(‘s) (she) (them) or – therefore: THE GLASS IS HALF EMPTY

i know that i always write in a negative way. Even if it is always negative it is a talent. the talent is the ability to see the negative in the positive. Nietzsche said that even those who hate themselves respect themselves enough to realise that there is a self to hate. i did not write this for you so i understand if you don’t get it
 
 
(‘s) (she) (them)
 
 
or – therefore: THE GLASS IS HALF EMPTY
 
 

 
 
I’ve just gotten off the phone. I was being told off again for talking about women. It was a woman telling me off; of course it was a woman telling me off. I was being told that I am not allowed to state the differentiation between men and women. She was telling me that men and women should be considered equal. Phhfffff. Even if a woman has an unusually high level of testosterone in her body she does not have balls. The modern day woman is wound too tight and doesn’t have nearly enough orgasms. I’ve listened to Donald Trump’s run. He made a comment about immigration and came across sounding like a dangerous racist. The only thing I’ve heard him say and liked was, political correction is ruining this country. Wake up Donald, I’ll get Goofy to slap you. It is ruining the world. I don’t think anyone can see where this is leading. I can. I’ve seen it in ‘forties sci-fi movies. We all wear the same shiny silver clothes and have the same haircut

 
 
It is amazing to share so much with the female but to be so completely different. She wouldn’t know about ejaculating. Most men would feel embarrassed to tell a woman how many times they have ejaculated. I’ve ejaculated on the sheets and slept in my sperm. I’d say most men have. Some women squirt but that’s fuck-all. There is nothing in a squirt. Women’s books won’t tell you what men want. The trick of a woman is figuring out if she wants you. It changes as a woman ages and it slows down. Men go on masturbating till the day they die. There is no meaning just desire. We should be cherishing the differences between the sexes but women can’t let go of their envy of the penis. A woman can work now and she can drive a car and rule a country! Yeah but she can’t piss standing up III

(I liked the way that last sentence went. Only a man will laugh at that one so I’ll end it like that) (p.s. I love women, a woman, all women, (‘s) (she) (them) but am by myself. That’s why I can write about it like this. Imagine if I had a woman and she read this. She’d be mad for a week. Through professional eyes I’ll start it up again now. )))))))))))))))))))) )))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
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I left the house with her (‘s) (she) (them) on my mind to have a go at table tennis. I have only played once since becoming disabled. I was beaten by a smart-arse in the hospital that could walk. He kind of grinned every time he aced me. I kept my mouth shut and thought, fool you’re supposed to be helping me but I let him play his best game. I know I always write about the wheelchair but I don’t often talk about the ‘scone’ injury. It took almost a year and a half for the spinning to stop enough to get out of bed. There are no words to describe it but falling and spinning sound close. I spent months in a bed feeling nauseous when I was raised to eat my breakfast. If you smile nobody will ever know. I want to improve my limited peripheral vision and vestibular so I turned up at a hall to have a go. There was one hot girl there and it made me feel lonely to see her. She had devoted her life to table tennis and had probably never tried to fit two (both) balls in her mouth

I had a hit with a Representative on a table. Where was the ball? Every time I tried to focus on it I would get a ‘still’ shot of his shirt and lose it. I used to be good at table tennis. My father always laughs about the fact that I didn’t tell anyone at school that I had won a Canterbury tournament. They read my name out in assembly for it and I turned red as the school faced me. My father recently told me of the day I won the championship. My coach had noticed that the boy who was supposed to win it had trouble playing a shot against players who threw the ball up into the air to serve so that’s how I was taught. I threw it way up in the air. I beat him by aces. My father told me that he did not shake hands with me and he laughs as he tells me that his father and mother stormed out of the stadium with him, they didn’t even stay for the supper. My father tells me that was his favourite sporting memory. Table tennis is not considered a cool sport in New Zealand. I started playing rugby later

The man was impressed with some of my shots but was trying to retune me for my altered dimensions playing in a wheelchair. You have to go higher with the bat, he said, to make more follow through and spin. I get that. Fuck the ball. There doesn’t seem to be anything to stop me spinning. Spinning is not a problem for me. I already take enough medicines and I have adapted to the vertigo if I sit still. When I am in motion or my vision is in motion I just hang on. The ball kept whizzing past me and once or twice my bat sent the ball whizzing up past my field of periphery. I just had to stay in close to the net. The man told me he had seen a guy in a wheelchair hold on to the wheel with his other hand so I did and my rally got better. I told him that my vision and was better on my backhand so we rallied a few

Ok he said, now we will try your forehand side and I kind of protested. I am better on the left hand side. I have more vision. He started serving to my forehand. I missed the first three or four completely and then got one on the table by chance and it felt good and we rallied three times. He knew where I could see too and fed me. Nearly every time the ball went off the table the man scurried after it. I got it a couple of times when it was in reach of the chair. Eventually he asked what had happened to me? I instinctively told him the truth and watched his face turn. He said, fuuuuck! The look on his face changed. His impression of me had changed. I got in closer to the table. He gave me a couple of hard serves and I returned with winners. I smiled as I wondered, why did he have to ask what happened to me?

I kept looking to the hot girl but she was almost entirely focused on her game, she only ever shot me sly glances. I see women as a game and I am just as focused. The 2 of the *23 told me that I try too hard but that’s because I have to. If anybody say’s I am being dramatic I tell them to try it. Only one of my friends has ever asked if he could have a go in my wheelchair. I transferred on to the couch and let him. I still don’t know why he wanted to have a go but for me it was a sign that somebody wanted to understand. I don’t understand but I was happy that somebody wanted to see what it’s like. Nobody has asked what it’s like to have landed on the head? I kept thinking about the man asking me what happened as I tried to rally. I got a few good shots and had a couple of good serves so it gave me hope. That is all I have so I keep trying. He asked my story ‘til he eventually told me he had to go. I put my bat down and reached for his hand

When I got home I picked up the phone. I needed to understand. I needed somebody to understand. I dialled and asked why? The * or the *23 said that I should be glad people are interested enough to want to ask me why. Oooh, okay I said. I should feel glad that people are as nosey as to inquire as to why I am in a wheelchair. It is all a matter of perception. I should be glad that people only ask to satiate their knowledge. What does it matter? I get bored having to reiterate the same story of how I got here. I think it’s a rude thing to ask a stranger. How do they know, I could have been born like this? The * of the three *23 told me that was how people are. I told them that that wasn’t right. I often have exchanges with people who have never asked me why I am in a wheelchair. That is a true human being; someone who accepts you how you are. To say that someone asks is to be human is wrong. Someone asks to be nosy. We are all human to begin with 11112222333333

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Andrew Stuart Buchanan

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