Where am I now?

You can find me here.

Naivete

I sometimes think about people that scoff at others for being trusting and hopeful. They look on with spiteful amusement as others run into the same walls and slither into the same pitfalls that they themselves fell into. I believe that they fail to see that instead of being 'ahead of the curve', snug in their corrugated shells of mistrust, disdain and condescension, they are instead an active part of an evil that permeates our modern human society. They, as a group, allow the continuation, the transmission if you will, of that most deadly of human diseases: disillusionment. The loss of a belief in the possibility of a greater good. The banishment of hope and the removal of that 'positive' descriptor from their actions, on a subconscious level. The turning inward and downward of one's focus, and the assumption of a(mental) posture akin to a crab; scrabbling and scraping at each other out of repressed anger and hurt.

The extent to which this disease permeates the collective consciousness of modern man is heartbreaking.

I dream of big things. Impossible things...no. Not impossible, just highly improbable given the current state of things...but no. That's also not right. Given the current state of things...the current state of things are just that. Tomorrow might be different if we just change a small bit here, a little there. God forbid we experience any strain in the process of these changes. The modern human is more strain averse than pain averse...in fact I believe that they equate the two, hence the almost pathological fear of exertion that exists today, even on a mental level...but I digress.

In my perfect world aka The Utopia, a mother would be able to leave for work, if she was single and if she so chose, leaving her child unattended and her doors and windows open. Her house would have been childproofed by the state upon the registration of her pregnancy with the relevant medical and municipal authorities. She could hang a schedule on her front door of when the child was to be fed. A sign in the yard would announce her single mother status. Random strangers, who would have no evil designs in their hearts, of if they did they would possess the will to resist them and alerted to her status by the sign, could wander in and look after the baby and feed it at the given times before going along their way. They would follow the best sanitation methods agreed upon by a true World Health Organisation and a powerful but benevolent United Nations. Flocks of children could roam where they wanted, geo-tagged so that their parent(s) and only their parent(s) would know where they were. Naturally these areas would be policed by state sponsored agents and would have child friendly barriers to keep them safe and redirect them with minimal harm. Their tags would naturally degrade over time to eventually disappear sometime between 16 and 21, based on whatever cultural norms the country followed or a mutual agreement between the child and the parent(s).

And so on.

I can hear the collective laughter from you all now...not the kind, amused laughter either. The nasty, scoffing laughter born from your absolute certainty regarding my naivete for even thinking that an im(probable) situation such as this could ever exist in any society peopled by man, who spends more on inventing better and better ways to kill each other (a blog post in and of itself) than on working out ways to feed the starving (with actual frikkin' food!). You laugh and shake your head, secure in your knowledge of my naivete.

See? That is exactly what I am talking about.

More as it develops.

Show, don't tell.

I watched Alice in Wonderland today. I was going to write a blog post about it. Then I watched District 9. That I didn't intend to write anything on because the amount of stuff going on in that movie requires some time and deep thought to process.

By the way, have you seen District 9? You haven't? You need to.

What, then, am I going to write about tonight?

A simple concept that is repeated again and again to and between writers. Show, not tell. Show, not tell. In writing, your prose should be of such quality and precision that it fades into the background and the images, scenes and interactions that you are describing on the page spring to vivid life in the readers minds' eye.

That's my interpretation of the phrase. Alice in Wonderland tries to do it. District 9 does this with no visible effort.

'But wait', you say. 'Am...these are films. Showing is an inherent feature of their composition, so...their ability to do this should come as no surprise to you'. Then you might suggest that a quiet rest would do me good while you go out and call a padded wagon. 'Nervous breakdown...yes, he's got his genres all crossed...indeed. Sure sign of overwork. A few weeks should do him good.'

But no. While a few weeks rest would do me good...well, working rest at least, the fact that I have chosen two films to be the focus of a post on showing not telling is not incongruous. In fact, if you have watched the films in particular, you probably have an inkling of what I am getting at. Each film demonstrates, in film, a skill set that we, as writers, should aspire to possess in our toolbox. Let me begin with Alice in Wonderland.

Side note: does no one realise that Tim Burton is insane? No one? Really? Alright then, back on topic. Alice in Wonderland is a lush yet abrupt offering. The set up and resolution of the film smacks of heavy handed plotting. Its blocky and wooden, feeling like a pair of square brackets surrounding the actual content of the film, Alice's time in Wonderland. The focus of the film, here the film both excels and also falls down. The imagery is lush yet flat (maybe meant for 3d?) and all the human characters stick out from the CGI backgrounds in varying degrees throughout the film. Yet, it was engaging enough for me to look past all that and be interested in the story. Or rather, what I thought the story was trying to be.

