Letter from the PM.

        
Dear People of Australia , 
 
Due to the current financial situation caused by the slowdown of the
economy, your Government has decided to implement a scheme to put
workers 50 years of age and older on early retirement. This scheme
will be known as RAPE (Retire Aged People Early). 
 
Persons selected to be RAPED can apply to the government to be eligible
for the SHAFT scheme (Special Help After Forced Termination). 
 
Persons who have been RAPED and SHAFTED will be reviewed under the
SCREW program (Scheme Covering Retired Early Workers). A person may be
RAPED once, SHAFTED twice and SCREWED as many times as the government
deems appropriate. 
 
Only persons who have been RAPED can get AIDS (Additional Income for
Dependants & Spouse) or HERPES (Half Earnings for Retired Personnel
Early Severance). Obviously, persons who have AIDS or HERPES will not
be SHAFTED or SCREWED any further by the government.. 
 
Persons who are not RAPED and are staying on, will receive as much SHIT
(Special High Intensity Training) as possible. The government
has always prided itself in the amount of SHIT it gives out. Should
you feel that you do not receive enough SHIT, please bring this to the
attention of your local MP. They have been trained to give you all the
SHIT you can handle.

Don't criticize, empathize.

Do we really feel people's pain
or do we think it's what we have to do
fuck that bullshit about caring
its a state of mind
you care when you want to
not because you have
i care bout starving kids
you care about the air
we see what we want do we
so when do we draw the line at right and wrong
if you have something to say don't cover identity
come out and say it
so don't stay something where you gonna end up apologising
stand by your actions to the end
in the face of death soldiers run guns blazing
so why cant you speak with your words
every sentence your ammunition
and when other people talk listen
dont criticize, empathize
i know the truth hurts but it has to be said
enought said and done, not like you will listen
reading this is enough for me

Pursuit of Happiness.

what lengths do we go to pursue happiness
do we dwell in the presence of evil
do we partake of sinful acts
do we deprive other of joy
all humans are selfish and that is a fact
in some moments of clarity we feel guilt
guilt can be described as man's bad judgement to another man
rather that feeling the error of your ways
the guilt can only come when do wrong to another
so why do wrong?

are we all programmed with evil
or do we fully kick of the good and let in the bad
what is morality apart from the eye of the strong above the weak
take a sip, take a swish, every drop closer to a state of intoxication

DUI ''doing under the influence'' is the general ways of people these days
nobody wants to own up to their stupidity anymore
we just act as we please and try to justify
before you and after you make a decision
remember, not everything that shines is Gold.

The Fine Art Of Voluntary Stupidity.

Yes, I'm back.

Before I embarked on the self-torture called a BA, I used to wake up everyday and immediately put on the TV to try to find out what was going on in the world around me. This foolish action inevitably led me to turn to CNN, BBCNews or when the weather was really bad or things were very hard, – NTA. And then it would usually begin. Bad news in industrial quantities: The financial crisis, bomb blasts, a plane crash, stories of both government and private corruption, chronicles of fools: some poor fool who has just been blown up in the name of Allah, another fool who is trying to spread freedom and democracy around the world and some more fools who are spouting varying grades of propaganda; ranging from Innocent white lies to premium brand, Class A Bullshit. Generally I would endure 60 minutes of this sensory assault on my intelligence before giving up and turning toward MTV or one of the Series/Movie channels for some mind-numbing, meaningless drivel to help me try to forget the mental torture I’ve just been subjected to.

Unfortunately, this usually didn’t help much since all the music and shows are laced with hidden intentions telling me what to think and how to think it. Young girls wearing next to nothing shake their bodies in ways that would be of concern to medical professionals with the message ‘sex is good’ while 50cents latest song is telling me ‘to get rich or die trying’. Beyonce is subconsciously trying to make your girlfriend leave you with her ‘Put a ring on it’ nonsense, Bruno mars is looking for trouble by singing about catching grenades (Who the hell would do that anyway? Pls refer to @CapoeiraPandas blog for more details on this…) and some bloody Nigerian is asking me to ‘Dapada’ and/or ‘farabale’; ‘groove utunu’ and or 4kasibe’. The TV shows are not much better, every episode presents some half-baked, hashed out ideology which it tries to sell to me as a life philosophy. Examples: all problems can be solved in an 30 minutes or an hour, Bad guys always get caught, follow your dreams, Obey your parents, Sex sells, Ok, don’t always obey your parents, humour is good, gays are not so bad, Always consult your pastor for advice, Blah, Blah, Blah… Usually, there would be only so much my brain could take before I call my friend –Mr. Remote control and finally help the environment by switching off the appliances I’m not using.

Unfortunately, with all outside influence gone, my mind would inward and begin to think (a process which I’ve been told is quite high risk, and should be attempted only by trained professinals) . But it is the result of this thinking which led me to write this note to my victi…er..erm…i mean friends and followers; lamenting the state of this world we live in and the nation we call home. Why is everything so confusing? Why is the world so disorderly? Why would some fools blow up innocent people for no good reason? Why would Jim Iyke try to rap? These are genereally the kind of thought i would think at these times. Luckily, while writing this post I came upon a revelation, it was like a vision (well more like a hallucination caused by excessive exposure to differential calculus… but whatever….) but it made clear what must be done to navigate this morally twisted world without overheating your brain engine. It is called VOLUNTARY STUPIDITY.

