Dehumanisation

Those who want to discriminate against or even persecute a particular disfavoured 'outgroup' have a long history of using propaganda, often (maybe even usually) comprised of outright lies, to convince 'the masses' that such discrimination/persecution is not only justifiable, but a worthy response to a supposed 'problem'. The Nazi regime's persecution of Jewish people is, of course, the best-known example from modern history, but it is far from unique. Enter today's theocratic fascists. Some might argue that Shoebat's evidence-free claims are so obviously and ridiculously false that no-one could take them seriously, but, as one of the commenters wrote, some people always will, and use them to justify (to themselves, if to no-one else) using violence to 'deal with' the 'problem'. And if that scenario is frightening enough for gay men in general, it's all the more so for those of us who actually are attracted to boys, but have no more intention of raping and murdering anyone than their so-called 'normal' counterparts. I've written before about how I believe 'thoughtcrime', i.e. admitting an attraction, even without the least intention of acting upon it, could be enough for the likes of me to end up spending the rest of our lives in jail, or even being summarily executed (by self-appointed 'vigilantes', if not by legal authority). If enough self-interested politicos jump on the 'moral panic' bandwagon, such criminilisation of attraction could come about very rapidly. Who, after all, is ever going to utter a single word in defence of 'paedos', even celibate ones?

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Reminders of my failure

I hate songs about fond reminiscence of teenage years, like the one I heard on the radio a few minutes ago, extolling the warm glow engendered by memories of 'first love', 'first kisses', and that kind of thing. Because it twists the long-embedded knife in my psyche, the knowledge that I missed the whole of that area of life, given my inability to be myself as an early teen, then the growing knowledge that the world was never going to allow me to be myself anyway in my later teen years. In a way, I'm still waiting for my first kiss, the kiss of someone my heart desires. And that wait will never end, in any foreseeable circumstances.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Proud of my club

And I say 'my' club advisedly, because I'm a member, and not just a supporter, despite the fact that I've never been to Australia, and probably never will. Especially proud that we're going to host the AFL's first ever 'pride' game later this year. How I Want To Be might be seen as 'just a slogan' by some, but the club embrace it as part of their ethos. And this is an expression of that ethos, as far as I'm concerned. I'm proud to be a 'Sainter'.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Smile danger

A boy moment on the way back from work this morning - a cutie, Eastern European in origin to judge by the conversation he and his parents were having, a couple of rows in front of me on the bus, looked up at me after getting off the vehicle. And smiled at me, rather warmly, actually, dimples and all. Then the bus moved off, and he joined the myriad ranks of the 'ghosts', no different from all of those boys that flit in and out of my life, never to be seen again. Except that this boy stirred a memory, from a long time ago, twenty-five, maybe even thirty years back, I can't remember exactly. Back to the days when I still occasionally rotted my brain by reading the tabloid press. Including the 'problem pages'. And one 'problem' in particular has stuck in my mind, being reawoken by this morning's encounter. A self-described 'young man' had written in, his letter contrasting the situation he found himself in compared to the vast majority of his peers. Because, assuming the letter was authentic, he was a boylover. One phrase in the letter struck me, and still strikes me, particularly deeply. 'What do you do when a boy smiles danger at you?', he asked. And although it might not be the most grammatical question ever, I know exactly what he meant. Obviously, this morning's boy was with his parents, so any temptation he may have posed was minimal. But what might have happened had the circumstances been different, had we somehow been alone somewhere? As I've said before, I like to tell myself I'd never harm anyone, never engage in anything without 'informed consent'. But would those worthy sentiments survive in the face of opportunity, reality? I wish I could answer with a definitive 'yes', but I'd be lying if I did.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

University comes closer

After her first university interview last week, at what is one of her top two preferences, K has received a conditional offer from them today, being understandably pleased. It's dependent on her A-Level grades, of course - she will need an average, as it were, of B grades in the three exams, which she should be capable of, given the requisite degree of application. From my perspective, if she did end up on that particular course, it would have the advantage of her not being too far away - it's less than 40 miles from London - but, needless to say, what's best for her rather than me is the priority. The process continues this Wednesday, with another interview, this time at one of her less favoured establishments, but I'm sure she'll still give it her best shot - it's rather early in the piece to be burning any bridges, after all.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

