Just wanted to let you know you

The land that has stolen the sun
the has the warmth of the earth in the cool air.
When the sky has been set free, and night has overcome the shackles of the day
forgotten are the cages of the shadows so gentle lights of mystery over take

Something new discovered is a strange smile
the rises behind the horizon
Lost and hidden
but warmth in the darkness

the comfort in being lost, Alone.
not knowing where you are - where is home
Of not knowing where you going what you will find
the solitude of the journey in the mind.

The feeling of humble a humble ant
in the grandeur of nature,
The fear of dreams,
because of their power and danger.

That freedom that floats under the air,
With no breath desire or despair
To reach that boundary where sounds are amniotic
the fire that burns in my lungs becomes the warm pulse that was chaotic

That intruder to pry to wait,the life of other lives observed
yet not disturb that intimate moment, the playful touch not disturbed
To see them talk with eyes and ears,
Only dream to understand feelings and fears.

The wild and the delicate that crosses
to your serenity and calmness
the youth that your child that play,
who find the calm and comfort in your way

The one that welcomes the stray and bedraggled,
the lost for the love and long to be loved
if only a selection of time
for a passing moment of compassion

Lie in the the chronology of stones
and the let chemistry change your own
That time and taste become reality,
far a fleeting moment of clarity

The mist and the rain,
that under warm covers refrain -
to places of words unsaid
but destinations of journeys read.


So much, alone with all that surrounds
squashed and held by gentle touch
each finger grasping freedom
that floats away.

The archive manuscript the basement kept
once opened an ancient breath,
gently blowing thoughts through time
for those that have a chance to find

The cool breeze
when skin is bare
after warmth and shelter
and constant care.

The curves and shapes
that sunrise desires
and lines and textures
that dusk requires.

hard to find
and rare in time
to let you know
beautiful

Mirror mirror in a babies hand

Neurons are nothing more than messengers taking information from one place to another, and neurotransmitters nothing more than a means of transferring this information between neurons. We can expand this, if we accept the fact that we are interconnected with our surroundings. A pheromone is a neurotransmitter that can travel vast distances to communicate with another neuron that follows a pathway to induce a desired effect, an airborne hormone.

If we accept this then the neurotransmitter of light and sound is not far off. In raising a child, and in the presence of child - adults will replicate the action or sound of a baby, and reward the infant when he replicates the action of a adult. A simple conditioning reward response which will enforce neural pathways. Why do we do it? The consequence of these actions allows for the development of structures that make the social brain intertwined with the actions, pains and joys, and language of those around us.

But what about the conditioning of children interacting with technology! What development occurs in the brain when it swipes its had across a screen and there is positive reinforcement, when it plays with a WII and on a screen across the room it actions are mirrored and reinforced. Is it just another game or is a whole new world of connection being established in the brain beyond what we are yet to comprehend?

educate the world

You can not sell a man a fridge unless he needs it. If you can make him understand why he needs it then it is possible. To make him understand why he needs it you can educate him.

You can not sell a man an education unless he needs it. If you can make him understand why he needs it then it is possible. To make him understand why he needs it you can educate him...

You can not sell a man a fridge unless he wants it. If you can make him want it then it is possible. To make him want it you can not work on reason but emotion.

You can not give a man an education unless he wants it. If you can make him want it then it is possible. To make him want it you must not work on reason but emotion!

Reflections of Jefferson Tidal Basin

Memorial day on the Mall

A great capital. A great loss. A great pity. A great Nation.

In all my travels I have not viewed such magnificence achieved in such a short period of time! But these are through the eyes of technology, architecture and engineering. I see the dream, I believe in it - it does exist, but that is not the dream of one and all. With such wisdom exists great power, but the power is lost.

