Stopping

 

I was never fast. Shit at running, shit at sports. But what I could do was work for long periods. I would start slow and go all day.
My parents ran training courses. One of them they build a commercial hot house. It took my father and 5 trainees all day to ram the poles for one side. They were big and heavy, the circumference of a power pole and about 10 ft long.

They went home at 4pm. My father and I got stuck in and did the other side together. It was hard work just the 2 of us. But we had it done by 6:30pm.
I learned to walk distances, fast. At school if the class had to walk fairly far and they were short on time the teacher would put me in front and told the rest of the class to keep up.
I learned to work 10 hour days.

Then I got sick, I had to slow down. But I never stopped. I kept pushing and pushing.

People knew I was bad. I never told them how bad.

But the more I pushed the sicker I got.

The more I had to slow down.

Until my body started to give out.

I mean really give out. It’s failing and I had to stop working.

But, how? I don’t know how to stop.

It’s killing me.

But I can’t stop.

What makes a man a good man?

What makes a man a good man? 

Gentle, yes. Kind, yes. 

But tell me, if it came down to it. If he had to, if there was no choice, could he do terrible things? Could he lower his morals? His ethics? 

You see, sometimes a man must fight, he has to do things. 

He must protect. 

And that, that makes the good man. The one who can do bad things to protect those closest to him. The one who carries the weight of those things — and doesn't pretend they were easy.

We need to make a distinction that gets lost in most conversations about masculinity and virtue. The distinction between being harmless and being good.

A harmless man poses no threat because he lacks the capacity. He is gentle because he does not know how to be otherwise. He is kind because he has never been forced toward cruelty.

A good man is different. A good man poses no threat because he chooses not to. The capacity is there, banked like a fire — controlled, directed, quiet. But present. Real. And when it must come out, it comes out in service of something beyond himself. Not ego. Not anger. Not pride. Something worth protecting.

That is the modern gentleman.

Not the absence of strength. Strength, disciplined. Not the absence of fire. Fire, contained. Not a man without edges — a man who knows exactly where his edges are, and protects others with them.

Gentle, yes. Kind, yes. But capable of doing bad things for good reasons.

Don't be the overly nice guy in a relationship

 

When a man senses his partner pulling away sexually, his instinct is to compensate.

He does more around the house. He stops initiating to avoid rejection. He plans dates. He listens harder. He bites his tongue. He waits. He shrinks. He becomes, in every way he knows how, the nice guy.

And it will make things worse.

Attraction isn't built on niceness. It's built on tension.

When you become relentlessly accommodating, you remove the one thing that quietly sustains desire — polarity. The sense that you are a distinct, self-directed person with your own needs, standards, and edge. The moment you dissolve yourself into helpfulness, you stop being someone she can desire and start being someone she manages.

She asked for more help. You gave it. She said she felt unheard. You started listening more. So why does it feel like you're losing her?

Because what she said she needed and what her body responds to are not always the same thing.

She can feel the difference between presence and performance.

When you're doing more to get something, she feels it — not always consciously, but in her body. It registers as neediness. As desperation. As a man who has lost his own centre and is orbiting her approval.

Neediness is the single greatest desire-killer in a long-term relationship. It doesn't make her feel wanted. It makes her feel responsible for you. She doesn't want to mother you. She wants a man.

The more you try, the more pressure she feels. The more pressure she feels, the further she retreats. You interpret her retreat as a signal to try harder. The cycle tightens.

Every grand gesture comes with an invisible invoice.

Planned dates, increased affection, more effort — all of it quietly says: I am doing this so that you will want me again. And that's not wrong. Wanting to be wanted by your woman is one of the most human things there is. But she can feel the desperation underneath it. And desperation, however understandable, is not attractive.

What you're actually communicating

A man who abandons his own needs, opinions, and standards to keep the peace is sending a message he doesn't intend: I don't trust myself. I need your approval to feel okay.

That is not the energy of someone she wants to surrender to.

Desire — especially for women — requires trust in your strength. Not force. Not pressure. A quiet, grounded confidence. A sense that you know who you are and don't need her to confirm it. That you have a life, a perspective, a backbone.

The nice guy gives all of that up in exchange for peace.

And then wonders why she stopped wanting him in bed.

This isn't a licence to do less.

Withdrawing effort, going cold, or becoming indifferent is not the antidote. That's not strength — it's avoidance dressed up as confidence. She'll feel that too, and it will kill desire just as fast.

The goal is not to care less. It's to care from a place of security rather than desperation. To do things because you mean them, not because you're hoping they'll work. To stay present and engaged — but as yourself, not as a man auditioning for her approval.

There's a world of difference between a man who is attentive because he wants to be, and a man who is attentive because he's afraid of what happens if he isn't. She lives in that difference every day.

 

Your body

 

Your body is begging to be mapped by my hands, every curve and crevice calling out to be explored. I'll start slow, tracing the gentle swell of your ass, cupping your breasts in my palms. My fingers dance across your skin, sending shivers coursing through you as we build towards a crescendo. As desire reaches its peak, I'll claim you hard, thrusting deep inside your wetness. You'll gasp beneath me, legs spreading wide to accommodate me, inviting me deeper still. And when the fire finally subsides and we're spent, exhausted but sated, I'll wrap myself around you, shielding you from the world outside. Tonight you are mine; nobody else gets past my protective arms.

