When you take snapshots of yourself and select your favourite - what are you looking for? Are you trying to see/portray yourself for who you are or are you trying to capture/present a version of yourself that most fits your ideal self image?

Makes sense to do the latter, of course. But a selfie is just the cover. What really is important is what's inside the book. And what is equally important is that - this may come as a surprise - that YOU READ THE BOOK.

The book of self. New pages everyday. Some bits you write, others are written for you. All you have to do is record them. Some bits get erased. Some segments are abbreviated. Some are drawn out. 

What is your story, though? 

These days there are lots of book covers being flashed around but there is less and less content being revealed. Why is that? 

There's always so much going on that things like long, intimate conversations with lucid friends, meaningful connections, investments of time and energy in those in need, etc - have become less prevalent. 

Character. Personal morality. Philosophy. Discourse. Ethics.

In this money focused, ambition driven society there is less and less time for these things. Perhaps because the world has become so thick with information (and disinformation), in addition to entertainment and various forms of distraction (facebook, twitter, insta for starters), it is so easy to just drift along on a raft and never have to paddle or pull over to the shore and stake a claim or make a home. We are overwhelmed by complex systems, wheels within wheels; social, political and physical.

The world now takes it's own selfie, every day, every minute, every second. And we are not sure what to think. It is always changing! It's alluring, dangerous, stimulating, confronting, familiar and foreign all at once. Are we part of it? Have things gone beyond the point where one person, any given single entity - with their views, opinions, feelings, thoughts, outlooks - really matters? Is it all too much? Is the river now a tidal wave, a tsunami? Are we all just hanging on and hoping to land somewhere safe?

We take selfies to benignly assert our presence in the modern day. Look! This is me! Having fun, acting cool, being silly, sexy, wild! I exist. I am living the life. Whatever that is, at the moment. Don't ask. Questions make for discomfort. Questions stir things up. Especially questions we avoid asking ourselves. Those ones. The ones we are not sure we are even equipped to answer. Why bother? It's easier to just float along from day to day. Things will work out. 

Thing is - who are you?

Don't you want to get to know yourself? Look at yourself? See what you are made of? Get to know your true essence? 

If you do, you can, and you won't regret it. To find, you must seek. And the answers will only come once the questions are asked. And no one is going to do that for you. Not once you are an adult, anyway. It's your responsibility. In some ways, it's your primary one. To get to know yourself. Beyond what is on the cover. Beyond the presentation. Open the book up. Look inside. There is a world as grand and magical as you can imagine. There are things there that might make you uncomfortable, even fearful. But the truth is there is nothing to be afraid of. It's all you. 

And you, my friend, you're a flawed and complex, sentient being. Just like us all. Do not judge or condemn. Accept and embrace. Discover. Uncover. Allow. Once you can do it for yourself, you'll be able to do it for others. 

What does this mean in real terms - beyond the new age slogans? I don't know. It's different for us all. What I am saying - to myself, really - is that there is a need for more substance, more fibre, grit, integrity. What good is it to simply exist, without allowing your character to grow, to be revealed, to be celebrated in essence? Why not at least try to sort through your shit and dust off your dreams, pick up the book you have neglected and start to make up some stuff that you will proud of one day. Make a story, live a story, that you want to read. It doesn't matter what the fucking cover looks like, it's what's inside that matters. We want laughter and tears and meaningful, wonderful events to occur. Substance. You hear me? 

Funny how the internet works. Machine gun effect. So much stuff from all over shoots out from your screen. You sit there waiting for the next hit that will resonate, intrigue, ignite...

I got one the other day. Bang! A forgotten memory revived. The picture above - a geisha girl holding an album by The Bay City Rollers - a Scottish band from the 70's.

It was 1978 -  I was seventeen, having fun on weekend nights in Tokyo. Discos were everywhere. My favourites were Mobius, Another World, Giza... all in Roppongi. Somewhere along the line I hooked up with this cuddly Japanese girl called Sachiko. She was a bit older than me - around 24 or so. We met in a disco and immediately she really liked me. She was glamorous and gorgeous, private and a little offbeat - a good combination in my books. I was thrilled by the attention. I think she worked as a high class escort/hostess but I didn't ask too many questions. She would always pay for drinks, club entry, everything - including the room cost in Japan's famous 'love hotels'. 

We didn't see each other all that often but when we did it was fun and exciting. She was like a pussy cat, very sensual, low key, but in control. 

One afternoon she rang me up and said that her and he friend, Noriko, were downtown in the Ginza at a 5star hotel. They had a suite there. It was where the Bay City Rollers were staying and she and Noriko had hoped to snag a shag with the one or more of the band. They had done the year before but it seems this year they were passed over for some new talent. 