The weekend, and Sammy's Postulate

My doctor certainly wouldn't be impressed. He pursed his lips at my estimate of how many units of alcohol I'd consume this weekend, so the fact that I'd reached that point before I went to bed last night, and that I'm back in my local again this evening, would probably bring on another lecture. (*shrugs*) The cause of my 'irresponsibility' is the usual. Boys. Droves of them. It really has been one of those weekends. On one level, delightful to see, but in terms of my mental equilibrium, torture. I could single out several, ranging from the almost legal to the completely untouchable, who especially piqued my interest, but that would simply be rubbing salt into the proverbial wounds. I might say it's been a bit of a rollercoaster, but, overall, there have been far more downs than ups.
It has led to the postulate, though. Every 'caucasian' or otherwise lighter-skinned boy I've seen wearing an orange coat (orange certainly seems to be the 'colour of the season' for such garments) has been an absolute cutie. So I propose that all such boys in orange coats are cuties. Now that I've put the theory forward, the very next orange-coated boy I see will probably disprove it. Such is the nature of science!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

It's like this, doctor

Yet another appointment at the GP's this morning, and it seems that the medication review that's been dragging on since last July has finally been resolved - after five (if I remember correctly) visits to the surgery and a hospital blood test, I've ended up with one extra pill to take, and a slightly increased dose of another medication. Good job it's all covered by the NHS, I'd be skint otherwise! The one outstanding issue, though (which will mean another blood test, probably next week, and yet another doctor's appointment, in about a month) is around an 'irregular' liver function result from the original blood test. Which led to the doctor (fairly gently, I have to admit) lecturing me about my alcohol intake. Could I consider cutting down, for the good of my future health. Well yes, I could consider it, but it isn't going to happen in current circumstances. I alluded to, without going into detail, how dismal my life (or existence, as I blogged recently) is, and, if I'm being honest, the beer is an anodyne for the hurt born of the fundamental dichotomy in my life, what I want but what I know I can never have. If I can keep going long enough to be able to help K get through what remains of her education, what happens to me thereafter, including my 'future health', is of little concern. It would be an exaggeration to say I have a death wish, but I certainly don't have any enormous ambition to drag things out indefinitely.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B 

Assorted good news, but....

....it's never unalloyed for me, seemingly. K had her first university interview yesterday, at her second choice place (the closest to London she's applied to), and she considered it to have gone well - they certainly seemed to like her, the interviewer describing her as 'charming' (a good judge of character, evidently!). But, for all that, I ended the day more than a little worried. Because of something I overheard in the pub, one of the older regulars saying he was 'sad, because of what happened to lovely Cameron'. Given my penchant for letting my imagination run away with itself, I immediately convinced myself that something awful had befallen Cammy. But, half an hour ago, the cutie bounced in here, large as life and saying 'hello' to me straight away. And he's ended up sitting very close by, albeit slightly behind me, close enough for me to hear his sweet voice. But, to sour things somewhat, my 'rival', the staff member who's befriended his family, is sitting right next to him, all over the boy, as usual. Yes, it's jealousy, I can't deny it. But, of course, there's absolutely nothing I can do except grin and bear it.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

