one off?

Whatever business this is, I thought, they really must be struggling. But also, this message evidenced an approach to money-making so inefficient, that I wondered again about the possibility that this was not a marketer after all. I sent an abrupt reply.

Me:
I don't know who you are or what you're talking about. Unless you identify yourself, and tell me how you know me, I will not reply to any more of your messages.

The response I received was decidedly non-marketing-like.

2010-03-09 01:30pm
Boring.

There was now enough doubt in my mind that the sender was a marketer, that I decided to search through my phone, just in case I had corresponded with this person before. My phone is a primitive model, and there is no way of doing this efficiently. I began searching back through all the messages I had received on my phone. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I had in fact corresponded with a person with the same number around seven weeks ago, while commuting on the train to work.

The story now backtracks to our initial correspondence.

2010-01-18 08:08am
Who is this? Ur numbers in my ph.

During the couple of weeks preceding the receipt of this message, I had been advertising a room to rent. I had made many calls to people who had either advertised that they were seeking rental accommodation in my area, or had responded to my ad. I was not at all surprised that someone I did not know would have my number in their phone. I replied with my name.

Me:
Tom McDonnell.

2010-01-18 08:23am
Do you know this number? Age? Where you from?

Me:
I do not know who you are.

2010-031-18 08:32am
Don't want 2?

At this point I remember being bewildered by the conversation I was having. I had a vague image in my mind of a school-aged girl who spends a lot of time texting, was bored and had searched through her phone as part of a regular ritual to organise her social life. I know that I had called at least one eighteen year old girl while seeking a housemate, so that theory made sense. I imagined she had in mind some guy she may have met at a party, whom she thought may have found her number and called her when her phone was off. Since none of that applied to me, I felt that answering in the affirmative would waste her and my time, since I would then no doubt be subjected to further questioning that would end to no benefit as soon as she found out I was not who she hoped I was. A direct answer in the negative would have been rude and not representative of my thoughts, so I took the time to formulate a better reply.

Me:
I have no pressing need to know your identity. Since you say I have called you once, although I cannot remember doing so, then maybe I do know you, and so maybe I will call you again. If so, we will learn each other's identity then. If not, let us each carry on our own separate lives, not being burdened by the need to log every past association.

2010-01-18 09:36am
Um ok. Up2 u. Friends would of been nice tho.

That was the last I heard from the mysterious texter until seven weeks later, with the 'U up for some fun?' message.

The story now jumps back to where we left it. The last reply was the single word 'Boring'.

The situation had now changed completely. I was dealing with a real person, most likely a young but legal-aged female. This probable female had offered me sex. The possibility of sex had not even occurred to me that morning on the train seven weeks ago - I had had an image of a typical schoolgirl in mind I suppose, who would not be interested in a man approaching thirty. Perhaps years of involuntary celibacy have left me blind to the opportunities that surround me. Anyhow, direct offers of sex do not come often for a man such as myself, and sex being a major attraction and a prime occupier of my thoughts, I felt duty-bound to pursue this opportunity to wherever it may lead. I sent a short but playful correction to my previous ultimatum.

Me:
I changed my mind. I will play your game. Still bored?

The response was right back on topic.

2010-03-09 02:56pm
Its not a game. I want sex.

Me:
Do you propose that I meet you somewhere? Where?

2010-03-09 03:01pm
If I wasnt working 12-14 hr days

So I'm not going to get sex after all, I thought. This girl is just playing games. But even though I now thought the likelihood of sex was slim, I welcome any contact with females as a rule, and the fact that sex was even being discussed was progress of a sort. I gently pointed out the obvious flaw in her plan to satisfy her immediate sexual need.

Me:
How are you and I going to have sex if you cannot meet me?

2010-03-09 03:09pm
I will work it out. Y the change of heart?

2010-03-09 03:32pm
?

She had expected a prompt reply. I was busy preparing for a job interview at that stage, and too much of my time was being spent writing text messages. My phone as I have already mentioned is a primitive model, and writing text messages is tedious. I tried calling her number to chat, but she did not pick up. Doubts of the sincerity of her offer resurfaced, and I vented my frustration.

Me:
I am done messaging. Call me to chat.

