I against I.






That time was before the global apocalyptic flu pandemic that took over our civilization in the last decade. The boys and I were actually frequenting a pub and we were also dining out, going out to movies, things like that. You know what I mean. Things healthy people do. Then everything was moved to an app. We live in an app these days. It's almost as if this terrible reality was designed on purpose, to make us all feel miserable and terribly unhappy with our lives. All on the internet. All behind secured screens that prompt one to accept something called "cookies"... anyway...

The hormonal apparatus in the human male is actually quite a complex design, the testicles playing a central role, from memory. I would certainly expect it to be in quite a close relation with the lymphatic system. That's not the circulatory system, the circulatory system has to do with cell biology and the feeding of cells. The lymphatic system bears somewhat of a more subtle nature and is highly central to the health of any human animal. Within my own humble and limited type of experience, albeit gathered from travels and wanderings within three continents, anecdotal evidence provides me with the obvious and straightforward idea that a boy or a young man deprived of the presence of his testicles would show an immense amount of cruelty towards other human beings, especially females. The amount of cruelty these types of people would show was to be something like an excruciating amount. And, eventually, the pain they would experience themselves would bring them to the verge of despair... These were the type of people that would dwell, in a superficial manner most likely, in the latest fads, the latest trends, and would succumb most easily to what an external observer would call "peer pressure." For them, all that mattered was how they were perceived by their peers. They would spare no effort at throwing superficial adjectives and epithets at random folk they met on a daily basis; blunt and dull epithets such as "stupid," for example. They would spend most of their time in the company of Wiccan Witches, energy channelers and other such crowd like that... Folk wisdom around my neighbourhood goes that it was precisely their Wiccan friends that attacked their root chakras, did shadow work on them - a particular type of psych profiling - and played with their heads in the most ruthless type of way.

Don't look at me like I'm excessively informed on the topic. Those were all things I managed to gather from various types of sources, especially an acquaintance of mine, by the name of Harry Stanton, things he repeated to me on a daily basis while having our colloquial catch-ups for a drink or two at the local pub. Harry wasn't the most reliable of sources. He was quite the homophobic type, as you can already judge from my exposition, having been diagnosed with a highly morbid type of psycho-affective disorder himself a few years back. Harry was a mild type of person. Harry did not hate people, he wasn't spiteful as such and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have hurt anybody. From what I did gather from what he was telling me was that he was terribly frightened by the state of the world in the present day and age. Yes, Harry did use terms like "homo" or "faggot" quite often in his colloquial speech, but I really think there's a huge difference between talk and action. Harry was admitted to mental health wards about two dozen times for reasons he couldn't explain very well, at least to myself, and so I initially had the feeling his morbid fixations against homosexuals, transsexuals and effeminate men would've been something that had to do with his own, deplorable to say the least, state of mental health. Yet Harry kind of made sense. Dangerously perhaps. People would listen to what he had to say very often. I cannot really say that what Harry was saying did appeal to the emotions of people. No. Not at all. Harry would drown you in facts; that was his method of rhetoric. He would throw "facts" at you and conclude, shortly, or sometimes lengthy, with something he perceived as a well-earned "q.e.d." Harry did disclose his sources, too. He seemed to be quite a well-read person. He was of a moderate level of education, having dropped high-school in the tenth form. Yet, that wasn't a reason for embarrassment in what he was concerned. He just kept on going. Same topic, over and over again. I did pretend I was listening. I did pretend I was believing his overly morbid remarks and conclusions. Most people did just that, I'd think. But others... I think other people did in fact listen and take note closely to his abusive and offensive rants.