You see, I read once in a book (okay, fine, it wasn’t a real book, it was a comic but who wants to split hairs right now?) that comedians are the saddest people in the world. They see what’s wrong with the world but when they stand-up and try to tell the rest of us we just laugh at them. This is an example of the universal law: “It’s not smart to be too smart” as Illustrated by the lives of Galileo and Leonardo da Vinci. You see, i think stupidity is good for you, as long as you don’t exceed the prescribed dosage. And if you are asking yourself right now: “Pray tell, o wise one, how do I obtain a prescription for the stupidity I so desperately need”, then don’t worry, I have the answer, just read on….

Voluntary stupidity is the fine art of ignoring things that are real but make you feel unhappy or depressed. It is my analogy of the old concept that is referred to by the esteemed Buddhist monks as the ‘if-we-ignore-it-then-it-will-go-away’ philosophy. Just as faith is defined as the “belief in things not seen”, voluntary stupidity is the “disbelief of things seen, heard, experienced and even known.” If practiced well, it can increase your level of happiness exponentially within a few seconds. I have been accused of the horrendous and evil crime of ‘being too smart’ more than once in my life and having repented from this crime i can attest to the efficacy of this method.

On a serious note however, we do this every day. We overlook things like our friends’ bad habits, the religion of others which we don’t believe, the fact that we are not as rich or happy as we want to be, the parts of the bible and the constitution that we don’t like, etc. It is a self defense mechanism to protect our fragile psyches from the trauma of unfulfilled dreams, failures, limitations and things we cannot understand or do anything about.

So the next time some smug, self-righteous, smarty-pants starts talking about the war in Iraq, Who is sponsoring the bombing in the Nigeria, the environment and global warming, traffic situations, the plight of democracy, ASUU strikes or the appalling Suckiness of the new Black Eyed Peas album, just remember, he will die a sad, depressed old fart while you relish in your self-built, sky-castle of blissful ignorance, surrounded the lovely aura of VOLUNTARY STUPIDITY.

Thank me later,
Smiles and Love.

The Key to Social Networking That Will Grow Your Business.

If Facebook were a country, then with over 500 million active users, it would be the 3rd largest country in the world after China and India!
In the last twelve months, over 40 billion tweets have poured out on twitter.
So social media is hardly a passing fad.
Business owners must ask: "How can I leverage social media to position my business as the one to buy from?
Social media offers a massive potential market, but attracting attention and gaining a following can be next to impossible.
Building a customer base through social media demands a new communication for most businesses - a two-way conversation.
Social communication builds relationships... And relationships build trust... And trust is the "currency" of the citizens of the massive social media world.


Sent from iPad.

Amongst the Butterflies.

Lie with me a while
Down by the bed of roses,
Settle down beside me
And remind me of the stars

Wonder me with those eyes,
The palest blue and greenery
Hold me close to the skies
Watch the stars gaze down lightly

Follow my call in silence
I beseech you to be mine
Standing by your side Everes
My heart is lovingly thine

Bleeding Earth.

If you were to stand on a satellite orbiting the earth, everything would look like it’s at absolute harmony, the deep blue oceans scattered with its masses of brown and green land with cloud blankets hovering above them. Nothing would seem out of the ordinary except when you start to descend down towards it and touch down on the ground. On the surface is a totally different story, one of devastation and destruction.

Earth is in danger of losing what sets it apart from other planets, the existence of life. With everyday that goes by, some feature of earth or form of life is threatened of its existence by the phenomenon of global climate change and the avarice of man. In our callous pursuit of riches, we have abused our earths resources, endangered its inhabitants and raped the future of life.

Everyday, animals are affected as their habitats are lost to modernization, trees are cut down without remorse, skies are saturated with toxic chemicals and yet nothing significant is being done to stop it. Though we maybe the smartest species on earth and at the same time the dummest, to have engineered our own destruction, we are lucky to have realized what we have caused.

We seriously have taken for granted everything we should spend so much time taking care of and conserving. Even now as your reading this, your using electricity that maybe generated by means of a thermal power plant which pours pollutants into the air every second thereby contributing to global warming. Has that ever occurred to you?

So now we are at a crucial pivoting point to what will become of life to come. We can either change our ways and counter climate change or we cant just let it be and rape the future for those to come after us. The choice is obvious, we have to stop the pollution and end the abuse of our earth because without earth there is no life.

The earth is bleeding today because we have abused it with our so-called change. So if it is change that started this, then it should very well be change that should end it.

Happy House.

I want a house in the hills,
with pristine views of the skies
and the forgotten mills.

I want the linen on my bed,
to speak to me in riddles
and leave me with stories worthy of pickles.

I want a stone fire place,
with skewers made of iron
and a fire that mimics a dancer’s grace.

I want my cutlery to be happy and queer,
with mismatching colours of the rainbow
to leave my guests puzzled with cheer.

I want the sunshine and I want the rain,
and when you walk in through that door,
I want you to blink back in amaze.

JAMES BLAKE.

I love the mess of it. The search for harmony. And the autotune as an art.

Enjoy!

An Analogy even the Gre couldn't Think up.

losing a piece of myself. losing you. losing my identity. losing hope. losing anything... is akin to miscalculating something I know to be certain...

• walking, and over-reaching during a step. how could my legs falter like this? how could the right leg break out of formation this way? traitor.

• wearing heels and going to the home bathroom to check the mirror, reaching for the sink without looking, and grasping wildly in the air where you know for sure the sink should be. you would have staked your life on the fact that the precise angle your elbows took naturally was the correct angle to put your hand in line with the sink. you look down and see the increased height and realize the heels added length and distorted your mental map.