The Dawn in Erewhon

Well, what you might describe as a rather long journey to get to the end of what is at most a novella, probably more accurately a long short story, ended this morning. I first came across the story, and, indeed, its author, Guy Davenport, through quotations - numerous quotations, the vocabulary used in the story is expansive, to say the least - in the 'unusual words dictionary' I bought in the late 1980's. In that pre-interwebs era, pretty much the only way to find rare or out-of-print books was to traipse around second-hand bookshops, and I never did find a copy of the anthology, Tatlin!, containing the story anywhere. Fast forward to around 2010, and after another reading of the alternative dictionary, I began searching the net for a copy. And found one, at a fairly cheap price - I only paid about £7 or £8 for it. Eventually, I even started to read it. But then, the 'breakdown' intervened, I wasn't in Cornwall anymore, and the book became one of the myriad things that were left behind. Another nearly four year hiatus, until I once more read the 'dictionary', and was impelled to head for eBay again, acquiring my current copy of Tatlin! (for around the price of its predecessor). And finally got to the end of The Dawn in Erewhon. I have a confession to make. I didn't 'get it', at all. I frankly have no idea what it was about. My immediate impression, closing the book, was that it was the literary equivalent of one of those 'arthouse' films, rather like my recent encounter with The Genesis Children, where everything looks beautiful, but nothing actually happens. Maybe Professor Davenport was simply operating on a level too elevated for my intellectual wherewithal to cope with, but, as he's sadly no longer with us, I can't ask him, so I'll just have to accept I'm not clever enough to keep up. In consequence, I've found myself focusing on rather trivial elements, most notably the fate of one character, a pretty young boy befriended by the protagonist and his (female) partner and taken by them on a picnic, who then completely disappeared from the narrative. What became of Peerke? Did they eat him? Bury him alive? Or simply take him home afterwards? Curious boylovers need to know! All in all, the story has turned out to be a rather odd experience. But at least my vocabulary is a little larger than it was before.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Unintended consequences?

I've made an offer today that might lead to something I've wanted for a very long time - or something I've been trying to avoid for an equally long time. Or it may lead to nothing at all. I was talking to my friend at work, while I was on a break this morning, about education, K's initially, then moving on to how his sons are doing. And it transpires that the younger boy, the little darling I met just before New Year, who has, hitherto, been seen as a 'plodder', not unintelligent, but not academically gifted, either, has suddenly and somewhat unexpectedly started doing very well in maths, and, even though he's not 10 until the summer, has already expressed an interest in becoming an accountant. After a little consideration, I made my proposal, namely that I would be more than willing to help the boy academically, if my friend and his wife - and the boy himself, of course - wanted me to. My friend seemed pleasantly surprised at the idea, which was a relief - I was worried that by making such an offer, I might be construed as impugning their intelligence, or parental skills, or both - thanking me rather profusely. And I can't deny that I would love to be involved, in however small a way, with someone like J (yes, another J, boys with that initial seem to find their way under my skin on a regular basis). But there is a flipside, too. My strategy for dealing with my attraction to boys has been, more or less exclusively, to simply stay away from them, so to potentially commit myself to breaching that 'wall of separation' is, at the very least, a risk. Not so much now, but J will be moving into my 'window of attraction' within the next couple of years. Without the aid of a crystal ball, I've no idea whether this could lead to my being happy in having a new friend whose life I can impact in a positive way, or to the edge of a disastrous abyss, or, as I said, to nothing at all if the proposal bears no fruit. Time, as ever, will tell.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Commendable restraint

I once saw Bill Bruford, the drummer in, for me, King Crimson's best lineup (of the myriad versions there have been!) credited on one particular track for the 'commendable restraint' cited in the title of this post. It was, of course, tongue in cheek, and so is the credit I'm prepared to award myself, in a rather different context. I've found something online that is, given my attractions, breathlessly erotic (before anyone gets exercised at my amorality, it's only an animation, just zeroes and ones), but all bar a 'preview' is behind a 'paywall'. I've been so, so tempted to throw caution to the winds to see the rest, but, at the end of the day, using my debit card, the only payment option I have, would be tantamount to putting a sign up on my front door inviting the plods to come and arrest me. Once, maybe, I've been diagnosed with something terminal, I'll go back to the site, if it hasn't been nuked by then. Watching the 'virtual boys' playing would be a good way to go.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Anniversarial, in a way

Anniversarial isn't actually an official word, in a lexical sense, from what I can gather from internet searches, but I've used it before (as have others) as an adjective pertaining to anniversaries, so, without apology, I'll continue on my neological way.
104 weeks ago today, I walked through the doors of a certain pub for the first time. The pub I'm sitting in now. My local. I wasn't in a cheerful frame of mind. I was house-hunting, and it didn't seem to be going well. But then something happened, a crossing of life trajectories, that made me feel so much better. 'Smiling boy', as I dubbed him in my head. I haven't seen him since, and that hasn't changed today. I've written numerous times about 'ghosts', the lovely boys who briefly flit into my life, and out again, but he is the archetype. If I could choose just one of the hundreds of cuties I've encountered on my meanderings over the piece to meet again, it would be him, even at the 13/14 he would be now. Not, of course, that there's a hope in hell of it ever coming to pass, but the dream persists.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

How dare you!

