cover photo used under Creative Commons by tray

“I just think this article is great because it educates women to know when they’re being manipulated.”

“Right. But the title is: You’re Not Crazy – a message from a man to women. Talk about a sweeping generalisation. How does he know if all women are crazy or not? This article gives women the perfect excuse to rationalise any anti-social behaviour as a normal human response – and any man who criticises her is easily decried as being a manipulative psychopath. Also there’s a 90% chance that the guy who wrote this article is just doing it because he thinks it’ll help him get laid.”

“I was in an abusive relationship for seven years, and I know what it’s like to be manipulated. If I cried at a funeral my boyfriend would say I was too emotional. The first time I went to my psychiatrist, I told her I didn’t want to be so emotional. Her response was, ‘why would you want to stop your emotions – they’re normal responses.’ Which shows how insidious his behaviour was. He’d brainwashed me into believing I was abnormal.”

“Okay… If you were in such an awful relationship, why didn’t you leave?”

She responded in a grating tone “Do you know anything about female psychology?”

“Hey, chill out. I don’t want to talk about this if you’re going to attack me.”

“I’m not attacking you!”

“Listen to your tone. You’re implying from one comment that I don’t understand anything about women.”

She turned back to her computer and emailed me a link. “Here are some reasons women don’t leave abusive relationships,” she said, her voice cracking. It wasn’t even 8:30 and I’d nearly made one of my workmates cry.

I read the second article about reasons don’t leave abusive relationships, including fear, and if the woman is disabled and depends on the man to wipe her butt. I placated her, because I knew if I didn’t, I’d pay for it with awkward silences later. I considered the unspoken assumptions: that women can be trapped in relationships because of “female psychology” – and therefore, they don’t have to take responsibility for their actions; they’re still a victim in this situation, even though (in most cases) they are free to walk at any time.

Killingsworth would have said to her “Good job, you just set back Women’s Lib fifty years with that one comment.”

I thought about it deeper and imagined if the situation was a little different. It might go something like this:

“This article is definitely true,” I said. “Women are always trying to use emotional manipulation to control them. Once I was in a relationship with a great woman. She kept threatening to leave me because I was cheating on her. Eventually she left me, and somehow made it out like the whole thing was my fault.”

“… … … … You could have just, you know, not cheated on her.”

“Do you understand anything about male psychology?” I retorted with a snide chuckle. Then I pounded her with articles about how silverbacks keep four wives, how it’s important for genetic distribution that a male trick other males into caring for his kids, and the physical impact of testosterone.

“You can’t use science to back up the fact that you’re a fucking asshole!” She said.

See, even in my fantasy a woman manages to override science with emotional truth. I guess we will never be truly equal.

Cover photo by Duncan Cumming

Let’s talk about SlutWalk. A few short months ago in Toronto, Canada, a policeman was speaking to a university audience about the dangers of sexual harassment. During his speech he blurted out: “I’ve been told I shouldn’t say this, but I feel I must. Ladies, you will be subject to less sexual harassment if you don’t dress like sluts.” Almost poetic, isn’t it?

Everyone in the audience was so offended that they created an event called SlutWalk, protesting that… I don’t really know what. Re-claiming their right to dress however they want to without fear of being called “slut” by police officers. Claiming that rape is already a shockingly under-reported crime and by making girls feel that it was their fault they were raped is just making the problem worse.

So naturally when I first heard of SlutWalk, I thought it was a great idea, allowing women to feel more confident to dress however they choose, and to be confident in their sexuality. When I thought about it a little more deeply though, I realised I could not attend this event because of a critical flaw in their philosophy. When I read their manifesto, I distilled it down to these precious words: “I should be able to dress like a slut and there should be no consequences!! SO I’ll dress how I want!”

In an ideal world, dressing in a provocative way wouldn’t increase the likelihood of sexual harassment, but we don’t live in that world. Women dress in a provocative way for many reasons, however one of the main reasons is to get attention from guys – the good kind of attention. Of course it’s inevitable that when you get attention, you get the good and the bad.