• driving in the snow, with all the expertise of a seasoned driver. you've had your license forever. you could maneuver through anything, you know the slight nuances of the car like the back of your hand... but the snow is an added variable that you could not account for. your hands are unsure. you are unsure of the way your car is sliding as if it had a will of its own. this creature you had tamed, understood, fed and trusted all these years is now a crazed monster on a self-destruction path.

• running down the steps you always run down. counting the familiar rhythm of the steps as toe then heel crash to each step. something happens, the rhythm is jarred, your steps are awry, you trip. you steady yourself against the railings... or perhaps sit, ego-stung, on the ground nursing skinned knees.

• closing your eyes to reach for that deep peace, and finding some kind of semi-vertigo effect happening: your body is weightless and at first, in the darkness behind your lids, you are swept back and forth gently as if by a passing wave. quickly then, you're pulled into one direction, then the other and it's like you're falling into an abyss, but in your own mind. at first, it's something fun, you try to maintain the feeling, but it slowly overcomes you and in fear, you snap your eyes open, surprised to find yourself safe on your bed, muscles tensed. and you're afraid, because how could you live all your life and not know about this dark hole in your mind? what if you hadn't regained control at the last minute, would you have fallen forever, cascading mentally and frozen physically for eternity?

Ah. The things I think of to procrastinate. I must depart.
Beautiful day people.
x

Some Deep Shi+

'in the name of the best within you, do not sacrifice this world to those who are its worst. in the name of the values that keep you alive, do not let your vision of man be distorted by the ugly, the cowardly, the mindless [...]. do not lose your knowledge that man's proper estate is an upright posture, an intransigent mind and a step that travels unlimited roads.

do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark, in the hopeless swamps of the approximate, the not-quite, the not-yet, the not-at-all. do not let the hero in your soul perish, in lonely frustration for the life you deserved but have never been able to reach. check your road and the nature of your battle.

the world you desired can be won, it exists, it is real, it is possible... it's yours.'

ayn rand, atlas shrugged

So then.

I'm worried that everything will be okay. It constantly haunts me, somewhere in the recesses of my mind, where I can pretend that the dust has begun to build only because it's no longer of any use. I've come out of my depression, battered and evolved, but it's gone. I've settled into your average post-adolescent despondence; the worry of a relapse has long died. But what now? What happens? Am I to remain at this plateau indefinitely? I'm worried that I'll be okay, but not in the way that I want to be. Just that - okay. Nothing more, nothing extraordinary, no trembling nerves, no humming blood, mere complacence. I comforted myself with the prospect of eternal misery, but at least that had a fire. At least with that, I knew, or thought, I had a chance of somehow, someday changing that blaze from a harrowing blue to a glorious red. but I don't know what I can do with indifference. I don't know if I can function on it, on the remains of coal - worthless, feathery ash.

You see, before, I had an excuse. My tantrums were, if not verified, accepted. it was a battle, and in a battle, you release your claws. You fight dirty. You kick and you scream. Hey, throw a punch in if you want, too. But when you lose.. when you give it everything you've got and you lose, starting it up again is just you holding onto a dead, false prospect. It's you refusing to accept reality. It's your juvenile denial of defeat.

So what do you do now? Do you press on? Do you live within the restrictions of this new regime? Do you self-impose exile? banishment?

Really. Forget the self-soliloquies. Forget pointless words. What happens now?

I am the walrus.

I've always described black coffee as tasting like walrus feet. Now, I've never actually encountered a walrus, but books and depression have broadened my imagination's ability, and so, I transcend reality; I see things you would never see, and know things you will never know. And although I've never had the pleasure of a walrus's company, my vivid imagination tells me that should I ever, in fact, meet a walrus and by some curious chain of events, bite into his or her flesh, the taste would be reminiscent of a freshly brewed cup of coffee.

And yet, here I stand, morning after morning, and when occasionally the seasons alter my sleeping schedule and render me nocturnal, night after night, watching, with the unbearable spasm of an addict, as the ever luminous espresso machine pours its tears into my blue Peter Pan cup, offering me the satisfaction of the walrus I'll never meet.

Happy Friday Folks!

Twenty?!

I am no longer a teenager. Shocking that I discover this somewhat-well into my 20's right? But it has really hit me recently.
Did you know I am older than Kristen Stewart, Jason Derulo, and all but one of the girls on America's Next Top Model. Yes. Did you know that the UN's definition of youth is '15-24' I'm ALMOST NOT EVEN A YOUTH ANYMORE. F MY LIFE. WHAT SHOULD I DO!?
Somatic growth stops as 18.
Myelination happens the most during teenage years, so I will never get any smarter than I am now.
LIKE THATS IT. I am old. As in opportunity is NOT knocking anymore. As in I have one more egg left. As in grey hair and all that shmaz. As in scratch that epitaph into my tombstone.
Eff my life.
Anyways, that was my 'aha' moment on why I haven't been able to write anything. I over-romanticized every aspect of my life, abused the adjectives and the melodramatics to my heart's content, and now I am free- and depressed enough- to move onto my adult life. So I really should bid you all adieu, at least until I figure out what adult means. Maybe I'll be back in 10 minutes, maybe 10 days, maybe 10 months, maybe a decade. But seriously, I am lost now about everything.

A Girl Who..

"Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes."
— Rosemary Urquico

If you're wondering why some of these old posts have resurfaced, it's because I was doing some editing and the dates got mixed up. That's all. Carry on, carry on...

From a straight road to a swerve.

My mind is bleeding with the realization of its captivity. It's inability to run free, to experience, to live like they do on silver screens, is haunting my every decision. Ignorance comes in many forms, the kindest of his masks, is the one that's always with me. My mind is blind to the most horribly annoying of things, and that is of a sub-conscience choice. An invited and welcomed ignorance if you will.

