Primal

Your scent hits me first, before your skin is near,

A wild signal cutting through the doubt and fear.

No slow dance needed, no polite little plea,

You belong to me.

Forget the reason, forget the gentle art,

We’re tearing down the walls right from the start...

This savage clash when we collide!

Where all the careful manners run and hide.

It's a fever burning deep inside the bone,

We burn perfectly when we are alone!

My grip is iron, pulling you down low,

Every ragged breath is where the wild things grow.

No more whispers now, just the sound of teeth on throat,

This raw vibration is the only note!

Don't ask for soft... don't ask for slow...

Just take this hunger where the wild things go.

TAKE IT! Own the heat, let the edges fray...

We ain't here to whisper, we are here to stay!

Just let it burn... just let it bleed...

FUCK!

The fate of our files

 One of my jobs I had as an IT person was about a year after someone died, I would delete their files from the servers. I always looked at the the file count in their documents before I did. It was confidential things so I never looked at what was in them, but I would think about all that time that person had spent creating those files and for what? Just me quietly coming along, no ceremony, no looking at the files. Just a simple, purge a year after they die.

Is that the fate of my files too? I guess it is.

10 years today

 

On this day 10 years ago the Drs kicked my wife out of the hospital. She was still protesting at them as I wheeled her out in a wheelchair down to the car. And then I drove her to the hospice. They had starved her and dehydrated her for 3 days promising her life saving surgery, it never happened.

10 days later I sat beside her as she turned to me, took her last breath and I saw the vein in her neck stop pulsing. That moment is stained on me. I’ll never forget it.

Good girl

 

You showed up steady, quiet, ready — good girl.

You were patient when the world wasn't — good girl.

You stayed present when presence was hardest — good girl.

You settled into it like you belonged there — good girl.

You said yes before I finished asking — good girl.

You waited, hands folded, eyes soft — good girl.

You remembered every little thing I like — good girl.

You wore what I chose without a word — good girl.

You slowed down when I asked you to — good girl.

You kept your eyes on me when the room got loud — good girl.

You didn't rush the silence — good girl.

You leaned in instead of pulling back — good girl.

You reached for my hand first — good girl.

You softened instead of closing off — good girl.

You let yourself be seen — good girl.

You asked for what you needed — good girl.

You were honest even when it cost you — good girl.

You gave me your nervous and your brave — good girl.

You trusted me enough to let go — good girl.

You made the ordinary feel like something — good girl.

You blushed but you didn't look away — good girl.

You wanted to please and weren't ashamed of it — good girl.

You held still and let the moment last — good girl.

You glowed when you got it right — good girl.

Desire

 

Desire,

An echo in the darkness of our souls,

A touch that ignites a thousand goals,

A yearning so intense it steals control,

It's a flame that never grows old.

It's a flame, it's a dance,

A magnetic, hypnotic trance,

A fervor that enhances the romance,

Desire, in its powerful stance.

A whisper grows into a fiery roar,

A feeling that leaves us craving more,

A hunger that consumes us to the core,

Desire, it's you I adore.

It's a heartbeat, fast and wild,

A rhythm driving us both wild,

A longing burning like fire,

Desire, you take me higher.

An allure that forever beckons close,

A dream where inhibitions decompose,

With every beat, you're all I need,

Desire, you make me plead.

A passion that only you ignite,

Electric touches in the pale moonlight,

In your arms, I lose my fight,

Desire, you're my appetite.

An urge that never loses fire,

Taking me higher and higher,

In your embrace, I'm complete,

Desire, oh desire, you're my heat.

Closer

 

Closer.

.

Don't move. Don't test me.

You're doing so well being patient.

I can hear your heartbeat from here

Louder than anything you're saying.

Hands down.

Eyes up.

You wanted my attention —

now you've got all of it.

Closer.

Not yet — closer.

Every inch you give me, I take slower

You're shaking and you haven't been touched

That's exactly how I like you.

You keep testing how far quiet stretches

Findin' out real quick it doesn't break

I don't need my hands to have you

My voice already knows the way.

