Tuesday, 29 September 2009


Here are a couple of my own attempts to depict a Tosh1o Saek1 subject but in my own editorial style. I can't put a date to this piece, but I'd guess I made it about 15 years ago.

I provide both the black and white rough and the finished piece insofar as it was finished before I become bored with it.

Sunday, 27 September 2009


Tosh1o Saek1, one of the few artists whose work gave me a hard-on, back in the day when I could get hard-ons. I like the surreal sadism and perversity.

Here is a small collection harvested from the Web. I'll add more from my own collection in a later post.

The descriptions are what I see, not the original scenarios, as I cannot read the Japanese in the books from which I copied the pictures.

Often it's not immediately obvious what's happening - here, if you look close, the girl in the school clothes lying prone on the grass has taken her knickers off so that a snake can burrow up her cunt, or perhaps the snake is just crawling over her bum and its head appears to be one of the leaves.

More obviously this girl, again in school clothes, is being fucked by a procession of wind-up automatons

The woman sitting on the stairs is penetrated by her lover's head, which has turned into a cock, while a young girl spies on the couple.

A traditionally dressed woman, watched by her husband squats baring her crotch to a man held captive in the water - is she taunting and tempting him with the sight of her genitals, or is she about to piss or shit on him?

A captive woman in traditional dress has her blood sucked from her left breast by a vampiric man (who looks remarkably like Bryan Ferry) while vampire bats gorge themselves on the menstrual blood dripping from her womb.

One of my favourite images - a girl in uniform goes for a night-time bike ride, her bicycle seat transformed into a man's face, his open mouth and tongue ready to probe her cunt and arse if she sits down.

Saeki is fond of portraying bound young women lowered onto sharp objects. Here a young woman is threatened with death by impalement via her vagina while her horrified male companion watches.

A subtle but extremely perverse image I'll let speak for itself.

Having caught and bound a lovely mermaid, the man prepares her for fucking by making his own hole with a sturdy twig. Myself I always imagined that Mermaids and Mermen are dolphin-like below the waist and so have mammalian genitalia. Still, an image I find very sexy.

A woman is exorcised of a fox demon, which emerges from her cunt.

A murderous demon creeps up on a goddess while she masturbates using a living human man as a dildo.

Blowing a Wad

The contents of a shopping bag of porn I'm about to throw out. The pile is about an inch thick even spread out like this. What a sickening waste of money, what a heartbreaking waste of a life, over 35 years of life wanked away over this.

Even if there was no woman who would love me, who would make love with me, this was a ridiculous and wasteful substitute.

I'd have been better even spending on some whore, at least if I never knew love, I'd at least had the animal pleasure of poking my cock up some slapper's guts a few times.

Saturday, 19 September 2009


Looking on Overchan and Overbooru for pron and win to fap over, I found a thread of artwork by Ben Newm@n on a new chan board. His anatomy is a bit off as is his finish, but the actual themes of his artwork are close to what I was producing myself before I abandoned art.

The first illustration I saw was the one below "D0r0thy's Itch", which is technically the weakest but very similar to a scenario I once attempted myself. I'd have placed them in an Oz scene, on the Yellow Brick Road or in the Emerald City, I'd have made Dorothy look like the 16 year old Judy GarIand or Fa1ruza BaIk, I'd have given the Cowardly Lion a barely visible hard-on, I'd have made Toto smaller, and Dorothy would have slightly dirty knickers round her ankles, but otherwise I'd keep close to Nwm@n's composition.

I'm glad to have discovered this illustrator.

All credits for artwork is his.

Cut and paste to visit:

Friday, 18 September 2009


Throwing out old newspapers and magazines this afternoon I found this photo of Billie from 1995. I've found her attractive since - oh - 1989 and never done a thing about it. As usual I believed I had nothing to offer. A nice normal intelligent working class woman, still bump into her most weeks. She's in a relationship of course - isn't every woman worth wanting?

Outgoing, funny, bright, ok face, good figure, really shapely waist, hips, bum, and thighs.

I put it here just to show I don't fancy extraordinary women, I fancy women who would be - would have been - in my league had I not made myself fat and ruined my health.