I have this closet in my head where I push away the unchangeable ways of politics, man, and religion. The things I have to accept, but that don't really make it through my senses are usually found in this closet. Imagine a Narnia type wardrobe. It's pretty and in a room by its lonesome. You see, that's how my closet looks like, pretty and alone, away from human parasites. Sometimes, I open this closet, and I weep. My closet is a horrible place. As soon as I close it I accept the ugly ways of life, but in those brief moments that it's open everything is unacceptable, there is no excuse. I will make a difference someday. No matter how small or insignificant, I'll make it.

Future, on your knees, man. We are coming, through the closets, all of us.

In a dream I was a werewolf.

You see things, I see a movie. This is how it always plays in my head. There's a movie reference in my pocket for every sentence and a lens for each hand movement. Close ups and black and whites, shots from a corner and a blurred background. Everything is nothing but a camera trick, illusions and magic mirrors- this is how I see things. This is what my mind sounds like, so listen closely, because the words may not make sense.

Post begins here.

From the beginning, as soon as you're born, you're like a wave crashing onto a shore. Some are more fiercer than others, and others, well, they're gentle and almost unrecognizable- these you generally overlook because you're waiting for the stronger ones. The ones that look like they can bust a bitch, you know? The ones that form caverns by the rocks, and ruin sand castles. We crave destruction, and that's why we like crash landing, because it means we've achieved something. The subtle waves that tickle your toes and give that sand castle of yours a moat don't really deserve a polaroid, or a cover page on the latest issue of The National Geographic. They're never seen, but they're the reason behind that soft smile or look of pride after perfecting the most awesome sand castle ever- though we don't even realize it.

A boy on a skateboard. A kid on a playground. A busboy cleaning tables. A car driving by. And of course, the girl that's reading a book, her hair ruffled by the light breeze, sitting cross legged on a bench, because that's what they look like in the movies. Right before the tsunami, tornado, or whatever natural disaster this blockbuster is about hits. Let's not forget, this is an analogy. We're talking about life and maturity and all that jazz. Behind this particular image and in the literal sense of things, this is the year when the kid still loves his mom more than his tiny friends, and eating ice cream; where he'd rather be held than run around turning tables and discovering that not everything is food. It's this scene, right here, for your entertainment. This is how we grow; this is what it looks like.

Then comes the actual storm. Where everything is rationalized and logic is twisted to justify the most bizarre of thoughts. Isn't that what kids are like, particularly teenagers? Dramatic displays of emotions, be it anything from excitement, contempt, or loathing. All rather theatrical really. We're all depressed, and there's no hope left. The world is out to get us. And no amount of positive, inspirational, and motivational shit can make us feel better, because hey "I'm different. No, trust me on this, I know nothing can change." We think that we're, to put it cheesily, the only exception. The wasted few, you know? That the universe has it out for a few people and we have the honor of being handpicked to represent premature wisdom. A bit conceited when I put it that way, eh?

That's why everyone's a smart ass, and when the storm eventually passes and they realize the reality of their messed up logic, they fade away into cubicles and become the workers of a factory that screws up the environment into another natural disaster.

Moral of the story: You are not special. You're not meant for anything great, stop believing everything you see in the movies. And more importantly, don't trust yourself- self-loathing is inevitable, hopelessness is a given, and society will always get in your way. Giving up, even when it feels so damn fucking good is not what you want. So again, don't trust yourself. Wait till the storm passes, it'll be when you're around twenty three, twenty nine or even thirty five. Whenever. So buckle up. It's a bumpy ride.

Mickey Mouse.

So Nigeria had me a little more focused on images
Rather than words but I am back for those who read anyways
I learnt quite a number or life lessons in just three weeks the last time I went
And I am here to just state some things about some distorted perceptions
ALL FINGERS ARE NOT EQUAL
I noticed in Nigeria, alot of people are OVER religious, to me that has become a problem and I will explain why
Religion is becoming the thing we fight that most, the devil in our lives
Filled so many lies and creating more problems than solutions
Most wars are as a result of some religious person's views on what is right or wrong
Taking souls in the name of whatever God they worship
It is one thing to pray and believe and another to act
A pastor said this prayer one day during a sermon ''i see 20 people here becoming millionaires'' And the crowd went crazy
You think you know a large church, mine is filled with over 500, 000 people, YES
I looked around me an knew for a fact that only 2 people in that crowd would be
And probably a 100 of them were already millionaires through the wrong way
And were in church for ''forgiveness''
People need to wake and realize religion is man made, hate it or love it
What matters are your deeds to your fellow human beings
If you are Christian and you steal and lie, laze around and take short cuts
You are only heading for the hell you avoid so much POVERTY AND DISGRACE

This goes for all religions
That make followers think that by following they have some divine advantage
For a fact, the richest people are not in anyway religious
But most have better values than most
Living life hurting older people in your endeavorer is wrong
WAR AND CORRUPTION are the main problems in the world
That lead to hunger, genocide and oil spills
Most people in their quest of richness are blinded
And it sickens me when I find out they are ''religious''
Everyone makes mistakes but if you perpetually in a lie
Telling your self ''I will stop once I get what I want''
You will never stop and praying for forgiveness after every act is madness

I heard a song talking about how the world is full of mickey mouse acts
Taking others for granted and treating your desire for riches and fame as prime
Not everyone can be rich but everyone can be comfortable and happy
Most ''celebs'' as you can see either end up dead or broke
Is that the path you want to take

Focus on being a good person on the inside
Rather than how you appear to others on the outside
Walk out the door without fear of being shot down
The president is not protected because he is so loved
Think about it some of his ''actions'' hurt people
All in the name of some greater good
WAKE UP, one day he will leave us all to the mess
Life has gone from being to short to being taken for granted
Watch war footage and if you dont cry, then you are the devil himself
Gunning down innocent people who them selves are idiots for picking up guns to fight
To fight a pointless war
It is one thing to protect your house from a criminal
And another to take a shot at a man you dont know

Man's everlasting need for the top is our timely demise.