— Say my name like you mean it.

— Now say it again, slower.

Closer... closer...

sex over 50

 

OK, I'm going to say it. There's this societal expectation that women over 50 have closed up shop. Sex is out, desire is gone.

 

Here's the thing nobody tells you: desire isn't gone. It's dormant. If the sex is bad or non-existent, a woman's drive will quietly switch off — why keep the engine running with nowhere to go? But give her good, available sex, and something else happens entirely. That switch flips back on, and it doesn't come back at half-strength. These women turn into horny wee things whose drive can outpace most men half their age.

 

And it throws them. Not because anything's wrong with them — because nobody warned them this was allowed. Society spent fifty years telling them that after menopause, wanting anything was off the table. So when the wanting comes roaring back, it feels like a glitch instead of what it actually is: normal.

 

It was never broken. It was just waiting for a reason.

A real Dom

 

Ever since you were a little girl you knew how to scan a room, you knew how to deflect, how to calm. You knew when to walk away, and when to run. And sometimes, how to shrink down and take it because running made it worse.

That knowledge has served you well and continues into adulthood. You know when to laugh at just the right moments, how to not be too much and how to be just enough.

And then he came along and fucked up your life in the best way. Not by taking control — you'd been controlled before, you knew what that cost. He took the control you'd been carrying alone and made it his to hold, so for once you didn't have to. He never told you who to be. He told you exactly what he wanted, and left no room to guess, no performance required. There was nothing to scan for. He'd already named it.

And the thing is, he wasn't some prince on a white horse. He didn't save you. He gave you permission — not to obey, but to stop bracing. The vigilance had a job once. With him, though. It was no longer needed. You looked for some time, expecting it to go wrong, waiting to see some facade drop, it never did, and you felt yourself open up, you could tell him about your blunders and he never judged you. He had an ability to take your day out of your hands, do it all while still making it all about you and you became a happy little princess. He slowly built you up, convincing you to do things you never thought you would do.

I haven’t mentioned sex in this piece and I’m not going to. But if you find this man, what you have in fact found is a Dom. The real ones will care for you every bit outside the bedroom as in.

Little sub

 I look down at this 5ft nothing wee thing staring up at me defiantly. 

I smile at her and gently say, “You are so small. Look at me, I would tear you to shreds”

She looks up at me with the defiance of a sub. 

“You don’t scare me, I’m resilient, I can handle anything you give me” she’s trying so hard to sound tough. 

She’s so adorable. I know I’m going to cave to this wee thing, but she’s going to have to fight for it.

Panic attacks and what to do

 If someone is having a panic attack, you have two immediate things you need to do.


You need them to understand where they are. And you need them to understand that right now, they are safe.

The first one is the most immediate need. Most of the time, it will resolve the second issue on its own.

So, first up — don't go "Look at me! Look at me!" That's going to overload them even more.

You need them to say their name. It's grounding — it brings them back to themselves. "Tell me your name," even if you know them well. It's not for you, it's for them. This first step may take a few repeats before it registers. That's okay — be gentle, don't rush.

If their breathing is ragged or they can't catch it, this is a good moment to slow that down too. Get them to breathe out longer than they breathe in — count it with them if you have to. It won't fix everything, but it takes the edge off the physical panic while you keep working through the rest.

Once you get them saying their name, you've made it through to them. Ask them to repeat it — "again, what's your name." When they tell you, say "Good." A bit of praise helps more than you'd think.

Next, get them to tell you what day it is. If they don't know, tell them, then ask again. Get them to repeat it back — "my name is ___, and the day is ___." They've already started to be distracted from the panic, without realising it.

The next step is bringing them to where they are, right now. If they've called you, get them to describe their surroundings. "Look down — what's on the ground? Dirt? Grass? Tiles?" Ask about the pattern on the tiles. If you're sitting with them, ask them to point out something that's a colour — "tell me something that's green."

Get them looking around. Your goal is both distraction and pulling them back to the present, so they can see for themselves that they're safe.