Back to Openness

I've become doubly and stupidly embarrassed to post topics here that might make me look small or perverse in H's eyes. A tiny part of the emotional me hangs on to a distant hope that I can win her to me, and cries "don't write that, it will lesson your tiny chance once you've put your life and health in some order". The thinking me knows that while little is utterly impossible, the chance of this is so vanishingly small as to be not worth considering. Another part of me forgets that I've already revealed my core of seediness and perversity on previous blogs and she has read them, so she already knows about me.

Had I expected to fall for her I would have never have mentioned these things at all, but I didn't expect to fall and I have mentioned them.

This was not a problem with Ian, he already knew my sexual outlook at least in overview, as does Olga. Olga indeed knows more than anyone. Rh has a good idea of my proclivities if not an understanding of the details, and given that she told me quite recently, without encouragement from me, that she likes giving head but doesn't like getting eaten out herself, I can't imagine she would or will be shocked. John also knows my tastes and I know his, so if he finds this blog he won't be taken aback. And I was never going to fall any of them, they're the wrong sex or too old for my tastes.

I resolve to be open again, and see if writing about my sexuality and my pornography helps me, and forget about what effect it might have on other people's opinions of me. As for H, she either likes me as a person despite what she already seen and read, or she doesn't. The worst I'm doing is reminding her of something she already knows.

To begin with I've republished several posts that I wrote and then reduced to Draft status from shame.

Henceforward back to openness.

Wednesday, 16 September 2009

False Measure

I've just realised that I shackled myself when a young man by trying and failing to live up to an imaginary and impossible ideal of what I had to be to have a chance with women, rather than looking at the other young men, young couples around me, and realising that I was no worse and often better than those men. But I judged myself very poorly against the impossible ideal in my head, a standard neither I nor probably any man could ever have met, and which was so far above me I was disheartened even by thinking about.

The sad thing is that these insights win me back not one second of the time I've lost, not one single chance I let slip by. I'm still right here, while those other young men, and those young women have moved far, far ahead and are now middle aged people with life lived and expectations of a partner much greater.

Sunday, 13 September 2009

Love is Blind

All our lives we love illusion
Neatly caught between confusion
And the need to know we are alive

The Residents "God in Three Persons"

People in relationships often come to hate each other. “You’ve changed”, “You’re not the man I married”, “You weren’t the thoughtless man you are now when we first met”.

This of course is almost certainly nonsense. Once past early adulthood people’s characters and habits don’t change very much.

What happens is that when people fall in love, they blind themselves. They take up with someone they hardly know and in passion and desire blind themselves to that person’s flaws, or at best convince themselves that the other person will change for the best.

Love is – as the old saying has it – blind.

Sooner or later passionate love fades away, and if a couple, or even just one partner has initially blinded themselves to their lover’s faults, the other person seems to have changed for the worse. But it is mere perception that has changed, the other person was always like that and the disappointed partner is simply and literally dis-illusioned.

All that has really happened is that one person is finally seeing the other literally dispassionately, seeing the flaws and faults, the incompatibilities that were always there, that they even knew about but denied or ignored.

Sometimes even then people foolishly persist, knowing they are unhappy, in the sad and wasteful delusion that the other person will change. People’s fundamental characters don’t change. My mother stayed with my father despite it being obvious very early that their personalities were ill-matched, and at her end she commented that she hadn’t had much of a life. I have never fallen passionately in love. I have only fallen in love with two women, neither of whom I could have, both of whom I knew quite well, whom I loved while being able to see their flaws and loved without hope..

Sadly for me, they could see my flaws all too clearly as my flaws are many and close to the surface, so I must do without love.

Oh my fortunate deluded sisters and brothers. Because most of you find a partner even if only for a while despite delusion, in your need or your passion.

Solitude is the Nurse of Love

It should go without saying that the belief is nonsense that there is only one person in the world for us.

We fall in love with those who are close by us, whom we know at work, whom we see in our local pub, who lives two streets away, or whom we deliberately seek proximity to by way of computer dating or Lonely Hearts columns.

We don’t have to spend decades trying to find the one woman or man for us, until we finally discover them half the world a way in a small town 90 miles north north-east of Novosibersk.

It isn’t sheer luck that our life-partner is usually somebody who lives near us. We fall in love with a girl we know at school, with a man we meet at university, with someone who happened to advertise for a date in the same paper that we read. We are formed to fall in love with those nearby, those who are available to us.

We fall in love largely from propinquity, from being close in location, and from little more. If we are lucky, we fall in love with someone who is a match for us in character and interests and achievements and background, but more often than not sheer propinquity is all the basis for so-called love.