When I step into a club wearing a gold jacket, I know that there will be some girls who will like me for it, some girls who hate me for it, and a group of about three guys who would like to beat me up if given the opportunity. I don’t ignore these facts – I embrace them, and I’m prepared to deal with the consequences when they happen. To go out dressing in a manner that attracts attention, thinking you won’t attract negative attention, is to be in denial.

I wrote a little about this on my Facebook status, and it got a few people upset, just as I’d anticipated.

What I didn’t anticipate was someone being so livid that they ended up deleting me from Facebook. It’s unfortunate for me, because, even though I have lived in a culture where roughly half of the population are Women, I still don’t speak Womanese fluently, and when I try to say:

“We don’t live in an ideal world,” it gets translated as “It’s a woman’s fault if she gets raped.”

“We don’t live in an ideal world,” comes out as “I condone sexual assault.”

So I made a little faux pas in the end when, speaking in Womanese, I said “Go masturbate in a cup, and mail me the results.” What I meant to say was “All I’m really saying is, take care of yourself.”

I’m quite sure the message the constable was trying to convey in the first place was similar – that girls should be aware of how the way they dress affects how people behave around them, and how it might even get you into trouble. I do wish he was more tactful about it, as it still seems that people would still prefer to ignore the reality of it. Though I feel that those people would have been offended no matter how the constable said it.

I can think of an apt analogy. Recently, I was in Medellín, Colombia. I’d go to the centre of town, which is a rough area. My friends told me not to take large amounts of money, or my phone, out in public. I heeded their advice. I could have taken my phone out and made a call like a foolish gringo. If that phone got stolen as a result, of course the thief should be held responsible legally. However, I would have made my choice not to follow sensible advice.

So, my friends. Dress however you want. Express yourselves. Just be aware of the risks, and be safe.

“My friend has been taking mushrooms. He says that what he sees when he’s on mushrooms is real, and what he sees normally is a hallucination.

“Is it hurting him?”

“Yeah… he’s starting to skip work because of it. Getting all paranoid. Refuses to see people.”

“Maybe you should say something.”

“Yeah – but I can’t, because what if he’s right? What if I’m not real and what he sees is real.”

“I really don’t think that’s relevant.”

“Of course it is. I can’t say he’s wrong because I don’t know he’s wrong. What if he’s right. I’d be stupid to tell him otherwise.”

“Perhaps. Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a Zoroastrian sitting in the woods on a patch of dirt. He’d been meditating for a few hours and was starting to get hungry. He thinks he’d better get up soon and eat a lamb khorma. But then it dawns on him – oh shit – to eat the khorma, he will have to kill a lamb. He thinks, maybe I can just eat some dahl mukhani. But he realises by eating the lentils he will be killing them. He goes to stand up so he can think about it, but then he stops suddenly. By taking another step he will hurt the grass and the insects that live in it. He stands there for a moment, paralyzed. A Bengal tiger looks out from behind a bush and says to himself, ‘I think I have the solution to both of our problems.’ So he eats the man.”

She laughed. “Did you just make that up then?”

“No, it’s from before Christ.”

“Oh – is that a movie?”

“Ah… no. It’s just really old.”

Sometimes I fantasise about going back to square one, back in time, to when I was five years old, and living it out again, with the knowledge and courage I have now… I imagine the things I can tell my kids one day, so they can stand on the shoulders of a giant (of six foot two) and hopefully, gain with ease the wisdom I’ve struggled so hard for.

The first thing I’d want to teach them is: don’t let them scare you. That authority is not necessarily a reason for respect. That your own rational thought is more powerful than what anyone can command of you. And, the fact that no one else has the courage to stand up, should never stop you from doing it.

When I was in grade 9, Mr Maul was our PE teacher. Maul was about 47 years old, bald, with a quick wit. I liked the guy, more or less, but he was also quick to anger. Too much testosterone.

“Okay, so we’re going to watch this video about body image. Take some notes while we’re watching.” He pressed play.

“Oh my gosh Cindy – you’re not going to wear that!”

“Why not?”

“It’s just not very… flattering to your figure!”

The video continued for a few minutes. Garth nudged me, noticing how the sound was out of sync, and it was amusing. I giggled, and continued to watch the video.

Maul stopped the tape. “Just appalling – absolutely appalling.” Everyone froze, stunned. “I’ve never seen a display of immaturity like that. Yes, I know the sound is out of time, but that doesn’t mean you have to act like little kids! Disrupting the lesson like that…” He was addressing the entire class.