Start asking about their plans for later today, and maybe tomorrow. By now, they should be a lot calmer.
.
.
.
This may not be the perfect system but its what I do for people in overwhelming situations.

Life n depression

 

In life we have our ups and downs

We simply have to make the best from what we have

And that's ok

Never give up

Tenacity is strength and bravery

To continue with what we do in life

Onward, even when it's heavy

Days will turn, this too will shift

In the end its what we do

Enjoy that we have, treat it as a gift



That time of the month

 AAAAARGGGHHHH!!!! It’s not fair! This sucks!!!!!! My daughters friend is a little yelly this morning. I wander over to her room. “Period has arrived huh”? I say. “It’s so unfair” she complains. “Good news! I haven got mine” I tease. “Yaaaaahhhhh” is her response to that. “Need some painkillers”? She nods “And chocolate”? “Yes?” she says. I go off, grab her some food, water painkillers and a bit of chocolate. And I smile, knowing I have a home that’s safe enough that women can tell me these things.

Peace

 

It took 9 months, but its finally happened. I’m starting to feel a measure of peace. The anxiety is dropping. It’s an odd feeling. I’m not on edge anymore. I’m not terrified when I wake up in the mornings about what’s going to happen. There’s still that background nagging, but there’s also so much peace. I can breathe, I can relax into myself.

Now to figure out how to heal this body. Soon, but this week I’m going to just be, there’s no rush.

Learn to channel your anger

 

Learn to channel your anger.

I sat in a room with the people who killed my wife. Was I mad? Sure was. It was also terrifying. People have said they would get violent. Nope. That anger was sitting. I used it to give me focus. I spent 2hrs quietly and calmy ripping those people to shreds. No raised voices, no accusations, they had no way to come back on me. Just facts, one after the other and they had nowhere to run.

Decompressing from stress

 

10 years ago my wife had terminal cancer. I helped her all the way. Never stopped. My body literally fell apart, from how hard I was pushing. I was going blind from ocular migraines, that would stop me for 30mins and then I would carry on. I was bleeding, from everywhere, my nose was the worst, gushers, almost every day at one point. I was also peeing blood. The scary ones were when I bled from my ears overnight.

There were times where I was running on 3hrs sleep. Still gave everything I had. She had to do her own dressing changes for a long time, in the bathroom, hanging over the bath, 10 years later there’s still blood stains in the bath, no matter how much I scrubbed they won’t come out, I even tore part of the bathroom out to get rid of the blood. She refused to let me help. So, every night I sat outside the bathroom on a shitty stool and talked to her, played music on my phone. 45 mins to an hour and a half. When she was in pain I was up, if it was 3am, I was there.

Sometimes in the evening, I would settle her in front of the TV and for an hour or two I would sit in my office right beside the lounge and play a video game. This wasn’t avoidance, this wasn’t me being callous, this was me needing to decompress. My world, everything I had built was crashing, my wife, my business was crashing as I was busy looking after my wife (I’m still paying off the debts I rang up) and I had to stop. The game was for kids, Farming Simulator. Round and round paddocks in circles. A game where I barely had to think, but enough to keep my fucked up brain occupied.  

Therapy was pointless for me, did nothing, my wife was very, very sick and there was nothing they could say to make that better.

So, yeah. Guys needing to play a video game for a little can do more than talking to some random person who can’t help. If you find therapy helps, then good for you. But judging people when they need other ways to decompress. That’s fucking low.

He was a good man



 I have walked through fire and rain

Carried more than my share of pain

I have fallen, I have risen slow

I have reaped the seeds that I did sow

I was not the best that walked this earth

But I fought to prove my living worth

Held my own through the darkest nights

Kept my candle burning, kept the light

When all is done and I face the fading sun

Do not weep for me, do not come undone

Just say a quiet prayer, let the stillness speak

He was a good man — not perfect, but a good man all the same

I loved the ones who needed loving most

Stayed when others faded like a ghost

I leave no throne, no fortune, and no fame

Just the quiet hope they'll speak well of my name

I do not ask for glory

I do not ask for more

Just leave me to the mercy

Of what I'm walking toward

When all is done

When all is done

May they say I tried

I hope you say I was

A good man

The More of a Man You Are, the More of a Woman She Will Become

 








