I am sick...again. I was at a birthday party for my neighbour's kid and he was ill, so I think I got the flu from him. I woke up this morning with a blocked nose and a heavy heart...sigh...
The thought of going to the pharmacy is not appealing. I live in the forest. But my nose is seriously blocked. A friend of mine suggested i put "vicks" in hot water and cover my head with towel and inhale...I do not have Vicks...I have "agboniki"...I don't know anybody that has lived or lives in Warri that does not use "agboniki"...it is the remedy for every ache and pain just like vaseline is the remedy for anything skin/hair related. I always have vaseline. You can use it when you run out of cream. Body or hair. And it is good as a lubricant too, for those that have sex. Ah! Men! They fascinate me with their pettiness, in one instance, they are all macho and ego and in the next instance, they become scared little boys flinging petty insults about...how much I despise men and people in general who resort to petty insults the moment things do not go their way, can not be over emphasized. That's such a weakness in character. I can not imagine that people do not know that.
How much I despise people who keep silent when they see others being bullied can not be over emphasized. If I hate men who fling petty insults about, then I hate cowards, hypocrites and bullies even more. May God never allow me to cross paths with such human beings. Amin. I pray for strength of character for such losers. Amin.
I have fever. Excuse my discontinous topics...although that whole rant was cos of a convo I had recently with one of the weakest men I have ever met. May God never let me cross his path again. Amin.
I have been thinking that I am afraid of heights. You know those ones that are across two mountains and then there is some man made rope...like the stuff they would have in Nepal...I hate it. I will never ever get on one. Never. In fact, I will be greatly insulted if anybody ever assumes I could get on one.
I bought some fresh pepper and then left it at a friend's house. I am so disappointed. I wanted to make some hot pepper soup.
My heart is heavy.
I need to clean. I need to eat something. Today is friday. I am going to sleep.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
Sometimes, I am mean to my sister...
Sitting here, thinking about my sister. We are all close in my family which means that sometimes you can be mean cos you know that you will always be loved no matter what you do or say. When I miss my family a lot, for some reason, I begin to take it out on them, I don't why I do that. Its not their fault that I am not with them and its not their fault that my life is different. I am the one that has chosen to live the way I live. I could pack it all up to be nearer to them but instead I live this lonely life...
When I miss them a lot, I begin to get angry. Like last time...
I talk to one of my sisters quite often cos she has skype, but I don't get to talk to the other so often. For different reasons. First, her computer was broken, then she had some internet issues...she also works crazy hours, like I do, so its a bit hard to meet on skype. However, she does phone me from work... from time to time.
Anyway, so I miss her and my family but of course, I don't say that. Instead, I just become mean and send long assed texts about how she does not care, and never calls etc. What I really mean to say is "I miss you and I wish we could talk more often"
I know I hurt her. I know this cos my family can NOT keep a secret. If you tell ANYBODY anything, in less than 24 hours, everybody would know.
Somebody would call you and say something like "don't tell "C" I told you, but she is mad at you. You are in deep shit". And then, stupid you would say something like "Ehen, let her be mad na! I am fucking pissed at her". And then, that same person will call "C" and say "Don't tell "N" I told you, but she is seriously pissed at you". And then, that same person will call "E" and say "Can you imagine that N and C are fighting?". And then, "E" will call the other "E" and say " "S" told me that N and C are fighting".
And then. Finally, you get a call from Africa and the person says "What the hell is this I am hearing? Why are you people fighting? I did not raise you guys like that, You are supposed to love one another etc etc". And then, this person just cries and you get a damn headache.
And then you say "Who told you we were fighting? We were just joking na...this family self"
And then you call C and say "Can you imagine that Mummy called me and said that them E told her we were fighting? when were we "fighting"?
And C says "We were never fighting nah...who said we were fighting? This family self! aproko will not kill them! I am sure it is E...his aproko is too much. That is how the other day...."
I think I just seriously digressed from the story...so back to my sister.
So I hurt her with my angry texts.
But it does not matter cos yesterday she calls me like twice and just gist, laugh and of course, gossip about the others.
Sometimes I am mean to my sister... but it does not matter, cos she understands what I meant to say.
I meant to say that I miss her...
My sisters and I were great in creating fantasy worlds...we could create worlds in worlds...like this one...we all thought we were "margaritas" under the hot Warri sun...for sure, one latino will show up...and we would live happily ever after...
When I miss them a lot, I begin to get angry. Like last time...
I talk to one of my sisters quite often cos she has skype, but I don't get to talk to the other so often. For different reasons. First, her computer was broken, then she had some internet issues...she also works crazy hours, like I do, so its a bit hard to meet on skype. However, she does phone me from work... from time to time.
