a long time ago, i posted pertaining to the death of gentlemen (although i don't believe that was the post i am thinking of, i can't really find it right now). nevertheless, it has occurred to me that, perhaps, there is little in the way of effort that one can do to change perceptions of others with regards to his principality. when i was much younger, a continual fuel of victorian novels and high culture embedded in me the imperative to act in ways that would not befit the norms of my country, culture, religion, and race; to open doors for others, to stand from one's chair when someone approached his table, to wish a simple and good day, were aberrant practice, and furthermore could be (mis)interpreted as haughtiness, conceit, and even egotism. of course, this lead to the instant demise of what gentleman i could have been, or at least wanted to be.
many years later, after having immersed myself in foreign culture (and i do not brag as if i know any more about these than the average person), and having become somewhat detached from said norms, i am happy to have grown into the type of practices that i used to want. or at least, i was happy to have come into such happenstance. it is with great misfortune and distaste that i would report that, even in the culture of birth of gentlemen, such acts are not warranted or even accepted readily. i have been the victim of disgustful gazes and hefty sighs all too often when enacting gentlemanly conduct to perfect strangers, and not without ill reason. i would easily and happily attribute it to ignorance, or perhaps disdain, or even apprehensiveness, but this would not be the case, as i have found the persons (particularly women) of such foreign land to want for appeasing conduct - except by far from me (or persons as myself).
i begin to wonder why this is so, and it has dawned upon me, not without little observation, and much enforcement, that the explanation is simple: the nature of a man and his submitting to gentlemanly predisposition is not of utmost import, unless the appeal of such a man is firmly established beforehand; to be perceived as such is not only a blessing, but a draw of luck, dependent upon the sole distinguisher in (what must have arisen many centuries ago) an age of perception and prejudices. succinctly put, without sufficient physical appeal, there can be no gentleman. there can be only the deadened gestures of a desolate (and desperate) man, vying for things beyond him. and for those who appease the eye, there need not be a gentleman's predisposition: even the though, or deign, or want for such action in said person is enough to entitle him that sought and bewildered title of a utopian gentleman. one such thing that a person as myself could never hope to attain, but will always endeavour to be closer to - for if one cannot be that which is the best in men, he can only aspire to be something shoddily made in such image, even though that will never be good enough for the perceiving party. however, is it not enough in the eyes of oneself to know that he has tried?
i would argue not, for the living of astute and handsome gentlemen is a great testament; one that is rarely observed today. on the other hand, the death of such dopplegangers and would-have-beens is commonplace - though unappreciated - and only with their demise can the culture of gentlemanly conduct survive (if not thrive).
i would pass the proverbial baton to all those who are pleasing to the eyes, except it is not mine to give: it never was in the first place, and i can only apologise for trying to have pried it from such worthy hands. regardless, there is only little place left for such musings, for in the death of unscholarly gentlemen, there rises the need, and want, and imperative for his sovereign ruler, his brother in arms of well-endowed looks. and him, i most graciously oblige.
Friday, 20 March 2015
i once had thought that i was hold, to stand, to run upon my own,
but little did i know this fallacy was all but set in stone;
it did not take famine or death, or depraved thoughts of 'ternal strife,
to show me how i lacked in love, was you to walk into my life.
but sorry, i could not impart upon you what should be my all,
instead i fumble, foolishly, and trip then stumble then to fall;
what left after the fretful scorn, that leaves with you such wretched haste,
an unpalatable disdain that warrants hateful, bile'd distaste.
so 'pon this eve, i beg and plead, that nothing more come wedged and 'tween,
that i may ask of you one thing, that absolution from my sin;
and if you will not grant me thus, fear it is that takes my soul,
for nothing more is left of me, and never 'gain can i be whole.
perhaps redemption is too high, and ask of you upon this nigh,
but that you 'tain perfection still, no man, no demon can deny;
instead to this perfection is upon my humble'd beck'd decree,
for nothing more, and nothing less, your pardon is what sets me free.
to what i hope is 'ternal love, and if there's more, than i submit,
that even god cannot but laugh, for this mere hope, should you see fit;
to grant this soul one last sweet taste, a breath of air before i drown,
i crave your word, your sweetn'd smile more than of gold, of life, and crown.
to all who may read, to all who may hear, i cannot love beyond once more,
away with me.
that you should give, i would implore.
Posted by etc at 17:05