2010-03-09 03:54pm
Im at work till late.

A day passed. I began to wonder whether I had been too abrupt, and had maybe put her off. I decided to be humble, and answer her questions in another text.

Me:
In answer to you question yesterday regarding my change of heart, I searched my phone for your number and found that we had corresponded a few weeks back. You had asked me why your phone contained a record of a call from my number. A few messages were exchanged. The style of your texts indicated that perhaps you were not a scammer after my money. I am still not entirely convinced especially since you have not answered my voice calls. In answer to your other question, I am 5'10, pale skinned and of a muscular build. I am excited by the prospect of a sexual encounter, or would be happy to just be yr texting pal. Whatever you like. Feel free to message me any time.

2010-03-10 04:27pm
What a beautiful msg. Thanku.

The response indicated that my message had had good effect. A danger was though, that I was beginning to seem like someone with whom to build a relationship rather than someone with whom to satisfy animal urges. This is the 'nice' guy's curse - an affliction that follows men like myself in every interaction we have with females, suppressing even the idea of sex and subjugating us to friendship-type roles. My fears were realised by the follow-up message.

2010-03-10 04:57pm
R u a commitment guy?

Arrgh! It seems that my 'niceness' is somehow conveyed even via my disembodied and disenvoiced words. Also it was not at all clear to me what she wanted to hear at that point. Did she want a commitment guy? Or was this an elimination question, designed to weed out those who are incapable of enjoying sex without developing emotional attachment? I decided to be honest, and in effect to hedge my bets.

Me:
I am very inexperienced as far as relationships go. I am interested both in casual encounters and getting to know a girl. If you want either from me, how about starting by telling me your name and something about you. I don't even know whether you are local to me. All the talk about meeting for sex may be a waste of time if you are too far away.

2010-03-10 06:09pm
My name is rachel

(I have given her a fake name to protect her privacy)

2010-03-10 06:23pm
Call if u want

At this point I called her, and we voice-chatted. Upon hearing her voice and a little about her, I was reminded of the time she and I had chatted before. She had responded to my advertisement seeking a housemate. I was reminded that she lived on the other side of the city, worked near the centre but on my side, and wanted to move closer to her workplace. I learned that she was slightly younger than me, and lived with her boyfriend. She was unhappy in her relationship, but did not want to break up with her boyfriend until she found alternative accommodation. She said she had used the random-text technique to meet men in the past. She described herself as a commitment girl, but said that due to her current problems with her boyfriend, she wanted to take time off from relationships, while having a friend who could fulfill her sexual needs. She seemed like a nice girl and after talking with her, my only problem with the proposed casual sex arrangement was the obvious one - that she had a boyfriend whom I assumed would oppose the idea. She seemed confused about how she would solve the accommodation/bad-relationship problem. She bombarded me with a few more questions into the evening.

2010-03-10 07:16pm
So did you find a housemate?

2010-03-10 07:34pm
How old r u? What do u do 4 work?

Since we were now on speaking terms, I figured I would answer her questions by voice. I was in a good mood for unrelated reasons.

Me:
Tell me the latest time I can call you tonight. I scored a new job today, so I plan to stay up and have a few drinks to celebrate. I'll call you later on and you can quiz me on all the details when I am inebriated.

2010-03-10 07:54pm
Its cool ill just talk 2 u when i talk 2 u.

I can't remember whether I ended up calling her that night or not. I stayed up late that night, drinking with my housemates. I think I must have called her, because in one of my later messages I refer to our voice chats (plural). But if I did call her I have no recollection about what we spoke about. Her text questions continued the following day.

2010-03-11 12:14pm
So how old r u?

2010-03-11 01:40pm
When did u have sex last?

I tried calling her to voice-chat, but she did not answer. I therefore responded in text, and tried to push the agenda back to casual sex, rather than answering her employment question.

Me:
A long time ago. My sex life is nowhere near as active as I would like it to be. Should you take me on as a casual sex partner, you will find me to be a most eager and willing participant.

2010-03-11 01:50pm
What have u done sexually that u love?

I knew I could not be happy with anything I wrote in answer to that question. I cringe when reading my answer but it was the best thing I could come up with at the time.