And so I wasn't surprised to find out one day that Harry was admitted again, against his will, to the local mental health ward, after an incident he was involved in. Harry offended a transsexual that was just minding his own business working in a vaping shop by calling him a "faggot" inside his own shop. Police seized Harry within fifteen minutes on a nearby alley in Wellington. They handcuffed him, though apparently he tried to resist arrest, and they charged him with "making homophobic remarks" right there on the spot. The cops assessed the situation carefully. Harry was deemed to be or become a severe danger to himself and the general public. The sad truth was this: Harry was about to spend his longest term yet in the ward this time. He was simply out of control, you see. A total danger to the general public. I managed to take some time off my job at the local post office inside our Warehouse Stationery, and so I went to visit Harry together with some of the boys from the pub. Harry showed absolutely no remorse. As a matter of fact, Harry got excessively passive-aggressive and irritated when we asked him to tell us about the incident. Harry claimed the homosexual in question was keeping female hostages in the basement of his shop. Stupid claims like these. Simply unverifiable, to say the least.

"Come on, Harry" we said to him, "how on Earth would you be aware there were females on the basement? Did you go down the basement yourself, Harry? Obviously not..."

Still, I tried to play this one nicely... I wanted to be the best friend I could possibly be... so I offered Harry I'd talk to the homosexual in question, in order to tone down the conflict, nip it in the bud before it could possibly get worse. Harry got even angrier when I said that and said he'd simply brake my head if I dared to do a thing like that. "And why's that?" I asked him frankly. "Do you hate that guy that much?" "No, I don't hate him, he's obviously in a lot of pain himself, hanging around with those Wiccans and energy channelers all the time, and hurting people. That guy is obviously in pain."

My friend had one of his fixations again. It soon became obvious to me our conversation was going nowhere, so I stopped offering my help. It could've been the case that his treatment in the ward was going nowhere too, and I was a tad worried about that particular fact. By all I knew, he could've become a permanent inmate in the ward, and that would've been profoundly detrimental to our friendship, and to his own health too, as far as I could tell. Mental health wards are terrible places to be locked in, you know...

But I decided I'd speak to the homosexual myself and apologize deeply on behalf of Harry. Maybe he'd be nice enough to drop the charges... my intuition and knowledge of people told me that homosexuals, transvestites and effeminate men were quite reasonable, kind, peaceful and tranquil sort of beings. So I thought there was a chance. I didn't want Harry to face criminal charges, for heaven's sake.

"Your friend is a notorious trouble maker, buddy, and I don't want him in my shop ever again. Like, never ever." That's what the homosexual told me. That was one of his first remarks. I told him that Harry had a mental health problem and he was mildly impaired in thinking, and that I'd take care myself he wouldn't be of any bother to anyone from that moment on. "Yeah, it's all I against I with that guy. To use his own terminology." I asked the homosexual what he meant by that remark.

"He's the Rasta type, right? Weed and booze, that's all he gets out of life, spending all of his time begging for help from the Government. That's human trash. Pure human trash, if you're asking me..." The homosexual was getting profoundly irritated. I could understand his own personal perspective, to be quite frank. It's quite hard being part of a sexual minority even in this day and age of social progress and freedom of assembly. There was still a sort of awkwardness that would create friction between individuals and people in general. Plus, Harry did offend the dude, and he did that to the limit. Harry carried his premeditated plan to the dot. It was Harry's fault, no doubt about that. I was there just asking for a tiny bit of compassion from a man that seemed otherwise to be quite reasonable and down to earth. Yet the homosexual got more and more irritated. "Look, mate, I'm the post office guy. I'm the middle man in this, there's no need to argue with me about anything. My friend did something wrong, and I am here to give his apologies for the incident." "Tell him to shove his apologies" the homosexual concluded. "By the way, do you have a basement in here, mate?" "Get out of my shop. Now. Get out of my shop or I'll call the cops. Now."

I went away, wondering a little bit why that dude got so angry with me. I was always a nice guy to the LGBTQ+ community. I had dozens of homosexual and transvestite friends. Some of my best childhood friends were homosexuals. I was always polite and always within bounds... I was of the opinion I was beyond any form of reproach in what I did. I was just trying to make things easier for both of the men in question. What's legal action going to do here? It would deepen the trouble Harry was already in, and it wouldn't help the other dude either... I was always a strong believer that retribution isn't a sane and beneficial principle in any jurisdiction. Things had to be prevented. That was the role of justice in my own humble opinion.