I looked around. Most of the class hadn’t even noticed that the video was out of time.

Let’s assume at this point I had a sudden attack of rationality. “Dude,” I would say.

“Excuse me…?”

“Why are you so upset? Most of the class hadn’t even noticed.”

“Are you talking back to me?”

“I’m just saying, it’s not even a big deal. We’re still watching the video.”

“That’s it – straight to the principal’s office.”

“Alright, no problem. I’ll go and tell him how ridiculous you’re being.”

“Right, now you’re trying my patience. How about we finish this right now, outside.”

“Violence? Really?” Maul was the only teacher I’d ever known to challenge a pupil to a fight (in reality). “Now I’m really going to the principal,” I would say. I packed up my bag, stood up. As I was walking towards the door, I feel a blow on my head. My skinny frame is nearly knocked to the ground.

“The fuck?” I would exclaim.

Everyone is further stunned, and I am punch-drunk. “What the hell are you doing?” someone screeches. I clamber out the door, bumbling up the steps, and make it to Mr. Calmer’s office.

My parents sued Maul. He would get fired, and we would settle out of court for $50 000. My parents held the money for me until I turned 21. I guess everything works out when you stand up for yourself. My classmates told me after I’d left the room, he sat down at his desk and started weeping. I don’t feel bad though – there is no room in my world, nor my heart, for those with such a lack of self-control.

Anyway, as you can probably guess, what actually happened was a lot less dramatic. Everyone in the class sat puzzled, in silence, while Maul reamed us out for the rest of the period.

The point of the story is that, your teachers might tell you about bullies, with the implication that the bullies are other students. What they don’t tell you is that teachers and people in places of authority can, and probably will, bully you. Furthermore, you don’t have to take it. Sometimes it will serve you to be submissive, and just get it out of the way – but even then you submit your actions, but not your spirit. You give them the illusion of control, but not control itself. You never have to be afraid of a bully, even if he is in a position of power or authority. Especially, you should never be afraid to tell him that he’s being irrational, and never be afraid to express what you know in your heart to be right – for when you know something in your heart, it needs no justification, except that you can feel its truth. And you should reveal the truth as often as humanly possible, for speaking the truth is liberating for your soul – that you let its music sing out to the universe – and the souls of everyone around you, so they can find the courage to play their own song.

The collorary of this guideline is that, when you are in a position of power, you should take care not to abuse it. Never pick on someone just because you can get away with it – that is a cowardly, spineless move, and you are not a coward. You are my son. You are a man – a powerful, courageous man – your brother’s keeper.

It’s kinda like when you’re in a club, and a whole bunch of songs are playing. You don’t recognise a single one. The next song comes around and your ears perk up. You recognise something familiar. Before you know it, you’re dancing to Britney Spears.

“Hey! It’s been a long time mate. Let me buy you a beer,” he says, a beaming smile of friendship. Most people don’t even think about it. They don’t remember. He’s standing there in blissful ignorance.

I thought about it. I thought about the time him and his friends found a lump of dog shit in the schoolyard, and they all grabbed me and tried to force my face into it. I thought about the time when he threw banana peels at me. Threw my hat on the roof so I couldn’t get it. He would call me over saying he wanted to talk to me, just so he and his friends could surround me and push me from edge to edge in the circle like a pinball.

Cut back to his smiling face, and the present day.

If he doesn’t remember, I guess I don’t have to remember either.

“Hell, let me buy you a drink.”

“Why don’t you go talk to that cute girl over there?” said Nicole.

“…You’re right, I will.” I got up and walked to the other end of the carriage, and sat down next to the brunette.

“Hey what’s up?” I said. “My name is Jones.”

“Christine,” she said, almost from a daze.

I started talking about the first thing that came into my head, this story about a Russian woman I met telling me about how the town she grew up in in Siberia was a secret town, not on the map. They built nuclear weapons there.

“Siberia isn’t in Russia,” said Christine is a scathing tone, as if I’d just said the dumbest thing in the world.

“Isn’t it? How do you know?”

“My family is Russian.”