Evol.

I have a theory: I think it’s easier to love the people who you know will never love you back, like celebrities or older men you see around, because they can’t hurt you on purpose. You can love them and give them your heart, but you do not trust them with it because you’re aware that they’ll probably break it. But you know that when you give your heart to them. When you they do break your heart, like when they kiss their celebrity girlfriend or hold hands with someone else, you can’t blame them, because they don’t even know they’re hurting you. It’s different from loving someone who loves you back. The piece of your heart that you give to them is breakable, yet you trust them not to break it. You trust them to protect it when someone else comes along to test its strength. And when you see them break your heart, it hurts so much more, because they know what they’re doing to you, and they do it anyway. How sad is that?

Concrete Jungle where Dreams are Made Of.

I want to go to New York. It's where I'd rather be. Just being there, doing absolutely nothing, and walking to nowhere in particular would put the goofiest smile on my face. The people, the skyscrapers, the hot dog vendors, and the ticket sellers. The scent of the sewers and the car smoke permeating the air, broken only by fleeting smells of salted pretzels, coffee, and sometimes even Chinese food. And in the wee hours of the morning when I can't sleep, I'll go up to our roof and listen to the sounds of the city. What was so poetic in my dreaming head will give life to nothing more than garrish sirens and aggressive car honks. And the stars I imagined to be canopied above me will dim in the wake of the city lights leaving nothing but the moon. Much like the myth of the city, only one will really shine. But the wind will carry the sounds back and forth and the night will blanket me in understanding. And though it'll amount to nothing I thought it would, it'll be the fabled Big Apple, the Grecian mecca of its time, a city with skyscrapers towering to remind us of our true size and alive enough to show us that it doesn't really matter.

The Butterfly Effect.

The flap of a butterfly's wings in Brazil can set off a storm in Texas. Isn't that amazing? Physicists call this theory "The Butterfly Effect". The breeze produced by a butterfly's wings could set of a series of reverberations that over time have a tremendous affect on weather patterns thousands of miles away. Imagine the effect of millions of butterflies.

Now bloggers and readers alike, if a butterfly can cause a storm thousands of miles away.
Imagine what impact we as a people can have United.

One Love. One Heart. One Voice.
Peace. x

Who.. Are You?

I used to do this thing when I was a kid, where I would just lie in bed, lift my hand up high and just stare at it for hours and hours. Partly because I had nothing better to do, but mostly just so I can think about it; how am I here, or if any of this was real. I'd focus really hard hard and wonder how on earth I was breathing, and where I am and I'd imagine myself watching me from space, the black nothingness and stars so bright, and say, hey, look at that, it's me: the speck. Is this a dream, and if so, whose is it? And if it isn't, then how is this happening? I would see all of this in my hand, for hours and hours, lost in thought, only a hand, I told myself- but what is a hand, really? And then I'd start repeating the word over and over again till it lost all meaning, and only after I broke that barrier that was my current understanding was I free to ponder, with no belief holding me back, what everything the world taught me was really me.

Someone made this, I repeated over and over, in my head, and out loud, it explained everything. And as a kid, I was told as much, but I was also told never to question it. God, that is. So I left it alone, but everything else was fair game, and the game always lead me to the same conclusion, which was god. And then I found myself questioning my inability to question god. I mean, if I believed in him wholeheartedly, why wasn't I allowed to just delve into that part of me that yearns to know, because it wasn't just curiosity, it was almost paralyzing, it was the reason I stared at my hand all day, and it's why I could do just that for so long, because I was told not to cross the line that was questioning god's existence, and so I stayed in mind limbo. Neither thinking or not thinking about, just lying on my bed, all day, and staring.

Fairy tales.

What about them?

They say they’re overrated, and they’re nothing but lies. This and that, and in a five worded summary, just plain ridiculous at times. But in reality, they really aren’t that far from the truth. Because however different the circumstances, by in large, the subtext applies to every aspect of our lives. Whether it be taken from a real life incident and tweaked for the minds of the young with unicorns and pixie dust or if it was just a subconscious thing. Simply, all fairytales are nothing but analogies to far greater simple tragedies in life.

But of course, we knew as much, because after all, we write what we know.

Take any Disney movie, strip it down to a basic idea, and there’s the spark that started it all. For example, Aladdin; a story about a girl and a boy, both wanting more out of life, both trapped by social status, and controlled by money- or lack thereof, and both outcasts on opposite sides of the social spectrum. On one hand, you have society questioning the worth of the poor, and on the other, we have them questioning why money would make anyone miserable. Because from their perspective, money is everything, and if you have it, why are you complaining. But it wasn’t that Jasmine wanted more, it was just that she wanted something different, and she was condemned for that. As is the case for Aladdin: when you don’t have the money, you spend your entire life striving to be noticed, as both a human being and a respectable young man.

A not so Disney reference to elaborate on this would be Wuthering Heights. If you’ve ever read it then kudos, but if you haven’t, then basically the character of Heathcliff was taken in by a rich family, he was treated poorly by the older brother and everyone ridiculed him and blah blah blah. But after a few years, he runs away, only to return later on as a successful yet mysterious business man with money coming out of his hands, feet and kisses. And suddenly, he was accepted by society. Moral of the story, money money money.