In these cases “love” is no more than a passing phase that is propelled by loneliness, or lust, or the need to dominate, or even boredom. If there is no similarity of character, no shared interests, the relationship either disintegrates painfully, or - more sadly - carries on with the partners continuing to delude themselves that things will change, that their relationship will work out in the end.

These relationships don’t work out in the end, We all know people, long married, who do nothing but grouch about their wife or their husband, who could stop their own frustration simply by acknowledging their husband or wife was not a good match for them, and now that the kids are grown both parties would be happier if they separated.

But people rarely do this – because they are human and they are therefore afraid. It’s better to have someone to come home to, even when rubbing along with them is more a matter of friction than delight.

I am not faced with such a quandary. Women never desired me, and looking at myself and my history and what has become of me I don’t blame them.

My quandary is that being human myself, I fall in love too. And ironically, I don’t fall unrealistically in love. I love a woman who is a good friend to me, who is flawed, and who I see is flawed. I know who and what I am, and I usnderstand she cannot love me. I doubt any woman now will. But the only thing unrealistic in my love is I’m a ruined man with a ruined life who should never even presume to want a woman like her. That said, I am the ruin of a man who might have been a good match for her.

No matter, what is past is past.

But funnily enough, we have – or more honestly once had - a lot in common, unlike so many people who are in love. And I don’t look at her and think her a paragon. So many of the things she does I can see are rooted in her flaws and faults, I am content that she is human and so therefore flawed, and I know where many of her flaws and problems originate, so they endear her to me.

A friend said to me recently in regard of her “you’ve fallen for her like a soldier in a military hospital falls for his nurse” and I’m content to agree with him. She’s been a kind and supportive friend in a time of my need, when she didn’t have to be. Why not fall for someone with such an admirable quality? We can only fall in love with the people around us, not with strangers we have never met.

We have to fall in love with someone, it’s how we’re made, and it’s in the end all we’re here for. We are brought into the world by way of love, and by way of love we bring others into the world for their own momentary taste of being. If we are lucky that is, which I have not been - I will pass life on to no one.

Loving someone places no duty on them to love one back.

I’m sad she can’t love me, but I’m glad I love her, because she is good and it means I have deeply recognised and appreciated her goodness and have a little of it in my life.

Saturday, 12 September 2009

The Tower of Blood and the Graily Hole

Movement forwards still feels to me like no movement at all.

Yesterday I was prescribed V1agra, which - should I be lucky enough to pull, never mind find a partner - permits me four fucks a month. Four is better than none. Gift horse and all that.

The GP, a young English Indian woman called Neet1ka, kindly permitted me to have them despite my not being in a relationship of any kind. “When you start a relationship you’ll have them to hand. Take one an hour before you have intercourse”.

Which to me is like saying “this is the magic ring, put it on an hour before you find the Holy Grail". Or in my case, the Graily Hole.

So with my four little blue pills in my pocket, and the eventual intention to try one to make sure it works, I set off into Manchester full of a scratchy painful sore throat.

I thought – “Well no normal woman is even going to throw you a sympathy fuck at the moment, so if you’re going to test this you’re going to have to test it on your own before trying it with a living person. You’re going to have to see whether you can get a hard-on off a wank.

You’ll be better off with some new porn to get it going.”

So I went to Shude HiII Books and had a look at the DVDs available along the walls. Not the cheapest shop but I’m known to the owner, and I know he’s honest, so I’m not going to get ripped off.

The place is scruffy but well-themed and stuff is easy to find. At the front of the shop are secondhand books, On tables at the back are hoppers full of old softcore magazines, and round the walls are Hardcore DVDs running in themes organised from new releases, through anal, amateur girls, hardcore Milfs and Gilfs (Mums/Grans I’d Like To Fuck ie middle-aged and old women), ethnic women, particularly Russian, Japanese, Indians, women pissing, Spanking and Various Fetish, Transsexuals).

I knew exactly what I was looking for. Anything heavily anally oriented, with pretty women being bummed, gaping their arseholes, and having their arseholes eaten, particularly anything produced by The Evil Empire, anything by Rocco Siffredi or Belladonna, and anything by Max Hardcore. There was only one Belladonna video, made when she was pregnant, which wasn’t what I was looking for. Although I find Belladonna ugly, I enjoy that she’s one of the few women in porn who actually likes filth, and spends a lot of time with her fingers or tongue up other women’s arseholes, or having her own arsehole variously abused.