Anyway, so I miss her and my family but of course, I don't say that. Instead, I just become mean and send long assed texts about how she does not care, and never calls etc. What I really mean to say is "I miss you and I wish we could talk more often"
I know I hurt her. I know this cos my family can NOT keep a secret. If you tell ANYBODY anything, in less than 24 hours, everybody would know.
Somebody would call you and say something like "don't tell "C" I told you, but she is mad at you. You are in deep shit". And then, stupid you would say something like "Ehen, let her be mad na! I am fucking pissed at her". And then, that same person will call "C" and say "Don't tell "N" I told you, but she is seriously pissed at you". And then, that same person will call "E" and say "Can you imagine that N and C are fighting?". And then, "E" will call the other "E" and say " "S" told me that N and C are fighting".
And then. Finally, you get a call from Africa and the person says "What the hell is this I am hearing? Why are you people fighting? I did not raise you guys like that, You are supposed to love one another etc etc". And then, this person just cries and you get a damn headache.
And then you say "Who told you we were fighting? We were just joking na...this family self"
And then you call C and say "Can you imagine that Mummy called me and said that them E told her we were fighting? when were we "fighting"?
And C says "We were never fighting nah...who said we were fighting? This family self! aproko will not kill them! I am sure it is E...his aproko is too much. That is how the other day...."
I think I just seriously digressed from the story...so back to my sister.
So I hurt her with my angry texts.
But it does not matter cos yesterday she calls me like twice and just gist, laugh and of course, gossip about the others.
Sometimes I am mean to my sister... but it does not matter, cos she understands what I meant to say.
I meant to say that I miss her...
My sisters and I were great in creating fantasy worlds...we could create worlds in worlds...like this one...we all thought we were "margaritas" under the hot Warri sun...for sure, one latino will show up...and we would live happily ever after...
Friday, April 23, 2010
High on friday!!!
Am I the only one that just goes nuts the moment I wake up and its friday? I must be the laziest human being on planet earth...SHOOOOOOOOOO SHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!which just means I need to be working super hard so I can get that "life in retirement" that means so much to me...but for now, I need to shave my legs and go to the swimming pool...and then, maybe sauna? today is friday! SHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Life and chance encounters...
Life can be...just strange. Like "movie strange" but then again, I think one has to be open for such things to happen...like the one I am about to tell you...
My regular blog readers know that I often talk to strangers...and no need to wonder why. Its because I often smile at people at bus stops, trains stations, etc. Especially old people...I just hate seeing old people looking lost or sad...it bothers me, cos the one thing I know for CERTAIN is that we are all gonna get old one day. I would sure not like to be lost somewhere in a big city with no one to help me...
Anyway, so yesterday, in a dreamlike state, I watched a documentary which just made me cry. It was about a young guy who used to collect "weird" notes that were put up all over the city by some random person.
I totally related to him cos I am fond of reading notes people put up on notice boards, churches, supermarkets, etc. Sometimes one can see the same kind of notes everywhere. Some are the normal types, people looking for rooms or apartments, people selling something, etc. While the "weird" ones are notes that are almost like "rants". People just speaking their minds and putting them up everywhere. I once thought about collecting notes by a certain poet that I used to see everywhere, but then, one day, I walked into a bookshop and I saw a book. The cover looked familiar. Someone had taken pictures of these poems from all over the city and published them in a book.
Over the years, that idea of collecting notes kinda just died and I went back to just reading them. I never pass by a notice board without stopping to read the notes on them. Last month, when a friend of mine was visiting from the states, we took pictures of some of them that we had found on a drunken night...
But back to the story.
So, this young man used to collect these notes from this random person. The notes were usually him advertising for a friend or companion. He was a widower and was lonely. For years, this young man would collect these notes until he finally finished his studies and moved to another city.
Years went by, and he wondered if the lonely guy ever found a companion, or friend. He regretted never really trying to meet the old man. So, he finally decided to find out if the guy was still alive after all these years. He travelled to the city and immediately saw the notes in their usual places. On lamp posts, on notice boards, everywhere. On the notes, he read a new urgency. The lonely guy was about to be evicted from his home and needed a place to stay.
He wrote to the address asking if he could meet him. Lonely guy never replied. He went to lonely guy's house several times. Still, nothing. Finally, after many attempts, lonely guy decides to meet him. But on that day, he is being evicted from his home cos of "hoarding". Lonely guy is more than 80 years old, and is now homeless. On this very day, our young guy meets him.
To cut the long story short, the young guy becomes instrumental in getting the social services to help, finding him an apartment, and they become friends. They begin to write each other frequently and young guy becomes a part of lonely guy's life.
One day, his letters return unanswered. Lonely guy had died in his apartment. Alone.
I cried.