The More of a Man You Are, the More of a Woman She Will Become
Look at those scales.
One side says asshole. The other says overly nice guy. And right now they're perfectly balanced — because most men spend their entire relationship lives trying to figure out which way to lean.
Wrong premise entirely.
The man who tips toward asshole mistakes cruelty for strength. He confuses her walking on eggshells with her respecting the ground he stands on. It works, after a fashion — until she either leaves or hollows out completely. Neither outcome is a win. Neither makes him more of a man.
The overly nice guy thinks he's solved it. He's done the reading. He knows about toxic masculinity. He apologises pre-emptively. He checks in. He asks how she's feeling approximately four hundred times a week. And he cannot understand why she seems vaguely irritated by his relentless availability, why the attraction has gone flat, why she looks through him like a window when she used to look at him like a door.
One imposes. One appeases. But watch closely — both have made her the whole point. Neither one has anywhere else to be.
The imposer looks like he's making it about himself, but he isn't. His dominance only exists in relation to her. Take her away and the performance collapses — he needs someone to impose on. She's still the axis. The nice guy is more obvious about it, built entirely around her reactions, her approval, her temperature on any given day. Neither man has a self that would survive her absence intact.
She can feel that. And she cannot relax into it.
A woman cannot fully soften with a man who is fundamentally unsteady. She picks up the slack. She manages. She leads from behind, because someone has to. It isn't what she wanted. It's what was left.
Now consider the man who isn't performing either of those roles.
He has a direction. Not a rigid agenda — a direction. He knows what he values. He can disappoint her without apologising for existing. He can be moved by her without being destabilised by her. He holds his ground not because he's trying to win an argument, but because his ground is actually his.
And yes — she wants to feel that. A degree of dominance in a man isn't something women have been conditioned to tolerate. It's something they're wired to respond to. The issue was never the dominance. It was the source. Dominance that comes from insecurity, from fear of losing her, from needing to control the outcome — she feels that too, and it repels her. Dominance that comes from a man who simply knows who he is? That's a different thing entirely. That's what she's been looking for on both sides of those scales and not finding.
Something happens around that man.
She softens. Not because he's demanded it, not because he's manoeuvred her into it — but because she no longer has to be braced. The tension she carries as a matter of habit begins to release. She doesn't have to mother him. She doesn't have to manage his ego or tiptoe around his insecurity. She can be warm because the environment is safe. She can be playful because he won't mistake it for weakness. She can be vulnerable because he won't use it against her.
The more of a man you are, the more of a woman she will become.
It isn't a transaction. It isn't technique. It isn't something you do to her.
It's something that happens when you walk in your own centre. When you arrive whole.

Decaying

 

Where do I start? It’s always a difficult issue.

I am a Straight White Man in my 50s.

I’m not a perfect person, I have done sketchy things in my life.

But I am sick of this Men are abusive. White men are even more abusive. And its ALL men.

And if you ever try to argue then you get vilified. How dare you say its not ALL men.

I don’t tell people what I do, I’m not after glory, it’s just me doing the right things.

Have I raced across town in the early hours to pluck young girls who are standing on the side of the road, lost and not knowing what to do? More than once.

Have I talked people who were thinking maybe it was time to end their marriage into staying? Yup. Have I talked them into leaving when I could see it was poisoning them? Yup.

Have I opened up my home to women who were literally homeless with nowhere else? Plenty of times.

Talked women out of suicide a few times (that scares me most but I’ll still do it)

I now face my own issues. My body is failing. My organs are failing. It’s getting to my brain now. I’m losing function. I can hide it for now. But soon I won’t be able to.

And I’m so alone.

Men are tough, when we finally ask for help, it’s expected of us to be tough. So we are tough alone.

I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I don’t think I have a real point to this.

Rantings of a lonely old man I guess.

Straight White men. The new acceptable target.

 

The Vanishing Majority: Are Straight White Men the World's Most Acceptable Target?