I contrast a day in a city filled with people who where sent to kill for an ideology, and kill those who had a difference of option, or to kill because of mineral resources, because of power and greed to wisdom. "...The test of our progress is not whether we add more to the abundance of those who have much; it is whether we provide enough for those who have too little." Why are they who kill the ones who have nothing for the ones who have so much heroes? Sadly, as I walk through the masses who have gone to kill for the ideologies of on nation with memorials packed with people respecting those who died for a cause greater than what they understood, I walk a stones throw away to places that stand empty, filled with wisdom. While I walk through the conversations of guns and machines, I boil inside thinking about the world beyond these borders. And then serenity in a nation unjust where words of wisdom carved in stone make no sound. "More than an end to war, we want an end to the beginnings of all wars." Where ever present racial inequalities are hidden and brushed aside because a man who lineage was not of serfdom becomes the leader of the nation. Yes inspiring, but as a foreigner in his own xenophobic community that he has been classified, what progress is that? What subtle hidden problems does this great nation have, what wisdom is being used to progress?

This achievement of violence and it glorification scares me. Where I am used to the marketing of the weapons of killing and war being confined to the technical magazines and targeted and the people make the decisions what will defend a nation, I pass them on my way around town like an advert for a loaf of bread. "We have faith that future generations will know that here, in the middle of the twentieth century, there came a time when men of good will found a way to unite, and produce, and fight to destroy the forces of ignorance, and intolerance, and slavery, and war." Have they forgotten already, does no one come to read the writing on the wall!

I always wondered what makes a developed nation? I compare these people to those of places labelled as developing, where the heart is greater than the mind, and human compassion is greater than the government, and have no fear in deciding who is developed. Is it is a great nation still on the journey to greatness. I feel in other parts of the world, by means of great leaders they are leaps and bounds ahead, and still running. Perhaps the greatest strength of these countries is the importance of education in the youth. I had the chance to visit a School on my stay and hear about 3 out 25 kids are in class because it is the first lesson; yet in the valley of a thousand hills seeing kids walking before the sunrise to reach their first class on time. I do believe a great nation waiting to blossom!

I leave you with some last words of wisdom that only education can progress:

"I am not an advocate for frequent changes in laws and constitutions, but laws and institutions must go hand in hand with the progress of the human mind. As that becomes more developed, more enlightened, as new discoveries are made, new truths discovered and manners and opinions change, with the change of circumstances, institutions must advance also to keep pace with the times. We might as well require a man to wear still the coat which fitted him when a boy as civilized society to remain ever under the regimen of their barbarous ancestors."

Lost and found

The mood the blues the pretty faces.

My heart goes thud that the double bass plummets the notes to the tap of the drum. Each beat a vibration that resonates to the jazz that is life. Those dreams of melody that take you from the slows to the highs, where my heart and mind are on different journeys both trying to find the soul. Yet the noise and the chaos of the chairs tearing the floor, and the twang of a foreign language are melodic to my migraine. That pound for pound of noise as my heart is dragged through my body to the place it left months ago. Oh the reality of a dream, the interest in what could be, is just as painful as that weight of flesh between the head and the heart. Yet how the inspiration of beauty of body, and dream of touch in smiles and laughter of memories lost can still inspire. Inspire to lift and float on cork floors, and walk in grassy field as soft breaks of blades of grass release their aromas for your pleasure. What life is lost on lost paths of dreams of days to come. Yet those dreams are lost in days that have not yet arrived! That inspiration of beauty that could be grasped, yet grasped to soon, witheres as held on so tight, yet grasped to late is lost in the chaos of life. How is such magnificence appreciated from far away when the soul of touch so near to the heart. How is that beauty framed by a smile kept in the heart with out a hook to hang it from. Instead it floats free, to drift between mind and body to swiftly raise each to its own. A beauty lost, yet always found.