After crying, I looked up the name of the young man and wrote him a mail, telling him about my own encounters with strangers and old people. I told him of the old woman I met recently at the bus stop who I had promised to have coffee with but never did, and how ashamed I was that I never kept in touch even when I meant to.
After sending off the mail, I took the train. In the waiting room, an old guy sat beside me. He started talking to me. I smiled. I listened. He had just moved away from the city, cos the city was too lonely. He was back to sort out tax issues. Now he lives in the countryside where everybody helps each other. He asked me my name, what I do, etc. We had a nice long chat, waiting for the train.
He said many things to me. That I should take of myself, and be nice to myself, and also, I should be strong.
He also thinks I should move to U.S.A so I don't pay too much tax.
I left the train, and then I cried.
I opened my mail box. The young man had replied.
I cried again.
Then I wrote this post.
My regular blog readers know that I often talk to strangers...and no need to wonder why. Its because I often smile at people at bus stops, trains stations, etc. Especially old people...I just hate seeing old people looking lost or sad...it bothers me, cos the one thing I know for CERTAIN is that we are all gonna get old one day. I would sure not like to be lost somewhere in a big city with no one to help me...
Anyway, so yesterday, in a dreamlike state, I watched a documentary which just made me cry. It was about a young guy who used to collect "weird" notes that were put up all over the city by some random person.
I totally related to him cos I am fond of reading notes people put up on notice boards, churches, supermarkets, etc. Sometimes one can see the same kind of notes everywhere. Some are the normal types, people looking for rooms or apartments, people selling something, etc. While the "weird" ones are notes that are almost like "rants". People just speaking their minds and putting them up everywhere. I once thought about collecting notes by a certain poet that I used to see everywhere, but then, one day, I walked into a bookshop and I saw a book. The cover looked familiar. Someone had taken pictures of these poems from all over the city and published them in a book.
Over the years, that idea of collecting notes kinda just died and I went back to just reading them. I never pass by a notice board without stopping to read the notes on them. Last month, when a friend of mine was visiting from the states, we took pictures of some of them that we had found on a drunken night...
But back to the story.
So, this young man used to collect these notes from this random person. The notes were usually him advertising for a friend or companion. He was a widower and was lonely. For years, this young man would collect these notes until he finally finished his studies and moved to another city.
Years went by, and he wondered if the lonely guy ever found a companion, or friend. He regretted never really trying to meet the old man. So, he finally decided to find out if the guy was still alive after all these years. He travelled to the city and immediately saw the notes in their usual places. On lamp posts, on notice boards, everywhere. On the notes, he read a new urgency. The lonely guy was about to be evicted from his home and needed a place to stay.
He wrote to the address asking if he could meet him. Lonely guy never replied. He went to lonely guy's house several times. Still, nothing. Finally, after many attempts, lonely guy decides to meet him. But on that day, he is being evicted from his home cos of "hoarding". Lonely guy is more than 80 years old, and is now homeless. On this very day, our young guy meets him.
To cut the long story short, the young guy becomes instrumental in getting the social services to help, finding him an apartment, and they become friends. They begin to write each other frequently and young guy becomes a part of lonely guy's life.
One day, his letters return unanswered. Lonely guy had died in his apartment. Alone.
I cried.
After crying, I looked up the name of the young man and wrote him a mail, telling him about my own encounters with strangers and old people. I told him of the old woman I met recently at the bus stop who I had promised to have coffee with but never did, and how ashamed I was that I never kept in touch even when I meant to.
After sending off the mail, I took the train. In the waiting room, an old guy sat beside me. He started talking to me. I smiled. I listened. He had just moved away from the city, cos the city was too lonely. He was back to sort out tax issues. Now he lives in the countryside where everybody helps each other. He asked me my name, what I do, etc. We had a nice long chat, waiting for the train.
He said many things to me. That I should take of myself, and be nice to myself, and also, I should be strong.
He also thinks I should move to U.S.A so I don't pay too much tax.
I left the train, and then I cried.
I opened my mail box. The young man had replied.
I cried again.
Then I wrote this post.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Goodbye, how are you?
Just watched an amazing documentary with that title by a Serbian documentary film maker named Boris Mitic. I had seen a clip of "Pretty dyana" by the same guy some time ago, and I remember thinking, "you should write his name down" but ofcourse, I forgot.
Anyway, "good bye how are you?" is described as "a satirical documentary fairytale" but its so much more than that. Its absolutely poetic, dreamy and beautiful. Why do other people always get to do what I want to do? Anyway, if you are interested in documentaries, then you should see this one. Don't miss it. You can see clips and pictures here and his other films are there as well.
