Log 20-07-13

July 20, 2013

Bird house: Vun observed loads of birds at 0730. But he’s not a bird man. I need to judge for myself – will go there again tonite. May even decide to spend the night there and camp out with the dogs and couple of tribesmen.

The moon is nearly full, but no quite yet. Or maybe not. I’ll decide later.

Important developments: Popped down to the village barber who doubles as the clandestine services that even puts the CIA and Mossad to shame – as this old barber knows everything that’s happening within a vicinity of 200 miles radius – his intelligence has always been reliable – after recovering from his initial shock of seeing my unkempt appearance – the 73 barber proceeded to transform me back to the respectable image of the gentlemen planter – somewhere between the haircut and suggesting a hot towel as he mentioned I looked sunburnt – the director of intelligence services whispered to me that my enemies are confounded as to why the man who lives on top of the hill has declined their offer to buy the parcel of land adjacent to his – it seems they can’t understand – yes, the price they’re putting up may well be high – but they know, by buying that piece of land – I would get them out once and for all. They don’t understand the reasons for my disinterest.

Paying more attention to my appearance:

Need to get my act together. Tomorrow I will attend church for the very first time – need to sit next to the 36 year daughter of my nemesis – this can only be done if I look the part of a respectable gentlemen planter.

As in these parts. No one. not the police or even the pastor himself will ever consider it odd – if a well pomaded man dressed in a Zegna bush jacket, mirror polished shoes and holding a briar pipe just strolls right in during the middle of a sermon and decides to sit next to the 36 year old still single Patricia – I know no one will be sit beside her, as she sits next to the pastor – so when he’s up there on the pulpit – in I come.

I know it sounds one, two, three dead simple. But it’s really quite complicated considering my crumbly state of mind. Patricia judging from what the head of intelligence intimated to me seems like a frigid woman.

To paraphrase, a woman who has managed to assassinate the idea that a man can ever bring her happiness and hence considers their species optional / possibly with even hints of disdain – but paradoxically a frigid woman who desires to love and be loved in return.

That at least is my version of the DIY Mossad agent psychological profiling.

Now at age 36, Patricia has missed the boat – as she makes her way inexorably to auntiehood – the finality of that realization seeps slowly into to her – this along with the chastening passage of time has rendered her older than her real age. This I can understand – and now, I imagine the 36 year old spinster has taken comfort in the idea, “thank you Jesus my aim is improving.” (you have been so kind not to burden me with a man). That’s to say, I am dealing with a woman who has not only given up all prospects of finding happiness with a man – she might even despise men. Her father after fooled around, she has many reasons to see nothing good in all men – which accounts for her die-die devotion to God.

As since her father up there in cloud land can never hurt her – his love will always be true and pure – unlike the defiled love of a mortal man who can only betray, hurt and leave one’s heart scattered like dust in the wind – I understand.

I need to understand Patricia like a hunter understands the nature of his prey – it is cold business, to go deep into the depths of her shattered dreams and to stand there surveying the carnage in the way I often stand on a mountain whenever I am in the field prospecting for land.

As I said, it’s not that simple. As when I turn the corner and walk right up to her and sit down – within than brief span of time when our eyes lock – I would have to stir some remnant of love in her – to suggest a hint that love is a many wondered thing – to raptured her – at that moment when she sees me, I need to see her exclaim with every cell in her being – he is here!

The man who Patricia sees must not be the broken man, but a perfect imitation of the mythical lover – the man she has been waiting for all these years. The man that her father has sent to her.

In that split second when our eyes catch – and I see her all her fears and fascination tracing like meteorites through her eyes – then I know for certain the key has turned the lock and the door is now open – the first is the most important door.

Without it – it’s no good. If I am going to infiltrate my enemies – I need to get it right the first time!

My main predicament is the only thing that I can attract in my run down state these days are flies – if I look like a bag man, it’s no good – it just doesn’t come around.

To pull this off I need to come across as diabolically handsome, charming, renaissance gentlemen planter in my bush jacket when Patricia sees me – just as James Bond can never do his job, if he didn’t have a Walther PPK, Rolex submariner and nifty gadgets from Q – I cannot pull this off, if I simply cannot create that quiet and still space when a woman first lays on a man who knows to be different from other men – as this men will walk into her life – though she knows only too well, this man may well be dangerous and may probably only bring her only grief (as her father and his friends constantly refer to me as the devil who stays on that hill).

Yet within this sliver of a moment in time – this woman would feel stirred – as if something deep inside her that has remained dormant for all the years has suddenly been unmoored – released – what that thing could be is speculation, an image, memory, a photograph, smell – and now all these suppressed hopes and fears is bubbling up to the surface from the depths of time – that is the power of the past.

We often think it is a dead and a worthless thing. Like one of those old shoes that we keep reminding ourselves we need to throw out. But it isn’t. The past is powerful.

As in our brief encounters in the past – during formal toffee nose functions where all the ladies seem only to sport Laura Ashley – I have often seen that look of fear and fascination whenever our eyes catch – inquiring eyes with hints of fascination – “is it true what the villagers say, the devil lives on the hill?” – “is it true how the villagers say you once faced off with ten men who came in the night only run down screaming that they had seen the devil.” – “is it true doctor that you are a man who is cold heartless, cruel and evil as my father said you are.”

That is why it has to be slam and dunk – love at first sight – to release a storm a mysterious thing that Patricia once yearned in the moment of her youth called love – to make it appear in a look, a touch and gentle way in which a man holds the ladies bible (bc I don’t have a bible, just a door stopper).

And at age 36 as she stands on the threshold of spinsterhood – suddenly the mythical lover appears before her – a man who would look upon her for eternity as if she is the only woman who every existed in this world.

That to me is the gold standard of infiltrating the inner sanctum of my nemesis – through his weakest link – his daughter – Patricia.

But let’s get practical I can’t do this if I look like a bag man. Fortunately, the Internet came to my rescue. As I visited a metrosexual forum where skinned obsessed males – who I suspected were gays trawling for good look guys gave me some good advice on skin care – got to learn hoe to use one of those cucumber face mask, then ST.Ives clay mask along with 4 other bottles of cream and face care products – this may seem easy peasy for most men – but I have really only used Lux soap all my life – don’t even buy shampoo – a bar of Lux has always been good to go for everything from washing my clothes if I run out of washing powered on the field to waxing the strings of my hunting bow.

I need to focus on to this today – tomorrow is show time. Tomorrow Patricia, the daughter of my nemesis will exclaim with her eyes when she sees the man in the bush jacket – Halleluyah lah!

I only have one shot – and in my current state, it hard not to believe this is a bridge too far.

I cannot fail. How else can I find out more about the designs of my enemies – she holds the key – Patricia.

I must be able to sweep her off her feet – one look – one moment where even time itself dissolves away leaving only the image of the man who she knows deep in her heart of hearts that only her father in heaven had brought to her.

That is how it must go, like a sappy Mills & Boons love story.

When I think about it – my life is like a fucking B movie – it’s surreal as to be unbelievable – but that is really how it is.

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