Русские женщины - самые красивейшие женщины в мире

Awake too early again. Sat watching Russia Today on Freeview just after 6am. Looking at all the Russian women walking in the snowy streets of Moscow and St Petersburg, it struck me again that so many of the strangers I find attractive in the streets of Greater Manchester turn out to be Russian, Polish, and probably Ukrainian and Belorussian (I hear these women talking or see in their hands a magazine or book with Cyrillic letters or polish on the cover). It also struck me watching all these Russian women on the TV that a big part of what I find attractive is how pale, untanned, and often flawless their skin is, with the only colour the natural rosiness of their cheeks.

I've been trying to figure out why Russia has always fascinated me - it had nothing to do with politics, I think it's sort of like the attraction of Japan - it's often said that for us Japan is the nearest we can get to to an alien planet. Well, I think for me, the attraction of Russia and the Ukraine is that they're the nearest I can get to a parallel universe where European culture descended from Byzantium rather than Rome.

Far Away is Close at Hand

I discovered last night that I could take screencaptures of DVDs with one of the programs pre-installed on my poor people's computer.

I extracted frames from "Secretary" from the scenes of Maggie Gyllenhaal having her bottom smacked, as I've found Maggie Gyllenhaal very attractive since I saw her in Donnie Darko along with her brother Jake. It's a physical thing, what she looks like and her acting ability, because, her various political pronouncements suggests she's a bit of a Hollywood flake, and probably a member of F.A.G.

After I'd pulled about 30 frames I burst into tears at the thought of how truly pitiful what I was doing was; I sobbed so hard and hyperventilated so much that I had to fight for breath.

This sadness isn't sadness, it's grief. Grief for myself, for the life I lost by waiting too long, by not understanding the language of attraction, by coping with my frustration in bad and damaging ways. For the thought that nothing of life is now left to me that I would want.

For some years now I've thought I might have some problem related to autism, some kind of social blindness, and I become ever more sure as I look at myself and others.

As I sobbed, the children's hymn "there is a happy land" came into my mind, and indeed there is, and not far away but close at hand, yet all the evidence says it is out of my reach, trapped as I am in this bell jar of damaged health, impotence, and inability to connect.

Over the years my sexual obsessions became more and more tied up with the humiliation of women, but I don't really want to pummel Maggie Gyllenhaal's bum until it's black and blue, nor any woman, all I really want is someone I can spend time with, talk comfortably with, and cuddle now and then.

I met an acquaintance the other day, who explained to me how all he needed to get back to his work as a self-employed gardener after an injury was a second-hand van, but he couldn't afford one. "You know, I'm 55 and I never asked for a lot out of life and I didn't even get that".

I know, mate, I know.