In my head it wavered between a feminist tale about a young lady growing up in a society not interested in her having her own opinions and direction and a generally positive tale of overcoming and believing in yourself, no matter what the situation or the odds. Of the two films, however, it is the worse of the two at showing what its trying to say. Alice runs away from a forced marriage in an insane Elizabethan setting which, by the way, would have been ripe for its own movie and runs headlong into a return to Wonderland. There she is tasked with slaying the Jabberwocky as foretold by a magic scroll. At all turns she runs away from this duty, itself a metaphor, but she is drawn in when things come to an inevitable head and no surprise there, goes out and kills it in a satisfying enough fight.

That is the actual story. The story that I've put together for it, the story in my head, comes from hints and small pieces of dialogue and other bits of innuendo that hint at said story. Alice wearing the suit of armour in the final scene, riding out to the final conflict astride the Bandersnatch, a confident young female adult. The Mad Hatter asking her 'Why are you always too tall, or too short?'. Her not wearing a corset or stockings to the garden party early on. Her walking across a moat filled with the heads of the Red Queen's victims, on said floating heads. The caterpillar's constant rebuking of her for not 'knowing herself'. All of these things add up to an attempt at multilayered storytelling that isn't as smooth or as subtle as one would like. Because so many of these points are brought across in dialogue rather than through action or the resolution of a specific conflict (such as when The Hatter drops his sword in disgust after Alice slays the Jabberwocky, right as he was about to slay the Knave of Hearts) they break the storytelling flow and don't ring as true or as deep as they might have. Still, for what it is, its an admirable effort, filled with adequate showing but a lot more obvious telling.

Then we have District 9. Whoo. What can I say about this movie? The final shot had my heart curling up in my chest and I'm not too much of a man to deny that I felt tears at the edges of my eyes as it faded to black. Uncompromising. It breaks several conventions of various genres in its recreation of a story of the 'final days' of its human protagonist, and I put those words in quotations because while true, they don't mean what you will think they mean at first. Indeed, they are his final days in so many different ways. Dear lord. I have to stop and organise my thoughts before I write about this movie.

Uncompromising. That is the word that comes to mind when I think about District 9. Uncompromising. The author and director, one Neill Blomkamp, had a specific vision for what each scene, each environment, each encounter should look like, should play like, should encompass and evoke from the viewer, and they nailed it. To say that this film is a masterpiece of storytelling is an understatement in terms. It is set in Johannesburg. It is a film about aliens, another living race of creatures being treated as less than human. Set in Africa. The parallels are immediate and totally unsubtle. It slaps you in the face that this film is going to be about the African situation and condition, is going to posit opinions and try and educate you about painful subjects that many of you would rather not focus on. But the setup and the trailers, seen here and here, do an excellent job of telling you this while rooting the film at once in modern geopolitical awareness as well as pure, high production value, science fiction action goodness. So the trailers themselves are active parts of the bait and switch that is District 9. Because that is what it is, a bait and switch.

Its structure takes a little getting used to. It is presented as a mix of documentary and storytelling, as a collection of footage of the protagonist from various sources is mixed in with the bits of the story that lay behind them, and snippets of 'live media coverage' of the ongoing events. It sounds odd, but when it is observed it is breathtaking in the way it gels to give us at once the full story in continuous and ongoing counterpoint to the outside world, or 'our' perception, of the events.

You know going in that you are seeing a film rooted in modern international political and social conflicts and stresses, so you walk in prepared and on guard. The film, aware of this, never once tries to engage you on the matter. Not once. It never tries to overtly engage you on these matters. Instead, it does one of the best jobs of showing it to you that I have ever seen. Throughout the film. From start to end. All of the shots used, the environments and situations are hand picked to get across behind all the action going on the messages of this film...and I say messages, because there are a lot. It deals with exploitation on a whole, Africa and apartheid, PMC's, Corporations and evil in its basest, purest form: selfish humans acting for profit with no regard for human life. The dialogue is a part of this showing, again never trying to engage you consciously on these matters but illustrating at every turn the unthinking nature of most people as they go about their lives and even as they spiral into a crisis. Finally, it deals with humanity in a most unique form by asking us, 'what is humanity?', that most essential of qualities that itself is a bundle of such noble principles such as selflessness, love, empathy and respect. Is it being human, or is it something more, something deeper? The answer is resounding yet never told to you. You are made to arrive at it for yourself.