Another example is Beauty and the Beast, and this specifically applies to the female youth of Saudi Arabia. Stripped down, this is a story about a beautiful girl being ridiculed for wanting an education instead of a marriage. “Why would you want knowledge when you can easily seduce any suitor you please and have him give you the world?” said the poor ignorant soul. That’s what they whisper when a girl is lucky enough to get what she wants; when she’s lucky enough to leave this place. Moral of this story, beauty is a substitute for education. And if you’re one of those few who look past that, and if you’re in the even fewer who are denied that, then I’m sorry for your life.

Ignorance is what binds us to our shiny strappy heals and away from any window, razor, or prescription pill bottle, and anything else just shows you how strong you really are.

Rapunzel, also in Saudi Arabia. Basically, she’s a girl trapped in her house, given everything she wants and whatever she needs, told it was all done for her protection. The world cannot be trusted, they say. You’re constantly being told that you’re special, and then on one fine April morning, you realize that it’s nothing but a lie; a lie to keep you sedated and away from thought, because thought is always suspect, thought is not to be trusted, and thought leads to things like the truth, which is bad, very very bad.

So, it begs the question, where exactly is the lies, the fiction, and the silliness? People only see what they see. There isn't more to any story, there is no other side.

Ponderings.

We judge to cover up our own insecurities
I can see right through your words
Beyond the superficial and straight to your fears
So intangible yet so visible
Those walls are useless against these eyes
Because i refuse to judge
So i became perhaps not pure like white
But crystal clear

We smile about the past when we are seeking escape from the present
We smile about the future when we believe in the present
We smile about the present when the rest is forgotten
There is no past present or future
The past is gone
The present is past
The future is present

True emotional joy becomes physical
Happiness comes and a smile is formed
Hate comes and a war is begun
The world appears only in the way we choose to view it
It can be the world of love or the world of hate
Or it can be grey
Grey skies, grey days, grey nights
Money may not be everything
But at least you can afford to add some colour to your life

Life doesn’t make sense
That is the only way for it to make sense
There is no logical explanation for everything
The sooner this is realised the better
Someone once said,” My concern is not that you have failed
But rather whether you are content with your failure”
But what happens when you become satisfied with failure?
When that which you most feared becomes your only companion?
Will failure treat you right?

So long to devotion.

Patriotism is an act of selfishness. You think this feeling that creeps up on you during these arguments or casual conversations about your country, planet, solar system, dimension or wherever it is you come from (this blog accepts all species) is national pride. When in fact you are defending your self, your stereotype. This has nothing to do with your country. You defend the actions of the people you are ashamed of. The people who feed the stereotype. The people who the world think you are. Open your eyes, everyone, so I can drop this so called patriotism that causes my blood to boil and my mouth to word vomit venomous crap. Listen to me, stop looking at them.

Concrete Loop

Why do you get up in the morning?
Do you wake up and think you have no choice but to work
And fight in the rat race of corporate ladder climbing

Why are you going to school?
Struggle with grades so other people access your intelligence

What is your obsession with the media?
You cant have it so you pretend to adore it
And then channel your hatred for the people right in front of you

When did the word of a policeman count more than yours
Or the verdict of a judge
No one fights the power anymore clearly
Because my innocence is reliant on a jury of my peers, not likely
Take my body in cuffs but free my soul to wander
The earth is mine and yours, dont kill it with lust

Are into myth or fact? What is the difference?
Ever feel like your existence is insignificant
The day you get shot
Will someone rise and kill your killer without question
A well lived life is in your head
Power is a figment of greed
The leader is only as powerful the people under him
Don't empower the evil within you to a point of no return
I see my friends and parents walk around always angry at the littlest things
They have all put their emotions on edge
I used to be sad for no real reason
The quest for happiness is really just a quest for money
Don't deceive yourself to believe other wise
The fact that you are reading this proves my point

For those of us living a life created by other's sweat
Be very careful because even the life you live in borrowed
Tomorrow is just as powerful as tonight

In a world of so much uncertainty, moronic
Some of us still go to bed with plans, idiotic

I was just back at my village
For those who dont know what is. It is not mine. I'd like to think I am a part.
Let's just say it is considered archaic and tribal by the 21st century
It's an island with no drivable roads, electricity or flowing clean water
But people live to be over 75 years old
So what if I dont drive a car or speak your English
The construct of your norm is void of true fact
You live a life of dictation with knowledge
Ask yourself how your language was created
Why you think up is up and down is down
YOU WERE TOLD BY SOMEONE BEFORE YOU, WHO WAS TOLD THE SAME
Don't be caught in a cycle and die struggling in it
Sure when in Rome do as the Romans do
But be sure to remember you will be judged as one
Putting yourself in the system puts you at risk, especially when you expose yourself
Living a ''simple life'' is really worth something
You can still have thoughts and views
Ghandi lived a simple life and still made changes
MLK was not a man of great wealth to speak his might
Many more examples live on and have passed away

Living above your means in your demise
Wanting a life you cant have is your defeat
What is wrong with little, it's enough for most

STOP your obsession with the media
Musicians and actors are paid to deceive you
It's not a job anymore, its a cargo cult
Amassing your health for their joy and inner pain

In this post I am not wearing clothes for a reason
When it comes down to it, I am a nude naive human
Putting on a like-able facade
Wake up and smell the propaganda
Laced in your daily nutrition
Ground up in your thoughts, fine powder
Don't overdose, pupils dilated

Are you under a spotlight gnashing your teeth
Singing karaoke when you have no real talent
Smiling and laughing to hide your shame
Crying with pain, under bloody drops of rain

I cant really talk if I still live with my computer
But to truly change I must break free
That day is coming, I shall get my freedom
Are you free? Are you questioning?
Own your freedom to doubt.

