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A Man in Three Shades
By Rami T. Javees
This isn’t a book.
It’s a body —
torn open, exposed, impossible to ignore.
Three parts.
Three shades.
Three raw states of the male mind:
When everything explodes.
When everything collapses.
And when you keep living — with nothing left to hide behind.
This book doesn’t ask questions.
It makes you feel what men never say:
The rage.
The silence.
The sex.
The shame.
The need to disappear —
and the hunger to come back whole.
If you’ve ever wanted someone to finally speak
what you’ve kept buried your whole life —
this book doesn’t just speak it.
It screams.
And if you're not ready to be stripped bare —
put it down now.
Because the truth doesn’t flinch.
And neither does this book.
Rami T. Javees is not the kind of “author” you imagine.
He’s not here to brag about titles or career milestones—none of that matters.
He’s a man. A real man—meeting life head‑on, every damn day.
A man who stopped pretending while watching countless others quietly give up.
You’ve probably seen him before—
at the bar, on the street, at the gym.
Just another face you passed, never realizing he had this much to say.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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Rami T. Javees
A Man in Three Shades
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2025 by Rami T. Javees
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Published by Spines
ISBN 979-8-90001-428-9
A MAN IN THREE SHADES
RAMI T. JAVEES
CONTENTS
Introduction
In The Meantime
1. Made to Be a Man
2. Tiny Reaction
3. Man Enough?
4. Friends
5. Why Men Fear Other Men
6. The Penetration
7. Just Because She's a Feminist, Doesn't Mean She Gets to Be a Fucking Bitch
8. Courtship, Not So Fatal
9. Who You Were. Who You Are
10. The Small Thing Between Us
11. The Two of Us, Until Death
12. Boys at Play
13. Training Partners
14. A Man’s Touch
15. Kids
16. The Bro In The Mirror
17. A Man's Man Who Loves Men
18. The Game That Ended
19. Neighbor
20. Hunter
21. The Rape
22. Cut. Covenant, My Ass
23. Sixty-Five
The Black Book
1. Morning Coffee
2. I Saw You In Three
3. Unveiling the Self
4. Reboot
5. When Two Souls Are “Meant to Be”
6. The Truth Will Set You Free
7. When God Is One of Us
Sunday.
Monday.
Tuesday.
Wednesday.
Thursday.
Friday.
Saturday.
Beneath The Grey
1. Beneath The Grey
2. The Continuity Principle
3. Another Attempt
4. The Gate of Forgetting
5. Patterns Echo at Every Scale
6. Descent Before the Rise
EPILOGUE
INTRODUCTION
I’m not a writer.
I’m just a man saying what no one says.
What should’ve been said a long time ago.
A Man in Three Shades isn’t a story.
It’s not a manifesto.
It’s a journey—
through three stages of the male mind:
First –In the Meantime–
life as it is. The daily in-between.
Second –The Black Book–
the moment you stop keeping quiet.
Third –Beneath the Grey–
what’s left after every mask burns off.
And then comes silence.
If you’re a man who feels,
or a woman willing to truly look—
this book is for you.
Rami T. Javees
IN THE MEANTIME
For the ones who woke up in a man’s body,
and quietly asked themselves—
Who am I?
And what did I leave behind
to become the man everyone expects me to be?
Rami T. Javees
MADE TO BE A MAN
What makes a man?
What turns any random male walking this earth
into someone we all silently nod at—
and say: he’s a man.
Who even needs that title?
Did he ask for it?
Did anyone bother to ask if he wanted it?
Ask the street—and you’ll get a checklist.
Ask your mom—you’ll get a fantasy script.
Ask a random woman—and you’ll get a thesis of contradictions,
desires stitched together with dental floss.
Ask a guy—
you’ll get awkward silence.
Maybe a nervous laugh.
Maybe a grunt.
No answers.
Most will say it’s a matter of looks:
Trimmed beard. Hairy chest. Muscles.
Size. Always size.
The “smart ones” will tell you it’s about behavior:
A man leads.
He commands.
He pays.
He initiates.
He doesn’t flinch at risk.
He doesn’t need support.