Me:
I love the intoxicating scent of a female held close to me. Her breath on my face and neck and my arms around her supple waist. I love it when she discovers my erection and mercifully decides to free it from the tight constraints of my clothing. When she invites me inside her and I feel her insides squeezing me the rapture I feel is overwhelming.

2010-03-11 02:11pm
U sound much more like a commitment guy then a casual guy.

Again she detects my 'niceness', and again I hedge my bets.

Me:
I can happily play either role. You need not worry about me becoming emotionally attached if all you want is a fuck buddy. I am not at all possesive.

But she persists.

2010-03-11 02:37pm
Honestly, would u rather commitment tho?

I thought a while about what answer she was looking for here, still being unsure whether she wanted me for a casual sex partner or a longer-term relationship. She prompted me for a response while I was mid-way through typing.

2010-03-11 03:07pm
?

I decided to guardedly choose the path of the non-committer, while arguing that commitment and non-commitment are in effect the same thing for a relationship that works.

Me:
I've never felt the need to choose. My ideal relationship is one where both parties are free to pursue other options at any time. If two people in such a relationship remain together it means that for each person, the other is the person he/she most wants to be with. For a 'committed' relationship this cannot be said, since neither partner can leave without welching on their commitment and so may choose to stay despite the appearance of a more attractive prospect. This may be read as an explanation of why men do not like the word 'commitment'. It is antithetical to freedom. So in final answer to your question, im probably not a commitment guy.

2010-03-11 03:43pm
All the best then.

Evidently I had chosen wrongly. I was surprised by her message, but I figured that a girl who offers sex to a man on the end of an unknown phone number, randomly picked from her phone, is not the ideal girl to make a commitment to, and so I was philosophical about the rejection. She followed up with another message before I had decided on a reply.

2010-03-11 04:01pm
I dont want what ur after. Sorry.

I then decided to call her to voice-chat. She did not pick up, but responded in text.

2010-03-11 04:16pm
Y did u call? Whats up?

I responded in kind.

Me:
I just want to understand what happened in our last text exchanges. I thought you wanted a male friend who could fulfill you sexually while you have some time off from relationships. That was the position I was applying for. The point of my previous message was to demonstrate that I am opposed to possesiveness in relationships. A healthy relationship in my opinion is one where both partners are involved because they each genuinely feel something for the other, not because of a promise made long ago. My opinion on this matter has developed over time having seen many unhappy marriages, including that of my own parents. I would hate for your and my short relationship to be severed because of a misunderstanding about the meaning of the word 'commitment'. Tell me when I can call you. I would like to talk with you some more.

2010-03-11 04:39pm
But u dont want commitment and thats an issue 4 me.

Me:
I don't want commitment in the sense of committing to a deal or contract. I am open to the possibility of commitment in the sense of taking a longer term view of a relationship and endevouring to make it work. The second meaning is no doubt the one you meant all along. I blame the stupid English language for the confusion.

2010-03-11 05:11pm
Im lost

2010-03-12 08:37pm
I dont know what u want sorry

I was at a pub with a few friends when I received that message. I recounted the whole saga to my friends and listened to their advice. Later that night I decided to close the dialogue.

Me:
I am really just a horny guy who was tantalised by your initial offer of casual sex with no strings attached. I gather from your most recent messages and from our voice-chats that you in fact desire a man intent on beginning a longer term relationship. You are right in judging that I am not such a man. I described your and my correspondence to a friend of mine. His advice was that I should have just asked you Where? When? and maybe sent you a picture of my hard cock. In his words, 'We are all animals. Words just complicate things'. My friend was blunt but wise. I wish you success in solving your relationship problems. Continue to feel free to contact me for any reason. If you're ever near the Dandenongs and feel the need for sex, I'll always be keen :)

2010-03-13 08:49am
Friends only it is

So ended my brief romantic textual dalliance with the mysterious Rachel (not her real name).

First Blog

2011-06-04T05:54:00.000-07:00

This post marks the creation of the blog of tomcdonnell.

The purpose of the blog is to:

Clarify my thoughts by putting them in writing
Improve my writing by way of practice
Provide information and entertainment to readers.

I aim to add a substantial post at least once every month. I will write about whatever holds my interest.