I want to talk about something that a lot of men feel but have learned not to say out loud — because the moment you do, you get accused of the very thing you're trying to discuss.

So let me start with some numbers. Because numbers don't have an agenda.


The Demographics Nobody Wants to Discuss

Straight white men are a global minority. Not metaphorically. Literally.

White people make up somewhere between 13 and 16 percent of the world's population. Half of those are male. And of those males, roughly 88 to 92 percent identify as heterosexual — a figure that drops further in younger generations. When you do the actual maths, straight white men represent somewhere around 6 to 7 percent of all humans on earth.

That's not a majority. That hasn't been a majority for a very long time. It just didn't used to be talked about in those terms.

Within Western nations the picture is shifting just as dramatically. In the United States, the non-Hispanic white population has declined by over 2 million people since the 2020 Census — the first time in American history the white population has recorded an absolute decline. LGBTQ+ identification has more than doubled since 2012, now sitting at around 9 percent of US adults, with over 23 percent of Gen Z identifying as something other than heterosexual.

Here in New Zealand, 67.8 percent of the population identified as white in the 2023 Census. That number is falling. Maori, Pasifika, and Asian populations are all growing at significantly faster rates.

The point is not to make anyone feel under siege. The point is that the demographic reality has shifted — and that shift has cultural consequences that almost nobody is being honest about.


What Happens When a Majority Becomes a Minority

History gives us a fairly reliable pattern here.

When a previously dominant group transitions to minority status — or even just from a dominant majority to a shrinking plurality — two things tend to happen simultaneously. The group that is losing ground becomes a more socially acceptable target for resentment from groups that previously lacked the power to express it. And the shrinking group experiences increasing anxiety and identity defensiveness.

This isn't unique to white men. You can observe the same dynamic in post-colonial transitions, in ethnic majority shifts in rapidly diversifying nations, in religious group dynamics. It's a human pattern, not a white one.

The correction of historic imbalances is legitimate and necessary. But corrections rarely land precisely. They tend to overshoot. And the overshoot is where we currently appear to be living.


The Social Licence to Demean

Let me be direct about what I'm observing.

There is a now well-established social licence in Western culture to make sweeping derogatory statements about straight white men that would be considered utterly unacceptable — career-ending, in fact — if directed at virtually any other demographic group.

The example closest to home for New Zealanders is Marama Davidson, who as the sitting Minister for the Prevention of Family and Sexual Violence stated publicly in March 2023: "I know who causes violence in the world. It is white cis men who cause violence in the world."

When pressed in Parliament — repeatedly — on whether she would apologise, she said, in her own words: "I am not going to apologise to cis men." The only apology offered was a private one to the Prime Minister — not to the public, and not to the group she had generalised about.

Substitute any other demographic into that original sentence. Any of them. And ask yourself honestly how that press conference ends differently.

It ends with a resignation. That's the point.

This is not an isolated New Zealand incident. It is a pattern visible across Western media, academia, social media platforms, corporate diversity frameworks, and political rhetoric. Advertising routinely portrays white men as the incompetent foil while other demographics are presented as capable and admirable. University funding and job postings explicitly exclude white male applicants in ways that would be legally actionable if applied to any other group. Social media platforms permit explicit "I hate white men" content while removing far milder generalisations about other groups.


The "Not All Men" Trap

Here is where it gets particularly dishonest.

If you are a man who objects to being included in a broad generalisation about male behaviour — if you say "not all men" — you are not engaging in a reasonable factual correction. You are, according to the dominant cultural logic, revealing yourself as part of the problem.

The rhetorical structure works like this: a sweeping generalisation is stated as fact. You object to it. Your objection is immediately reframed as evidence of your guilt, or as a deliberate attempt to derail a conversation about something more important than your feelings.

What that structure actually is, stripped of its political framing, is an unfalsifiable claim. A belief system that cannot be questioned without the questioner being condemned is not a progressive framework for justice. It is dogma. And it deserves to be named as such.


The Privilege Argument and Where It Goes Wrong

The concept of privilege, as originally developed in sociology, was a legitimate analytical tool. It was intended to describe statistical patterns across populations — not a moral indictment of individuals.