Especially not emotional.
A man fucks.
Because he’s expected to.
It’s on the list—
right next to providing, protecting, performing.
Even here, he’s being watched.
Even here, he’s being graded.
Fail—and he’s not a man.
To be a man is to be a fucking rock.
The one everyone leans on—
but who leans on no one.
But the truth?
It’s something deeper.
Being a man is a state of being.
It’s presence you can’t fake.
It doesn’t come from action—
but from essence.
From silent awareness.
From the weight of knowing who you are.
From the quiet certainty.
The grounded presence.
And the choice to stand in it—
no fear, no doubt.
That’s what makes you untouchable.
The world fears that.
It fears men.
We’re born threats.
So the training begins early:
Make him doubt.
Make him shrink.
Make him obey.
A thousand rules:
Do this, don’t do that.
Good boy gets praise.
Bad boy gets silence, shame, withdrawal.
And just like that,
the new man is born—
conditioned to ask for permission before everything.
Which underwear to buy.
What cheese to get.
Which shirt is safe today—
the black or the blue?
He tells himself it doesn’t matter.
That he’s still a man.
But something inside him
has been screaming for years—
and he’s run out of ways to shut it up.
And he’s scared shitless—
of standing up and saying:
This is mine. I want it back.
Scared of what it’ll cost.
So he shuts up.
Goes back to pretending.
Me?
I’m done with the lie.
I’m done being a housebroken male on cue.
I took my masculinity back.
All of it.
I’m still learning what that means—
and I pay for it.
Gladly.
Every day, I rebuild.
And something inside me—
finally—
feels whole.
And quiet.
With who I am.
How I move.
How I look.
What I want—and how I want it.
Finally, I start to understand—
What it means to be a man.
And I like it.
Yes,
I love being a man.
TINY REACTION
Saturday morning.
A few drops of water landed on the balcony railing
of the apartment below mine.
Just a few drops.
That’s all it took for the downstairs neighbor
to start talking shit behind my back.
Trying to paint me like I’m some criminal.
Sending a veiled threat to my landlord.
No connection to reality.
Now—
I don’t like fights.
I don’t like drama.
I’ve got better things to do.
But I’ve learned the hard way:
When you’re under attack,
you either respond—
or you run.
And I’ve run enough times in my life
to know regret always follows.
So this time, I chose to respond.
Because garbage needs to be handled immediately.
It stinks fast.
And the smell?
It travels.
So I made sure everyone stepped out to their balconies.
Might as well give them a show.
They were bored anyway,
wilting behind their windows.
And then—
I let loose.
I rolled my voice into hers—
spoke in a language she could understand:
Filth.
Sewer talk.
And it lit her up.
And her little clan too.
They couldn’t resist.
It pulled them in.
They didn’t realize—
they were now center stage.
Their own manipulation turned against them,
and it landed—
right in the soft spot.
For thirty minutes straight,
they showed everyone
who they really were.
Behind the proper facade.
Behind the polished act.
Their pathetic truth on full display.
And the show?
It was managed precisely.
Every line calculated.
Witnesses gathered.
Evidence logged.
Some anonymous hand raised the stakes
and called the cops.
To make it spicy.
Because nothing spices things up like activating the system.
Except—
the system doesn’t like being bothered.
The system hates noise.
The system has no patience for idiots.
And the system likes quick closure.
So I let the system do its thing.
Fix the mess.
Flatten the drama.
It’s wild how fast the cockroaches
scurry back to the sewer
when the police knock on their door.
Now?
Now I walk around with a quiet sense of victory.
The territory’s marked.
The lines are clear.
No one’s coming for me again.
Not anytime soon.
And that, my friend—
is called courage.
MAN ENOUGH?
It was a hot day.
Early summer.
Late afternoon.
That hour when everyone’s rushing home—
for the second shift of kid pickups, activities, chaos.
The city was a mess.
Lanes jammed.
Everything on overload.
The traffic crawled like melted gum—
three, maybe four cars per green light.
Urban planning at its finest.
I was coming in from the merging lane.
Turn signal on.
Waiting.
Nothing aggressive.
The guy next to me—