Cape Town, the teenager people don't like

As a capetonian I am proud of being a teenager. Hell these are the best years of my life! Creativity, conflict the challenges dealing with hormones, fighting with authority. The teenage child who keeps their parents on their toes, still asking the important questions - not how much money can I make - pushing the limits, doing things different. The sort of things that old uncle Joburg seems to have lost. Hell for him its all about careers and money and big cars. I mean who the hell wants a big 4x4! Let him drive it on those streets up there, we dont need that stuff on our cobbeled roads and alley ways, made for people who walk and ride on bicycles. I know why people love me, because I know the importance of a Friday afternoon. In the good old days, everybody got the Sunday off to be with the family and head off to the beach and he parks- and appreciate whats important in life. Now that Uncle has got all the shops open on Sundays, and now they want the city to never sleep! What happened to Slaapstad- it was a good place! We love our Mountain, our beaches, our life. It reminds me of the time I was in Germany (those old folks), I landed up meeting some other teenagers from Barcelona - they told me that here in Germany they "live to work", I must come and join them in Barcelona where we "work to live". I went to stay with them for a while. Man, now there is a teenager with issues and what ever you do not insult them and call them a Spanish city! They still colonised, and discriminated, an older teen, trying to break free from their over powering parent for hundreds of years! The thorn in there parents side, Where creativity can thrive - Picasso, Dali, they choose it because it is the rebel, the protester, the fighter. Where Friday afternoons people live, Where their National holiday is celebrating their surrender- because life is more important than power! Kind of reminds me of home. We all love our town, but we love our conflict its what makes us know we are alive. We proud of our individual cultures and differences. We have a love hate relationship, where we have our borders but no walls, and anybody can go where they want - but most importantly - we family. Unlike those people up country in some places where its like half the population does not exist in the eyes of the others. Why do you think we got our big walks, low walls, and street life from Fishhoek to Franschhoek. I am not looking forward to growing up, I don't want my big car and the high walls, I don't want the Big TV showing showing me nature- while my natural areas are turned into factories, roads and Tuscan houses. I don't want those adults buying my land that I can no longer afford the roof over my head. I don't want to be a city of holiday houses of the wealthy, company head quarters, and big buildings. I want my Jazz, my Concerts, my Minstrels, my sunsets, my marimbas in Gugs, my dagga in Obs, and my tik. I want my conflict and my challenges. I don't want to be a "world class city" - I want my world, my class, but most of all I don't want to be a city, I want to remain my Town!

Sour Bread

The fresh milk, or rather the pasteurized, not the half boiled ultra high stuff, the simple stuff one step away from the pure stuff, you know the white stuff you first tasted, or at least a calf tasted, that stuff. The thing which can trigger the hypo center of emotions to trigger the hyper center of pleasure. Most pleasurable and body temperature, somehow it evolved to be pleasurable cooled. Probably conditioned by the first development of memories of that not so fresh milk fresh from the fridge. The small craving, a lack in isolation, the reality of choice. That special delight that brings moments of joy when ever it is near. When just the though, not smell nor taste can wet the lips. A strange conditioning, a strange passion. This delight under these conditions was put on ice, frozen, deep frozen in the belief that its constitution would hold together for the time, before fresh supplies could be sourced. But the life within did not stop with time- it is a living thing. This investment in future pleasures only delays the inevitable fact that fresh is not frozen. And it may slow the process and delay the fact that fresh milk is there for the consuming the pleasure of drinking every day, Before dawn, morning, day and night, when ever the desire stimulates the primitive mind. To take pleasure in the effect of it texture and colour. And be drugged by its flavor of that gentle journey it takes across the tastes buds, stimulating the crags and crevasses to build the picture of its surge in my mind. But that fresh milk was sitting in the deep freezer while natural process continued. Nature has evolved a way of reminding you that that which is not used will be taken over by that which will. My ignorance in such matters have left me marooned with out means of satisfy my dependence. In the mornings when the darkness fades and the rivers of cloud turn white, I wonder about means of escape. I wonder what use I can find for what is left of what once was.

And here is where it ends, I need to go check the oven.

