Hey.
I was in a taxi heading home from the school where I work (I work in the office, no way I could teach this generation of criminals and hooligans, I'm sorry), and I was just watching all the people that we passed, the yards and houses, people going about their daily lives, just....going. Walking, moving, not still, just...in motion. Always in motion. I wondered how many of them lived their entire lives like that, in motion, on autopilot, without stopping for any meaningful consideration of where they were at, where they're going, and just how they could make their own lives better, or help to improve the life of someone they knew.
I was having this same discussion with my resident hippie/intellectual, a very good sistren of mine that did(surprise surprise), psychology as her major, and is now pursuing her second degree. I brought it up to her, and she said that she thought that maybe 45% of people live life, from birth till death on autopilot, going where society, their peers, their parents, their significant other or whoever tells them to go, maybe all the while believing that what they're doing is their own decision/intention. Of the other 55%, maybe 35%, iirc (...what, lazy this evening) only wake up due to some kind of crisis, such as the quarter life crisis (boy, did that reach me last year), the mid life crisis, or the old age crisis/arrival. The rest are intellectuals, hippies (such as her, god bless her), revolutionaries, or just thinkers in general that are aware and choose their own path, but usually end up suffering for it. We also included weedheads, but for today I'll chose to ignore that controversial grouping.
*ahem* Anyway.
So, according to our two person survey, there's only 15% of the earth's population with their eyes (physical and mental) open, the rest being sheep, for the most part, acting out an unthinking and unreasoning drama for the better part of their lives, from birth till death.
This makes me very sad.
I believe that free will is a God given right (yes, I also believe in God, but that's an arguement for another day, focus), and the least that we can do is exercise it, come what may. The thought of just....masses of people coasting from birth till death......just animated flesh, going through their paces, heads down, blinkers on, staring at the carrot to the complete denial of all else, what might exist, what might be possible, themselves. Just..........blind.
Sad.
These are people that never challenge the status quo, even mentally or just amongst their friends. They never look around and go 'Why is the world like this? Isn't there some way I can make this better? Why does everything have to be this messed up, can't we fix this?' They never look outside of the well rutted path that they're trodding, and see that if they just took a little bit more time, or showed just a smidge more consideration for their fellow man, then there would be an exponential increase in quality of life for all.
Think about it, when was the last time you did something for someone without looking for a reward? Or you helped someone out without being asked in the first place? Hmmmm? Be honest.
Smile. Open a door. Breathe, and stop and give a quiet answer the next time you feel like tearing your neighbour/spouse/customer/sibling/random driver on the road's head off. Take a little more time to do.........something, anything, better for someone, and don't look for thanks. Do it in the name of improving the universe. Send out the positive energy, let it spread out from you, and even though it will look like its been swallowed up by the universe, like a ripple, it is spreading beneath the surface, the forces are still at work, and believe me, it will come back to you. Just....be a better person, even for a minute or two, especially with a child or children, because they, of all else, have it the worst; they do not understand this mess they're born into, so they try, and get hurt, rebuffed, and suffer throught a cold, uncaring life to become the harsh, cold, uncaring adults that populate the world we all live in.
Take the time to brighten the universe, and to stop and think about who you are, where you're going, why you're going there, and if that is really where you want to end up. Trust me, such deep reflection one's own state and condition will never be a waste of time.
Lastly, you've heard this truism dozen times, but its still true (hence, its a truism. See, brilliant.) Smile, it'll make you feel better.
:)
More as it develops.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Friday, October 26, 2007
Natural Born Hustler.
So anyway, its been a long week. Lost a fight to smoking, got my paycheck (and finished it the same day, oh well, good thing I still live at home.....no, actually, its not, but meh), dealt with my asshat coworkers that have decided to not speak to me, all because I am supposed to have 'carried news' on one of them or somesuch bullshit, but whatever, I'm there for the paycheck, I ain't got to talk to none of them.
I tried to figure out some ways to make extra money earlier this week, and what I realised was, I'm not a natural born hustler. Yup. Its a humbling realisation, for someone that once had thug life aspirations (haven't we all.....no?.....well, ok then...), to realise that if I was probably plucked out of my current position in life, and plopped down on the mean streets of (insert city possessing mean streets here), I'd probably starve to death, if not end up in a hotel room somewhere, in a bathtub full of ice and lacking my (insert internal organ of choice that human can live without, and possessess a great demand on the black market).
Its sad really. At one point in my life, I had it all planned, how me and my friends were gonna be hoodlums, and do all manner of dastardly deeds for money, turning my back on my morals and my family to follow a life that the music that I listened to at the time led me to believe was the life to live. I look back at those days, and shake my head at how far out of my god given brains I was. The things I used to do, the way I'd disappear out of my house for days at a time, and then the things I'd spend those days doing.....planning this, scheming on that, and, in all seriousness, looking at the long term, for the life of a gangster.
I must've been out of my mind.
I look back at that time, and the person who I was is standing at the other end of a loooooooong hall, and I can only make out his shape and maybe his clothes, other than that, I can't see him clearly at all. I don't understand the way he thinks, the things that drive him to do what he does, I don't know what kind of home life he has, I just.....don't know him at all. He's alien to me. He's like that cousin, you know, the one that everyone has. You're close to him as a child, but when you grow up, you don't see him at all anymore, and you only hear of what he's up to through the family channels, still getting up to his tricks and antics, but you've moved on to the serious process of being an adult (or at least not doing the crap that he's doing these days). He was fun to hang with for a while, but you're too old for that now (and secretly, your happy that you stopped hanging with him before something really serious, and potentially life threatening/changing happened).
Like I said, crazy.
Which brings me back to my current predicament. I've got a wedding in a few months, and I need to make some money, like pronto. I've never really had to.....hustle before, just winging it got me bye, supported by friends that would let me crash, or cadge a meal (or ten), and then my family (the long suffering folk that they were/are) would turn up at a critical moment (okay, they'd be there throughout, but I'd only turn to them when I had NOTHING left....which was waaaay more than I liked), and provide something. But, I could get by, uptown hustling, if you get me. Now, I'm in a eight to four, in a town that, despite having grown up here, I don't know at all, and which I don't (nor have I ever) felt a part of, everyone of my other friends that I went to school with seem to be moving up, whether legally or illegally, and.....my brain hurts. I just can't seem to hack it, and its really beginning to piss me off now.
Bleagh. Going to bed now.
More as it develops.
I tried to figure out some ways to make extra money earlier this week, and what I realised was, I'm not a natural born hustler. Yup. Its a humbling realisation, for someone that once had thug life aspirations (haven't we all.....no?.....well, ok then...), to realise that if I was probably plucked out of my current position in life, and plopped down on the mean streets of (insert city possessing mean streets here), I'd probably starve to death, if not end up in a hotel room somewhere, in a bathtub full of ice and lacking my (insert internal organ of choice that human can live without, and possessess a great demand on the black market).
Its sad really. At one point in my life, I had it all planned, how me and my friends were gonna be hoodlums, and do all manner of dastardly deeds for money, turning my back on my morals and my family to follow a life that the music that I listened to at the time led me to believe was the life to live. I look back at those days, and shake my head at how far out of my god given brains I was. The things I used to do, the way I'd disappear out of my house for days at a time, and then the things I'd spend those days doing.....planning this, scheming on that, and, in all seriousness, looking at the long term, for the life of a gangster.