Awakening the Dom

 

He'd never considered himself as a dom —it just wasn't who he was. He could be strong when needed, protective even, but mostly he was gentle.

Until her.

She was formidable in her own right: loud, opinionated, unafraid to take up space. But she had a tender side too, one that drew him in.

He couldn't explain how she did it, but something shifted when they were alone together. In the bedroom, she surrendered completely—and he discovered something primal in himself he didn't know existed. A raw power, an almost desperate hunger to take control. She never had to say what she needed. She submitted wordlessly, and he understood: harder, deeper, more.

It was a dance neither of them had planned, but both instinctively knew the steps.

New Years 2025

 

Well, there it is. The ass end of 2025.

I can say that this has been in the top 3 worst years of my life.

I’m now declared disabled, forced to subsist on welfare and the current government is trying hard to make even that life terrible.

My business is dead and gone (apart from the taxes still to be paid)

My health is still very unstable, touch an go a bit on will I survive. If I cannot get the stress under control I won’t survive, but terrible things keep happening. Some days it feels like the world is out to get me.

My dog is dead. That hurt.

Being a child means when the really bad things go down someone comes and helps take it away. Being an adult is when you look for that help and you realize, there is no one. You are on your own.

I don’t know. I’m sick, I’m tired, and everything is going to shit.

May 2026 be a better year for all of us.

Hello? Are You There? It's me. A human.

Hello? Are You There?

 

It's me.

A human.

Drowning in a sea of people

who keep moving forward

while I sink beneath the surface.

 

My wife died.

I sat in that hospital

and watched them fail her,

watched the people whose one job was to save her

choose not to.

There was nothing I could do.

I have never trusted a hospital since.

 

My dog stayed beside me

through every hour of the falling apart

that came after.

He didn't leave.

Not once.

And then I watched him die too —

watched him beg me to save him

the way I once wanted them

to save her.

There was nothing I could do.

Now he's gone as well.

 

My body is breaking down piece by piece.

Compression fractures in my spine—

pain that never relents,

not for a breath,

not for a single moment of peace.

I pushed through chronic fatigue syndrome

trying to keep my business from collapsing,

pushed until my blood pressure climbed so high

it became a loaded gun at my temple.

And I'm allergic to the medications

that might save me from it.

My kidneys are failing.

My liver is worse.

 

Now I'm called "disabled"—

a blow to the ego of a once proud man

who stayed strong through it all.

 

The welfare system calls this "support"—

a lifetime sentence of subsistence,

of calculating what I can't afford,

which turns out to be everything.

There's no money

for anything at all.

 

Mental health services?

A cruel joke.

Check a box on their form.

Breathe deeply, they say.

Have you tried gratitude?

 

I stay alive for my daughter.

That's the only reason.

Not because of hope.

Not because healing feels possible.

Not because I want to be here.

Because she already watched her mother die

and I won't let her lose me too.

 

So I drown slowly
in my own shit

in grief that never left,

in pain that never sleeps,

in poverty that strips away dignity,

in the crushing weight of staying

when everything inside me

is begging to stop.

 

But I stay.

For her.

Only for her.

 

And some days

that reason isn't enough

to make this feel like living.

 

But it's enough

to keep my lungs moving.

To keep my heart beating.

 

Barely.

 

Though year

 

It’s been a tough year dear reader.

My dog died suddenly, he was only 10.

I had to close my business down because of health

I am now classed as disabled and that’s one hell of an ego blow to someone who has always done everything. I’m looking at trying to exist on welfare and in New Zealand that’s substandard living.

And now my car needs urgent repairs. A lot more than the car is worth.

I just can’t catch a break. The stress is getting to the point where its dangerous. I’m well into stroke range.

It’s one of those times I wish someone would come along and say sit back and I’ll sort it for you. But that doesn’t happen. I have to simply push on and hope.

I don't even want to be here. I live in constant pain that I simply have to endure. Everything has gone to shit. I stay for my daughter, no other reason to be alive. 

Mens PSA

 Monster Trucks!!!!

Advanced Welding techniques!

Latest sports scores. 

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What I’m saying is the women can stop reading. This post is for the men. Some things never get discussed and maybe they should. 

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Ladies. I know you are still reading, I know you like being rebels. But let the men have this one OK?

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Guys, 2 things some of you may not be aware of because things happening the other way are more often seen. 

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1. If Your Condoms Keep Breaking, It’s Probably Not Because You’re Too long… or Too Enthusiastic

If condoms keep breaking, it’s almost always:

Wrong fit (too tight around the girth)

Not enough lubrication

Length is almost never the issue. Girth is the real measurement that matters.

Many guys who break regular condoms don’t actually need “XL,”

They need wider condoms, not longer ones.

So if regulars break and XLs feel like they’re still squeezing the base?

You’re probably a “large width” guy.

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2. If You Last a Long Time, You’re Not Broken — You’re Just Built for Endurance

Some men need more time and stimulation to get there.

It’s not a disorder unless it causes stress or you can’t finish at all.

Reasons men last longer:

Natural lower sensitivity

Your solo technique trained your body for more pressure

Condoms dull sensation

Your arousal pattern ramps up more slowly

Plenty of partners — especially women 35+ — genuinely appreciate a guy with good stamina but it’s a good idea to have a conversation before you start, explain that it can take some time and it’s not about her. It really is you. Hopefully you can find a woman who likes being railed for 45mins straight after foreplay and that quickies will be rare.