In my local, and Cammy's family are here - but he isn't!! Bloody disgraceful! I am joking, of course, but I'm disappointed, too - seeing the boy is almost always the highlight of any day it happens. I hope he's thoroughly enjoying whatever else it is he's doing - it would be a thorough waste for both of us if he isn't.

Love ,& best wishes to all
Sammy B

The end of my life

It began with a line in a song. 'I still believed in my dreams'. Then another song, another tag - 'I can't stop loving you'. Then a sentence in the book I'm reading at the moment - 'the sacred fire has gone out'. The combination of the three, in less than an hour, timewise, has made concrete something I've known, really, for quite a while. The fact that, at some indeterminate time in the recent past, my life has ended. Not my existence, oh no, that continues implacably, for who knows how long - another day, a month, a year, a decade, I can't see it being much beyond a decade - until my health, or, equally probably, my psyche, determines otherwise. But my life, in the sense of that florid phrase 'liberty', the freedom to be myself, in this context, 'and the pursuit of happiness', is over. I wrote, a long time ago, that it would be over if I ever accepted the implications of that most terrifying of words - 'never'. And I was right. I have, somehow, allowed that word to defeat me, and my life is over. All that's left is going through the motions, with nothing in what remains for me. Even the dream I wrote about last night, of an 8/9 year old boy being my friend for a short while, is virtually certain to be as hollow and dripping with disillusionment as all of its predecessors. Would that, as again, I've said before, I'd known how it was going to be when I was a terrified boy, terrified by the realisation that I wasn't going to be like everyone else. I'd have taken the short cut to the end, there and then.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Happier New Year

"Hello"
"Hiya, Happy New Year."
"Happy New Year to you, too"
Just a little conversation, but the first, not only of 2016, but the first, ever, of any substance at all. With a little guy I'm starting to become very fond of, especially when he's as bouncy and animated as he was on this occasion. Cammy, of course, in my local this evening, the fact that he was comfortable enough with me to initiate the contact being really uplifting. I know the chances of him being my 'new best friend' are somewhere between infinitesimal and zero, but I can't help but hope, in the last eight or nine months, unless anything unforeseen happens, that I'll be living in this area, that we can at least be 'pals'. He's a complete little darling, and no mistake.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Celebrity

Well, Bowie's not even cold yet, but the character assassination has already begun. Not that I've ever been a huge fan of his music, but there are a few songs of his that I like a lot. Now, though, on the basis of 'allegations', some seem determined to portray him as a 'monster'. I've never had the slightest ambition to be famous, because fame has always struck me as having far more pitfalls that perks, but in this era of tabloid 'journalism', my inclination to be happy to remain in the shadows is stronger than ever.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Ojos azules hermosos

And other stories. Or, in reality, the same story, just recycled and reshuffled a little. The beautiful blue eyes belonged to a boy of 10 or 11 on a bus in town at lunchtime, a delicate shade of pale blue, the nicest eyes I've seen for the best part of some time. He was the preface to a veritable spate of cuties, mostly blond, coincidentally, who ghosted in and out of my life over the following couple of hours. But the denouement remains the same as ever, me on my own in my local, writing about those on the other side of the impenetrable glass wall that divides me from my heart's desire. The cruelty, to paraphrase Nineteen Eighty-Four, isn't that the torture continues, but that I can't force myself into the permanent unconsciousness that would bring it to an end.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Not the most productive of days