I must've been out of my mind.
I look back at that time, and the person who I was is standing at the other end of a loooooooong hall, and I can only make out his shape and maybe his clothes, other than that, I can't see him clearly at all. I don't understand the way he thinks, the things that drive him to do what he does, I don't know what kind of home life he has, I just.....don't know him at all. He's alien to me. He's like that cousin, you know, the one that everyone has. You're close to him as a child, but when you grow up, you don't see him at all anymore, and you only hear of what he's up to through the family channels, still getting up to his tricks and antics, but you've moved on to the serious process of being an adult (or at least not doing the crap that he's doing these days). He was fun to hang with for a while, but you're too old for that now (and secretly, your happy that you stopped hanging with him before something really serious, and potentially life threatening/changing happened).
Like I said, crazy.
Which brings me back to my current predicament. I've got a wedding in a few months, and I need to make some money, like pronto. I've never really had to.....hustle before, just winging it got me bye, supported by friends that would let me crash, or cadge a meal (or ten), and then my family (the long suffering folk that they were/are) would turn up at a critical moment (okay, they'd be there throughout, but I'd only turn to them when I had NOTHING left....which was waaaay more than I liked), and provide something. But, I could get by, uptown hustling, if you get me. Now, I'm in a eight to four, in a town that, despite having grown up here, I don't know at all, and which I don't (nor have I ever) felt a part of, everyone of my other friends that I went to school with seem to be moving up, whether legally or illegally, and.....my brain hurts. I just can't seem to hack it, and its really beginning to piss me off now.
Bleagh. Going to bed now.
More as it develops.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
A moment of Truth
This is hard.
Mhm.
It is. It really is.
I can't skimp where writing is concerned, and if I don't think its quality (for me at least, lemme not appear too full of myself, its still early in the game), then I won't present it, give it in, let it go until I think its, if not right (and that rarely ever happens), then at least acceptable, if not workable, and more than sufficient to the task, or to my purpose in writing in the first place.
The same goes for this blog. While no one's reading it, they might some day, and in that instance, I wouldn't want the person to be met with the same plain fare that clogs so many other blogs, but which many seem to seek out with such gusto, and then scarf by the tonload. I want to be a writer, and I want to write for many reasons, not the least of which I want to entertain with my writing, tell enjoyable stories, and provide (If I'm any good at all), some food for thought, or at least a pleasant afternoon's entertainment. I also, however, want to maintain a certain level of quality while I'm doing so. Since, not to toot my own horn (oh what the hell, I think it anyway), but, I believe that I could write some derivative crap based on what's popular now (sex, death, Harry Potter?) and be financially viable doing so, if not achieve best seller status if I keep it up long enough (yes, I've read some 'bestsellers' in my time. Oh boy.) But that would be breaking the unspoken code that exists between every reader, and their writer of choice.
Know what that is. It is to be true.
Its that simple.
Every writer has an unspoken obligation to everyone that spends their money, goes to a library or even just goes to a friends house and picks up their book, to be true to them. Now, I'm not talking about some high flown moral code, a literary Hippocratic oath, or anything of the sort. Neither am I saying that the (fiction) writer shouldn't bullshit their readers (a fiction writer's stock in trade is finely crafted, exquisite, world class bullshit, with the occasional life lesson thrown in). I'm saying neither of those things.
What I am saying is, a writer should be true to their reader, the best way they know how and as much as they can, given the situation. That's it. It's a simple concept (I think), but one that is disregarded out of hand, almost as a matter of fact these days.
Lemme explain.
Only say what you really, truly, deep down have a burning desire to say. If its fiction, and its a job for you, then you shouldn't be doing it. That's my thing. Fiction writing, in the very least, shouldn't be a job. It shouldn't feel like work. No matter how hard it is, sitting down day after day and grinding oneself down, waiting for the muse to come and perch on your head and deliver his moment of inspiration (yes, mine is a man. What?), at the end of it, it should be exhilarating, uplifting, a moment of such....transcendence, that it makes the other hours of erasures, changes, swearing and frustration all worth it. If it doesn't feel like that, or that doesn't even enter the picture, its only a nine - to - five for you, then maybe you should think of trying your hand at something else. For the sake of your readers, hmmm? How about it. Spare their (hopefully, after years of reading your writing) delicate sensibilities and already jaded sense of perception. Give them the chance to experience something real, in this slick, pre-packaged, one size fits all, two to a pack but you can get five for a buck world.
Please.
I've come so far off track, but I said all of that to say this. Blogging, as I see it should be done, with a healthy serving of truth in every post, is hard to do. Whilst a lot of things run through my mind everyday, I don't think that they're all worthy to come home and shoot out into the world on a moments notice. I don't feel like adding my mental garbage to the intellectual garbage heap that is the internet, and I make no apology for that statement. None. If I'm gonna say something (to the readers I hope to have one day), then I intend for it to be of a quality or calibre equal to what I would want out of a good blog post, in the very least. This is fair, and more than reasonable.
So, this is hard. I'll only be here to update this thing when I feel I have something worthwhile to say, and share with my so far, insubstantial readership. That is all. I think its a healthy view to take with writing in general. Even if one isn't passionate about the subject, at least, in the very least, try and be true.
What that means, however, is different for every writer out there, and for all of us that are trying to join their hallowed ranks.
For me, this is what it means.
More as it develops.
Mhm.
It is. It really is.
I can't skimp where writing is concerned, and if I don't think its quality (for me at least, lemme not appear too full of myself, its still early in the game), then I won't present it, give it in, let it go until I think its, if not right (and that rarely ever happens), then at least acceptable, if not workable, and more than sufficient to the task, or to my purpose in writing in the first place.
The same goes for this blog. While no one's reading it, they might some day, and in that instance, I wouldn't want the person to be met with the same plain fare that clogs so many other blogs, but which many seem to seek out with such gusto, and then scarf by the tonload. I want to be a writer, and I want to write for many reasons, not the least of which I want to entertain with my writing, tell enjoyable stories, and provide (If I'm any good at all), some food for thought, or at least a pleasant afternoon's entertainment. I also, however, want to maintain a certain level of quality while I'm doing so. Since, not to toot my own horn (oh what the hell, I think it anyway), but, I believe that I could write some derivative crap based on what's popular now (sex, death, Harry Potter?) and be financially viable doing so, if not achieve best seller status if I keep it up long enough (yes, I've read some 'bestsellers' in my time. Oh boy.) But that would be breaking the unspoken code that exists between every reader, and their writer of choice.
Know what that is. It is to be true.
Its that simple.
Every writer has an unspoken obligation to everyone that spends their money, goes to a library or even just goes to a friends house and picks up their book, to be true to them. Now, I'm not talking about some high flown moral code, a literary Hippocratic oath, or anything of the sort. Neither am I saying that the (fiction) writer shouldn't bullshit their readers (a fiction writer's stock in trade is finely crafted, exquisite, world class bullshit, with the occasional life lesson thrown in). I'm saying neither of those things.
What I am saying is, a writer should be true to their reader, the best way they know how and as much as they can, given the situation. That's it. It's a simple concept (I think), but one that is disregarded out of hand, almost as a matter of fact these days.
Lemme explain.