In the end, District 9 illustrates what show, don't tell means far better than Alice. Illustrate, don't elaborate. Allow your audience to wake up to your message in a gradual progression, drawing their own inferences and conclusions from what you have presented and thus making them all the stronger in their minds. Achieving this requires a touch at once light yet powerful. Not easy to achieve, but more than worthy of our cons as creators and writers. It is, encapsulated in film, the method of storytelling that we should all aspire to.

More as it develops!

Blarg 1.

So I was supposed to put up a post about child - parent relationships, and how responsibility gradually, and sometimes abruptly, shifts from the parent to the child over the course of the relationship, and what this might mean for both parties...but I'm not gonna. That post seems to want to be more than one post, and so I will give it the space to percolate, breathe, think or whatever it is that it needs to do before its ready to leave my mind via my fingers and take its place here, on this blog.

So what does that leave us with? It leaves me with one more night of ending the day in a bad mood. A sudden bad mood, brought on by an unconscious action from a really guiltless party. That, however, does not help my mood any.

Its actually not right to call it a mood. Its more of a burning rage seeking to find an outlet, a rage born in annoyance and fuelled by frustration, loneliness (my wife is several thousand miles away) and chemical withdrawal. Smoking. So never a good idea.

Yeah. I really have nothing else to say about this. I find it hard to work when I'm pissed off, and even harder to work when I'm really mad at myself.

So.

More as it develops.

On Football and Divinity.

I am a fan of Brazil. They play the best football in the world. For me that means they play the most skilful, clean, satisfying football to watch and cheer for. They take an almost zen approach to football, not seeming to actively oppose the next team but instead to flow around and through them like water, materializing when needed to score or dispossess them of the ball.

That being said, I pride myself on being a fair minded football fan. I like to think that I (meaning Brazil and I, heh) are above the petty tricks other sides use to gain short term advantages in any football match. Tricks such as handballs (ha!), fouls, blatant diving (everybody dives/acts to some extent) and other nefarious tricks that have become commonplace in the sport of football.

I like to think that we are beyond all that, based on the quality of football that we play. That thought gives me a warm feeling and a (small) comfort that the aura of footballing superiority that we possess is justified.

Then today I watched as Fabiano put on one of the best footballing displays by a Brazilian player in recent memory, one that was disputed mainly because there are two separate instances where it is seemed that he was guilty of a handball. He got a goal from this display, of course. It would not have mattered otherwise. Well. The dismantled defenders that he left in his wake might still have been upset about it.

The rules for handballs in football can be found here. They're quite clear and in light of what they say its clear that Fabiano handled the ball not once, but twice on his way to scoring that goal. This is not as bad as Rivaldo in his day, but still, its far from great. Its not what I hold myself and my team to.

Or is it?

Football is a sport that's about as much as getting away with what you can, as it is winning by the rules. That's why there are referees to ensure that players stick to the rules as much as can be enforced. This goes for all players, my lauded Brazilian side included.

What does this happening then mean for me, with regards to my belief in their superior play? Does it mean that Brazil is now tarnished in my eyes, a team filled with charlatans and holier-than-thou fakers where football is concerned?

Hardly. What it means is that the reality of football is that you get away with what you can get away with. Whether what you did was blatant or sneaky, if the referee, God bless his human soul, doesn't notice it, then you will get away with it.

That's it. Brazil is a superior football side composed of human beings, beings who will still try and cheat now and then. I can argue that they don't do it anywhere nearly as often as other teams, or say that his actions could be put down to the heat of the moment, but it would ring false to me. Handballs included, his display is still a dazzling one by a superior player. Its now just a display by a human being, however, not some footballing god on a team of footballing gods that should be worshipped.

A hard realization, but not the hardest one I've had to face in my short life.

Still, its not so bad.

Rivaldo used to be my favourite player.

More as it develops!

Just Gonna Wing It, by God!

So.

I've restarted this blog too many times to count. Really. However, I do believe now that each time was for the wrong reason. I was blogging because it was the fashionable thing to do (ha!), I was bored, I wanted to create a name for myself online...all these bullshit reasons.

All of them fake. All of them wrong.

That is not to say that blogging for these reasons is wrong per se...they were just the wrong reasons for me to be blogging. Your reasons for doing something, anything, have to be good enough reasons to keep you motivated. To keep you doing it. To keep you getting up everyday and going back to that little room downstairs of your consciousness where your creative impulses lurk, waiting to jump you and drag you into the dark.

