Part 17: Becoming a man

Hey.

G'day.

Welcome.

I'm going to discuss what it means to be a man. Y'all might lose me, but that's okay, there are some things that I see and understand that I am going to try and write down, and we'll see how we go.

I never had a father. Well, I have one somewhere, but I never knew him. The only real Father Figure I ever had in my life was a drunk and a rapist and a murderer, so I try my best not to emulate him. Though in a lesser sense, I have.

But on and off, throughout my life, I have spent time trying to understand the meaning of being a man.

And tonight, I found myself coming close to understanding.

I'm going to randomly start to write, occassionally list, it's for myself you must understand, though voyeur that you are, feel free to browse. Lurk.

I think being a man is different to just being an adult.

I think being a man is a conscious decision, and yet cannot be just decided upon and acted upon. You can't just choose to be one, and it is so. You must be sculpted into one. Hardened maybe. But in my eyes a man is not an impenetrable rock. He is so much more.

I think being a man when you look like a skinny pale rock kid is difficult, because who will take you seriously? How can anyone possibly see that underneath that exterior lies wisdom? Well you can read it here on occassion that I hit the mark, but I guarantee, stand in the same room and your expectations of me will drop. He's a kid, and a shabbily dressed one at that. But it's all about the eyes kids, it's always about the eyes. And frightened; mine are not.

This is as close as I can come to the thoughts that lie within, and even then, now, words are not enough. It is not enough to know the meaning of being a man, it must be acted upon, it must be burnt in, branded into your daily habits until every single fucking hour, you are ten feet tall.

Please, please, do not mistake this for either ego or machismo. Surely you, the reader, are smart enough to understand the difference.

Being a man means living with the knowledge that this is all there is, understanding the universe, but helpless in its grip.

Knowing that your path is made by you alone. And bearing whatever burden is cast your way without tears, without suffering. Grin that grin fucko, sweat it out and keep on keeping on. Laugh in the face of death, of heartache, of pain. Take it, learn from it, move on.

Johnny had June, but June did not make Johnny. June softened Johnny, held his hand and gave him a fireplace and a home, next to which they sang songs and ate dinner and entertained. But I think June understood Johnny. And let him be. And in return, found the truest friend that could be found.

A soulmate.

But the simple fact is, no-one NEEDS their hand held. It's just nice. It's more than nice, it's beautiful. It's the motherfucking meaning of life, whatever you believe. And if you believe differently, well then, let's disagree. Because you're wrong.

But it's not a need.

Sometimes, I think, to grow I have to leave everything behind. Well, everything but my two, three best friends. Who know more than my exterior, who patiently let me be, and understand me, and stay close even when I falter.

But more often than not I think, I don't need you. In fact, if you have seen me down, then best I get the fuck away from you. I don't need to be reminded. Don't need to be looked at with disappointment...

Because, deep inside, further than even I can go, is a man. And when the day comes for my cocoon fucking kid to be shed, I will stand tall and do anything, everything for you, my friends.

It's easy to write this shit, it's easy to write it and understand the theory. It's harder to wake in the morning when all you want is a word, a reassuring word, but all you get is life. POW.

But that's the fucking test isn't it?

Bring it.