Only say what you really, truly, deep down have a burning desire to say. If its fiction, and its a job for you, then you shouldn't be doing it. That's my thing. Fiction writing, in the very least, shouldn't be a job. It shouldn't feel like work. No matter how hard it is, sitting down day after day and grinding oneself down, waiting for the muse to come and perch on your head and deliver his moment of inspiration (yes, mine is a man. What?), at the end of it, it should be exhilarating, uplifting, a moment of such....transcendence, that it makes the other hours of erasures, changes, swearing and frustration all worth it. If it doesn't feel like that, or that doesn't even enter the picture, its only a nine - to - five for you, then maybe you should think of trying your hand at something else. For the sake of your readers, hmmm? How about it. Spare their (hopefully, after years of reading your writing) delicate sensibilities and already jaded sense of perception. Give them the chance to experience something real, in this slick, pre-packaged, one size fits all, two to a pack but you can get five for a buck world.
Please.
I've come so far off track, but I said all of that to say this. Blogging, as I see it should be done, with a healthy serving of truth in every post, is hard to do. Whilst a lot of things run through my mind everyday, I don't think that they're all worthy to come home and shoot out into the world on a moments notice. I don't feel like adding my mental garbage to the intellectual garbage heap that is the internet, and I make no apology for that statement. None. If I'm gonna say something (to the readers I hope to have one day), then I intend for it to be of a quality or calibre equal to what I would want out of a good blog post, in the very least. This is fair, and more than reasonable.
So, this is hard. I'll only be here to update this thing when I feel I have something worthwhile to say, and share with my so far, insubstantial readership. That is all. I think its a healthy view to take with writing in general. Even if one isn't passionate about the subject, at least, in the very least, try and be true.
What that means, however, is different for every writer out there, and for all of us that are trying to join their hallowed ranks.
For me, this is what it means.
More as it develops.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Rainy Day Musings
Today was a rainy day at work. Its October in Jamaica, so what else is new? I sat and looked through the sliding windows at the front of the school as the uniformed students went about their business with more than the usual haste, in their (ineffectual) efforts to avoid the rain. I listened as the chattered to each other, letting the waves of youthful energy wash over me as I relaxed in a contemplative moment. Then I heard one of them ask another if he wasn't going to 'forward back', and it struck me, 'when did such an oxymoron become, not only slang, but in certain places, accepted language (which means its also spoken by adults. Whether or not this really makes it accepted language is not the point, but I consider the english spoken by adults to be the accepted form). This got me thinking about slang, its current incarnation, and just what do these changes mean for our (Jamaican) society as a whole?
To cut a long story short, the creators and main drivers of the words and word combinations that become the slang of the moment are the 'artistes', meaning the deejays. These are the Jamaican versions of rappers and rockstars (even though I think that they're mostly like rappers, they're only a few of them that can qualify as rockstars, IMO (there we go again, don't you just hate that?)), and as such, are the idols of a majority of the younger and young adult generation. They live the 'ghetto life' and then proceed to sing about it, making enough in the process to successfully leave the ghetto, that being the original intent of the many, only to turn around and then (at least in a lyrical sense, physically is another matter) never leave it, making hit after hit about the struggle, chanting down babylon (and if you don't know what that means, then you're clearly not as big on Jamaica as you'd like to believe) and fighting against the amorphous and ubiquitous man/establishment/them, whatever your word is for it.
Oh yeah, also 'bad mind'. That's a big topic as well. Read: haterz. That's the biggest topic in fact, as far as I can see...but back to what I was talking about originally...which was what again...*looks up post* ah.
So back to 'forward back'. To 'forward' means to come, or to go to. It's current incarnation, as the replacement for 'come', is because the aforementioned word sounds too much like 'cum', its phonetic twin. Due to this, it is not used by the younger generation, as the reaction to its use is usually 'my yout, wha yuh ah talk bout' cum, clean up your language, clean up your speech' (that whole 'clean up your language', or 'put some clothes on that speech' is a matter for another day entirely...!), read: 'why're you talking about cumming, now now, be more decent in your language usage' or somesuch. I don't quite remember where this originated, but it has become rooted in our daily language, to the point where I hear adults using it all the time. This distresses me on several fronts. Why, you may ask?
Hmmm.
Let's see: the rules of the english language may be contravened almost without thought by the popularity of a dj's song, hype and the force and energy of the young? A word that for years had no negative connotations WHATSOEVER until, due to its becoming associated with a sexual act and a lyrical gimmick, is now a pariah, an outcast, shunned by its regular and longtime users, once legion, now in a steadily dwindling majority? It's exile, however, only being one among many words that are now not used at all by the younger generation, all because of their drummed up sexual connotation, in a myriad of ways? Words, that with the loss of each one, is one less word that the members of this new generation will be able to use with ease and skill, much less alacrity, when the time that their (easy and comfortable) usage 'comes'.
In another instant, Bounty Killa (my dj, lemme just get that out of the way, to hell with all you Beenie Man fans... :) ), on primetime tv, declared that 'I are the one.'
Mmhmmm.
That has since become the standard use of those two words, in a lighthearted manner, to be sure (by most of its users, anyway), but without their knowledge that, with each use, they come that much closer to using that combination in the wrong setting, at the wrong time, and without thought (practice makes perfect, and all that).
Am I obsessing over something that I shouldn't be, I mean, am I making a mountain out of a few grains of dust? Sometimes I wonder......but then I think that language is also a dictator of thought, the one determines the other, around and around in an endless cycle that determines the level of our thought, and the structure of our language. Then I think, 'why is sex such a constant occupier of our thought processes', and not just sex, but sex in a crass, cheap light? Something that should never be held in a careless or 'light' light, is being bandied about as the butt of jokes, careless remarks, and is the focus of so much of the interaction amongst the younger generation in our schools and on our roads. What does THIS say for our society as a whole, and its future?
I don't quite know, but I can say that I think that it ain't good, not by a long shot. Is this the level of thought that we want to encourage amongst the future leaders and overseers of our country, the one's that will take care of us in our old age, and decide the policy and direction of our children, and their children? What will they grow up to see and do, and hear as they go about their business of living, and how will this affect them, their thoughts, feelings and opinions, and so on and so forth, ad infinitum?
Everything is generational and cultural, but it still hurts to think about it sometimes.
Wow, I started out talking about slang, and look where I ended up, eh? I wonder if I'm overreacting to this whole thing......
Hmmm.
I dunno, but I do know this. The prevalence of late, of Jamaican students and kids posting sexual acts on the net (underage kids, a lot of them) has blossomed, so much so that there have been quite a few scandals in the past few months, some involving the children of certain highly regarded, upstanding members of our society. Whilst not the only factor (not by a long shot), what I spoke about up post has had no impact on this trend (among others)?
No connection?
Think about it, and come to your own conclusions.
More as it develops.
To cut a long story short, the creators and main drivers of the words and word combinations that become the slang of the moment are the 'artistes', meaning the deejays. These are the Jamaican versions of rappers and rockstars (even though I think that they're mostly like rappers, they're only a few of them that can qualify as rockstars, IMO (there we go again, don't you just hate that?)), and as such, are the idols of a majority of the younger and young adult generation. They live the 'ghetto life' and then proceed to sing about it, making enough in the process to successfully leave the ghetto, that being the original intent of the many, only to turn around and then (at least in a lyrical sense, physically is another matter) never leave it, making hit after hit about the struggle, chanting down babylon (and if you don't know what that means, then you're clearly not as big on Jamaica as you'd like to believe) and fighting against the amorphous and ubiquitous man/establishment/them, whatever your word is for it.