Certainly not the most productive of days off. I was expecting to spend most of the day hanging around waiting for the electricity company engineer to show up and replace our defunct meter, and that was the way it panned out. The 'appointment' was any time between midday and 4:00, and the bod eventually turned up at 2:40, finishing the job by 3:20. By which time it was already getting dark, so the day was pretty much a complete write-off. So I did what most who know me would expect, and headed straight for my local. Where I still am, albeit not for too much longer. I've spent quite a bit of the time with my head in YouTube, drowning my consciousness in loud music, albeit with half an eye on a boy sitting nearby (who's just left), not, in all honesty, especially cute, and well towards the upper end of my 'window of attraction' - my guess at his age would be 15, but it could've been a year either way, so he might even have been legal. Whatever, I certainly wouldn't have said no, encouraged by the fact that he looked my way more than once. He'll be another 'ghost', no doubt, but perhaps a marginally more attainable one than most.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Most unexpected

K threw me a real curve ball this afternoon - she rang me as I was just about to head into work to tell me that she'd had an email offering her an interview in connection with a university application - in Cornwall! I didn't, as I told her, even know she'd applied to anywhere down there, but she seems very enthusiastic about both the course, and the prospect of going 'back home' - I miss it, she told me. Yeah, so do I, in spades, and, thinking about it in the past hour or so, I might be very tempted, if K did end up getting a place on that course, to follow her southwesterly in pretty short order. Maybe my much hoped-for early retirement might be closer than I'd thought.

2345 edit: I've just done a very quick Cornwall property search, and found some unspeakably wonderful places. At, by London standards, peppercorn rents. Most notably a two bedroom flat (an ex holiday apartment, as my local knowledge informs me), in my favourite place in the entire mainland UK - for £450 a month! I'm sorely tempted to go tomorrow!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Leo

I saw my first genuinely beautiful boy of 2016 on the way to work yesterday lunchtime. Just a little boy, probably no more than 5, so not a hint of sexual attraction, but the aesthetic appeal was strong. Long, rather messy blond hair, dark eyes, not sure exactly what colour, but not blue, as many 'blondies' have, lovely face, white teeth behind plumpish pink lips. And a decided air of calm about him. His little brother, maybe 3, was noisily fractious and whiny, but Leo (his parents both used his name, hence my knowing it) spoke very quietly to his father, and, indeed, to little bro, looked around and out of the train window with typically childish curiosity, looked, quite intently, at me at one stage over the seatback that separated us - I avoided looking directly back at him, because his father was right behind him as far as my line of sight went, but his attention was obvious. Sadly, we only shared the train for three stops, twelve minutes or so, before he disappeared from my life, doubtless forever. I'd love to see him in 7, 8, 9 years time, to see how his beauty develops with the onset of the pubescent lifestage I love so much, but it will never be. Just another snapshot in my mental photograph album. Leo, you'll be a beautiful little boy in my mind's eye, for always.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Same shit, different year

Well, if the first couple of days are anything to go by, it looks as though 2016 is going to be just as much of a pain in the arse as its recent predecessors. Nothing major has gone wrong - yet - but there have already been several irritating little issues. I'm full of cold and feeling lousy, but not lousy enough to justify being off sick, the weather is grey, damp and miserable - yeah, I know it's winter, but even so - TfL, in its various guises, seem to be making a point of screwing up my commute, especially the journeys home, and now our electricity meter has stopped working, so I've effectively had to sacrifice the whole of one of my rare days off, this coming Wednesday, to wait in for an engineer to come and replace it. And being a leap year, there are still 364 days of it to go. I can hardly restrain my enthusiasm.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

This one didn't make me laugh

After the amusement I derived from the 'christian dating' spam e-mail I received a few days back, the very first spam I've received in 2016 has elicited a very different reaction. It was obviously from an American source, because it offered a mapping app purporting to show 'pedophile activity in your area' - presumably RSO information publicly available under the so-called 'Megan's Law'. As I've said on numerous previous occasions, I don't condone any illegal activity, especially where non-consensual sex is involved, and if people transgress the law, they must expect to be punished. What I loathe, though, is the encouragement towards 'vigilantism' that stuff like this entails, especially given the ridiculous breadth of the definition of the word 'paedophile' in this context. It makes me wish I had the IT skills to find the website concerned, and hack it into uselessness.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B