I am not a blog.

Dear people, I do not like the word 'blog'. I just can't stand it. It sounds almost too modern for a simple play on words and thoughts jotted down, don't ya think? Also, I hate that because I have one, I am referred to as, like so many of my fellow writers, a blogger. blech. Words will tire trying to articulate my hate for this manifestation of ugly. So, because I abhor it with every fiber of my being, I ask that you sympathize with my current state, and for my sake refer to it as an article- if you will- or a column! Ooooh my column, that sounds fancy. I like it. Try and imagine your day as a Wall Street Journal or The Daily telegraph or what have you, I am that little piece of awesome that you flip the pages like a madman trying to get to. I won't stay in one place though. I will be in Arts and Entertainment one day, and Business the next. I will be a fire consuming your bored state by way of awesome in every possible aspect. Yes, you love me. I know. It's because I'm a ten for being worth it.

Shine on and good night folks.

Shontelle - Perfect Nightmare

And then she woke up and screamed.

Glimpse Tomorrow.

History is largely told as a chronicle of great people doing great things. But, for most of us, life is not made up of big moments. It’s made up of small moments. And with every small choice, with every small decision, we are defining ourselves. Are we proud of ourselves, or are we disappointed by who we’ve become? Life rarely turns out the way that we plan. The unexpected happens, and it surprises us with new and exciting possibilities. But, sooner or later, reality hits you in the face.

My mother never imagined having to start over as a single mother with two grown kids, but, when the unimaginable happened, she adapted. She found strength. She moved on. And I hope when my life doesn’t go the way that I planned— which it certainly won’t— I can handle myself with the same grace and strength that my mother has taught me. She may not be an Olympic athlete or a world leader, but, my mom is definitely, my hero.

Liberation~*~

I cut my hair a week and some change ago, a real, blunt, shoulder-length cut. Not a trim. I've only ever always trimmed my hair. It wasn't born out of some vain desire for amelioration. It was a decision that was two years in the making; I've always wanted to but never felt I'd pull it off, or felt that I'd miss my hair too much. Then, oh how poetic, the last thursday of the decade, the desire overwhelmed me. I will cut my hair. I will cut it short. I will tell no one about it. I will take no opinions.

But because it was 3AM, I couldn't very well do it then and there. So I waited till the morning, I called the salon and the hairdresser of choice only came in on saturday, so I book an appointment, make some excuse and leave the house. They wash my hair and I sit there, killing time, not feeling any hint of guilt or remorse, hesitation or worry.
I see her reflection as she walks from customer to customer, and she begins to walk towards me. I watch her determined strides, and as she stands behind me, she asks, "How should I cut it?"
"To here," I motion a bit above my shoulders.
"Just there?"
"Yeah."
"Just a blunt cut."
I nod.
She parts it, brushes it, and holding it in her hand, she chops it off. And nothing. I felt no sadness. This coming from the girl who chokes up at the thought of getting too much cut off with a trim. I peer at the strands in her hands, and I say, "shorter."
She takes a little more off, and the only sensation I felt was joy. It was all I could do to not burst from laughter. I could feel the giggles wave through my body. Biting my lip, I had to compose myself. Three minutes later, she's done. She quickly dries it, and I look at myself, and I feel indifferent to the face, the hair. I only feel free.

I've never, in my life, made an absolutely autonomic decision. Everything was shaped by someone else: where I go, when I go, how I dress, where I study, how I live. And not just by figures of authority, friends, siblings -and to do something so drastic (because yes, cutting your hair without telling your mother is drastic) was so liberating. It's a little symbol, to my parents mainly, that although they can control so much, there is little they can't control. I know it sounds menial and petty, but goodness, this felt good.

I get into the car and put my hair up in a bun, and when I see my mother at home, I say, "I did something."
"What?" she asks, flustered.
"I did something crazy. you can't yell at me for it."
"What?!"
I take my hair out of the bun and shake it out.
With gobsmacked eyes, she whispers, "but why?"
I shrug.
"But it was so pretty," she continues.
"It'll grow back."

The representative from Jingle Town has the floor...

To paraphrase the great Jane Lynch, I’m nothing if not falsely arrogant. My mind is a wonderful place, and I tend to brag about that little aspect of my personality a bit too much- or some would say. Actually, those people are lying; I never brag, I just state the obvious. Is it my fault that I have been simultaneously cursed and blessed with a superior mind? No, so let’s continue.

But behind that air of confidence; that public façade, the veil-if you will, lies as always, an insecure little girl. Well, not little, but that’s a story for another day. Scratch that, I’ll never tell you that story. As a matter of fact, as we speak, I’m locking it away in a chest and hiding it in a scary attic. Anyway, that’s not really news to anyone. We all have our little fears and inhibitions, don’t we? We are a generation of broken people because we were allowed to speak. Because however insignificant, we had a voice. In retrospect, it seems as though that in an effort to silence said voice, it was answered with wishes of hope and promises of happiness and dreams being lived in the face of social adversity with belief as our only weapon and having faith in one’s self as a cigarette in your pocket.