Oh yeah, also 'bad mind'. That's a big topic as well. Read: haterz. That's the biggest topic in fact, as far as I can see...but back to what I was talking about originally...which was what again...*looks up post* ah.
So back to 'forward back'. To 'forward' means to come, or to go to. It's current incarnation, as the replacement for 'come', is because the aforementioned word sounds too much like 'cum', its phonetic twin. Due to this, it is not used by the younger generation, as the reaction to its use is usually 'my yout, wha yuh ah talk bout' cum, clean up your language, clean up your speech' (that whole 'clean up your language', or 'put some clothes on that speech' is a matter for another day entirely...!), read: 'why're you talking about cumming, now now, be more decent in your language usage' or somesuch. I don't quite remember where this originated, but it has become rooted in our daily language, to the point where I hear adults using it all the time. This distresses me on several fronts. Why, you may ask?
Hmmm.
Let's see: the rules of the english language may be contravened almost without thought by the popularity of a dj's song, hype and the force and energy of the young? A word that for years had no negative connotations WHATSOEVER until, due to its becoming associated with a sexual act and a lyrical gimmick, is now a pariah, an outcast, shunned by its regular and longtime users, once legion, now in a steadily dwindling majority? It's exile, however, only being one among many words that are now not used at all by the younger generation, all because of their drummed up sexual connotation, in a myriad of ways? Words, that with the loss of each one, is one less word that the members of this new generation will be able to use with ease and skill, much less alacrity, when the time that their (easy and comfortable) usage 'comes'.
In another instant, Bounty Killa (my dj, lemme just get that out of the way, to hell with all you Beenie Man fans... :) ), on primetime tv, declared that 'I are the one.'
Mmhmmm.
That has since become the standard use of those two words, in a lighthearted manner, to be sure (by most of its users, anyway), but without their knowledge that, with each use, they come that much closer to using that combination in the wrong setting, at the wrong time, and without thought (practice makes perfect, and all that).
Am I obsessing over something that I shouldn't be, I mean, am I making a mountain out of a few grains of dust? Sometimes I wonder......but then I think that language is also a dictator of thought, the one determines the other, around and around in an endless cycle that determines the level of our thought, and the structure of our language. Then I think, 'why is sex such a constant occupier of our thought processes', and not just sex, but sex in a crass, cheap light? Something that should never be held in a careless or 'light' light, is being bandied about as the butt of jokes, careless remarks, and is the focus of so much of the interaction amongst the younger generation in our schools and on our roads. What does THIS say for our society as a whole, and its future?
I don't quite know, but I can say that I think that it ain't good, not by a long shot. Is this the level of thought that we want to encourage amongst the future leaders and overseers of our country, the one's that will take care of us in our old age, and decide the policy and direction of our children, and their children? What will they grow up to see and do, and hear as they go about their business of living, and how will this affect them, their thoughts, feelings and opinions, and so on and so forth, ad infinitum?
Everything is generational and cultural, but it still hurts to think about it sometimes.
Wow, I started out talking about slang, and look where I ended up, eh? I wonder if I'm overreacting to this whole thing......
Hmmm.
I dunno, but I do know this. The prevalence of late, of Jamaican students and kids posting sexual acts on the net (underage kids, a lot of them) has blossomed, so much so that there have been quite a few scandals in the past few months, some involving the children of certain highly regarded, upstanding members of our society. Whilst not the only factor (not by a long shot), what I spoke about up post has had no impact on this trend (among others)?
No connection?
Think about it, and come to your own conclusions.
More as it develops.
Monday, October 8, 2007
"....and we're back on the air, this is Quitters Anonymous...."
Hey.
What's up? You been good?...mhm...mhm...ok.
Good to hear.
Me, I've been good. On my fifteenth day without a cigarette (did I mention that I was quitting smoking? Did I mention that I smoke...? Hm.), and I feel great. Boy, I sit sometimes and wonder what could be so powerful to compel you to use something that, within twenty-four to thirty six hours of stopping its use, you feel lighter, breathe easier, the aches and pains that you'd grown so accustomed to goes away, and you feel like a new person with a new lease on existence.
Then I remember the shakes, twitchiness, irritability, manic mood swings, and the constant, niggling desire to light up and keep poisoning yourself, and I go 'Ah, that's why.'
*Rick James voice* "Nicotine is a helluva drug."
Anyway.
Quitting isn't easy (and the award for 'Understatement of the year goes to...'), but the key is having a plan and sticking to it. Me? I've come up with a system that works for me, and I'll share it with you, in exchange for a few minutes, an open mind, and the belief that you too can quit.
If you don't smoke, then good. Don't. Nasty, disgusting, life ending habit, and if I ever see you with a cigarette, I'll hit you so hard your parents and your grandkids will feel it.
As to my syestem, well...I don't eat as much, so that I'm always a little hungry, and that helps take the edge of the want, and it also eliminates the 'oh so full' feeling, which is a HUGE trigger for the 'just eaten' cigarette. I exercise, which actually does help as well to take the edge off as well, and produces endorphins, which are a great replacement for the nicotine buzz, lemme tell you. I stay away from (or minimize my physical time, in the interim, till my will power is up to scratch) my friends who smoke, and try to regulate and regularize my routine. These are two powerful triggers, as smoking is largely a learned activity, and an immensely social one. Also, having too much time on your hands makes for too much time to think about how you'd love a cigarette.
Stay focused, it can be done. Make up your mind and do it.
The next step, as far as I am concerned (when was the last time you saw that, and not AFAIC, eh?) is to train yourself to resist that IMMEDIATE urge, the second you feel stressed, pressured, tired, or your mental hold slips ('cause you're gonna have to keep that mental hold strong, there's no pill that'll make you quit, they're just 'assistants', or, as I like to think of them, crutches) to go out and get a cancer stick and light it up.
It can be done, stay with me now.
Really, this is the killer. I've 'stepped' outside myself, and watched myself get up, put on clothes, root up some spare change, walk out to the town proper, and get some singles, walk back, sit down on my verandah and light up, the whole time thinking 'I don't want to do this, but why can't I stop', at anytime between ten o'clock and one o'clock in the morning, on any given night (day or time for that matter) that the urge has struck me, and I didn't have any. I'll be going good, maintaining, keeping busy, doing my thing, and then a little voice and a push that says 'go have one, you know you want to' comes along, and I shrug and go 'ok, the hell you were waiting on, let's go!' and off I go, whilst inside I'm shouting 'Stop!' every step of the way.
It's not nice to feel like you don't have control of yourself or your mind. It's the ultimate feeling of powerlessness, and it can UTTERLY break your spirit, if you let it. So, you look out for it, and nip it in the bud when it comes. Me, I just tell myself 'I've quit, I don't do that anymore!' over and over, whilst I stand there and fight a short but dirty mental scuffle with my fiending nerve endings, shake it off when it goes away (when I win, that is. When I lose...well) and keep going. I used to say that 'No, I'm trying to quit', but this is a fallacy (defined: A fallacy is an argument which seems to be correct but which contains at least one error and, as a consequence, produces a final statement which is clearly wrong. Though it is clear that the result is wrong, the error in the argument is usually (and ought to be) difficult to find...). Say it with me now, its very simple.