Absolutely made my day. Hope you are all good, and life is treating you all well. I think I am okay. A bit dreamy these days but thats okay. I rode my bicycle today for the fourth time this year. I left it at the station. Need to pump tyres. I was reading "extremely loud and incredibly close" by Jonathan Safran Foer, which is a great, great book. I read it half way, and now I can't find it. I almost went nuts. I think I must have left it on the bus or train. I have checked everywhere, absolutely everywhere. It has just disappeared. I am not sure if I should buy it again...I am waiting another three days to see if by some miracle, it would appear...
So now I have to read some girly book which I bought as back up to that book...I just can't imagine where it can be...
On another note, went into a bookshop to ask if they sell the posters I saw by their windows...well, they don't. They just give them away when they are done with them, who knew? So thats my new thing. I am gonna leave my name and phone number all over town...hehehehehehehehehe!
GOODBYE, HOW ARE YOU?
Goodbye,
how are you?
Imagine then
how I must feel…
Already at a young age
I went through so much
that I’ve been bored
ever since.
And now…
I am ready to die
for what I believe in,
but thank God, I don’t believe
in anything anymore…
(thats from the movie...its great!)
Anyway, "good bye how are you?" is described as "a satirical documentary fairytale" but its so much more than that. Its absolutely poetic, dreamy and beautiful. Why do other people always get to do what I want to do? Anyway, if you are interested in documentaries, then you should see this one. Don't miss it. You can see clips and pictures here and his other films are there as well.
Absolutely made my day. Hope you are all good, and life is treating you all well. I think I am okay. A bit dreamy these days but thats okay. I rode my bicycle today for the fourth time this year. I left it at the station. Need to pump tyres. I was reading "extremely loud and incredibly close" by Jonathan Safran Foer, which is a great, great book. I read it half way, and now I can't find it. I almost went nuts. I think I must have left it on the bus or train. I have checked everywhere, absolutely everywhere. It has just disappeared. I am not sure if I should buy it again...I am waiting another three days to see if by some miracle, it would appear...
So now I have to read some girly book which I bought as back up to that book...I just can't imagine where it can be...
On another note, went into a bookshop to ask if they sell the posters I saw by their windows...well, they don't. They just give them away when they are done with them, who knew? So thats my new thing. I am gonna leave my name and phone number all over town...hehehehehehehehehe!
GOODBYE, HOW ARE YOU?
Goodbye,
how are you?
Imagine then
how I must feel…
Already at a young age
I went through so much
that I’ve been bored
ever since.
And now…
I am ready to die
for what I believe in,
but thank God, I don’t believe
in anything anymore…
(thats from the movie...its great!)
Monday, April 19, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
I am ready for more than this...whatever it is...
Pain...
I can't be who you want me to be. I can't. Why won't you let me be me? Why is that so hard for you to do? Why do you need, expect something else?
Why do you want me to be something I am not? Why? why? why?
Why is that so hard? I don't do much. I eat and sleep like you do. I have a bicycle and today I bought a book. I like looking at posters on the streets and watching people that do not know I am watching them.
Am I so dangerous?
Why can't I be me?
What do you want?
I can't. I can't. I can't.
I can't.
You better move on, cos I am ready for more than this, whatever it is...
More Pain...
"Why are you treating me this way?" I asked him. "What did I do?". He turned his back to me. I could see a smile on his lips, he did not know that I could see, but I knew from the shape of the corners of his mouth, that he was smiling...
What was this in his back that I was seeing? Pride? In his mind, was he thinking, "now I got you where I want you, desperate...all women are like this, you just have to play your game right, and soon, they will be like this, desperate...so easy..."
I can't. I can't.
I can't.
You better move on, cos I am ready for more than this, whatever it is...
I can't...
"I'd really like to see you again"
"I am sorry, I really don't have time, I am too busy"
"Come on, when can I see you again?"
"My mind is too broken for these games. Too broken and too experienced"
"What do you want then?"
"More than "this"..."
You better move on, cos I am ready for more than this, whatever it is...
No more pain mutherfuckers, I just can't.
I can't be who you want me to be. I can't. Why won't you let me be me? Why is that so hard for you to do? Why do you need, expect something else?
Why do you want me to be something I am not? Why? why? why?
Why is that so hard? I don't do much. I eat and sleep like you do. I have a bicycle and today I bought a book. I like looking at posters on the streets and watching people that do not know I am watching them.
Am I so dangerous?
Why can't I be me?
What do you want?
I can't. I can't. I can't.
I can't.
You better move on, cos I am ready for more than this, whatever it is...
More Pain...
"Why are you treating me this way?" I asked him. "What did I do?". He turned his back to me. I could see a smile on his lips, he did not know that I could see, but I knew from the shape of the corners of his mouth, that he was smiling...
What was this in his back that I was seeing? Pride? In his mind, was he thinking, "now I got you where I want you, desperate...all women are like this, you just have to play your game right, and soon, they will be like this, desperate...so easy..."