That's a scary place to have to live in, day in and day out. It's also one of the most lonely and potentially disheartening places to have to inhabit if you're not filled with complete confidence that every one of your pieces is, in fact, a masterpiece.

Who is really? George Lucas? You see how his recent efforts turned out.

Those reasons were entirely the wrong reasons for me to be blogging, or writing, which is what blogging really is. Some bloggers are genre writers; romance, slice of life, some are horribly boring or provide misinformed opinions about everything under the sun...but its still all just writing. At least, it is to me.

I write because these words fill up my head on a daily basis, and if I don't get them out they'll clog my throat and fill my ears and come spilling out of my nose and rattle around in my eyes and I'll run screaming out of the house and plow through the gate, scamper into the road and get hit by a passing truck.

So.

I write to keep myself alive. That's a good enough reason for me, I think, to get up everyday and keep doing this.

Yeah, works for me. That's my story and I'll revise it as I see fit.

More as it develops!

The Existence of Evil.

.....its not often that you (royal), come in contact with something that....defies description. All the rationalization that you apply to it is baked away by the furious heat of its focused maliciousness like so much dry tissue paper. Any attempts to label it as a misunderstanding of intentions, someone who is misunderstood, or a simple (or even a very complex) misrepresentation of events/intentions pales, withers and falls to dust and ashes before the overwhelming viciousness and calculating nature of its actions. Your mind recoils from the serpentine and self destructive reasoning that could have birthed the scenario being observed, and wraps back upon itself in an attempt to rewind time, and forget to remember that it had ever come in contact with a being of this nature.

That, dear constant reader, is evil.

I'm not talking world shaking, global scale evil, either. No, not being the head of a columbian cartel who makes sure to raise his kids in the best schools money can buy (as far away from the drug trade as possible) evil, or the head of a terrorist organisation going for maximum kill with each attack evil, or the evil of a successful politician. No. I am talking about simple (....nothing about this is simple, let me tell you), small scale, personal, evil. The kind of evil that one individual can get up to, if they're at least a median level of intelligence, are determined and driven (as these people often are) and focused on their goals, and the devil take who they have to walk over to get there. The evil that starts, more often than not, out of selfishness, insensitivity, and an inability...or an unwillingness to handle the consequences of the actions that one chooses to be involved in. Such is the worst kind of evil, for it appears small, is couched in actions that are, if observed, ambiguous at best, and can and ofttimes will be dismissed in the light of the persona that is built, for the express purpose of being the smokescreen behind which such actions will be hidden.

I now understand the meaning of the term cunning.

What do you do in the face of such evil? Such people are no doubt unhinged in some way, shape or form......I do not believe that the essential human condition, or human nature, as we have coined it, is one of evil. Therefore, such persons that become evil, are without a doubt, unhinged, or, to put it in less glamorous terms, are a little sick in their heads. Whether this is due to an abusive childhood, a sequence of unfortunate events (...one very bad day can send someone over the edge....look at the joker) or a chemical imbalance (a catchall term for a set of faulty wiring in the human breaker, the brain) is irrelevant to the immediacy of combating the effects those actions can have on one's life. The majority of us are reactionary creatures in our daily lives, and the thought of someone taking active, strategic actions against us, in a concerted effort to achieve some petty aim with no consideration for our own lives and wellbeing...well, the thought can be a little unsettling, and more than a little disturbing.

How does one combat such evil?

More as it develops

World of Warcrack

I am a gamer. More importantly, I'm a gamer that happens to LOVE rpg's, as well as co-op play in its myriad of forms. Therefore, the idea of a MMORPG (Massively Multiplayer Online Role Playing Game), or momorpigger as Yahtzee so disdainfully calls them, is like premium crack to a crackhead.

Think about it. Fully realised fantasy worlds, existing only for the sole purpose of attracting people like me, who, will happily run around for hours, killing computer controlled enemies and gathering experience (the rewards you use to advance your character, or based on which your character is advanced in levels), seeking quest rewards and grinding (a term meaning doing the same few actions over and over again to maximise experience, or xp, gain) to gain those rare and powerful items that will make our characters more powerful and special in our eyes, and the eyes of our compatriots. All, of course, while quietly taking our money and our time. Which we were willing to give up anyway, else we wouldn't be there.