“Okay, cool. Well, I’m going to go now. Bye.” I checked GoogleMaps later. Siberia sure is in Russia. Though at the time, I questioned it. I must admit it got to me a bit. Though it probably weirded me out more than anything. Come over for some friendly conversation. Bam! Rude girl wants to argue about geography.

That’s probably how this interaction seems to a lot of you as well, especially if you’ve never approached a girl you’re attracted to. To you it would seem like I’d gone up and talked to some girl, and she’d just acted like a snot-nosed brat. Well, she was, but there’s actually a lot more going on there.

What the girl is doing is trying to see how big my balls are. She basically wants to know if I’m man enough to handle a little brat. At the time, I probably wasn’t. She’s going to test you by picking apart anything you say to her.

Say an average guy comes up and starts talking to a girl. He starts telling some story about what he did over the summer. Now, because all the girl knows of him is this story, and because he sees the girl as higher value than him, he has a lot invested in the story. From his perspective, the story is his entire identity in this situation. He already he has an ego built around it. All of a sudden, he’s very vulnerable. The ego is a very fragile construction. If the girl were to apply pressure in just the right place, his ego structure would crumble, and he would be emotionally distraught, revealing him for the shell of a man he really is.

“Where are you guys going tonight? Oxford Street? Isn’t that where all the gay guys go?” he says.

“You’d know something about that, would you?”

“I… well, uh… No!” Oops. There he goes.

Another time. I’m at Angelique’s birthday party at the Lucky Coq. I’m talking to this friend of a friend of Angelique’s. Her name is Cassie. She’s 5’8″, blonde, fake tan, and a hairdresser. She keeps looking over my shoulder at the security guard in the corner.

“He’s your type, uh?”

“No, no. Not at all. He’s too… big.” She turns and looks me in the eye, and says “And oh, looks are very important to me.”

I thought for a second. “Oh no, what if he doesn’t find me attractive?” Then I realised: “Hold on, I don’t give a shit if she finds me attractive.”

This is a good one though, because it puts a guy on the spot that he can’t even argue his way out of. If the guy really believes he’s ugly, all he can say is “Oh.” The funny thing about this is, if a girl says this stuff and the guy actually isn’t affected (i.e. he passes the test) the girl actually looks like a huge dork.

“Ah. That’s cool,” I said. (That’s me seeing that she’s a huge dork and being nice about it) Though, the other possible interpretation was that she was paying me an obscure compliment, which in a way, she was.

Here’s the thing. Girls are attracted to strong men, emotionally strong men. Men who don’t need other people to tell them what is right. Men who can rely on their own judgement. Guys will try to fake it with body language tricks, surrounding themselves with things, nice clothes, fancy cars. Or they’ll employ gamey techniques that make the girls react in the short term. That’s why they test. They want the genuine article.

Girls don’t test complete chodes (unless the girl is a sicko). They don’t have to. They already know they’re never going to have sex with you. If you’re a complete douche who she just knows she’s never going to be attracted to, ever, and you come up and talk to her, she’ll be nice to you. If you’re a possible mate but she’s not sure, she has to find out. That’s why women test.

One time when I was dating Angelique, we were sitting on the couch. My birthday had just passed.

“25… By 25 I was managing a team of ten reps.” She looked at me expectantly. I don’t think she realised it when she started saying it, but by the time she finished, she probably knew what she was implying. Her frame here is that career is important in the measure of a person. She’s a very career-driven person. What she’s implying is that my life is sub-par, even that I’m a loser. Remember, she’s not saying it to be nasty. It’s a game of sorts.

I felt a little sting on the outside, for a microsecond. However, when I looked inside I realised I was satisfied with my life.

Anyway, I guess the moral of the story is: All girls are dorks and don’t have shit on me. Stay classy Melbourne.

“Excuse me, can I ask you a few questions?”

“…Sure, I guess I have time.”

“Have you heard the word of Jesus lately?”

“Yes, I’ve heard it. I don’t think it’s changed since last time.”

“My name is Brad.”

“Jones.”

“Tell me, have you ever lied, Jones?”

“Well, yes.”

“What does that make you?”

“I suppose that makes me a liar.”

“Lying is a sin in the eyes of God. Sin takes us further from God.”