Ready? Here goes.
You're not trying. You've either quit, or you haven't. NO TWO WAYS ABOUT IT.
It can be done. Stay focused.
Finally, I treat the feeling of emptiness, of loss and sadness at having lost something so essential to my existence ('Nicotine is a helluva drug') by remembering my bad breath, my wife-to-be complaining about my mouth tasting like an ashtray, black lungs, smokers in cancer wards on respirators, being incapacitated and having to lug such a respirator around, the damage I'm doing to the environment with each cigarette, the fact that somewhere big tobacco is laughing all the way to the bank (and hell), cashing in on my suffering and desire to be cool, feel calm, relax and enjoy this thing that shortens my life with every breath I take. I think of all those things, but mostly I think about dying and leaving my wife and children (when we have them) for as stupid a reason as not being able to control myself, exert my will (the single most underused aspect of an individual's psyche in today's society, IMO (there you go!)), and STOP KILLING MYSELF SLOWLY.
Stay with me, it can be done. Just keep your head in the game.
I think about those things, and I smile, and say to myself 'sure, something's going to kill me someday, BUT NOTHING THAT I CAN CONTROL!'
That's what I do. Fifteen days and going. Two months personal best. *breathes deep* Let's see what I can do about extending that, shall we?
More as it develops.
What's up? You been good?...mhm...mhm...ok.
Good to hear.
Me, I've been good. On my fifteenth day without a cigarette (did I mention that I was quitting smoking? Did I mention that I smoke...? Hm.), and I feel great. Boy, I sit sometimes and wonder what could be so powerful to compel you to use something that, within twenty-four to thirty six hours of stopping its use, you feel lighter, breathe easier, the aches and pains that you'd grown so accustomed to goes away, and you feel like a new person with a new lease on existence.
Then I remember the shakes, twitchiness, irritability, manic mood swings, and the constant, niggling desire to light up and keep poisoning yourself, and I go 'Ah, that's why.'
*Rick James voice* "Nicotine is a helluva drug."
Anyway.
Quitting isn't easy (and the award for 'Understatement of the year goes to...'), but the key is having a plan and sticking to it. Me? I've come up with a system that works for me, and I'll share it with you, in exchange for a few minutes, an open mind, and the belief that you too can quit.
If you don't smoke, then good. Don't. Nasty, disgusting, life ending habit, and if I ever see you with a cigarette, I'll hit you so hard your parents and your grandkids will feel it.
As to my syestem, well...I don't eat as much, so that I'm always a little hungry, and that helps take the edge of the want, and it also eliminates the 'oh so full' feeling, which is a HUGE trigger for the 'just eaten' cigarette. I exercise, which actually does help as well to take the edge off as well, and produces endorphins, which are a great replacement for the nicotine buzz, lemme tell you. I stay away from (or minimize my physical time, in the interim, till my will power is up to scratch) my friends who smoke, and try to regulate and regularize my routine. These are two powerful triggers, as smoking is largely a learned activity, and an immensely social one. Also, having too much time on your hands makes for too much time to think about how you'd love a cigarette.
Stay focused, it can be done. Make up your mind and do it.
The next step, as far as I am concerned (when was the last time you saw that, and not AFAIC, eh?) is to train yourself to resist that IMMEDIATE urge, the second you feel stressed, pressured, tired, or your mental hold slips ('cause you're gonna have to keep that mental hold strong, there's no pill that'll make you quit, they're just 'assistants', or, as I like to think of them, crutches) to go out and get a cancer stick and light it up.
It can be done, stay with me now.
Really, this is the killer. I've 'stepped' outside myself, and watched myself get up, put on clothes, root up some spare change, walk out to the town proper, and get some singles, walk back, sit down on my verandah and light up, the whole time thinking 'I don't want to do this, but why can't I stop', at anytime between ten o'clock and one o'clock in the morning, on any given night (day or time for that matter) that the urge has struck me, and I didn't have any. I'll be going good, maintaining, keeping busy, doing my thing, and then a little voice and a push that says 'go have one, you know you want to' comes along, and I shrug and go 'ok, the hell you were waiting on, let's go!' and off I go, whilst inside I'm shouting 'Stop!' every step of the way.
It's not nice to feel like you don't have control of yourself or your mind. It's the ultimate feeling of powerlessness, and it can UTTERLY break your spirit, if you let it. So, you look out for it, and nip it in the bud when it comes. Me, I just tell myself 'I've quit, I don't do that anymore!' over and over, whilst I stand there and fight a short but dirty mental scuffle with my fiending nerve endings, shake it off when it goes away (when I win, that is. When I lose...well) and keep going. I used to say that 'No, I'm trying to quit', but this is a fallacy (defined: A fallacy is an argument which seems to be correct but which contains at least one error and, as a consequence, produces a final statement which is clearly wrong. Though it is clear that the result is wrong, the error in the argument is usually (and ought to be) difficult to find...). Say it with me now, its very simple.
Ready? Here goes.
You're not trying. You've either quit, or you haven't. NO TWO WAYS ABOUT IT.
It can be done. Stay focused.
Finally, I treat the feeling of emptiness, of loss and sadness at having lost something so essential to my existence ('Nicotine is a helluva drug') by remembering my bad breath, my wife-to-be complaining about my mouth tasting like an ashtray, black lungs, smokers in cancer wards on respirators, being incapacitated and having to lug such a respirator around, the damage I'm doing to the environment with each cigarette, the fact that somewhere big tobacco is laughing all the way to the bank (and hell), cashing in on my suffering and desire to be cool, feel calm, relax and enjoy this thing that shortens my life with every breath I take. I think of all those things, but mostly I think about dying and leaving my wife and children (when we have them) for as stupid a reason as not being able to control myself, exert my will (the single most underused aspect of an individual's psyche in today's society, IMO (there you go!)), and STOP KILLING MYSELF SLOWLY.
Stay with me, it can be done. Just keep your head in the game.
I think about those things, and I smile, and say to myself 'sure, something's going to kill me someday, BUT NOTHING THAT I CAN CONTROL!'
That's what I do. Fifteen days and going. Two months personal best. *breathes deep* Let's see what I can do about extending that, shall we?
More as it develops.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Children at Play
So, one day in last year I was walking home from an 'institution' (I won't call it a school, more like a fly by night organization, designed around fooling rich parents into feeling that they're providing their kids with the education they didn't receive when they had the chance in college, which further makes me wonder how I ended up there, but anyway) that I was attending at the time (but not for much longer), depressed as I was for most of that period (which lasted for years), when I noticed that I was passing a daycare center, and there were some children at play on those things that stick in the ground, and they can hold on to it, and run around, or ride on it (don't know the name of it...). There was a white kid, a black kid, an indian, chinese (you wonder how I can tell just by looking, well, come to Jamaica and find out :D) just a bunch of different nationalities all playing together on this thing, with several others playing in the background.
I stood up there watching them, and I had an epiphany (late as usual). I realized that all of our prejudices, our biases and racial snobberies are learned. All of it. This came as quite a shock, but in that instant it made perfect sense. I was seeing it right in front of me. All these different children, none of them recognizing ANYTHING in the other children excepting their status as fellow children, and hence their status as equals, and playmates, with no restraint or complications. I watched as a muslim child chased what looked like a chinese girl and a dark skinned boy, falling over them and laughing. I was suddenly, immensely and not surprisingly (gah, Stephen King would have a fit at that phrase) sad. All the light and colour went out of the scene I was watching, and I had to leave, or I would have stood up there and cried. I went on my way, my heart that much heavier.