World of Warcraft is by far, without a doubt, the best...or rather, the most popular, of the lot. Blizzard, capitalising on its immense backstory to its very successful Warcraft series of RTS (Real Time Strategy) fantasy psuedo wargames, launched World of Warcraft ten years ago, following on from the release of Warcraft III, a game that vastly changed the nature of its Warcraft games at that point. Looking back now, its clear that it was all a devious plot from those creative bastards at Blizzard, as the storyline of Warcraft III led directly into WoW, as did the character interface and controls. Previously to Warcraft III, there had been just faceless units that were leveled up and sent out to wreak havoc on your enemies. Then Warcraft III introduced the Hero character, with special powers, available upgrades and items found throughout the game (albeit the best ones where usually storyline rewards), as well as scrolls, spells and other mechanics that are now the standard fare for anyone who's played WoW, or any of its copycat games released since then.

It is truly a fine product. No other MMORPG that I've played gives me that feeling of completeness. It is the best and most fully (totally bad grammar, but you get what I'm trying to say) realised digital world to be found online today, at least in the west, IMO. The races, the world design, the different options for play (while the enforcing of this is lax, as far as I'm concerned) and the overall spit shine put on this package is impressive. I've never gotten a better sense of scale in a game from just running around. Start a Tauren, then try and run from Mulgore, through The Barrens to Orgrimmar, the Horde capital, and you'll see what I mean. If you plan to, pack a lunch, you're gonna need it.

The environments are lush, and the design of the buildings, the items, the NPC's (non-player characters, i.e. those controlled by the computer/game ai), the spells and weapons, how all the quests tie in to the storyline, as well as the individual motives of the different factions that are vying for all their different aims in the game world....its one of the FEW games I can jump into, and in minutes the real world is a distant memory, and I'm gladly gathering herbs and killing pigs, all to the betterment of the Horde and its own aims. Even the PVP (player vs. player) elements are tied in to the storyline. All the different battlegrounds (0r arena's, if you prefer), are tied to the ongoing wars and conflicts that are ravaging the land. They all scale up as you advance in levels, with Alterac Valley, a 40 vs. 40 player arena, being the SINGLE BEST depiction of what large scale combat between powerful characters in a fantasy setting must be like, hands down. Spells light up the screen, raining hellfire and damnation down on the players. The ground rumbles, shockwaves ripple through the air, and players can be seen advancing and falling back, carrying out surgical strikes or simply trying to stave off advancing enemies. Also, this place is HUGE, so the effect of it being on the frontlines of the war is almost imperceptibly given. Players can encounter players from the other side at any time, as well as the beasts that roam the land which are loyal to one side or another.

Truly, there is nothing like it, and it stands as a testament to game design, and giving the fans what they want.

If you've read this far, then you're probably wondering what my problem with it is, as the name of this entry will suggest. Well, that's just it. Its so good. Its too good, to the point of being unplayable by me now, as it WILL suck me in, and not let me go.

Let me explain. Imagine if your everyday life had, well, not lived up to your childhood expectations. You're stuck in a negative and hateful society, where you're forced to toil at a job you don't like, hang out with people that don't really get you, or are themselves, as a group, marginalised by the greater part of society. You aren't rich, and hell you aren't happy with the myriad of idiots and assholes that populate your everyday life.

Not too hard to imagine, is it?

Then along comes a world made for you. A world wherein you can be what you want (within given limits), where you can excel, and be admired by a group of your peers, all of whom share the same interests and desires, hence why they're all playing this game. A world wherein time and effort translate seamlessly into ever increasing rewards and admiration for that complete set of T-1 armour you just finished collecting, and are now hanging out in Orgrimmar, usually by, or on top of, the bank by where the post office box is, and allowing all the lower level characters to admire that brand, spanking new glowing armour you just filled out. A world where you can choose one side or another, band together with others that share your outlook and choices, and go deliver your (digital) wrath on a band of opponents, everyday, all day, whenever you choose, simply by logging into WoW and selecting one of the many toons (slang for characters) that you are now levelling.

Now imagine if all that could be yours, each day, a total escape from the less than wonderful realities of your life, in the BEST realised digital world existing to date, and you can begin to see my problem with this. It first came to my attention when I started hearing stories of WoW eating lives and destroying relationships. Pretty soon, with a little research, I saw the horror stories. Relationships neglected, people losing jobs (which, to me, is HIGHLY counterproductive, as you NEED TO PAY TO PLAY, or your dealer WILL cut you off) and forgetting to eat, neglecting personal hygiene, things like that. Its a sad truth, but people will go to extreme lengths to forget their everyday troubles and be distracted from the harsh realities of their lives rather than facing them and trying to fix them, or at least exert as much control as they can. WoW provides an overwhelmingly good alternative to everyday life, and as its built to be another total world, it can become their mainlife, with this one existing only for them to eat, sleep, and earn the money they use to eat and play WoW.

