Why, Mr. Anderson?

I have never been one for futility. And yet, much as I try, everything comes down to one thing: Futility. Whether I try or not try, whether I run with the flow or be head-strong, it doesn't seem to matter.

Agent Smith heckles: "Why, why, why, Mr. Anderson, do you keep on fighting?"

"Is it freedom or truth? Perhaps peace? Could it be for love? Temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying desperately to justify an existence that is without meaning or purpose?"

Could it be love? Indeed, could it be?

It's a heartache
nothin' but a heartache
Hits you when it's too late
hits you when you’re down
It's a fool’s game
nothin' but a fool’s game
Standin' in the cold rain
feelin' like a clown

So why indeed do I keep on?
Some seem to find some reason. Does not everyone find some reason? Does reason have any voice in it all?

In the end it all comes down to the primitive human gene set that keeps its cards on the table for as long as possible. In the end, the dream of joy and love is nothing but a fool's game, from where the pathetic human cerebrum desparately tries to wake.

Let's waste time

This weekend punctuates a week that could qualify as an annus horribilis in itself. Sometimes it is better to let the music speak.

Chasing Cars

We'll do it all
Everything
On our own

We don't need
Anything
Or anyone
If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

I don't quite know
How to say
How I feel

Those three words
Are said too much
they're not enough

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

Let's waste time
Chasing cars
Around our heads

I need your grace
To remind me
To find my own

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

All that I am
All that I ever was
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see

I don't know where
Confused about how as well
Just know that these things will never change for us at all

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

[Lyrics by Snow patrol]

Cinderella on Centrefold.

Picture this: At least one married guy; two enganged; one guy of alternative persuasion plus others of whom the relationships are unknown, all with front row seats at a strip club. The irony of the situation was not lost upon me. It certainly was a first for me - a strip club visit.

They really do show the goods at that club in no uncertain terms. One could present a biology lesson to high school children there on human anatomy. Although, that idea might require addition measures. All in all, the performances were mostly tasteful in a manner of speaking. Some of my mates appeared somewhat bashfully interested at first, but clearly warmed up in due course to the display before them. One in particular, showed his appreciation in no uncertain terms - by an endless stream of hard currency flowing onto the stage. It could have been more explicit, I suppose.

I had to fend off the personal services of an enterprising member of the official display team. My frank explanation was gracefully accepted to avoid mutual embarrassment.

The rest of the evening plunged into a river of alcohol and pointless pool games. The usual suicidal drinking spree for the groom-to-be never materialised - and spared Dan the associated misery which would be 48 hours worth of hangover.

I believe this one was my second only bachelor's. The previous one involved the groom-to-be, a South African Dutchman, to be stripped by his best man in front of his mates, and then painted, by the best man with copious quantities of sticky stuff. I mean painted to the last anatomical detail, which included the family jewels. Interesting relationship between best man and groom, that was. One could venture into visions of homo-eroticism here. For some reason I can't remember the rest of that bachelor's. At one point, we went crawling through bushes, playing some survival game in the early hours of the morning. I was too drunk to worry about spiders.

But both nights ended for me in sadness. Personal intrigues came up during both events, resulting in an acute sense of the futility of relations.

Such is the nature of life it seems. Cinderella looses a glass slipper when the clock strikes twelve. But the prince never goes after the mysterious beauty. All he does is to check her out on centrefold. Only, Cinderella never featured on centrefold.