My chair

The chair that I sit in swivels 360º, its height is adjustable to various lengths of ergonomical comfort, it leans back with just the right resistance and it rocks a little more off axis by a few degrees. The first few features created by the principles driving the progress of man from the first time a wheel rolled. The idea of how to improve life, driven by laziness, the idea to make life easier and more comfortable. Looking at every day living, from the moment rising in the morning as the duvet made from feathers harvest on mass by machine, researched to being the best insulator, accompanied by the right mass to hug the contours of the body with the gentle touch of a mothers caress. Covered in a synthetic fiber designed on computers and chemical laboratories to to breath, but not absorb a scent. The polymercotton satin covers leave without a crease. The pillow cover follows shape, the slippers at the side of the bed developed to form the foot in the perfect shape, with no room to spare. The underfloor heating maintaining constant temperature- the perfect comfort level buried in the concrete filled with hollow beads to insulate the silence. Each step to the toilet transversing years of research and development. Each foot placed on millions of man hours since the dawn of knowledge, each foot placed near the pinnacle of its field. Then the bladder contracts and the waste products of our life are discarded. The first sign that we are still animals. The hair that makes us still beasts cut with the blades evolved from killing to survive, killing our history, killing our age. And so the day progress the luxuries expected, each its own evolution of past achievements brought on by intelligent men in institutes and garages, on kitchen tables, and restless nights. Whom with age gained respect and experience. Respect for wisdom. A slowly deteriorating attribute. For now this intelligence is driven for recognition, and with age and wisdom comes the opportunity to gain recognition, recognition by means of wealth. As minds are lost to money, the exponential growth of progress is leveled to modern society. And I sit in this chair, suffering its consequence.

I am the truth

I like writting my options on Wikipedia, starting an argument, and then telling people to check their facts.

How to test a weapon part 2 Anti-satellite tecnology

Create a dilemma,
Install Panic,
Send Missile,
Solve Problem.

Dilemma... Their is a Satellite with toxic fuel that would enter the atmosphere and burn up on re-entry, but before it burns up the people on the ground would breath it in. How can we prevent this?

This toxic fuel is hydrazine, and 1 human is know to have died from it!

Send missile and test military technology while we at it.

Solved problem.

Just some question that the public may wish to ask ; is it so toxic that we can use it as fuel in our cars instead of hydrogen? If it is hypergolic with other chemicals in our atmosphere why worry? If the burners are still working why can't it be burnt? If the burners are not working why cant it be out gassed?
Just a question, or is the world we live in so full of gullible people...

Human Engineering Where You Need It Most

Coming soon... as soon as I figure out where it is needed!

New in town?

(This one is an excerpt from a story back when I was living in Germany)

Just to add another Bahn to the story, I proceeded to test Newtons laws on the conservation of momentum on the strassen Bahn on my way to work... this is how you do it: 1) apply minimum friction surface to body's support (ie put on a pair of Roller blades with well lubricated bearings). 2) Place body at stern of vehicle (get on at the front of the train). 3) Allow vehicle to accelerate (train pulls out of stop). 4) Make sure the observation is not biased (Make sure there are lots of people on the train to watch). 5) Apply frictional force to upper part of body (grab hold of any thing that might stop you). 6) Observe as lower part of body conserves momentum (Watch legs fly). 7) Reset the body on friction free surface (stand up). 8) Observe how body does not have the same momentum as the vehicle, since vehicle is still accelerating (try again). 9) Apply friction to lower part of body (whack legs/shins into plastic seats). 10) Observe as upper body conserves momentum (sit down facing the seat).
The principles of Newtons Laws, never leave home without them!

A very short story of the spider and the fly.

Late in the evenings when the creatures from the dark head out to do their business, is about the same time when man needs to relive his bladder of fluids. Once this important process of concentrating on the toilet bowel for marking your territory in that 30 cm circle is completed, so the wrath of the female of the species is avoided. The critical and potentially highly painful process, but mentally less straining activity, of closing shop- zipping it all up allows your mind to drift, and the eyes to wonder... to spotting a huge hairy spider in the Mirror right beside your head on the wall... when disturbed in these private moments, or any such other moments, the heart skips a beat, the adrenalin pumps, and the muscles contract!