Which brings me to another dislike I have with WoW, but which isn't unique to it, but to the genre of RPG's, and MMORPG's as well. That is, the Grind. God how I hate it. This happens round about level 20 in WoW, and it exists in all RPG's. This is where you hit a point where the quest rewards are insufficient and so far between that only questing cannot, or will not get you levels in a fast enough manner. So you go out and grind. In WoW, this takes the form of Instances, their version of dungeons, and a quite novel approach it is. Simply put, everything in WoW is ongoing. So, if you're out in a field and kill off all the monsters that are there, hang around for a bit. They will respawn, i.e. reappear according to a given time limit between kill and respawn. This way, the player gets a feeling of accomplishment, and other players aren't stuck with no creatures to kill when some quest giver in the barrens want 20 plain strider talons. Time passes, day to night, and the game world is never static....except when one enters an Instance, hence the name. Herein the player and his friends, as instances are listed by difficulty levels per party size, go in and depopulate a dungeon, with the rewards being higher xp rewards than found for equivalent level enemies, and better and more rare item drops overall. Enemies DO NOT respawn in an instance, as this would garauntee the deaths of the party, as these enemies are TOUGH, make no mistake.

So you put together an instance run, and you go in, get xp, and get the items. Wash, rinse, repeat. The higher you are in levels, hence the more xp you need, the more times you have to do this over, and over, and over, and over, ad nauseum. Don't even get me started on the tedium inherent in leveling your professional skills, dear god. It seems to be a design flaw inherent in the game type, that of an rpg tied to static levels, that makes grinding a must...and this is where WoW falls down. The grind is so extensive, and such a necessary part of it, along with all the other extensive features of your character that must be maintained, that you quickly realise that either you devote most of your time to this game, or you won't get anywhere fast, or anywhere at all. You must maintain your relationships with your friends online, as well as in your guild...and don't even get me STARTED on guilds. I REFUSE to join any organization set in an imaginary world wherein I will have to be subjected to an interview, a background check, a period of probation, and a post-probation interview after that, to see whether or not I 'pass the muster'. These people need to go get a life, or rather, go back to the one's they already have. Not all guilds are like this, but to get into the best ones, the process is some variant of what I've described here.

These people take their WoW seriously, let me tell you, to the point of arranging meetings in real life for their guild members, where the members have to defer to other membes, on the basis of their in-game rank.

I say to thee, no.

Once you're past all the shine, and you dig down into the meat of the game, to me, it takes on an aspect that, to me, is not necessary in video games, and is actually representative of something that I would engage in WoW to get away from, and that is work. The demands of keeping your guild requirements, the slog that item acquisition becomes at higher levels, actually requiring you to repeatedly engage in PVP for insane amounts of honor points (the PVP rewards, used to buy top level items and gear), and the lengthy quests that you have to go on to get your profession to the higher levels....WoW is NOT built for the casual player. Its all or nothing, and its 11 million plus fanbase aside, the recent and ongoing popularity of the Wii has demonstrated that there is quite a large fanbase of casual gamers looking for fun and interesting activities that do not require you to sacrifice your life and social engagement in the real world to satisfy. Also, its immersiveness works against it, but not in anyway that the money printing suits at blizzard will care for. Its effect on the lives of the people that play it cannot be denied. Rampant addiction (even among my friends, and myself at one point), while good business sense, is just detrimental to those that have to stand on the outside and watch their friends devolve into these nocturnal, pasty faced lurker that are online discussing random topics in the trade channel in Orgrimmar at three in the morning.

While this experience will not be symptomatic of all who play, you will have to dedicate extensive amounts of time and energy if choose to excel in this game, and who would WANT to be mediocre within the setting of an activity that they CHOOSE to play, and are paying for? The time and energy spent in this pursuit of digital and, in my opinion, nonexisting rewards is gone, poof, forever lost to humanity, when these creative and driven individuals could be putting them to some other, better use. I just think its wrong to build a product like this, and then not put some means in place to ensure that these people do not lose themselves in it too much. That would not be good business sense, as addiction, whether you believe it or not, is the best business model that the human race has found to date.

*Looks at the cigarette butts on the table beside him*

You get my point. You should take all the possible ramifications of your product into consideration, and then be the bigger person by looking out for your fellow man. I don't know what I want to say at this point, except that this is a disastrous trend for the users, and the society as a whole. All these stories of destroyed marriages, and people spiralling down into pits of WoW addiction cannot be made up, and as some, and most of them are true, you should then look into making some changes to your policies to try and stave this off. If this loses you money, then tough. Money isn't everything, and someone should be looking out for all these people.