Healing is wild

Brain: "Good news! I'm turning your libido back on."

Me: "It's already functioning."

Brain: "That was the LOW setting. Cranking it to HIGH now."

Me: "And what exactly am I supposed to do about this?"

Brain: "¯\_(ツ)_/¯ But here are some absolutely bizarre dreams to deal with too."

Me: "Great. Writing material, I guess?"

Brain: "You are NOT writing about these dreams."

 Recovery is a wild, chaotic ride.

I’ve spent years pushing through stress, pain, pressure, and survival mode. I never really had the time or energy to feel much – I was just trying to keep going.

Now that I’ve finally stopped… everything is coming back at once.

One minute I’m sad, the next I’m angry, then suddenly calm, then my sex drive switches back on out of nowhere. It’s four seasons in one day, every day. It can feel like I’m falling apart.

But here’s what I’m learning:

When you live under long-term stress, your body shuts down anything “non-essential” just to get you through. Emotions, libido, reflection – they all get pushed aside.

When the pressure finally lifts, the nervous system basically says:

“Now it’s safe. Now we can feel what we couldn’t before.”

And it all comes flooding back.

It’s messy.
It’s loud.
It’s overwhelming.

But it’s also part of healing.

This isn’t a breakdown.
It’s a thawing out.

I know this will be a long road – probably years to undo the damage I’ve done by pushing too hard. I may never fully get my old self back. But it’s still a journey of healing, and I’ve finally turned and faced that road.

It’s a wild, chaotic ride and I’m hanging on with everything I have. It won’t always be fun… but the destination might just be worth it.

If you’re going through this too: you’re not crazy, and you’re not alone. Sometimes the road back to yourself is chaotic – but it means you’re finally coming back.

The monster

 

I slowed my pace, feeling icy coldness seep into my bones as I heard its footsteps behind me. The darkness closed in around me like an iron vice - it always did before it struck. I quickened my step again, heart pounding in my chest. It kept coming, slowly, inexorably.

Finally I stopped and turned to face it. Its form coalesced out of the gloom, a towering monolith of formlessness that loomed over me. But I didn't back down.

"You can't catch me," I spat at it. "I've run too long."

It lunged forward in a burst of speed I tried to move around, dodging and weaving to avoid its grasp. Until finally, exhausted beyond endurance, I collapsed in a heap on the ground.

It loomed over me now, its formlessness towering above mine. I looked up into its faceless void. "Why do you flee from me?" it growled.

I met its gaze with defiance.

Slowly, it reached out with one long, shadowy tendril and wrapped it around me, pulling me inexorably towards the heart of its being.

Layer upon layer peeled away, each revealing some new depth of anguish and torment. Sorrow as vast as oceans, anger that burned hotter than a thousand suns... And then, at last - pain.

Not just any pain, but the purest, most searing agony I had ever known. It was both exquisite and torturous all at once.

And in that moment of epiphany, I saw it. Saw what drove me to run so long, to hide from the truth. Saw that which I had always tried to escape.

I looked up into its face - or what passed for one. My voice barely above a whisper: "What is your name?"

The darkness regarded me for a moment longer, then spoke in a voice like pure anguish in my mind, it gave a single word: "Grief."

A good odd

I feel odd today dear reader. Not sick or sad. A good odd.

I intentionally stopped for 4 days, did the bare minimum, cooked, a little cleaning.

I visited a market yesterday, no work though.

Today my mind finally relaxed a little. I’m still worried about a lot of things, but, my mind finally stopped for a little.

It’s a relief that I haven’t had in so long it’s a bit disconcerting.

Tomorrow is Monday and I won’t be dealing with all of those work issues. I have a ton of paperwork to get through but I can do it on my own time. No phone ringing at 8:00am with desperate clients wanting me there NOW.

I finally have a small measure of hope. Hope that I can rest this broken body and mind of mine.

Grief

 Do not pity the angry man—he is blessed. His fury has a throat, a vessel, a wound to pour from. He erupts and empties himself clean.

Pity instead the man drowning in sorrow. His grief is a stone he swallows daily, lodged deep where no hand can reach. There is no purging it. No release. Only the slow, suffocating accumulation.

People need not witness him. They turn their faces and continue on. And he remains—buried alive in his own ruins, breathing the stench of everything rotting inside him.

He is alone in a way that has no bottom.

He is past saving.

The end

 

It’s a strange day today dear reader.

2hrs ago my company officially closed. Mixed bag that one. It will take a lot of pressure off me, give me the chance to rest and maybe recover. Not a cure, just enough to be able to survive. Money will be tight. I’m not sure how that’s going to look. But there’s a grief. I poured myself into it for 26 years. Gave it everything I had. Showed all the people who didn’t believe in me that I could do it, I could make it. Until I couldn’t. Until I had to walk away with nothing to show for it. It’s not my first life rebuild. But I’m getting old and it’s getting harder.

It doesn’t really feel different yet. I still have people contacting me, asking for help.

I have had zero earnings since the start of the month. Still got the outgoings though. And next week. Next week the paperwork starts. More stress, more deadlines. More everything.