Somewhere between the sociology department and social media, it mutated into something else entirely.

A working-class man in provincial New Zealand — who has lost a partner, raised a child alone, struggled with his health, worked physically demanding jobs, and had no institutional safety net — shares a demographic label with a Harvard-educated senator or a multinational CEO. The argument that they share anything meaningful beyond that label, that they have somehow benefited from the same "privilege," requires you to ignore everything actual and specific about a human life in favour of a demographic abstraction.

That is not analysis. It is a different kind of prejudice — one that happens to be currently socially acceptable.

Nothing is handed to most men simply because of who they are. What is handed to some men, by virtue of wealth and connection and institutional access, is real. But those men are not the men having this conversation. They are rarely the ones being accused.


What This Is Actually Doing to Men

The downstream consequences of this cultural environment are not abstract.

Men — particularly younger men — are disengaging from education, from institutions, from political participation through conventional channels, and increasingly from the social mainstream. The male suicide rate in New Zealand sits at approximately three times the female rate. Boys are now underperforming girls at every level of the education system. Men comprise around 93 percent of workplace fatalities and approximately 70 percent of the homeless population.

These are not the statistics of a protected and privileged class. These are the statistics of a group under significant strain — whose strain is being systematically dismissed because acknowledging it is seen as undermining other legitimate conversations about inequality.

You can hold both things at once. Women face real discrimination. So do Maori. So do people in poverty. None of that requires you to pretend that men — particularly working-class men in communities that have been economically hollowed out — are doing fine and have nothing legitimate to say about their circumstances.

The refusal to hold both things at once is not solidarity. It is tribalism with better branding.


The Backlash Nobody Wants to Talk About

History is fairly consistent on what happens when a group — any group — comes to believe that the dominant culture views them as inherently guilty, inherently suspect, and inherently unworthy of acknowledgment or sympathy.

They do not become more moderate. They become more extreme.

The rapid swing of young men toward hard-right politics across the United States, Europe, and increasingly New Zealand is not happening in a vacuum. It is happening in a cultural environment where those young men have been told, repeatedly and from multiple directions, that their identity makes their grievances illegitimate — and that the appropriate response to this message is to sit quietly and accept it.

That is not working. And the people most loudly insisting on that approach appear to be the last to notice.


What I'm Actually Asking For

Not special treatment. Not the restoration of any imagined past. Not permission to ignore the legitimate grievances of others.

Just the same basic standard applied consistently.

If a generalisation would be considered unacceptable when directed at any other group, it should be considered unacceptable when directed at this one. If individual experience matters when assessing the circumstances of one demographic, it should matter when assessing the circumstances of another.

That is not a radical position. It is the minimum requirement for intellectual consistency. And the fact that stating it plainly has become controversial tells you more about the current cultural climate than it does about the man saying it.

Straight white men are not asking to be put back on top. Most of them were never there in the first place.

They are asking to be seen as human beings rather than demographic abstractions. That ought to be a reasonable request.

fuck this place

I loathe being alive. 
I hate living every fucking moment in pain that I can't escape from.
I hate trying to push along a dying body with organs slowly shutting down. 
I hate being forced into a subsistence living on welfare. With shitty people commenting how people like us are a drain on society. 
I hate living in a shitty house that's falling to pieces but I'm poor so I can't fix it.
I hate the Drs who knowingly killed my wife and didn't give a shit. 
I hated the night I sat with my dog as he looked at me and silently pleaded for help. To fix him. And there was nothing I could do but watch him die.
And right now I hate my car even more. My last piece of freedom. My last occasional escape. I spent the last squeak of my savings on it. And now it's fucked. Its drained every thing I have and it's still demanding more money, a lot more money. I'll probably have to sell it and lose, really lose and buy a shit box that might get me into town. Either that or start taking busses for groceries and live out the last years of my shit life trapped in a decaying house in a decaying body. 
If you want some good advice. Walk away from me. Better yet, fucking run. There's nothing good can come from me.