Now comes the arguements about self control and whatnot, but I won't even go there with you. History and psychology shows that the average person does not stop to consider the reasons behind most of their actions, much less how to change these actions and thought processes to their betterment. They just live, and exist, between their cradle and their grave. With this in mind, it falls on YOU, Blizzard, to look out for your loyal users in some way, any way, at this point.

Not that I believe that this will ever happen.

More as it develops.

Time to face facts.

So I recently came to a realisation, and one that I daresay is, and will be a life changing one.

I suffer from anxiety. Not your run of the mill anxiety either, but serious, crippling, makes-me-unable to function anxiety. It affects me in whatever I do, where ever I go, every moment of every minute of every hour of my life.

Hell, its affecting me even now as I type this in my living area, telling me that I won't finish this on time to get it up, that it won't be good enough, no one will want to read my entries, I'll die a failed writer, never having published a novel, much less a story.

True words. Let me give you a PERFECT example of what its like for me. Go watch Revolver by Guy Ritchie. The main site is here, and its overall a worthwhile watch, especially for fans of Ritchie's particular style. What goes on in my mind is very much equitable to what goes on in the main characters mind, with the constant paranoia, the doubting of the actions of others, and the overall confusion and questioning of all that goes on around him on a daily basis, culminating with that moment of self awareness in the elevator....by far my FAVOURITE scene in a movie to date, because my ability to relate to it so far surpasses most anything else that I've watched for entertainment. Also, the surreal heights that the movie takes his reality to is very much where I find myself sometimes....but whether this is because of the actuality, or simply my own mental shenanigans, is never quite clear to me.

Having decided this, I've also decided that its time I check myself back into a focused program of treatment, as I've realised that I never finished the previous program that I was on, for my chronic depression. Yes, I've been diagnosed with chronic depression, and if that's a surprise to you, then you must REALLY not have spent much time with me.

That's where I'm at, and that's what's in front of me. I've decided to put all this down on (digital) paper, as it seems to work for all the other patsy's that live out their lives in these digital domains, giving them some sense of catharsis as they go through their daily lives. God knows I could use some, along with a healthy helping of peace of mind.

Please read through my previous posts, I will be following up on them as time goes on. I'm not writing this with any serious aim in mind, just working through the pits and peaks that my life has been, and are, through the magic that is writing. Feel free to leave a comment, my only requirement being that you think before you write. Don't waste your time, or mine, with inane comments more suited for a message board arguing about *insert fan boy argument here*...and if you don't get that, then all the better for you.

Discovered Lady GaGa yesterday. This is probably due to my determined efforts to avoid the cultural pits that are MTV and BET and all their affiliates. She is so deliciously neo-eighties (is that even a term?) electronica and disco. She's gonna be in my playlist for a bit. Been listening to too much metal and rock lately, time to lighten the mood some.

So yeah, I'll be around, and hopefully so will you. Got a lot to say if you got the time to read it.

More as it develops.

Obama won....so why am I still worried?

I can't believe that Barack Hussein Obama is now the President-Elect of the United States of America. He still has 75 days till he's sworn in on January 20, 2009, but come what may, he has created history. He is the first African-American to become president, and he did in fine style, running a campaign that was lofty in its ideals, superb, clean and clinical in its execution, and all-inclusive in its reach. It was the first campaign by anyone running for any office, that I can remember, that I supported and got behind (in my own way, namely through copious amounts of hours logged on CNN), not because the campaigner supported and represented my politics and world view, but......
...and this isn't easy for me to admit......
....because I BELIEVED in it. Him. The message. The hope. The possibility of change, him reaching beyond this election to what he could do in office, with the backing of his party and the MASSIVE groundswell of support that he garnered from all levels of the society. I believed in the whole shebang, swallowed it down hook, line and brightly coloured sinker, and I now wait with bated breath for his presidency to begin.

I saw Jesse Jackson crying on CNN (I keep mentioning that channel, hmm...maybe I spend too much time there)...I can't imagine what seeing this must be like, for him and persons like him, that were alive for, and marched with Martin Luther King, Jr. Who, despite the myriad twists and turns their lives and actions might have taken, fought for civil rights for themselves and their race from second to second, unceasing and unflinching in their belief and support of their principles. It must have been a sweet and painful moment for him, and the millions of others like him, not just in America, but worldwide. Not just black Americans, but anyone who's stood in the breach in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds and overwhelming circumstance, in defiance of what most others just look on and pass by as an unchangeable status quo...it must be a very rewarding moment for them all, but also painful in the enormity of the various emotions that they must be feeling, one and all.