I can't. I can't.
I can't.
You better move on, cos I am ready for more than this, whatever it is...
I can't...
"I'd really like to see you again"
"I am sorry, I really don't have time, I am too busy"
"Come on, when can I see you again?"
"My mind is too broken for these games. Too broken and too experienced"
"What do you want then?"
"More than "this"..."
You better move on, cos I am ready for more than this, whatever it is...
No more pain mutherfuckers, I just can't.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Art?...for Art's sake? (or I am just a fucking hippie...)
Note (for those that thought about saying "none of your business"): Yeah, thats right, its cos of this whole thingy. Yep. So before you "holier than thou" bloggers come "a complaining", do not bother. Sick of bloggers talking about what one can write or not write on blogs. This is the INTERNET, you can write anything you want. And these are JUST blogs, nobody will die because I agree or do not agree with their opinions. People take this shit way too seriously. Relax yourselves, abeg.
No,not trying to be intellectual here...who has time for all that "library" bullshit? I would simply like to say a few things about writing. I have no idea why other people write(I feel like I have written this sentence before, anyway), and I don't know how they feel, but I do know HOW I feel when I write.
I would say I genuinely enjoy writing. I write all the time and not always on my blog. When I did not have a blog, I used to write in normal excercise books...by hand. I still enjoy writing by hand sometimes. Until my wrist hurts. Then I am like, "what the fuck is this stone age bullshit? better take your laptop with you everywhere" but thats not possible cos my back hurts when I carry the damn thing about.
There are weeks when I do not write and I remember last year, I think there were some months when I felt like puking everytime I picked up a pen.
However, I always return to writing because I feel really good when I write. I love seeing my thoughts become words and sentences becoming "almost" how I want it to be ("almost" because there's always someone out there that will express my thoughts better than me...damn those writers! hehehehehe).
Most of the time, I do not write for other people. I write mostly for myself. However, I do not mind if other people read what I write, and I would not mind either, if they would like to pay for it.
After all, my dream life of being "retired" beckons on the beaches of the West Caribbean.
I think I have lost my point...
Aha! I remember now, here is the point I was trying to make, but as usual, someone else already expressed it better...
A work of art is the unique result of a unique temperament. Its beauty comes from the fact that the author is what he is. It has nothing to do with the fact that other people want what they want. Indeed, the moment that an artist takes notice of what other people want, and tries to supply the demand, he ceases to be an artist, and becomes a dull or an amusing craftsman, an honest or a dishonest tradesman. He has no further claim to be considered as an artist.
Oscar Wilde.
Yeah, yeah, I know this is not about "writing", its about a "website", yep, I know. But it is a website for writing and writers. Hence, it makes me sad when I see stuff like this...I begin to wonder what exactly is the point of such websites? (yeah, I know, I was involved in 14th and Serenity and I can honestly tell you that I and Catwalq had the most fun planning and scheming...she does not want to work with me anymore, she claims I am too "razz" hehehehe)Is it for fun? (as in my case), creativity? helping each other? sharing tips? Or watching the process of a story unfold before you? Or?
Did I hear somebody say "you fucking hippie!" Okay, maybe not then...anyway, I understand that everybody's got to do what they got to do,and yeah, I am not so naive to think that writers do not want to make money, or get recognised, etc...you know, fame and fortune...
I don't know, I just think sometimes we lose the purpose of why we want to do things and other shit takes a hold of us...
I am not saying that sugarbelly should not have been hurt if she felt that way. I am also not saying that Myne Whitman should not have defended her integrity as a human being.
All I am saying, is that as a writer, it would be nice to think that all this is for art...you know, art, for art's sake...
Am I the only fucking hippie here?
No,not trying to be intellectual here...who has time for all that "library" bullshit? I would simply like to say a few things about writing. I have no idea why other people write(I feel like I have written this sentence before, anyway), and I don't know how they feel, but I do know HOW I feel when I write.
I would say I genuinely enjoy writing. I write all the time and not always on my blog. When I did not have a blog, I used to write in normal excercise books...by hand. I still enjoy writing by hand sometimes. Until my wrist hurts. Then I am like, "what the fuck is this stone age bullshit? better take your laptop with you everywhere" but thats not possible cos my back hurts when I carry the damn thing about.
There are weeks when I do not write and I remember last year, I think there were some months when I felt like puking everytime I picked up a pen.
However, I always return to writing because I feel really good when I write. I love seeing my thoughts become words and sentences becoming "almost" how I want it to be ("almost" because there's always someone out there that will express my thoughts better than me...damn those writers! hehehehehe).
Most of the time, I do not write for other people. I write mostly for myself. However, I do not mind if other people read what I write, and I would not mind either, if they would like to pay for it.