But, I live in hope. In a month I can finally rest. Finally stop. Finally work on myself finally try to heal.

Blood pressure this morning was 191/104, deadly. Just a little longer body. Hold out a little longer. You can do it.

Roll up to the night and suffer like a man pt 2

 

Ever pushed until you bled?

Until blood was pissing out of your nose?

Every day?

Until you had to pull over because you went blind?

30 minutes later you carried on.

Ever walked into a building and thought it was an earthquake?

But no one else was worried. And you realized your body was giving out.

Ever pushed through that?

For days? For weeks?

Until you were losing blood from everywhere?

Waking up in the morning with blood on your pillow, realizing it came out of your ears?

Cleaned yourself off and carried on?

Ever pushed like that?

For years?

Until your body forgot how to warn you?

Until it stopped bleeding and just started dying inside?

Until your organs started to shut down?

Until the Drs said your kidneys won’t last?

Until your liver felt like it was on fire?

Until your blood pressure went critical?

And then when you gave up and had to stop?

Because the only other option was to die?

But you couldn’t?

And you found out that you had to push to be able to stop?

As your body collapsed.

And you could barely write your name on a piece of paper.

And there was no one to hold that pen.

And you realized you had to drown in your own shit

And hope you can get out?

Roll up to the night and suffer like a man.

Don’t forget to smile and say thank you.

roll up to the night and suffer like a man.

 

Is it the beginning of the end or the end of the beginning?

Roll up to the night and suffer like a man.

Push, push until you fucking bleed, then don’t you give up, push, until you are on your knees, broken.

Get the fuck up.

Push, push some more.

Suffer, suffer like a man.

Suffer while they push you. Fuck you

Roll up. Suffer like a man.

Suffer while you push and push.

Suffer while you break and they walk away,

Fuck him. He’s broken.

Didn’t suffer enough.

No longer a man.

Piece of fucking trash.

Stand up.

Fucking stand up.

See how far you can go.

Push, fucking push.

Roll up to that night. Suffer like a man.

Get up, bleeding and broken.

Go suffer you piece of shit.

Suffer like a man.

Yeah, roll up to the night and suffer like a man.

Feel that pain. You were weak, so now suffer. Like a man.

Fuck you.

Fuck this.

Suffer more.

Break, broken. That’s right. Good.

Suffer.

Roll up, suffer like a man.

You can get up. I know you can.

Get up.

Suffer some more.

Fuck you.

Suffer.

Hate, hate, hate.

You are hated.

Not enough suffering.

So fucking roll up

And suffer.

Suffer like a man.

The end has only just begun.

 

I'll figure it out

When a man says "I'll figure it out," he will. But usually it's because there's no choice. As men, we know that sometimes the hard things have to be done alone. Maybe people are cheering us on, going "you can do it" — but ultimately, we are alone in the arena. We simply try until we sort it.

There's a quiet weight that comes with those words. "I'll figure it out" isn't bravado or confidence speaking — it's acceptance. It's the recognition that the problem has landed at your feet, and whether you're ready or not, it's yours to solve. No one else is coming. No one else can do it for you.

We don't say it because we have all the answers. We say it because we've learned that waiting for clarity is a luxury we can't afford. We say it because the people depending on us need to hear it, even when we're not sure we believe it ourselves. We say it because the alternative — admitting defeat before we've even tried — isn't an option we can live with.

The truth is, figuring it out often means stumbling through the dark. It means making mistakes we can't undo. It means carrying the stress silently, turning it over in our minds at 3 AM while everyone else sleeps. It means pretending we're fine when we're barely holding together, because someone has to be the steady one.

People celebrate the outcome, and that's okay. They see the problem solved and the crisis averted. What they don't see are the hours of doubt, the false starts, the moments we wanted to quit but couldn't. They don't see the price we pay in the quiet spaces where no one watches.

But we do it anyway. Not because we're heroes or because we enjoy the burden. We do it because it has to be done, and we happen to be the ones here to do it. We do it because giving up would mean watching everything fall apart, and that's a failure we can't stomach.

"I'll figure it out" is a promise we make — to others, but mostly to ourselves. It's our way of saying: I'm still standing, I'm still fighting, and I won't stop until this is done. Even if it breaks something inside us. Even if no one fully understands what it cost.

And somehow, most of the time, we do figure it out. Not perfectly. Not easily. But we get it done. Because that's what we do.

The End of an era

 

Ever wanted someone to take over for a little? Just a bit?

I’m about to close my business, 25 years flushed down the toilet. My health can’t take it anymore, it’s too damn stressful. It will all simply go. I'll wander away with barely a thank you. 

There’s so much to do and it’s stressing me too.

So much paperwork, soon there will be meetings on top.

I’m sad and terrified.

And I feel very alone, even if some are cheering from afar.

I just want this over.

Maybe, maybe I can heal a little.

If I survive that long.

 

A true gentleman

 A true gentleman understands that even his most primal urges can be tamed and harnessed. He knows when to unleash the wild, primal within and when to rein himself in with gentle care.

He will fuck her like an animal sometimes, but only because he has first shown her the tenderness of a lover. Only when she is writhing beneath him, her cries of pleasure echoing through the night, will he allow himself to lose control.

But even then, he will always remember that safety comes first. He will never force her to do anything she does not want to do, but instead, he will coax and tease until she begs him to take her.