Why, you ask? Think about it. In a few years, they will be old enough to begin to recognize and assimilate all the unkind things that their parents and older friends/siblings say about people of different ethnicities. They will begin to think about these things, and more often than not they will accept them (children are sponges, and they soak up everything they see, here and interact with, especially from and with those they consider important, such as family members and friends, and people that they are aware that the family members acknowledge and hold in esteem, all of this being done subconsciously, of course), and they will begin to color their perception of the world and the people they know and come into contact with everyday. They will begin to see them as not equals, but as they are represented to them, by the aforementioned individuals, as well as their society at large. They will begin to fit them into the molds that we all know, and this will forever change their relationships with these people. They will begin to judge them before they even know them, and this would have been just one more symptom of the end of their innocence, and the world at large will quietly have lost another battle with all that is wrong with it.
*sigh*
So I just kept walking, and as I walked I looked at the people in their cars, and the people on the roadside, and I peered into stores, shops, and all the other buildings I passed on the way home (it's a good little walk, trust me) and I wondered about all these people. I wondered if any of them were aware of what they'd lost, all without their knowledge or consent. Hell, I'd lost it long ago, and I think I was relatively well aware of its passing (or would like to delude myself that I was), and I still couldn't do jack about it. It starts small, and no one really notices it, but one day you're talking about someone, and you make a joke where the person's ethnicity is the butt of the joke, or maybe its just a rude or sly comment, and that's it. No one flinches, as you're simply stating what those around you are already thinking (as this is what they were socialized to think as well), or, if they do, you probably refrain from saying whatever it was around them again (but you don't stop thinking it). Either way, you are well on your way to being a closet racist.
Oh, I'm sorry, didn't hear what I said?
Let me repeat that. You are a closet racist. All of you (me included). Its natural, it happens to us all, and it cannot be helped. Lemme explain, however, before I'm lynched (and wouldn't that be the heights of irony.......or maybe it would be the depths...?), what exactly it is that I mean. We all have preformed notions of what someone from our ethnicity, or from others, will be like (and if you deny that, then you have your own issues to deal with, there). Black people are lazy, Indians always are looking for/offering a bargain, White people are arrogant, snotty, ignorant assholes, so on and so forth (I mean to insult no one, just using them as illustrations, but I'm probably gonna get in trouble anyway, more's the pity). We all have different versions of these things floating around in our heads, and they were put there in part by our own experiences with different members of these ethnicities, but in a greater part by the things we've absorbed over our lifetime, from our society and the media at large, and in our homes. This has been done to us, and we're gonna do it to our kids, and so on and so forth, and the cycle stretches to the horizon and beyond. It is a sad thing to think about, but it cannot be denied.
Why bring this up, you ask?
I don't know, I just felt like putting it down here, and getting it out of my system. I look at the world today, and I see this enormous mess of a playground filled with self-centered children, all of them squabbling over and amongst their little corners of the playground, hoarding their lunches and treats, possessing waaaay more food and toys than they could possibly use themselves, whilst most of the others are getting by on eating dirt (and the occasional worm), and having to share the same sets of sticks and rocks, looking on in envy and a kind of bitter hope, one that knows it will not be fulfilled, but exists anyway, as hoping is an essential, necessary and undeniable part of being a human being. They play at being grown ups, stomping around in shoes and clothes that are too big for them, aping the grown ups they know, using big words, but resorting to tantrums and fist fights, stone throwing (and more serious measure still) at the least provocation. They appoint 'yes men' to a 'council' that seems to meet solely to hear the sounds of their own voices, smile for their teachers, and waste each other's and their respective corners of the playground's time and money convincing each other how effective they are, and just how good a job they're doing maintaining and managing the playground, while it becomes dirtier and more disorganized and inhospitable with each passing day.
*sigh*
I find it hard to hope when I think of that playground, the one that the world is today, and I think of the playground that we all started out on, and then I think of the fact that we've been here for thousands of years, and in all this time we have simply been unable to get this right? I find it hard to hope, when I think about this world, in that light.
...but I hope nonetheless.
What the **** else am I supposed to do?
"Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion, simultaneously the source of your greatest strength, and your greatest weakness." - The Architect, The Matrix Reloaded.
Waiting on the World to Change - John Mayer, Continuum.
I stood up there watching them, and I had an epiphany (late as usual). I realized that all of our prejudices, our biases and racial snobberies are learned. All of it. This came as quite a shock, but in that instant it made perfect sense. I was seeing it right in front of me. All these different children, none of them recognizing ANYTHING in the other children excepting their status as fellow children, and hence their status as equals, and playmates, with no restraint or complications. I watched as a muslim child chased what looked like a chinese girl and a dark skinned boy, falling over them and laughing. I was suddenly, immensely and not surprisingly (gah, Stephen King would have a fit at that phrase) sad. All the light and colour went out of the scene I was watching, and I had to leave, or I would have stood up there and cried. I went on my way, my heart that much heavier.
Why, you ask? Think about it. In a few years, they will be old enough to begin to recognize and assimilate all the unkind things that their parents and older friends/siblings say about people of different ethnicities. They will begin to think about these things, and more often than not they will accept them (children are sponges, and they soak up everything they see, here and interact with, especially from and with those they consider important, such as family members and friends, and people that they are aware that the family members acknowledge and hold in esteem, all of this being done subconsciously, of course), and they will begin to color their perception of the world and the people they know and come into contact with everyday. They will begin to see them as not equals, but as they are represented to them, by the aforementioned individuals, as well as their society at large. They will begin to fit them into the molds that we all know, and this will forever change their relationships with these people. They will begin to judge them before they even know them, and this would have been just one more symptom of the end of their innocence, and the world at large will quietly have lost another battle with all that is wrong with it.
*sigh*
So I just kept walking, and as I walked I looked at the people in their cars, and the people on the roadside, and I peered into stores, shops, and all the other buildings I passed on the way home (it's a good little walk, trust me) and I wondered about all these people. I wondered if any of them were aware of what they'd lost, all without their knowledge or consent. Hell, I'd lost it long ago, and I think I was relatively well aware of its passing (or would like to delude myself that I was), and I still couldn't do jack about it. It starts small, and no one really notices it, but one day you're talking about someone, and you make a joke where the person's ethnicity is the butt of the joke, or maybe its just a rude or sly comment, and that's it. No one flinches, as you're simply stating what those around you are already thinking (as this is what they were socialized to think as well), or, if they do, you probably refrain from saying whatever it was around them again (but you don't stop thinking it). Either way, you are well on your way to being a closet racist.
Oh, I'm sorry, didn't hear what I said?