The evenings at the pub were very boring without Harry. The boys lost interest and many of them wouldn't show up. Rumour had it Harry was in imminent danger of being kept in permanently. That would've been a terrible outcome. Harry just didn't make any sense. When not paralysed entirely by the medication he was administered, all he mumbled was random type of shit about random basements and a "synthetic race of humanoids" that was bred since mid-eighties to keep female prisoners in those basements. Those were exactly his words: synthetic race of humanoids... Harry did not make any sense and the boys and I were torn to pieces thinking he may be kept in indefinitely. Harry was quite the entertainer, you see. He was the soul of the group. He was the shaman. Have you seen the seagull in a flock that has entirely dark legs? That's the shaman of the flock. He carries the spirit of the group, encapsulated in their own being. That was what Harry was to us. Our shaman. I couldn't let this go. I refused to accept the blunt reality. So I decided to visit Harry in the hospital once more...

It was quite hard for me getting time off work. It was Christmas time, and an overload of shoppers would invade our store. Yet I managed somehow, my manager was one of the boys and he seemed worried about Harry's situation too. I had to postpone my visit for a week or so, but in the end the day came, and it was nice and sunny, and so I could actually walk in peaceful sunshine to the mental health ward, which was situated not too far from where I lived. A most fortunate course of events, in any case...

I asked the nurses how my friend was doing. They were not impressed. Harry was giving them a lot of trouble being overly anxious to go out on smoko breaks. He just couldn't contain himself. And apparently he did get aggressive a few times, which fact was added to his psychiatric file, only making his situation a lot worse.

"And how are you today old boy?" I tried to cheer him up when I finally got the chance to see him. He seemed a little bit drowsy and incoherent. He was also prone to complaining that day, which was a little strange for a man like him. Harry was rarely heard complaining about anything... "They're drowning me in ink over here, mate. Otherwise I'm doing reasonably well. Thanks for asking" he said. "What's that I hear? You're mumbling unverifiable things about an evil race of people created for the sole purpose of imprisoning females??" "Synthetic race, mate. The correct terminology is ‘synthetic'" "Unverifiable, mate. Rumours. Hearsay. How on earth am I to investigate a claim like this, since there's no way I can prove it, or prove the contrary?" "It is true, I swear" said Harry. "You should catch up on your Philosophy readings. Like Donna Haraway. I know you're the analytical type, but she's worth the study, I promise." "My friend, it is in your best interest to get out of here, and get out of here fast. So stop all of this nonsense, and act normally. Just act. Just be normal for five days, and I think they may let you out." "Yeah? What's I being kept in here have to do with imprisoned females in basements? I fail to see the causal connection, mate. People are being hurt on a daily basis and nobody gives a shit. We should all do something, anything..." Harry was stubborn, everyone knew that about him. That was one of his principal weaknesses. I did think my line of reasoning was valid, though, and he should've perceived as valid. How on earth could he help anyone, anybody, even fictitious females stuck in basement cubicles, if he was stuck in a place like this. In a place like this there was nothing but tranquilization. Is that what he really wanted for himself? Is that how Harry envisioned his long term future? "You better get out of here, and get out of here as fast you can, mate" I told him. "The boys miss you a lot, and I miss you too. We all miss you." "How on earth are you going to save the world if you aren't saving yourself?? Fake it until you make it, bro. In effect. Now. "

He seemed to understand. His handshake was weaker than usual when I departed. I felt sorry for the poor guy... A rude man, but a great entertainer...

Then Harry showed up one evening in the pub, looking quite relaxed, refreshed and about fifteen kilos heavier...

"Well, look boys, it is Mr. Stanton himself. Have you learned your lesson, Harry?" "Yes, Harry" said the boys, "you better learn your lesson this time, and do that fast."