Moral of the story: All the guys out there, it is moments like this why we should never try and multiprocess.

idiots syncretism

Before the idiosyncrasies of this city become the normality in my mind, i need to make a few notes and observations.
A rather interesting festival happens in summer. people eat outside. But it get worse, they eat on the street. Not that they have to, they choose to! they close the street off, perhaps invite some live music, or their HiFi, bring out some tables and have dinner with their neighbors. For any city wishing to take back the night, this is highly recommended. Not only will you meet the people who spend 60% of their time 100m away from you, but you get to taste something different.
Why is there a high prevalence of female piercing in the facial region. Targeted particularly at the nasal area. I would like to draw a chain of thoughts that connects this in some obscure way to a Bull ring, not the ones where men prove they can do an estocada, but the one that allows you to pull the beast, with or with out horns. But perhaps it should be know as a cow ring, penetrating the soft triangle in front of the septum. Unfortunately I can not make the link that: Woman want to be lead by their nose.
Although I must also note the elegance of the Gothic in club who carries the fan. A piece of Spanish fashion that has withstood the test of time. A required fashion accessory for any night on the town.
This same evening that it dawned on me like the sun was about to, since the evening ends at 6am, I noticed, well keeping track of the people walking through the doorway, that men are hunters. I came to this conclusion as I kept track of the number of woman passing through the doorway compared to men. Since woman would be less likely to move around and waiting to be seen and men would be looking, hence more mobile. I counted about 30 males for each female crossing the door way. A clear sign of characteristic behavioral differences between the sexes. This might be a bit biased since I later discover when I needed to go the toilet. I never did find out where those woman where going.

the scales of Media

I am sitting in front of the media machine and blown away by the 35000000 house on the market with showing me everything i should desire. But then I am also blown away on how on the same channel the very next show is how the homeless and destitute live in the same country. Is this balanced media imposed from above, or is it conscious choice from those in charge. I wonder if I am the only one of several million people who did not change channels.

Whose choice is it that we have a balanced view of the world, what choice do I have?

La vida Loca

How would you say it 'vivir la vida loca' or 'la dolce vida'. Or does madness make every thing taste sweet. I suppose it takes a certain amout of madness to always look on the bright side. So let me tell you a bit about how sunny things are and then not consider the rest.

The journey ended at the airport in Athens, a modern airport for a modern Olympic city. At 3am the play ground of the modern hippy, where seeing world on the charity of others is still possible. My backpack and front pack where not out of place after the witching hour. Rather I was short a roll up mattress, and could not seem to find anyplace to hang my hammock, those poles used to keep people in queues just did not seem strong enough. So instead of joining the majority (as someone once said when you think like the majority start to wonder), i wondered the halls of the airport and found a bookshop to buy something to read, something scientific and technical for 3am.

The flight was rather uneventful, did not sleep, does one ever the night before you landing in a foreign city where you do not speak the language, know what the day ahead holds for you? The landing was uneventful, the airport was a modern airport for a modern Olympic city. Luggage loaded, only about 30kgs. and off like a well balanced porter to the train station. Off to Sans, sans what I wonder. Sans metro from the airport. A quick change at Sans and I was in the epithelium veins of the city, of to an address I found less than a week ago, and knew only in hypertext.
With luck I got lost, and took me a while to find this place in real life. Ring the bell, humm which floor was it again, actually I don´t think I even know the floor, let alone the apartment. Ah someone in coming, "Hola, perdona do you know D__".
"Yes, that me."
To have traveled a thousand kilometers, and walk into your flatmate at 9and a bit am. as he was leaving has the probability of 20 to 1, none the less a good sign. To have him tell you you are on the forth floor is not. To discover after counting down your four flights of stairs that you cant dump your bags and crash into a bed is not. To discover you can't do this after walking up the 5th flight makes you question if you are so tired you are going loca. After getting there on the 6th you are informed that the old buildings in Spain have the "Priniple floor" or what I would call the ground floor, above the ground floor, and then they start counting!
Alas a bed! actually a triple mattress spring bed. After losing some mattress I passed out. My first day in Barcelona City of Art, Culture, beaches, design, style!
Well I have made the point of not visiting anything until I have a tourist to visit it with. I don´t see the reason to see the same places over and over again, so just so you know when you visit, it will be as new and wonderful to me as it is to you.

