Leaving people who get under our skin while respectably dressed (which describes just about everyone I've known) with the people who could've gotten us to do anything for them (within reason), which describes all my friends and possibly friendship itself, and entrusting all these, in turn, to one weird friend, I recall that some people have suggested that I aught to have had children.
Not being born with a womb, this tends to bring me back to the days I was cajoled about the same thing by girls I was related to.
I speak in the past tense for numerous reasons, one of which being that the days of cajolery coincided with my being the only boy with the Jonnes surname.
When the internet gave us a new way of searching, we discovered that our surname wasn't quite as unique as we had formerly believed. I'm only willing to believe what is said of my lineage as far back as my great grandfather. Whether he fought in wars or avoided them, has never been mentioned. For some reason or other he came to Africa: that is all we truly know.
If I must talk about the time I last thought of having children, I must talk about a time when I was ignoring everything I knew. Ultimately I'd have to throw in the word slave, which might get some chuckling who are willing to knowingly have children in a state of bondage which is called freedom.
Besides becoming a husband, what does a boy have to look forward to?
Certain things are obvious to girls--much of which has to do with boys. Certain things are obvious to boys--none of which has to do with girls.
It doesn't seem I can avoid airing my dirty laundry: when I had twenty-five reasons not to have any, and tv shows were telling me that a man who has risked his life from sheer nihilism has yet to prove he has the courage to go up to a pretty girl, film previews were suggesting that when I had forty reasons not to avoid having dirty laundry to air I would be at the mercy of girls young and girls old, all of whom aired their soiled g-strings by accidentally getting them caught in the rear-facing bonnet. And I couldn't help feeling that but one wasn't laughing at the antics of a forty-year-old virgin man, in spite of everything.
The leaders of technology were clearly advocating that boys and girls aught not make a big deal of sex. New sets of rules were being devised and dry-run through the medium of tv sitcoms. An experienced man might come across a woman who's nothing like anything he's met before. This is not a way to build a culture.
Only an inexperienced man knows what it is to be truly led on.
Thus the most popular shows of sixteen years ago were telling us to ignore the salient difference between the sexes.
And so I became like every other Nerd, and therefore had no reason to hope.
How many people look at spelling suggestions and don't snigger?
How many generations must go through the motions of thinking that artificial intelligence this year is better, and then going on to realize that unless they know what they want to fucking say, and how they want to fucking say it, there's no fucking-point in fucking saying anything?