In the end I chose an old Ben Dover dvd because it featured a couple of models I used to like, Rocco Siffredi’s “Obsession With Supersluts” and Jules Jordan’s “Ass Stretchers P.O.V.” Nothing I find particularly exciting, but at least new to me and and in the my area of interest.

While I was paying, the owner told me his dad had died of a series of brain haemorrhages earlier in the morning. I said I was sorry to hear it. I’ve been there myself so I know how he feels.

As back up, I bought from a newsagents a back issue of Buttman I hadn’t previously seen, about a year old,

and book of hardcore photographs by Richard Kern from Waterstones.

I’ve given these a cursory look-through and despite my hopes and the money I’ve spent, I felt not turned on at all.

The problem is, I’ve not so much seen through porn, as seen past it. Mostly it just makes me feel sad now. The conjunction of flesh, the sight of flesh, does nothing for me, because it isn’t my flesh, and more than that it isn’t the flesh of somebody I want.

All it stands for now is the absence of what I long for.

Despite the money I’ve paid for it, I think I’ll have to rely on my benumbed imagination and hope the Viagra makes the blood flow south anyway.

Friday, 11 September 2009

Unlikeable, Undesirable, Unwantable

I've woken up in the early hours and can't get back to sleep because this thought keeps racing round my head so I'm writing it down and owning it.. Here's how far these problems go back:

I didn't have a 21st Birthday Do. Not for friends, not for family. Not even drinks. My parents offered but I turned it down. Because I thought nobody would come anyway. I can't remember what I did that night, except I stayed home.

Same with my 18th.

I preferred not to have one because I was certain and ashamed that I would be proved right and no-one would turn up.

It could fairly be said that I didn't have a life because I thought no-one would turn up, so I stayed home.

These problems go back a very long way and has been messing up my life since puberty. It's frightening

Thursday, 10 September 2009


You are real


I am not.

Teach me to speak your language.

Long Story Short

So, do you understand now?

Yes, I get it now, I see what I was doing wrong - can I try again?


Tuesday, 8 September 2009

An Absence of Good Things

Lately I've realised that although my depression is fuelled by having internalised my dad's anger and even taking moral responsibility for it, there is a further, deeper level: I have had a life with some strong negative experiences but with very few positive ones.

I think an abscence of experience, and an absence of positive experiences

My parents almost never went on holiday or to social occasions. Even when he had the opportunity, my dad refused to go on holiday or to family gatherings, even just to support my mam. He refused to partake at Christmas, and even absented himself from his own 25th Wedding Anniversary party.

I suspect my dad had all the problems I had, of depression, of low self-esteem, and so on, and he imposed them on my outgoing formerly confident mother, and ingrained them into me.

In 50 years I have done very little. I don't mean to say "achieved", I mean "done".

The little things one does in one's teens, in one's twenties, and so on through the decades, which build confidence and a sense of competence, I never did. I never had a girlfriend, I was unemployed for years, I never left home, and in 40 years I made only a handful of friends and even most of those I let lapse because I thought they didn't really want to know me.

I know now what was and is wrong, but I don't know what to do.

I feel numbed to all but sadness and dread. I'm managing to lose weight which is my one achievement at the moment, but I not acheiving it through hope but by having deliberately engineered a situation in which the shame I feel motivates, because I know the keeping the regard of a person I value will keep me losing weight.

I have no sense that there is anything good at the end of this or of anything I do, because nothing good came to me when I tried in my earlier years.

And now I'm so frightened that my health is failing and that the empty and sorrowful life I've had is all the life I will have before I die.

Sunday, 6 September 2009

Legalistic Bollocks

Transsexual killer wins battle to serve life sentence in a women's jail
The Times,Sept 5th 2009
Frances Gibb, Legal Editor

A transsexual killer who was born a man has won a legal battle to be transferred to a women’s prison.

The prisoner, who was also convicted of attempted rape, will be moved to a women’s jail within weeks after a High Court ruled that the refusal by Jack Straw, the Justice Secretary, to transfer her violated her basic human rights and increased her long-term risk to society.

The prisoner is in her 20s and serving a life sentence for manslaughter and attempted rape.