Sometime between now and then, some sort of chronological order. Mr D took me on a stroll around the town, the town of Barcelona, not the city, the town. The heart of where people live. This is where the culture and the tourist go, where all the immigrants from the east and west stay, where the artist meet the anarchist, where skate boarding takes over the squares of the museums where drug addicts sit on street corners and artist flourish where style is created. This is where the nouveau rich want to live. This is where they destroy buildings of character and quaint style to root out a cancer that is the life, to fill it with pills of plastic and chemicals. A chemotherapy that will I believe one day make the area as decrepit and acrid to creativity as to living. For at the moment the streets are alive with people who flock from the city and around the world, to meet. To listen to the man playing his trumpet on the street corner at 1am, which draws you from blocks away, with no fear of disturbing the peace.

This is not my neighborhood, but the hood that I neighbor. 30 second walk to cobbled stones and scented air of incense and hashish. To good food and good jazz. I will be sorry to leave it one day which may be to soon.

To date my greatest regret is that I have not taken 100 paces in the other direction. Because there lies the place that stimulates the sensors. The market. I make this vow that I shall from now by all fresh produce from their hallowed ground. But granted I have not bought much fresh produce yet, and have got no idea what I am asking for I will forgive myself, at least in the suppermarket they have a picture of the animal on the cover, but thats no excuse.

Remind me to tell you about the stroll along the beach, the first trip inland, my other flatmate who watches a movies once a week (-: we just watched "4 minutes") and why when you lose contact with friends, you only meet them again when they are pregnant. 2am time to make dinner...

How to by pass a nuclear test ban

Take a nation that has signed the nuclear test ban treaty, but which wishes to develop new nuclear weapons. Hypothetically let call them the (US)A.
Take a nation which has not agreed to any convention on nuclear weapon, lets call them I(ndia).
Take an allied nation to A, lets call them (australi)A.

Allow nation A to supply nation I with with technology, which disagree with policy of nation A for all nations B to I and K to Z.

Allow nation I to complete test as required.
Collect data from Nation I
Condemn nation I for doing test, apply sanctions and demand the abolition of nations I´s program.

wh-Atatürk

I sit here on this hand made wooden chair, one of 16 around me, each with its own unique similarity. Four for four glass top tables. Breakfast is about to be served. I find it strange that each has a chess boards looking through? The same space is spotted with potted olive trees geraniums (Pelargonium ??), ribs of coral decorations. Tiles from Arabic shrines with white on blue with turquoise edges, and prequels to mosaics lying spotted between the pot plants and urchin shells and brass bowels on a terracotta tiled floor. The white sheets hanging like washing over many lines provide little protection from the coming heat, but much desired shade. Yet out the door is a paved road with out any of the paving. This is a diamond in the back streets of Ayvalik.
But neither decoration nor chess board hanging on the wall opposite me grabs my attention. But the wall itself!
Catching the morning sun at its pinnacle where the regular brick work has been white washed with cement. But where the brick work ends and the ground floor begins, it is the fractured rock face of three by seven meters that is a painting unto itself. An image of Istanbul and Turchia at large.
The local stone is only a small contribution of the diversity. The pastel off terracotta, the rust stains bleed, the orange peel left to dry, the white basalt, the sulpher, the polished tanned leather, black lava, purple white, turquoise rock. Carved in regular patterns by time, polished by erosion, fractured by chisels, sharp, rough, smooth. With the odd brick in between. But what is the cement that bounds such a diverse people? What fills the cracks between the differences of the imperfect match?

Istanbul, is not Paris of the east, not the London of Asia, but the cross roads of a cosmopolitan nation. Some place where the definition of east and west breaks down, it is the east of the west, and the west of the east. A place where no one gives a damn if you are from Asia or Europe. Where the beauty of the people is that you can't say they are from Turkey, where the tourist and the local are indistinguishable. The waterway divides the land brings with it the instrument that stirs the blood of many people into a polished granite with all its textures and characters, and beauty and depth of strange complexity that you can not find fault.


I wonder how control and death at these cross roads in time and space will be in the future. Will the people be pulled apart by those at its borders, will the rocks be grouped together that the picture disappears and the wall collapses? This life line to the north, it is the vein from the black sea to the "good" life of the Mediterranean. It is an artery red and green beacons, the to and fro.