“I don’t believe that. How can anything take you further from God? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, the Bible says that sin takes us further from God.”

“The Bible says a lot of things… You know what, I don’t care what a book says. I bow to a higher order.”

“What? The Bible is the closest record we have of the word of our savior Jesus Christ!”

“I know what I know, in my heart. How about this though: ‘All things are lawful for me, but not all things are helpful. All things are lawful, but not all things edify.’ Do you know that one?”

“I don’t think I do…”

“Saint Paul. First Corinthians chapter ten verse twenty-three. What do you think it means? It means that God has given us a mind and a divine spark within each of us, that we can choose what is best. Life isn’t about following a bunch of rules. Rock n’ roll ain’t about being perfect.

“Let me tell you something. Sometimes, when I’m alone, and I need help, I cry out to God. I say ‘Show yourself.’ And He fires right back at me: ‘Show yourself’. I asked for Him, and He said that I should look no further than my own self, my own Spirit. If I know who I am, then surely I know Elohim.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go work on the Sabbath.”

I see ads on the sides of trams, with a picture of a wizened ex-bikie ex-crim with a Gandalf beard. He’s saying “You buy it for $5. I get half.” Why does this piss me off so much? The circular logic of it baffles me. I’ve never heard of anyone discuss what’s actually in the Big Issue, only that, by buying it, you are supporting the homeless.

Well, great. So basically the value proposition of your product is that I can give to a bum. Thanks. That’s wonderful. I don’t know if you noticed though, but giving to a bum is normally free – you don’t have to pay an additional premium of $2.50 for the privilege.

“But Kurt,” you say. “You’re giving to a bum that’s actually doing something for himself.” Is he really doing something for himself? He’s selling a product, which the only purpose of buying is that you’re supporting him. So really, there’s no value proposition at all. I really have to applaud the people who came up with it though. Middlemen can put a brand on anything and make money from it. They put a brand on bums, and get a cut when you give to them.

“I am so out of it. I don’t know what it is – I feel like I’m slurring or I just can’t talk properly. I can’t socialise now. I feel retarded.”

“Oh man – I know that feeling. I get it at work some times after saying the same pitch thirty times. I’m not sure if I’m saying words or just talking nonsense. You’re inside your head, being too analytical.”

“How do I snap out of it? I’m trying to think what put me into this state. How did I get like this?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“No, but if I remember how I got like this, I can figure out how to get back into a good state.”

“It doesn’t work like that. You can’t dig your way out of a hole. You can’t think your way out of being analytical. What you need to do is be present now, enjoy the moment, and have fun.”

“I guess so. But how does that work? Why would my voice be retarded like that?”

“Not sure really. Though I can tell you this. The brain has two sides, logical and emotional. With girls, their brains have a much bigger link between the left and right side. They can be anything at any time. Infinite potential, really chaotic.

“With guys, there’s a small link between the left and right side, so you can only think with one side at once. You’re either logical, or you’re emotional. Unless you’re really on. Being in front of a computer for six hours doing search engine optimisation puts you in a really logical state.”

“Right. So what do I do about it?”

I slammed the table. “One thing you can do is slam the table, get rowdy, start talking louder.

“In Awaken the Giant Within, Tony Robbins calls it changing your physiology to change your state. Your body and mind are linked. If you start standing like a champion, you’ll start to feel like one.

“In The Witch of Portobello, Paulo Coelho’s character calls it ‘be different’. Athena encourages her disciples to listen to the music and dance against the rhythm. That sends them into a trance. They forget who they think they are, and get to the core of who they are. They stop analysing, and start experiencing.

“It’s also like how in The Way of the Superior Man, David Deida says that a woman will come to you with a problem, and she’s really emotional.  You try to get to the bottom of the problem by rationalising.  You think by asking her a bunch of logical questions, you can get to the root of the problem, and fix it.  She just gets more worked up about it.  What she really needs is for you to hug her, or tickle her.  She wants you to be a man and change her state for her.  And that’s what you need to do for yourself.”

“So… you’re saying I should hug and tickle myself.”

