By Marty Gleason


There are moments, those brief moments of clarity, when we emerge from an experience that was not as fulfilling as the gods had promised. I suspect that this entire society that directs us with complete certainty towards sex, sex, sex, is yet another distraction to divert us from the truth. I don’t believe in conspiracy theories but I do believe in a strange, vaguely sinister force that prevents anything new and innovative from ever occurring and helping our race attain higher goals.


It’s counterproductive that we men were actually taught as teenagers, or whenever, that we would meet our partners out on the town on a Saturday night, the setting in which miscommunication, bloodlust, anxiety and general douchebaggery are at a high and female guard is rightfully all shields up. Clearly the way to meet anyone, woman or man, is to get involved in some sort of low-key activity that involves various people, making yourself useful, productive and happy, getting some friends together and letting organic chemistry take its course. ‘If I could rearrange the alphabet I’d put U and I together?’ What the hell were we thinking with these strategies and ‘techniques’?!


How could sex not be the goal when every song, sitcom and billboard points towards it?”


Did we watch too many movies where the hot chick inexplicably ended up with the goofy moron? It never occurred to us growing up that women are just like men and have the right to desire the best for themselves, same as us, to hold us to the same standards as we hold them.


I had a mate who used to swear by The Game, a book about spiteful men who desired women ‘above’ their level of attraction and weren’t interesting enough to compensate, so they dove into a type of sociopathic manipulation instead. It’s distasteful and completely strips relationships and sex of the playfulness and happiness that they are supposed to be about.


love-316640_640But how did this book even get traction? Do people want to screw more than they want connection? How did it get to the point where people think it’s more feasible to manipulate the other gender rather than talk to them as human beings?


How could sex not be the goal when every song, sitcom and billboard points towards it? But this ‘sex’ left tantalisingly out of reach, the promise that starlets are actually attainable for our leisure and pleasure is simply a marketed form of sex, a dream. That’s our world, a world in which appearance, packaging and marketing aren’t just the most important thing but the only thing. What is inside, what the substance of the product or person is, quite simply does not matter.


Apparently it doesn’t matter that actual sex can be awkward or lacks something when we don’t know the person well (or is it actually more thrilling that way?) It doesn’t matter that our hottest desires should be aimed at more than getting our rocks off. But when we eventually realise that the appearance and the packaging cannot sustain us forever, it’s only then that the internal qualities matter.




Marty Gleason is just some guy, you know? Through the Haze is an entreaty to reason our way through the fog of misinformation and terrible thinking in which we’re drowning. More from Marty at

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