If you cannot understand this simple truth, then perhaps it is best for you to leave her alone. For a true gentleman knows when to hold back and when to let loose, and most importantly, he always, always puts his woman's needs first.

The man who truly understands himself will not be swayed by his urges without reason. He will fuck her until she screams, but only because he has first shown her the tender touch that makes those same screams of pleasure worth giving.

He will ravage her body and soul with abandon, lavishing her with attention and adoration until she craves his touch like a junkie needs a fix.

And when he finally takes her, it won't be a sudden, brutal assault; no, it will be a slow, building crescendo, each touch escalating into a fevered, primal union that leaves her panting and gasping beneath him in a maelstrom of pure, unbridled desire

I am me

 I spent years being told I had to conform and make myself uncomfortable for others comfort. At 45 I realized I could embrace being who I am, an autistic mess. I do not need to set myself on fire to make others warm.

The protector

I was at a large air show with a female friend when the crowd started getting rough. She was getting jostled around and pretty upset about it. "Let me move in closer," I said, stepping into her space. I added my air of "don't mess with me"—I'm 6ft, 250 pounds—and suddenly the crowds started parting for us. She was both annoyed that I could do that and grateful at the same time. That's what men are supposed to do. We're protectors.

A few years later, I found myself in the capital with her and three other women. Busy, crowded weekday—and the women were all getting stressed. (None of us are city people.)

My friend pipes up "Just walk behind him, let him clear the way." And they did. I still chuckle thinking about how it must have looked—me walking down the street with four women in single file behind me. But that's our role as men. The protector. It's not about sex or anything like that. It's about who and what we are. This is still a thing in modern times.

I need to go for a drive. Alone.

 "I need to go for a drive. Alone."

If a man ever tells you this, understand what you're witnessing: self-control in action.

He's not running from you. He's not punishing you. He's not being cold or distant. He's doing something that takes tremendous discipline—he's choosing to process before he reacts.

And here's what many women miss: it's often not even about you.

Men carry weight. Work stress. Financial pressure. Family obligations. Decisions that affect everyone around them. Sometimes that weight compounds, and he needs space to sort through it—not to discuss it, not to be comforted, but to think.

Here's what's actually happening:

He feels something building. Maybe it's frustration from work. Maybe it's worry about a decision he has to make. Maybe it's just life piling up. He knows he's not in the right headspace to handle it well. So instead of bringing that energy home, instead of snapping at the people he loves, instead of making poor decisions under pressure, he removes himself.

The drive isn't the destination. The solitude is the tool.

Men often process emotions through movement and silence. It's not avoidance—it's active problem-solving. That drive gives him space to think clearly, to separate emotion from logic, to work through complex problems without distraction.

What not to do:

• Don't take it personally or assume it's about the relationship
• Don't follow him or demand he stays
• Don't guilt him ("If you loved me, you'd talk to me")
• Don't create drama around his need for space

What to do:

• Trust him. "Okay. I'm here when you're ready."
• Give him the time he's asking for
• Recognize this is how he maintains balance
• Understand that sometimes he'll come back and won't even need to talk about it—because he's already processed it

Sometimes he'll return and want to discuss what was on his mind. Sometimes he won't, because he's already worked through it. Both are fine. Both are healthy.

This is what emotional maturity looks like in a man. It's not withdrawal—it's recalibration. It's him taking responsibility for his own mental state so he can show up better for everyone who depends on him.

This is a good man. A man who is in control.

Drs don't care

 

I want to stop.

I have to stop.

The world is literally killing me.

Blood Pressure spikes.

Lethal levels.

I’m begging, pleading.

They won’t allow it.

I pick myself up.

And go.

An empty husk.

How long can I last?

 

The Invisible Burden: Life as a Widowed Parent

 

Being a widower raising a young child carries a profound sense of loss that extends far beyond grief. It feels like theft—as though something fundamental was stolen from you, leaving you to navigate a world that wasn't built for your reality.

You take your child to the park on a Saturday afternoon. All around you, families move through their day with an ease that feels almost foreign. Two parents coordinate snack time, take turns pushing swings, divide and conquer when one child needs the bathroom while the other plays. They're living the life you thought you'd have—the life you should have had. And you stand there knowing, with a clarity that cuts deep, that this will never be your story.

The practical realities compound the emotional weight. Society acknowledges that raising a child requires resources beyond what most single parents can provide alone—that's why child support exists, why courts mandate financial contributions from both parents. The system recognizes this economic truth in every divorce, every separation. Yet when death creates a single-parent household, there's no such support structure. No monthly payment arrives. No second income materializes. You simply have to find a way, because there is no alternative.

So you do. You juggle a job—because you have no choice but to work, often more than before, to cover expenses meant for two incomes. You manage the endless demands of childcare: the meals, the bedtimes, the doctor's appointments, the emotional needs. You do it alone, not because you chose single parenthood, but because fate left you no other option.

You are both mother and father, breadwinner and homemaker, the strong one and the one who falls apart after your child finally sleeps. You are exhausted in ways that run deeper than physical tiredness—a bone-deep weariness that comes from carrying responsibilities that were meant to be shared.

And perhaps the hardest part is this: the world moves on. Those families in the park go home to their complete lives. Friends offer condolences that eventually fade into awkward silences. People forget that your loss isn't a moment in time but a permanent absence that reshapes every single day.