“That’d be a good start. The main point is, you need to change your state by any means but logical.  You need to be illogical.  One thing we would do in drama was to walk around the room and name things.  It’s from Johnstone’s Impro. Every thing that catches your eye, you look at and call it what it’s not.  If you see a lamp, you call it a ‘dildo’.  If you see a door, you call it ‘Filius De Canis’.  If you see a man, you call it a ‘gratificanzo’.  It forces you to see things as they are, not what you think they are.

“Be anything but logical, and free your mind from the prison it has created.”

In any discipline I’ve ever been involved in, there are always certain exercises that seem completely abitrary and useless. Amateurs, people with an amateur attitude won’t try them. Their egos won’t allow them to. They say that they’re above that, they’re good enough they don’t have to do these stupid exercises. Successful people will do these exercises with discipline, because they’re humble enough. These are the exercises which yield the greatest results. This is what I call the Captain Jack Sparrow Effect.

so i herd u liek piratz lulz

Now most of you probably know who Jack Sparrow is, but just in case: Captain Jack Sparrow is a character from a movie called Pirates of the Carribean. An Admiral who captures him declares him as “the worst pirate who has ever lived”. After he escapes through a series of ridiculous moves that no sane man would perform, everyone says “That is the best pirate who has ever lived!”. You see, he’s not restricted by convention. He’s crazy like a fox.

When I was doing drama, we would gather in a circle and do warm-up exercises. What this involved was saying a bunch of repetitive nonsense phrases over and over. “bidiga bidiga bidiga”. Singing high notes and low notes. Pretending your mouth was a lighthouse shooting a big beam of light in one focused direction. Jumping up and down on one foot. Screaming. Walking around the room and looking at a random object and calling it something it’s not. e.g. You look at a poster and say out loud “tea kettle”.

Say we were warming up for a play.  It would be at about this stage that some old guy would say “Can I go now?”

I or someone else would say “No, this is important.”

“Important? I think the whole thing is rather silly.”

“Fine if you don’t want to do it, you can leave.”

And he would. Amateur. All these exercises look ridiculous. You feel like you’re in a cult when you’re in the middle of them. But all of them warm up the vocal cords, the diaphragm, the tongue and lips. And more importantly, they all bring you into focus, and suck you into the current moment. Ridiculous? No. Fucking brilliant.

A couple of months ago, I step up into the club and I run into some guys from the local Layer.

“Oh man I just can’t get into state. I don’t know what it is. I just can’t get into state.” He means he can’t get happy, into the zone, focused into the moment, so he can talk to girls putting his best foot forward.

“Well hey man, I know a great way to get into state. It’s called Magic Ball.” Actually, it’s another exercise from drama. You pretend you’re bouncing a ball, play hackey with it, pass it around, bounce it around off the walls. So much fun.

Dude gives me a look like it’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. (By the way if you’re reading this dude i think you’re a cool guy – just trying to demonstrate a point here)

Okay Mr Cool Man.

okay mr cool man. you think you look like this?

A couple of hours later I’m bouncing off the walls, being ridiculous, having fun without caring, talking to every girl who walks past. I see dude and he says “Man, I’m not in state… I just can’t get into state.”

“Dude I told you: Magic Ball,” I say with a huge grin on my face.  I don’t think he did get into state that night.

The first time I went to see my singing teacher Rob, from Vox Singing School, he said “Okay, this is going to sound a little weird, but I promise it’s nothing gay. I want you to stretch your jaw by putting three fingers in your mouth height-wise.” I said okay and laughed, and I did it.

rly ulook like this

The next exercise he got me to do was singing scales and making a sound like I was crying “Wah wah wah wah!”

Eventually he would get me to stretch out my diaphragm by exhaling while lying on a size 3 basketball.

In three months, my singing voice had improved tenfold, much quicker than I expected.  A lot of people wouldn’t do these exercises, or at least wouldn’t do them whole-heartedly, for fear of sounding stupid. As for me, I’ve been stupid so many times my brain is stupid-resistant. I can endure massive amounts of stupidity.

How much potential progress have you lost in your pursuit to look cool? Probably a lot. So, the moral of the story is, never be cool.

No, wait, the moral of the story is, never let your fear of looking like a douchebag detract from your own personal growth, and ultimately your success.

This is Kurt Springer signing off and saying take care of yourselves, and each other.