She has had her womanhood recognised by law and her birth certificate has been amended accordingly, the High Court in London was told. She has had hair on her face and legs permanently removed by laser and has developed breasts after hormone treatment, but is forbidden from wearing skirts or blouses, or more than “subtle” make up, at the men’s prison where she is held on a wing for vulnerable prisoners.

Describing her as “a woman trapped inside a man’s body”, her barrister, Phillipa Kaufman, said the final step to her achieving full womanhood is gender reassignment surgery - but she had been told she cannot have it while in a men’s prison.

Moved to a women's prison because he wants "gender re-assignment surgery" and keeping him in a men's prison violates his Human Right to a Family Life

For myself, I reckon that if he wants/wanted the surgery, that's up to him, but he's still a man and should be in a male prison.. Despite its being a modern left-wing shibboleth, self-perception does not trump objective reality.

Women and men are very similar but also different right down to their DNA, and just because one perceives oneself is of the other sex it doesn't mean one is of the other sex. Only slightly more extreme, let us say that a woman prisoner who had been convicted of mutilating horses said that she thought she was a horse trapped in a human body, and wished for the State to give her cosmetic hooves and pay for her to be housed in a Stable - would you trust her, would you agree that she was really a horse? Would you worry for the safety of the horses he was with?

Or more closely, what about a ch1ld mo1ester who said he felt he was a child trapped in an adult's body - would you agree and fund treatment to remove all his body hair and then have him moved to a secure unit for child criminals?

Just because I believe or wish I were a horse rather than a human, it doesn't mean I'm objectively or even subjectively a horse. Even on the physical level, surgically invaginating penile and scrotal skin and nerves don't make a man a woman.and surgically everting vaginal and labial tissue to construct a pseudo-penis doesn't make a woman a man, even if the person is pumped full of the hormones of the sex they wish they were.

They should stop calling it Gender Re-assignment and call it Plastic Cosmetic Feminisation or Masculinisation, let people have it if they want to have it, but not start fabricating objective truth, like changing a Birth Certificate to say a man was born a girl when he was born a boy. Or putting a man like this in a woman's prison. Claiming that he perceives himself as a woman and the Law recognises him as a woman so therefore he is a woman is legalistic bollocks.
He's a killer and an attempted rapist. Male rapists shouldn't be in women's prisons, even if they've been through Plastic Cosmetic Feminisation; you don't need a cock to rape someone, but God help us, he still has his.

What about the women prisoners. Is nobody thinking of their Human Right not to be in danger of rape?

Fat is a Feminine Tissue

I'm amazed at the media kerfuffle about this photograph published in Glamour Magazine of a model called Lizzie Miller with a little roll of fat on her abdomen. She's a woman - healthy women have a significant layer of fat beneath their skin - if they don't, they're not healthy, and are liable to infertility and long-term bone damage. Fat is feminising - the female hormones it produces even biochemically feminise fat men and often renders them impotent in a natural version of chemical castration

She's sitting down and leaning forward so the fat is being compressed and plumping out beneath her skin, as it should. I know Summer is silly season for  journalists, but this is a non-story if ever there was one.

I'm not sure where this obsession with women having skinny bodies has come from, but it's not from pressure from the majority of straight men - most of us like the look of women with the soft curves that a healthy layer of subcutaneous fat creates.

Friday, 4 September 2009

How to Not Conquer the World

After a week of doing quite well my mood has crashed after the podiatrist said I had probably developed Dependent Oedema and after discovering that my blood pressure is now a high 159/98, these despite all the medication I take and my having lost some weight and started doing a lot of walking. I can't hold back the tears.

Lately I've finally realised that when I was a young man I pretty much had everything I needed, that I had been as good as anyone else, in some ways better than most, and that the problems I thought I had, problems of appearance for instance, weren't real. My father used to say when I was young "If I'd had what you have, I'd have conquered the world". Well, Dad, if I'd not had you, perhaps I really would have conquered the world.

Now that I realise that most of my problems were psychological and were inculcated by my dad, I look back and see how I was led to turn the meadows of my entire life into parched wasteland. And I know I can get none of it back. And I'm so afraid that the health problems I've given myself, which are plainly worsening, are problems I can't come back from and I will have had no life at all before I die.

Thursday, 3 September 2009


I'm due for a check-up at the podiatrist at 10.30 this morning.