You weren't just robbed of a partner. You were robbed of the future you built together, the shared load, the whispered conferences about parenting decisions, the ability to tag out when you're depleted. You were robbed of watching your child be loved by the person who would have cherished them second only to you.

But you keep going. Because that child needs you. Because love, even in the face of devastating loss, demands that you find a way. You become stronger than you ever wanted to be, more capable than you imagined possible, and lonelier than anyone should have to endure.

And somehow, impossibly, you do it—one difficult day at a time.

Women and children first.

 

"Women and Children First": On Male Responsibility and Modern Society's Retreat from Duty

The phrase echoes through history—from the decks of the Titanic to countless stories of men standing firm while others reached safety. "Women and children first" wasn't just protocol; it was the embodiment of a fundamental truth: with strength comes responsibility, and with privilege comes duty.

Recently, while walking my dog, I witnessed this principle tested. A woman stood in a park while her boyfriend berated her, his voice carrying across the space in waves of anger. Every instinct told me to keep walking—this wasn't my business, wasn't my fight. But as a man, I understood it was precisely my responsibility.

I approached the couple. Her head was down; he was still screaming in her face. "Do I need to call the police?" I asked simply. He wheeled on me, launching into his grievances, she turned and began walking away. I let him vent—not because I cared about his complaints, but because it gave her time to escape. Eventually, he exhausted himself, got in his car, and drove off. I watched to ensure he wasn't following her, then continued my walk.

Was it dangerous? Potentially. Did I want to get involved? Absolutely not. But this is what we've lost sight of: being a man comes with genuine advantages, and those advantages create obligations we cannot simply ignore when they become inconvenient.

Let's be honest about male privilege—it's real. We're generally stronger, often taken more seriously in confrontations, and frequently given the benefit of the doubt in ways women aren't. We're less likely to be victims of sexual violence, more likely to be heard when we speak up, and benefit from centuries of social structures built to our advantage. Society still defers to us in moments of crisis and conflict.

But here's what modern discourse misses: these advantages come with a price. If you benefit from being physically stronger, you have an obligation to use that strength to protect those who are vulnerable. If society takes you more seriously, you have a responsibility to speak up for those who aren't heard. If you're safer walking alone at night, you have a duty to ensure others can be safe too.

This responsibility feels increasingly abandoned in our modern world. I write this after reading about a man stabbing a woman on a train while male passengers sat paralyzed, doing nothing. These men benefit from male privilege every day—they're statistically safer, likely earn more, and command more respect in public spaces. Yet when that privilege could have served a purpose beyond their own advancement, they abandoned their post.

If we want to keep the advantages that come with being men, we need to earn them. And we earn them by stepping up when others can't or won't. The traditional male role wasn't just about privilege—it was about understanding that privilege without responsibility is simply selfishness dressed up as social order.

I'm not advocating for a return to rigid gender roles or the elimination of women's hard-won rights. But in our rush toward equality, we've thrown out something essential: the understanding that advantages—whatever their source—create moral obligations. We've kept the benefits while discarding the duties.

True masculinity isn't about domination; it's about service. It's about recognizing that if you're blessed with advantages others don't have, you use them responsibly. When men sit idle while others suffer, we prove we don't deserve the respect, trust, or privileges society has granted us.

Modern society seems to have convinced men that stepping up makes them somehow regressive, that protecting others diminishes equality. But there's nothing progressive about enjoying male advantages while shirking male responsibilities. There's nothing enlightened about benefiting from a system while refusing to uphold your end of the bargain.

The erosion of male responsibility hasn't liberated anyone—it has left society more vulnerable and men less worthy of the advantages they continue to enjoy. Women aren't asking for less equality; they're asking for men to earn their place—to stand up, speak out, and act when action is needed.

"Women and children first" wasn't about treating women as helpless; it was about recognizing that those who benefit most from society's structure have the greatest obligation to protect it and everyone in it. That principle shouldn't be a relic of the past—it should be the standard by which we measure whether we deserve the advantages we've been given.

Being a man

 Last week, I found myself face-to-face with an injured rat that had somehow made its way into our home. Its back leg was clearly broken, and beyond that, it was visibly sick—lethargic, with dull eyes that spoke of suffering beyond just the injury. I saw it first, and while there was another woman in the house (my daughter), this was clearly a job for the man of the house. Some tasks simply fall to us—not because others couldn't handle them, but because it's our responsibility to handle the difficult, unpleasant necessities. I took the rat outside and ended its suffering as humanely as I could. It wasn't pleasant. It wasn't something I wanted to do. But it was something that needed doing.

This small moment got me thinking about the broader question of responsibility in modern relationships. Not because men are inherently better equipped for difficult tasks, but because strength—physical, emotional, or otherwise—often comes with the obligation to use it thoughtfully.

In many relationships, there's still an unspoken understanding about who handles what. The heavy lifting, literally and figuratively. The late-night sounds that need investigating. The difficult conversations that someone has to initiate. This isn't about outdated gender roles—it's about recognizing that when you have certain capabilities, you have certain responsibilities.

This dynamic extends into intimacy as well. There's something to be said for the man who takes the lead—not through force or selfishness, but through confidence and attentiveness. The kind of leadership that creates trust, that allows a woman to let go of the world, to be present in nothing but that moment. It's about being strong enough to guide while being attentive enough to truly see your partner.