Let me repeat that. You are a closet racist. All of you (me included). Its natural, it happens to us all, and it cannot be helped. Lemme explain, however, before I'm lynched (and wouldn't that be the heights of irony.......or maybe it would be the depths...?), what exactly it is that I mean. We all have preformed notions of what someone from our ethnicity, or from others, will be like (and if you deny that, then you have your own issues to deal with, there). Black people are lazy, Indians always are looking for/offering a bargain, White people are arrogant, snotty, ignorant assholes, so on and so forth (I mean to insult no one, just using them as illustrations, but I'm probably gonna get in trouble anyway, more's the pity). We all have different versions of these things floating around in our heads, and they were put there in part by our own experiences with different members of these ethnicities, but in a greater part by the things we've absorbed over our lifetime, from our society and the media at large, and in our homes. This has been done to us, and we're gonna do it to our kids, and so on and so forth, and the cycle stretches to the horizon and beyond. It is a sad thing to think about, but it cannot be denied.
Why bring this up, you ask?
I don't know, I just felt like putting it down here, and getting it out of my system. I look at the world today, and I see this enormous mess of a playground filled with self-centered children, all of them squabbling over and amongst their little corners of the playground, hoarding their lunches and treats, possessing waaaay more food and toys than they could possibly use themselves, whilst most of the others are getting by on eating dirt (and the occasional worm), and having to share the same sets of sticks and rocks, looking on in envy and a kind of bitter hope, one that knows it will not be fulfilled, but exists anyway, as hoping is an essential, necessary and undeniable part of being a human being. They play at being grown ups, stomping around in shoes and clothes that are too big for them, aping the grown ups they know, using big words, but resorting to tantrums and fist fights, stone throwing (and more serious measure still) at the least provocation. They appoint 'yes men' to a 'council' that seems to meet solely to hear the sounds of their own voices, smile for their teachers, and waste each other's and their respective corners of the playground's time and money convincing each other how effective they are, and just how good a job they're doing maintaining and managing the playground, while it becomes dirtier and more disorganized and inhospitable with each passing day.
*sigh*
I find it hard to hope when I think of that playground, the one that the world is today, and I think of the playground that we all started out on, and then I think of the fact that we've been here for thousands of years, and in all this time we have simply been unable to get this right? I find it hard to hope, when I think about this world, in that light.
...but I hope nonetheless.
What the **** else am I supposed to do?
"Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion, simultaneously the source of your greatest strength, and your greatest weakness." - The Architect, The Matrix Reloaded.
Waiting on the World to Change - John Mayer, Continuum.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
....and so it begins.
So it begins, I guess. Gah, god this font sucks, lemme fix that right off the bat.
Hmmm. Yeah, way better. So anyway, hi, hello, and welcome to the first installment of Blue Marble. This is my platform for my thoughts on all the things that I have rattling around inside my head, but never got around to saying/writing down/expressing. My interests range far and wide (most of which I don't spend enough time on, but that I intend to fix, oh yes), but before I get to that, lemme tell you a little something about myself.
I am a 26 year old between-schools student (and if you understand that, then well, how's limbo treating you?), who started out studying business (actually did economics and accounting for a while there, brrrr), but who discovered, or more like acknowledged a long time passion for literature and writing (surprise, surprise), and is now striving to be a writer (you knew that was coming, right?), whilst attempting to (find and) pursue a career that I actually like, while I try to get my writing off of the ground (or out of my mind and into the physical realm).
So anyway.
I live in Jamaica (the best place to live, mhm), and before it pops up, lemme clear some things up right now. I do not live on or near a beach, I am not related to Bob Marley (love his music, but no, I don't know all of his songs, and anyone that wishes to prove their superior knowledge of his music can go ahead and do so, I admit it freely) I have never smoked....um.....well, that's not true. Moving on. Yes, I speak patois (pronounced pat-wa), but I also speak the Queen's English fluently, and I do not appreciate being referred to as 'mon'. Do so and I will rip your tongue out and feed it to you.
Seriously.
Anyway.
So, yeah, I live in Jamaica, where the administration has recently changed, and of course I will be discussing this further in future installments. The incoming administration has made a bunch of promises (par for the course, I know) and It will be interesting to see if they can come good on even half of these things without taxing us to hell. *sigh* Interesting times are ahead. On the flip side of that, the outgoing administration has a lot of rebuilding to do, and how they handle this (because this was not simply an election loss, oh no, there were several flies in this porridge) will be a measure of their strength as a party and viable political entity on the Jamaican political landscape (one of two, I know, but hey, that's what we have to work with). I'll be chronicling the situation as I see it as time goes on, complete with my opinions, views, and anything else that wanders across my path that I feel to stick on here.
So, interests. I like Videogames.
Halo 3 came out *checks clock* last night, and I soooo want to play it. A good game is like playing a book. It takes you on a great ride, with the added incentive of interactivity. Whilst I usually keep this simile for use with RPG's, Halo deserves it. Good story (which, for me, is exceptional considering quality of story telling where shooters are concerned), exceptional graphics, spot on control, fun vehicles and 'smart' enemies, all of which equals a package that resulted in me having the most fun I've ever had playing a videogame, alone or with friends. The co-op mode was a godsend, and I hear that 3 pushes it to 4 players, and I'm not supposed to want it? Please, haters can kiss my you know where, I'm getting me that game (just as soon as the 360 becomes a teensy bit more affordable, though).
I like Literature in all its forms.
Currently reading A Storm of Swords, and I cannot get enough of this. Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm behind, but that's me, I enjoy things in my own time, when all the hype has died down, I don't like being swept up, one can get carried away that way. Neway. I had always had A Game of Thrones, by George R. R. Martin, in and around my house ('borrowed' it from a friend of mine a few years back, never did get around to reading it), and my sister read it ( I have two bigger sisters, one's a manager at the Jamaican branch of one of the big four accounting firms in the world, as well as a certified internal and external auditor, or she will be as soon as her exams are done, the other a doctor and mother of an adorable baby girl, and if anyone reading this just figured out who I was, well whoop di doo for you) just before her firm sent her to America to work for a while. When she came back on one of her breaks, she brought the other two books in the series (as well as the dune prequels among others, and man, did those suck). So these books were sitting around in my room for a while, until one day I said to myself that I couldn't allow a book to intimidate me (if you've seen A Game of Thrones in paperback, then you might know what I'm talking about). So I started it, and here I am, just starting the third book, and I cannot get enough of it. This is a Historical Fantasy world at war. Low magic, excellent dialogue (man, can he write dialogue, internal and external), memorable characters, and a humongous backdrop (I imagine him having charts to keep track of his ever expanding cast).
On another literary note, my condolences to the family of Robert Jordan. I had heard that he had been ailing for a while, and I was saddened by the news of his death. Every time a human being dies, it is a time to be sad. Despite how he lived his life, the fact that that life is now over should be reason to pause in memory. All that potential is now lost and can never be regained. Think about that. Think about losing all of your tomorrows. That is a reason for sorrow, in my book (excepting specific circumstances concerning specific people, which I'm sure, wrong or right, we can all relate to).
I keep track of Current Events. Dun Dun Duun!!! (sorry, it just seemed appropriate).
I haven't been paying much attention to the U.S. elections, but as they draw nearer and nearer, I will have to turn my attentions to them, as being a caribbean country, the current political climate in the States is of more than a passing interest. When America sneezes, Jamaica (or insert caribbean island name here) catches a cold, I think is the saying. So. I will be weighing in on the proceedings as they go on, respectfully offering up my two cents. The visit by Mahmoud Ahmadinejad sparked some controversy, to say the least, as well as the fact of the UN started up yesterday (and a hip and a hoot for those useless bastards, bleagh), so the the international relations scene will be heating up (when does it ever take a break, really), and I will...by now you get the picture.