But the blood red flag that flies all over the land is both a pleasure and a paradox. Nationalist pride, to symbolise the fight against a secular state. A proud nation, but are there to many "bears"? People selling their nation short in western eyes. Not great bears, but wild creatures, people with out culture or class in a classical city that bears the fruit of architecture and arts. Symbols of the highest form of knowledge and progress. The bear without education? Blind faith, laïcité or nationalist? I question what gives an educated vote.



The wood slate buildings next to the stables down quaint little cobble streets, by rock walls and collapsed roofs from years gone by. With sky scrapers on the horizon, following the contours of the valleys, while ancient landmarks crown hill tops like tiaras. Seven hills, seven thousand dishes to desire, from old and new. Who are the turks? Where is Turkmenistan? It is not a place but a distinguished character of Atatürk that defines the ambition of half the nation. And the character of the other great leader corrupted by the west that defines the other half of the nation. But what about the third half, the half that decides the future?

Bonobos and Chimpanzees

A rather interesting thing happened on the 27th of July. Nothing unusual for me, I slept under the stars. The interesting part that the table I left to go sleep on the pool bench (it was about 30 in the heat wave at 1am) contained someone who I spend the greater part of my childhood with, although already at this stage the greater part was minimised. To whom he was talking was the "love of his life". But this more a note on the hypothetical effects of excess testosterone on an individual.

We have your typical alpha male who has established his territory. In his territory he defines the rules that need to be followed. Although a male dependent may need to try and establish a territory within this, so that he may strut his feathers. On higher evolved mammals this may take place on an intellectual playing field. But on simpler species a general strut or physical sign of superiority may, in the individuals mind, be an indication that he has achieved a level of superiority. The irony is that such an act requires the completion of the act, the ousting of the alpha male to be of any significance in terms of territory. This act is impossible, as an intellectual he is still far inferior at this stage to provide for himself. The failure to actually obtain any status, has now made him vulnerable to the other sub alpha males in the same territory. To over come this weakness one can theorise that for such a complex animal has homo sapein that that act of trying to obtain the the support of the alpha male was a means of maintaining a sense of status. An attempt to prevent support of other males in the territory. This factor would be supported by the female whos' genes where being carried but the male in the study. Such support is required where the Alpha male shares no genes with the dependents. Although the genes carried by decedents of the alpha male moved to new territories as soon a the opportunity arrived, the testosterone driven male required several more years before being able to move to new territory as it appears he was no threat to the alpha female in the territory as they shared the same genes, as such no threat to the alpha males.

The long duration as a sub male suppressed the outward symbols of the excess testosterone. Soon after moving to a new territory the effects of baldness soon developed. Along with the desire to acquire status symbols. As well as being promiscuous.

Sorry where was, oh yes sleeping on bench by the pool, well not asleep, just watching the stars listing to the conversation happening about 5 meters away from me, not that I really had a choice. I am not sure if they were to drunk to notice that I had only walked 5 meters away, or did not care. The conversation went along the lines of "I beat them to their father, and then helped my brother beat them too" names where mentioned, but I won't. "The other woman was a thing of the past". "I earn more than you". "I know you put half the money to the house, but its my house".
To complement this the last time we meet back home the only thing he was able to tell me the he had just slept with another woman 2 days before his girlfriend arrived from London.

I truly wonder sometimes about why the human race should be monogamous? The endorphins released during sex created a sense of attachment. A true reason for make love not war. one huge world wide gang bang? Are the Bonobos and Chimpanzeens not both highly evolved primates. Yet with totally different sexual dynamics in their societies. But there is a conundrum in that the Bonobo is a non aggresive species, yet highly sexual, and the Chimpanzee is aggressive where testosterone driven characteristics are dominant. What would happen in an aggressive Bonobo society?

Where is the human race progressing? What type of woman is attracted to status, but unable to access security and the ability to provide from a male. In todays world are testosterone characteristic males are unable to provide stable environments. Or are they children from broken homes from fathers from broken families. An interesting analysis would be the results of Male/Female family success in family development (where they have come from broken homes) and a measure of hormone levels compared to a norm.