I've just woken from a dream about it that was obviously not about it but about my life:

In the dream both my parents were still alive. In the dream I woke up in bed and checked my watch and thought "I can't make out the dial of the watch properly but there's hours to go" and went back to sleep only to wake again and be told as I got ready that there was only twenty minutes to my appointment. I had stayed asleep too long. I looked at my watch again and the face had faded away so that I could see the works inside. I realised there wasn't time to get a bath, dress, get ready etc and still meet the appointment. My parents seemed unconcerned. All I can remember of the dream after that is deciding that I couldn't meet the appointment any more.

For the appointment read the life I should have attended to, should have been living.

Dance in the Snow

I think my dream has predisposed me to feel very sad this morning. I've just had the TV on and in some advertisment the music used was a knock-off of the "Dance in the Snow" music from the end of Edward Scissorhands as is so often the case these days when the makers wish to add a fairytale feel to their ads.

It called up the film in my mind, and the original music. There's something sad about all Tim Burton's film, none of which make much sense on the level of plot, but most of which make sense in the symbolic way that fairytales and myths do, as if they are stories about archetypes rather than people.

Anyway, the whole adolescent "cut off from society by sensitivity, incompleteness, and a useless talent" message of the film is revolving round my heart, with the Snow Dance music accompanying it in my head.


Every now and then I see people in their animal aspect, or perhaps I should say, their biomechanical aspect. I have a blurred photo of Heather coming out of a coffee shop in St Anne's Square, with her right hand pressing her bag to the front of her upper thigh, and it really brings home that the hands and feet are mechanical gripping devices, made by  approximately doubling the number of bones at every joint, bone connected by sinew, moved by muscle, robed in fat and skin.

The head a case with a hinged set of little knives and grinders hung beneath it, the ribs a cage and so on.

I was reminded again just now, watching a woman on television put her hands to her face.


I used to go out, to events, a long time ago. People of my age still do.

Why did I stop?

Wednesday, 2 September 2009


I've just developed a spontaneous boner while reading a book on overcoming low self-esteem. Looks like it raised more than my confidence.

It wasn't the sturdy engine of old, lacking its former almost painful firmness and only just managing six inches against its former eight, but it again suggests that my old friend is still capable of standing up for himself and has only been battered into submission with a chemical cosh.

Hard to believe I'm celebrating a soggy erection that's the first in months when until 5 years ago I'd have several a day. Hard also to believe that as a teenager I'd sometimes get an embarrassing boner just looking at a pretty girl and would have to sit still somewhere until the damned thing stopped tenting out the material of my school trousers.

Getting old is shit.

I remember when I was a teenager, I'd lie in bed just before going to sleep, and wonder when I would find a girl, and usually console myself by having a relaxing wank thinking about Natalie, or Joanne S1lver, or Lynne S1mpson, or my Art Teacher, Jean S1ddall - who must be 65 by now, what a thought, she was barely 30 then - and it was all I could do to stop myself hosing a jet of semen against the far wall or the ceiling. Young and fit.

Such problems I should have now.A million potential lives in every squirt. There must have been a girl somewhere who would have been happy to make some of them with me if only I had looked harder for her. If only I hadn't felt so ashamed at wanting to fuck her.

I was so full of - well - spunk -  in both senses of the word - and nowhere, or no-who to go to with it.

A sad thing about life is that it takes so long to learn - or unlearn - lessons, and sometimes by the time we learn them it's too late for us to put them into practice.

And so I am alone.

What a waste.

Look of Love

Yesterday Evening I stepped  from a bus next to the Eccles Metrolink and as I did so, a young woman sitting waiting looked at me with a look of delight and welcome and love suddenly transforming her face. I knew it was a freak of chance and turned to look behind me, and directly behind me was a tall young man she sprang up to hug and kiss.

I have never - not ever- in my life seen a woman with that look meant for me. Not from youth to the edge of age.

I used until very recently to think that all this matter of courtship, of  desire, of love, was something difficult to achieve, but a friend pointed out to me this time last year that it's the norm and it's I who am not part of the norm.

I can list the reasons why I think it never happened for me, and I can also give counter-examples to every single one of those reasons. I could even state the most obvious, external appearance - that for most of my adult life I was fat and bald, but only last Friday I was talking to a fat bald man who was telling me his girlfriend was worried he might have diabetes. I thought "you have a girlfriend?".

This emptiness that has been my life is too extreme for the causes I can trace.