True strength isn't about dominance or control. It's about creating space for others to flourish. It's about being reliable when reliability matters most. It's about making the hard choices so that others don't have to carry that weight.

The most meaningful partnerships I've observed aren't built on rigid roles, but on mutual recognition of each person's strengths and a willingness to step up where you're most capable of making a difference.

Lost?

Do you ever sit there feeling lost? 

I don't know. The stress from recent times? 

People?

Just, life? 

I don't even know why. 

Exhausted

 Exhausted, new Blood pressure pills fucking me up. 

People trying to have deep conversations, I cant think straight. 

Somoene wants me to fix their media player, I can't comprehend. 

Brain not working, but they all push. 

Shutting down. 

Shit times

My Blood pressure has gone way up with all the stress. Hitting over 200/114. I can't get it down. 

My body has gone into full CFS crash. 

All the GPs want to do is give me pills that will make me worse. 

And I can barely work. 

I finally built up a small buffer of money. 

Now its going to go. 

And I'm screwed again. 

I'm exhausted. 

I don't want to live anymore. 

But I have to for my daughter. 

People guilting me over staying for her. 

I know I have to. 

But I dont want to live. 

Back has really fucked out too. Compression fractures in my spine. 

Pain is shit. Tiring too. 

Not allowed to stop. Have to work, push, push, push 

As I die. 

Too much

 It's too much stress, I can't cope. 

Good night Mr Barkington

It's peaceful out here. I can hear the waves crashing down at the ocean. 

Thank you for being there Mr Barkington when my world crashed. You stuck with me no matter what. And even gave me hugs when you didn't really like them. 

I think I did alright by you. You lived your best possible life. Got to be the crazy dog. I thought you were bullet proof. Unstoppable. No one knew about that tumor beside your heart. Now its burst and the vet says there's nothing that can be done.  But he assured me you are in no pain.

You have picked your place. I won't make you move. It's your right to go out on your terms. Damn its cold out here. Im not leaving though. Together until the end. 

That's what mates do .

It's over. You are gone. Good night,  you were a good boy. You were the best dog you could be.

Broken

 I pushed too hard for too long. weeks on the go without stopping. My body was warning me. 

Today it said "enough!" Its shutting down. But it can't, I can't stop, there are people pushing me. They don't know, even if they did they would keep pushing. 

Everyone clamoring for me to help. 

So I will keep pushing. There will be a point soon where there is nothing left. There will be a heavy price. For now I shall see if I can hold out. 

 

 

The best way to look for a relationship is to stop looking.

If you're tired of coming up empty in your search for a meaningful relationship, it's time to take a hard look at your approach. The truth is, the more you chase women, the more elusive they become.

Instead of wasting your time swiping through apps or hitting up social events, focus on building yourself into the man you want to be. Hit the gym, crush your career, or develop skills that make you a force to be reckoned with.

When you're a man on a mission, driven by purpose and ambition, you're unstoppable. You're not looking for validation or a partner to complete you; you're a whole, fulfilled individual with a lot to offer.

Women are drawn to men who exude confidence, strength, and direction. By focusing on your own growth and development, you'll become the kind of guy who commands attention and respect.

So, stop chasing relationships and start building yourself. Become the best version of yourself, and the right woman will take notice. You'll be in a better position to build a strong, healthy relationship with someone who appreciates you for who you are.

 

A child will always go looking for their other parent

 

A child will always go looking for their other parent.

Seen it over and over. I say this to both give hope and as a warning. If you lost your kids in a break up, at some point they will be back. Make sure you are still a good parent for them.

If you are punishing the other parent by taking the kids away, those kids will find them and if you told a lot of lies, they will resent you for it. You just may lose your kids eventually for it.

Yes, I know, the ex can be a terrible person. I’m just saying, don’t lie, they will find out.

Too connected.

I wanted to sit and write tonight. 

6 people messaging me, all expecting me to talk to them. 

And when I don't answer they get upset. 

Sometimes I hate this overly connected world. 

Broken

 

If you ever wonder if I am so strong that I cannot be broken.

You don’t know.

I already did.

 

Pulled in 2 directions

 

Starting is the hardest part. Trying to get the words to flow. And they are there, wanting to come out.

And my brain is screaming over and around with so many things. All wanting to come out while being out of reach at the same time.

So tonight I’m opening this document and typing shit to see where it goes.

Ping, ping, people wanting to talk. We live in a world that’s so loud, it’s unrelenting.

But the world is so disconnected. We need to talk more, but I don’t want to talk. Around and around it goes, so connected and yet so lonely. The pull in 2 directions and I cant stand it.

I need quiet but I cant stand it. That fucking fan behind me. I need to stop for a second, find music to drown the damn thing out.

So now I add noise.

I guess that’s me all over. Pulled in all directions.

I wonder why I bother writing these things, do I want to be recognized? When all I want is to be left alone? That’s so lonely though.

Fuck. I don’t know. This is going nowhere. File it and start again.

Parks and phones

 

Sometimes on a nice summer day I would sneak out of work and take my daughter to a park to play.

Her mom was dead so it was on me to take her to those places. She would run around having a good time and I would sit and answer emails on my phone because I was technically still at work.