After all, my dream life of being "retired" beckons on the beaches of the West Caribbean.
I think I have lost my point...
Aha! I remember now, here is the point I was trying to make, but as usual, someone else already expressed it better...
A work of art is the unique result of a unique temperament. Its beauty comes from the fact that the author is what he is. It has nothing to do with the fact that other people want what they want. Indeed, the moment that an artist takes notice of what other people want, and tries to supply the demand, he ceases to be an artist, and becomes a dull or an amusing craftsman, an honest or a dishonest tradesman. He has no further claim to be considered as an artist.
Oscar Wilde.
Yeah, yeah, I know this is not about "writing", its about a "website", yep, I know. But it is a website for writing and writers. Hence, it makes me sad when I see stuff like this...I begin to wonder what exactly is the point of such websites? (yeah, I know, I was involved in 14th and Serenity and I can honestly tell you that I and Catwalq had the most fun planning and scheming...she does not want to work with me anymore, she claims I am too "razz" hehehehe)Is it for fun? (as in my case), creativity? helping each other? sharing tips? Or watching the process of a story unfold before you? Or?
Did I hear somebody say "you fucking hippie!" Okay, maybe not then...anyway, I understand that everybody's got to do what they got to do,and yeah, I am not so naive to think that writers do not want to make money, or get recognised, etc...you know, fame and fortune...
I don't know, I just think sometimes we lose the purpose of why we want to do things and other shit takes a hold of us...
I am not saying that sugarbelly should not have been hurt if she felt that way. I am also not saying that Myne Whitman should not have defended her integrity as a human being.
All I am saying, is that as a writer, it would be nice to think that all this is for art...you know, art, for art's sake...
Am I the only fucking hippie here?
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Hey Jeremy,
Thank you.
Just cos this is what I am listening to at the moment...and you can have a nice sunday afternoon with your love.
Just cos this is what I am listening to at the moment...and you can have a nice sunday afternoon with your love.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Dub...
Dozing in and out of Dub.Was gonna clean but then I got stuck on music...you know, those kind of days when you just listen to all sorts of tracks, one after the other, continously...
I was just gonna listen to the sound track of pulp fiction, just cos I like the way John Travolta says: "Big Mac is still Big Mac but they call it "le Big Mac"...hahahahahaha! Cracks me up everytime. Anyway, so I listened to that. Then I thought, I'll just listen to some dub...and then I was hooked. And thats what I have done all day. God! It's good to behave like a normal person once in a while...
Friday, April 2, 2010
Philosophical, religiouslike and "nutty"...
I have been thinking of how I can write this post, so that it would not seem overly philosophical, religiouslike or even "nutty". But in many ways, this post will end up being so. Philosophical, religiouslike and nutty.
I know many of us, and many of the people that will read this post, have been raised in one religion or another, so we all know how the importance of being "honest" is hammered on in many religions.
I was born with a very strong spirit. At that time, my spirit I think, was the strongest it would ever be. As an adult, I understand now, what Jesus meant with all his proverbs about children. You look at children, and some are naughty, some are troublesome, some are mischevious, some are sweet, cute, all sorts. The one thing ALL children are born with, and it remains strong for a while, (until the world crushes it), is a stong connection to do as they feel. If they feel like jumping, they will jump. If they feel like screaming, they will scream. Why is that important? Because, they follow their instincts, and following your instincts when you are a child, is following goodness, because WE all are born with basic goodness within us. Every single one of us.
I never doubted my feelings, my instincts as a child. I did not know what they were, but I simply did what I "felt" like. I did not know what "truth" was or "honesty" but I listened to my soul, and therefore, could never tell a lie. I found it extremely hard to say something that wasn't true.
My parents recognised this quite early on and used this to their advantage in many ways. Anything that happened which called for clarification, I was the person. The "truth" at that time, lost its appeal, because it seemed like I hurt many people with it. My brothers. my sisters, friends. I began to resent it. Why do I always have to be the "tattletale?". Even though both my parents encouraged me and gave me a lot of praise for my ability to say the truth no matter the circumstances, I often wished they had not used it also for their own purposes. They made me feel like I was better than others. And this is not what truth is about either, "being better than others".
As I got to secondary school, boarding house, I realised that more often than not, I was punished for speaking what I considered the truth. Boarding house was a most trying period in my life. Even though I know I did the best I could to hang on to "honesty", being punished for being the good one, slowly began to sink my spirit. I began to look down on many people I considered dishonest or bad. How can people be this way? Why are they so evil? And this is not what truth is about, "it is not what keeps us in the prison of prejudice".
By the time I became a young adult, that strong spirit I was born with, was not that strong anymore.
The worst thing that happened to my spirit was fear. In place of the truth, fear began to creep in. What if the world is really like this? How can I survive? I will never be able to make it....I began to be afraid but the worst of all, I began to doubt myself.