But you see, my beliefs have made a pessimist out of me. Did I set the bar too high? Did I not get the memo? Because, apparently, me and a handful of people are living the lies of a promise, given to us by the people we thought wanted the world for us. But as it goes, the English dictionary needs an update on certain definitions, because by today’s standard, a promise is nothing but a blatant lie.

Moral of the story: I can fake anything I want to, from ambition to potential, because at the end of the day, nobody will ever get a chance to see it all play out. So by all means, smother me in promises and I'll shower you with, what's that you call it? Oh yeah- teenage angst.

Immortal.

What is this fire you've started?
It burns in my soul with a fury
To live with purpose
To go beyond what the living do
an eternal expansion
unrest.
As you faded
It grew
and now that you're gone
it burns hotter than ever.

I think it is you.

My breath
in and out in and out
adds fuel to the fire
and creates an unquenchable
thirst.

You live.

Sentimental Heart.

“O-o-old habits die hard
When you got, when you got a sentimental heart” –She & Him

So I’ve always been the self-proclaimed “girl who felt too much”. I let emotions rule me while logic sat by shaking it’s head in disapproval. I loved to wallow in them and feel the chemicals at work. This all began to change, however, after a major break-up. Slowly but surely, I learned to pick myself up. Stop whining. Fix the things I could. Take responsibility for the events in my life. I was reformed. Responsible. If I found that I was upset about something, I looked at myself to see if there was something that I may have contributed- something that I was doing that could have changed the situation and with that came the freedom to help control and affect my situation.

But with that realization came an unexpected irritability at the people around me who didn’t do the same- at those who still chose to wallow in those feelings without any action on their part to change them. I could no longer listen to people venting to me in frustration without offering advice on how they might reverse their situation. What I found was that most of those people did not really want to change the issue. And who was I to try and tell them to change it anyways? It’s their lives, afterall.

This change was reflected in every aspect of my life.

My belief that I should “give to those who ask of me” changed to “do not cast your pearls before swine” or “if anyone is not willing to work, let them not eat”.

In the last few months, this change has not sat well with me. I didn’t want to be so jaded- so uncompassionate. I resolved to exfoliate the soul every so often to keep from getting jaded by choosing to trust more. To be patient with people who don’t necessarily share the same world view as me (and why should they?) All this has been pretty well balanced I think until today.

It was a simple thing. I was at the gas station and an older man- in his mid to late thirties- asked if I had a couple bucks for him to get gas because he was running on fumes and had forgotten his wallet. Reformed Natalie was saying to let him fend for himself. After all, I had no cash on me anyways, just my card. But having felt so jaded lately, old Natalie was recalling the times that I’ve been in that situation, stressed, and having to call my Dad or AAA to bring me gas and I decided to try and help him out. After all, he was driving a nice car and didn’t seem like this was an everyday occurrence. He said he just needed a couple gallons and I said I’d help him out… you already see where this is going right? Well, I put my card in for him to put in a couple gallons and returned to my car to wait for Steve to come back. Next thing I know, the guy has filled his entire (empty) tank on my card when I really didn’t have the money to spare in the first place. I feel like an idiot. I let my emotions take over and predictably got taken advantage of. So my question is this: how do I balance my emotions with not being stupid? Steve later asked me why I couldn’t have prepaid? Why I didn’t say something when he was taking too long? Why I didn’t just say no?

I can’t seem to square my ideals with reality. I always expect people to do the right thing and it seems like I’m always surprised when they don’t.

I need to say the serenity prayer about a million times.

Strumming my Pain with his Fingers.

What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns or watching violent videos afraid that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands, of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery, and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?

-High Fidelity

Every breath I take feels like the gasp of an oncoming sob. Every time I swallow my desperate exhalations, the dam in my chest begs to break. The cement is cracking, the bricks are coming loose, the water's seeping. It's not even water anymore, just pockets of steam burning empty molecules in the air.

Procrastination.

I think I write better and am more interesting (literarily) when I'm depressed.

What I really mean is that my writing is more appealing when it's based in reverie. Anecdotal compositions just aren't my thing.

"you didn't love her. you just didn't want to be alone.
Or maybe, maybe she was just good
for your ego. or, or maybe she made you
feel better about your miserable life,
but you didn't love her.
because you don't destroy people you love."
-Grey's Anatomy

The teenage years, let's hope.

The closer I get to the possibility, the further away the reality seems. I try to run, but people are holding me back. I try to break free, but the bruises on my arm tell the story of how that goes. No matter what I do, I'll always know that I'm wasting my life, my youth. I could have done, seen, and learned more. I could have been frowning less, and smiling more. I could have loved instead of hated. Happy could have been my default emotion as opposed to a rare occurrence. I know that I'll always look back and pity myself. Though, I do hope I know better when I leave adolescence and youth behind and brace a day where all this angst and hate goes away. I really do wish that, twenty years from now, I look back at this ol' blog of mine and see the words of an immature brat and not the truth.

Current State.

HAPPY NEW YEAR Blogsville!

I completely lost track of my blog, no surpise there.
Optimism is on vacation, and I'm fretfully awaiting his return. He promised he would write. He does. But not enough. Cynicism took it upon himself to operate in his stead barking out orders he never would have gotten away with previously. He's got everyone on a Melancholy Diet. Though they slip out of his vigilant eye occasionally, he makes sure they report to the ICU and are administered The Drug intravenously. His buddy Pessimism has returned from back east choking everyone with the foreign stench of his cigarettes. The halls are consequently dark and grey requiring gas masks to get through.
Hope sleeps twentythree hours a day. Ambition is bored and unmotivated scratching his new belly while he flips through unstimulating TV channels. Attempting to get an ounce of the tonne of work piled up on it's table.