She wondered if I'd like to come down and party with them for the night. And could I bring a friend? This was a unique and uplifting invitation. Even then, at a relatively young age, I knew that this kind of thing would not happen often. I cooly replied in the affirmative and began considering which one of my friends would be most appropriate in such a situation. The lucky winner was the son of the Spanish ambassador to Japan. His name was Luis. We were relatively new friends but I always liked his quiet confidence and his Latin charm. He was delighted by the invite and I picked him up from the embassy on my motorbike and we hurled ourselves towards the awaiting activities with anticipation and delight.

Sachiko came down to the lobby to meet us. There were a hundred or more Japanese groupies between the ages of 18 and 28. All of them looking to get a bit of Scot crooner action under the futon covers. Sach and her friend, realising the odds were not in their favour called in re-inforcements. Us. Some of the other girls got a little stirred up seeing two young foreign lads - but Sachiko quickly coralled us into the elevator and up to their suite. 

Noriko was not what I exprected. She looked like a cross between a goth and and a geisha. Her face was painted white and she had her eye area painted black. Her scarlet red lips where tiny and sensual, her hair was bound. She was dressed in sexy, bondage-looking white dress. She didn't say much - she was almost robotic - reminiscent of Daryl Hannah's android in Blade Runner. Luis and I were both impressed. 

Sachiko, ever the congenial hostess, kept the drinks flowing and it wasn't long until it was time to get naked. There was only one king size bed. We decided to partner up. I was keen to be with Noriko - exotic species that she was, and Sach and Luis were happy to get to know each other intimately. We each took one side of the giant bed. There was never any thought or suggestion of group sex - it wasn't of interest. But we were going swapping partners. (We were using condoms.) For me and Luis this was a first and rather thrilling. Both of them were extremely attractive.

Now. This is where reality came in. As much as I was aroused by Noriko on a visual level, it became quickly obvious that we had no chemistry. Her mouth was kind of dry and her kissing clumsy. She was the opposite to Sachiko - who was warm and squirmy, tactile and sensual. I couldn't help but feel disappointed. We went through the motions but it was going nowhere. Before too long, I suggested we swap. And we did.

Back in the familiar embrace of Sachiko, I felt relieved and reinvigorated. Ahhh. Much better. Meanwhile, Luis was getting into Noriko. I was sitting on the side of the bed with Sachiko straddling me, so I wasn't watching. To be honest, it was of no interest to me, I would have rather we had seperate rooms. From the noise, though, specifically Noriko's ever increasing moans - it became apparent that the two of them were a good match. She had gone from the Mummy to a screaming banshee. Sachiko was watching from her vantage point and enjoyed the show as we did our own passionate dance.

(This is starting to feel like I am writing a letter to Penthouse Forum! Speaking of the 70's - remember that?)

So..! What is my point? Why the sex confessional in the art blog? Well, it was a memorable experience at an formative age. I learnt that when fantasy and reality interact the result is usually a hybrid/compromise. No reality is ever as good as pure fantasy. Reality is just too gritty, messy, unpredictable, surprising. 

I also learnt that you can't fake - or make - chemistry with a woman. It's either there or not. Later that year I slept with a absolutely stunning half Japanese/half American model and it was a fizzer. Then I was seduced by a wild spirited, exchange student from Greece who was not great looking but absolutely blew my mind in bed. 

It's all about passion. Going with the flow. Adventure. Communion.

Everybody wants to be recognised, it seems. And just as equally, be seen to be seen with the recognised. People clamour just to brush up against celebrity, record their existence in a moment of real time and space with their phone cameras, grab an autograph. What does this increasingly frenzied need say about modern existence? And why is it so pervasive? 

As the world's population bloats, and billions of radar blips get on with their daily struggles, select individuals are nominated to be our front persons. Actors who play out our fantasies - not just on screen anymore, but in their daily lives, too. The pressure is on in the cult of  celebrity - not just on them but on the fans, as well. Enough is never enough. 

Because it is all superficial and surface - with little substance - it's like mental junk food. No nourishment is occuring, just quick, addictive sugar rushes. 

What it points to is an inner emptiness. People seeking to fill a vacuum. Through lack of meaningful interaction with life - come about from too much time consumed by internet, TV and consumerism, many are failing to find fullfilment - which can only be achieved by diving in to life and facing it head on, getting your hands dirty, having real world adventures - and not being overcome by the pursuit of money/materialistic trophies.

It's sooooooo easy in this day an age to be a passive absorber. But it's not good enough, people! It's not a life! Forget the world presented to you by the powers that be. Make your own! Make your own! OK. You can watch Breaking Bad and Game of Thrones. But that's it! Then - outside!