I stopped listening to any voice I had inside me and just decided to do as everybody else did. Bite my lips and survive. Living in the world, I had no use for "soul searching" and other things...what good has that brought me anyway? I forgot that I once used to be happy.
You see, somehow, over the years, what I had seen as the "truth" seemed to be something that was applied "outside". It was something to be used to state an opinion, stand for your right, etc. Who did this? who did that? why? how? The truth was meant for judging other dishonest human beings.
I forgot that the truth was also inside me...it was also something that could affect every single moment in my life, every single minute decision...
What am I talking about? It is hard to explain, but I will try. You know even the most mundane acts, like when you are lying in bed, and then all of a sudden, you feel like bending a finger? you don't even know why you should bend your finger, but you don't do it. Cos what has bending your finger got to do with anything? It sounds like the silliest of things, those instincts that are so tiny, sometimes it doesnt even feel like they are there...but they are.
The thing about doing these little meaningless instincts, is that you become very aware of many more inside you. You begin to even understand why you think in a certain way, who you who, why you do the things you do. Slowly, You begin to listen to even the bigger ones, you begin to trust yourself, knowing that your instincts will be right for you. However, this is not really what "truth" is all about. It is not what gives us certainty.
Every day life becomes simpler, because if you do not like someone, you trust that you indeed do not like him/her. You do not feel bad anymore about it. If there is no love anymore in your relationship, you know that you are honest, there is indeed no love. It is as it is. You trust that this is how your life is at the moment, and you accept it.
Even with family and friends, your love for them begins to be seen, you are no longer afraid of showing them your heart and how you really feel. You do not wait until their funerals.
How can this be the "truth" you ask? Living in it, is harder than "speaking" the truth. Living within truth simply means doing exactly what you are supposed to do in life and trusting every single instinct within you. I call it "instinct" cos I do not know what else to call it. Its the thing that we are supposed to do but never do.
It's like that saying "faith gives us two choices, the one we are supposed to take, and the one we take".
Living within truth is trusting that you can find that goodness you had as child, that empathy you were born with and knowing that it is to be trusted. You do things now because you not only trust, but you know you are a good person. You can live life making decisions for yourself without doubts, because your soul, in every single way, was made, originally, beautiful and good. You do not wait for any prize, any pat on the shoulder, you do not wait for anything, because you already have it.
FREEDOM.
Jesus was right, "Know the truth and the truth shall make you free"
Happy Easter.
Note: The quotes in italics were taken from Paulo Coelho's warrior of light, issue 221 .
I know many of us, and many of the people that will read this post, have been raised in one religion or another, so we all know how the importance of being "honest" is hammered on in many religions.
I was born with a very strong spirit. At that time, my spirit I think, was the strongest it would ever be. As an adult, I understand now, what Jesus meant with all his proverbs about children. You look at children, and some are naughty, some are troublesome, some are mischevious, some are sweet, cute, all sorts. The one thing ALL children are born with, and it remains strong for a while, (until the world crushes it), is a stong connection to do as they feel. If they feel like jumping, they will jump. If they feel like screaming, they will scream. Why is that important? Because, they follow their instincts, and following your instincts when you are a child, is following goodness, because WE all are born with basic goodness within us. Every single one of us.
I never doubted my feelings, my instincts as a child. I did not know what they were, but I simply did what I "felt" like. I did not know what "truth" was or "honesty" but I listened to my soul, and therefore, could never tell a lie. I found it extremely hard to say something that wasn't true.
My parents recognised this quite early on and used this to their advantage in many ways. Anything that happened which called for clarification, I was the person. The "truth" at that time, lost its appeal, because it seemed like I hurt many people with it. My brothers. my sisters, friends. I began to resent it. Why do I always have to be the "tattletale?". Even though both my parents encouraged me and gave me a lot of praise for my ability to say the truth no matter the circumstances, I often wished they had not used it also for their own purposes. They made me feel like I was better than others. And this is not what truth is about either, "being better than others".
As I got to secondary school, boarding house, I realised that more often than not, I was punished for speaking what I considered the truth. Boarding house was a most trying period in my life. Even though I know I did the best I could to hang on to "honesty", being punished for being the good one, slowly began to sink my spirit. I began to look down on many people I considered dishonest or bad. How can people be this way? Why are they so evil? And this is not what truth is about, "it is not what keeps us in the prison of prejudice".
By the time I became a young adult, that strong spirit I was born with, was not that strong anymore.
The worst thing that happened to my spirit was fear. In place of the truth, fear began to creep in. What if the world is really like this? How can I survive? I will never be able to make it....I began to be afraid but the worst of all, I began to doubt myself.