I'm interested in relationships. My friends all live some very, very interesting lives, and I've learnt more from watching them than from anything else (including personal experience, being a (mostly) cured recluse and house rat, who miraculously worked up the courage to pursue a girl that his best man to be introduced him to, and now look, 5 years later we're getting married, go me. Oh yeah, I'm engaged. I didn't mention that...? Hm.), and I think that I should share these experiences with the world, if only that after all this time I need to tell them to SOMEBODY, and who better than the faceless masses of the internet. Y'all can keep a secret, right.
*grins*
Sure you can.
So, as you can see, my interests range far and wide (...pretty sure I've said that somewhere recently...anyway) (I really need to stop using that word, but anyway), and my posts here will reflect that. Whoever reads this, I hope that, in the least, if you don't find it informative (I don't promise that, not by a long shot), then you will at least be entertained for a few minutes, before having to return to whatever soul crushing grind it was that you came here seeking some refuge from. But hey, we live how we have to live, until we live like we want, eh?
At least that's my philosophy.
More as it develops.
Hmmm. Yeah, way better. So anyway, hi, hello, and welcome to the first installment of Blue Marble. This is my platform for my thoughts on all the things that I have rattling around inside my head, but never got around to saying/writing down/expressing. My interests range far and wide (most of which I don't spend enough time on, but that I intend to fix, oh yes), but before I get to that, lemme tell you a little something about myself.
I am a 26 year old between-schools student (and if you understand that, then well, how's limbo treating you?), who started out studying business (actually did economics and accounting for a while there, brrrr), but who discovered, or more like acknowledged a long time passion for literature and writing (surprise, surprise), and is now striving to be a writer (you knew that was coming, right?), whilst attempting to (find and) pursue a career that I actually like, while I try to get my writing off of the ground (or out of my mind and into the physical realm).
So anyway.
I live in Jamaica (the best place to live, mhm), and before it pops up, lemme clear some things up right now. I do not live on or near a beach, I am not related to Bob Marley (love his music, but no, I don't know all of his songs, and anyone that wishes to prove their superior knowledge of his music can go ahead and do so, I admit it freely) I have never smoked....um.....well, that's not true. Moving on. Yes, I speak patois (pronounced pat-wa), but I also speak the Queen's English fluently, and I do not appreciate being referred to as 'mon'. Do so and I will rip your tongue out and feed it to you.
Seriously.
Anyway.
So, yeah, I live in Jamaica, where the administration has recently changed, and of course I will be discussing this further in future installments. The incoming administration has made a bunch of promises (par for the course, I know) and It will be interesting to see if they can come good on even half of these things without taxing us to hell. *sigh* Interesting times are ahead. On the flip side of that, the outgoing administration has a lot of rebuilding to do, and how they handle this (because this was not simply an election loss, oh no, there were several flies in this porridge) will be a measure of their strength as a party and viable political entity on the Jamaican political landscape (one of two, I know, but hey, that's what we have to work with). I'll be chronicling the situation as I see it as time goes on, complete with my opinions, views, and anything else that wanders across my path that I feel to stick on here.
So, interests. I like Videogames.
Halo 3 came out *checks clock* last night, and I soooo want to play it. A good game is like playing a book. It takes you on a great ride, with the added incentive of interactivity. Whilst I usually keep this simile for use with RPG's, Halo deserves it. Good story (which, for me, is exceptional considering quality of story telling where shooters are concerned), exceptional graphics, spot on control, fun vehicles and 'smart' enemies, all of which equals a package that resulted in me having the most fun I've ever had playing a videogame, alone or with friends. The co-op mode was a godsend, and I hear that 3 pushes it to 4 players, and I'm not supposed to want it? Please, haters can kiss my you know where, I'm getting me that game (just as soon as the 360 becomes a teensy bit more affordable, though).
I like Literature in all its forms.
Currently reading A Storm of Swords, and I cannot get enough of this. Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm behind, but that's me, I enjoy things in my own time, when all the hype has died down, I don't like being swept up, one can get carried away that way. Neway. I had always had A Game of Thrones, by George R. R. Martin, in and around my house ('borrowed' it from a friend of mine a few years back, never did get around to reading it), and my sister read it ( I have two bigger sisters, one's a manager at the Jamaican branch of one of the big four accounting firms in the world, as well as a certified internal and external auditor, or she will be as soon as her exams are done, the other a doctor and mother of an adorable baby girl, and if anyone reading this just figured out who I was, well whoop di doo for you) just before her firm sent her to America to work for a while. When she came back on one of her breaks, she brought the other two books in the series (as well as the dune prequels among others, and man, did those suck). So these books were sitting around in my room for a while, until one day I said to myself that I couldn't allow a book to intimidate me (if you've seen A Game of Thrones in paperback, then you might know what I'm talking about). So I started it, and here I am, just starting the third book, and I cannot get enough of it. This is a Historical Fantasy world at war. Low magic, excellent dialogue (man, can he write dialogue, internal and external), memorable characters, and a humongous backdrop (I imagine him having charts to keep track of his ever expanding cast).
On another literary note, my condolences to the family of Robert Jordan. I had heard that he had been ailing for a while, and I was saddened by the news of his death. Every time a human being dies, it is a time to be sad. Despite how he lived his life, the fact that that life is now over should be reason to pause in memory. All that potential is now lost and can never be regained. Think about that. Think about losing all of your tomorrows. That is a reason for sorrow, in my book (excepting specific circumstances concerning specific people, which I'm sure, wrong or right, we can all relate to).
I keep track of Current Events. Dun Dun Duun!!! (sorry, it just seemed appropriate).
I haven't been paying much attention to the U.S. elections, but as they draw nearer and nearer, I will have to turn my attentions to them, as being a caribbean country, the current political climate in the States is of more than a passing interest. When America sneezes, Jamaica (or insert caribbean island name here) catches a cold, I think is the saying. So. I will be weighing in on the proceedings as they go on, respectfully offering up my two cents. The visit by Mahmoud Ahmadinejad sparked some controversy, to say the least, as well as the fact of the UN started up yesterday (and a hip and a hoot for those useless bastards, bleagh), so the the international relations scene will be heating up (when does it ever take a break, really), and I will...by now you get the picture.
I'm interested in relationships. My friends all live some very, very interesting lives, and I've learnt more from watching them than from anything else (including personal experience, being a (mostly) cured recluse and house rat, who miraculously worked up the courage to pursue a girl that his best man to be introduced him to, and now look, 5 years later we're getting married, go me. Oh yeah, I'm engaged. I didn't mention that...? Hm.), and I think that I should share these experiences with the world, if only that after all this time I need to tell them to SOMEBODY, and who better than the faceless masses of the internet. Y'all can keep a secret, right.
*grins*
Sure you can.
So, as you can see, my interests range far and wide (...pretty sure I've said that somewhere recently...anyway) (I really need to stop using that word, but anyway), and my posts here will reflect that. Whoever reads this, I hope that, in the least, if you don't find it informative (I don't promise that, not by a long shot), then you will at least be entertained for a few minutes, before having to return to whatever soul crushing grind it was that you came here seeking some refuge from. But hey, we live how we have to live, until we live like we want, eh?
At least that's my philosophy.
More as it develops.
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