I saw all the others judging me. “Playing” with my phone instead of her.

She got out and had fun, I was working. Sometimes we aren’t assholes, we are just doing what we have to do.

Ethics

Ethics are good, morals are good. 

Sometimes we are placed in a state of survival and you need to bend them a little. 

Sometimes you need to bend them a lot. 

It doesn't make you bad. 

It makes you a survivor. 

You gotta do what you gotta do. 

Help

 

“Why don’t you want my help? It’s like you push it away every time I try. “

I shrug, “It’s not easy for me”.

I tend to leave it there. Elaborating isn’t easy as there is no straightforward answer. Layers, a layered answer.

It’s in me to be the one who provides, the one who helps. If I can’t be that person, it feels like I have failed. All those who were certain that I would fail in life would be right. I know that really the only fight is with myself. But those ghosts of my past, well, will haunt me to the end of my days.

I have found many times that those who sought to help me did so with hooks. It was nothing to do with what they could do for me but everything to do with what they wanted from me. Those people have cost me in my past. People who genuinely want to help, it’s not you, it was them, those past ghosts.

Then, then there were the few times I asked for help, particularly from those who I had gone all out and helped before, but also from those who had promised they would be there if I ever needed it. Their silence and empty promises were showing.

So now, I don’t ask for help. I simply cannot, my past is something I cannot drop, and I don’t ever want to repeat those times. Sometimes, the only one you can trust is yourself.

 

All I ever wanted was to be quiet, to sit in the corner and not be noticed. Just live a quiet life.

But sometimes, sometimes a man can’t simply sit back and do nothing, say nothing. I’m sure I piss plenty of people off. There’s more than a few mad with me. I’m the villain in plenty of peoples stories. But when I have to, I stand for what I think is right. Remember, “if everyone loves you then you never stood for shit”. I would still rather sit quietly in the corner.

Here I am, I remain, The modern gentleman.

First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist.

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

—Martin Niemöller

 

Fun? What's that?

I realized, I don't know how to have fun anymore. All I'm doing is surviving until I die. Just trying to keep myself occupied. 

 

As I stand before you, my eyes never leaving yours, the air thickens with anticipation. My hand reaches out, fingers brushing against your skin in a gentle caress that sends shivers down your spine.

"Allow me to show you true pleasure," I whisper, my voice husky and sensual, "the kind only a dominant can provide."

Your body responds instinctively, arching into my touch as if begging for more. And more is exactly what you shall receive.

My fingers trail along the curve of your neck, sending sparks of desire coursing through your veins. They delve deeper, tracing the contours of your décolletage with a slow, deliberate sensuality that makes your breath catch in your throat.

I can feel you tremble beneath my touch, a delicate balance between pleasure and anticipation. Your skin is like silk beneath my fingers, smooth and soft against my calloused palms.

My other hand finds its way to the small of your back, pulling you closer as I deepen our connection. The world around us fades away, leaving only the two of us, lost in this dance of desire and passion.

You are mine, darling, and I shall take my time with you.

Erotic piece

 

As I stand before you, my eyes never straying from yours, a sense of calm washes over me. The world around us melts away, leaving only the two of us suspended in this moment of anticipation.

My fingers brush against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as they trace the delicate curves and contours of your body. Each touch ignites a spark within you, fueling the fire that burns between us.

I take my time, savoring every moment, every sensation. Your body responds instinctively, arching into my touch with an abandon that is both beautiful and intoxicating.

The air is thick with the scent of desire, a heady mix of lust and passion that threatens to consume us all. But I hold back, reluctant to surrender to the intensity of our connection just yet.

Instead, I continue to tease, to tantalize, to dance along your skin with my fingers as if tracing the lines of a map. Each touch is deliberate, each caress calculated to drive you higher and higher until we are both lost in a whirlwind of passion and desire.

And then, without warning, I stop. My fingers pause, hovering inches from your skin as I gaze into your eyes, challenging you to make the next move.

The room around us comes back into focus, the sound of our heavy breathing the only thing breaking the silence. It is a moment of pure tension, a moment of anticipation that stretches on forever until...

You lean in closer, your breath hot against my ear as you whisper something I long to hear. My heart skips a beat as I realize what it is... "I need you inside me."

I smile, knowing that the moment has arrived. With one swift motion, I push you down onto the bed and claim you with all the passion and intensity of our connection.

And with that, the world erupts into chaos as our bodies become one in a dance of pure ecstasy.

Opening up and why we don't

Women: Men need to be open about hurts and what affects them. They can't just shut down

Men: Well, I feel that we are mistreated because....

Women: Fuck you, you have no idea, it's sooooo much harder to be a woman.

Man shuts back down. 

.

I know I'll lose followers over saying this, but it's a fact. Opening up about what gets to us just gets it thrown in our faces.

I had a dream

I dreamed last night that my dead wife was alive, she had been in a coma and was now fine. 

Ohhh, all the things I was going to show her. 

But then I woke up. 

And reality is a stark place. 

Sometimes I am jealous of her. Dying. 

I wish it was me. 

1st of august

The 1st of August is a strange date

Exactly 25 years ago was my first night with Polli

Exactly 9 years ago she found a lump in her breast

Exactly 8 years ago the cancer was advancing and the infection that would kill her took hold.