I stopped listening to any voice I had inside me and just decided to do as everybody else did. Bite my lips and survive. Living in the world, I had no use for "soul searching" and other things...what good has that brought me anyway? I forgot that I once used to be happy.
You see, somehow, over the years, what I had seen as the "truth" seemed to be something that was applied "outside". It was something to be used to state an opinion, stand for your right, etc. Who did this? who did that? why? how? The truth was meant for judging other dishonest human beings.
I forgot that the truth was also inside me...it was also something that could affect every single moment in my life, every single minute decision...
What am I talking about? It is hard to explain, but I will try. You know even the most mundane acts, like when you are lying in bed, and then all of a sudden, you feel like bending a finger? you don't even know why you should bend your finger, but you don't do it. Cos what has bending your finger got to do with anything? It sounds like the silliest of things, those instincts that are so tiny, sometimes it doesnt even feel like they are there...but they are.
The thing about doing these little meaningless instincts, is that you become very aware of many more inside you. You begin to even understand why you think in a certain way, who you who, why you do the things you do. Slowly, You begin to listen to even the bigger ones, you begin to trust yourself, knowing that your instincts will be right for you. However, this is not really what "truth" is all about. It is not what gives us certainty.
Every day life becomes simpler, because if you do not like someone, you trust that you indeed do not like him/her. You do not feel bad anymore about it. If there is no love anymore in your relationship, you know that you are honest, there is indeed no love. It is as it is. You trust that this is how your life is at the moment, and you accept it.
Even with family and friends, your love for them begins to be seen, you are no longer afraid of showing them your heart and how you really feel. You do not wait until their funerals.
How can this be the "truth" you ask? Living in it, is harder than "speaking" the truth. Living within truth simply means doing exactly what you are supposed to do in life and trusting every single instinct within you. I call it "instinct" cos I do not know what else to call it. Its the thing that we are supposed to do but never do.
It's like that saying "faith gives us two choices, the one we are supposed to take, and the one we take".
Living within truth is trusting that you can find that goodness you had as child, that empathy you were born with and knowing that it is to be trusted. You do things now because you not only trust, but you know you are a good person. You can live life making decisions for yourself without doubts, because your soul, in every single way, was made, originally, beautiful and good. You do not wait for any prize, any pat on the shoulder, you do not wait for anything, because you already have it.
FREEDOM.
Jesus was right, "Know the truth and the truth shall make you free"
Happy Easter.
Note: The quotes in italics were taken from Paulo Coelho's warrior of light, issue 221 .
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Because I do not know your life...
Dear neighbour,
Because I do not know your life, I am going to let you continue playing this heavy metal "somedody driving nails into my head" music.
Because many times, I have often thought you malnourished, I will let you play your music. Because this winter, I have seen you only in your worn out leopard coat which hardly covers your white midriff, I will let you play your music. Because many times, I have wondered if you were a prostitute, you have to play your music. Because many times, I have seen you come home early in the morning, just as I leave for work, I will let you play your music. Because I have never seen anybody come to visit you, you can play your music. Because you often seem so sad and your long blonde hair unwashed, you may play your music. Because your mascara often runs down your cheek, please play your music. Because you always walk so fast, like you were afraid of someone, play your music. Because all the other neighbours hate your music, please play on.
Even though I am lying in bed, with a fever and the worst headache known to man, you may still play your music. Because I do not know your life. I do not know if this is all you have. I do not know what you go through everyday. I do not know if this time you spend in your apartment is the only time that belongs to you. I do not know if this is the only thing that truly belongs to you. Because, and only because I do not know your life, you may continue to play this heavy metal "somebody please kill me" music.
Love,
Your neighbour.
Because I do not know your life, I am going to let you continue playing this heavy metal "somedody driving nails into my head" music.
Because many times, I have often thought you malnourished, I will let you play your music. Because this winter, I have seen you only in your worn out leopard coat which hardly covers your white midriff, I will let you play your music. Because many times, I have wondered if you were a prostitute, you have to play your music. Because many times, I have seen you come home early in the morning, just as I leave for work, I will let you play your music. Because I have never seen anybody come to visit you, you can play your music. Because you often seem so sad and your long blonde hair unwashed, you may play your music. Because your mascara often runs down your cheek, please play your music. Because you always walk so fast, like you were afraid of someone, play your music. Because all the other neighbours hate your music, please play on.
Even though I am lying in bed, with a fever and the worst headache known to man, you may still play your music. Because I do not know your life. I do not know if this is all you have. I do not know what you go through everyday. I do not know if this time you spend in your apartment is the only time that belongs to you. I do not know if this is the only thing that truly belongs to you. Because, and only because I do not know your life, you may continue to play this heavy metal "somebody please kill me" music.
Love,
Your neighbour.
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