Think about it. America now has a black president, one with the middle name of Hussein. If you had told me that last year or eighteen months ago, that that would be the case, well....I'd have smiled with you while secretly calling the guys in white coats and the padded wagon on their 24 hr emergency line to come and fetch you, and then, that done, would have calmly gone on my way in a manner designed to not upset you, as you were obviously off your rocker.

But, you'd have been prophetic.

Heh, will wonders never cease.

*shakes head in wonderment*

However, all of that aside (and that's a massive aside, btw) that isn't the purpose of this post. With all of the happy happy joy joy feelings now floating around the country and around the world, there is one very large problem that I now have (when do I not, ever), coming out of this election.

Simply put, that crowd......or rather, what they were/are indicative of. You all saw it, the crowd at McCain's concession speech. Rowdy, angry, disrespectful, and most of all, convinced as to Obama being a traitor/Muslim/liar/socialist/black (oops, he really is that, sorry), and whatever else they want to accuse him of. McCain could only just control them for the cameras, as he plodded at a slow run through what must have been the most painful speech of his life (and may it stick in his throat for a long time, the louse), and then quickly and quietly vanished from the public view, to become yesterdays news in so many ways....but the effects of the campaign that he and mizz Sarah Palin ran are not so easily erased. All the fears that they played on, all the anxieties and misplaced rage that they stirred up, all the vitriol and acid that they spouted, robocalled and had pandered to willing, ignorant, misled ears around the country...that does not just vanish over night, with a forced concession speech and a pained smile.

Oh no. That kind of emotion lingers, festers, goes home and oils its rifle, and then begins to look for a nice steeple to inhabit. The level of idiocy that was being spread behind the scenes about this election, like a disease of ignorance (whose major symptom is a certain pigmentation of the neck, I believe, but I could be wrong), spreading from person to person, family to family.....there were sites and noted (and notable) radio personalities that claimed, and presented (to their twisted, malignant brains), insurmountable proof that Barack Obama was the antichrist, and a vote for him was a vote for the apocalypse.

I mean seriously. Come the F*** on.


Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?!?!?!?!?


*stops to ponder the unfathomable nature of it all*

I don't know how that kind of thinking works. I don't know how one gets up and decides to use such tactics, I don't know how one then decides to implement those tactics in these modern times.....and then I, most of all, don't know how one hears these things, and, IN THESE MODERN TIMES, believes them. Like......I just can't process it. The levels of desperation and hatred, just raw, blind, ignorant (wow I'm using that word a lot) bad mind (as we say here in Ja, and its usage is so apropos) that had to have been behind it, and the dozens of other 'fringe' (read:grassroots, base or any other term used to refer to that special set of people for whom Sarah Palin is the best thing to happen to politics since Bush, whichever one, it doesn't matter) organizations and movements out there that actively, willingly and knowingly looked at this information, knew what it meant and the ramifications of it (come on, I don't believe that idiots could have implemented this thing, someone with sense had to have been behind this somewhere......where, however, is left in its entirety up to your speculative abilities), and STILL WENT AHEAD AND DID IT......that kind of black-minded bloody-mindedness (probably a wrong use of the phrase...ah well, C'est La Vie)......well, lets just say I don't approve of it, and leave it at that. Not like my opinion matters, to the thousands, hell, millions of Americans that are now sitting at home and at the local bar and in their friends houses and in public places, watching Barack Obama take his place in history, not with an appreciation of the gravity of the moment or of the fact that there is now someone in the white house that wants to do more than mangle the English language on tv and invade other countries and throw the nations young and newly arrived (the citizenship for army service program...democracy at its finest) for oil....but with all of this idiocy and so much more stuck in their heads. On repeat. With the volume maxed.

Leaking out of their ears and surrounding them, like a black and purple aura of poison and decay. Traitor (as is anyone that doesn't recommend shooting America's multitudinous 'enemies' these days). Muslim (and all the negative connotations that THAT brings to these folk, gah). Black (you know they're thinking it). Socialist (..and if this section of the population were a bit more in touch, they might look at so called socialist societies that were named, such as Sweden, and Denmark, and Holland, and see how these places are so VASTLY superior to their own.....but lets not look for too many riding beggars here, eh?), and god knows what else. Oh yeah. Antichrist. That one needs no snarky commentary in an intrusive set of parentheses.

What do you think they're thinking, watching him and his family walk around, wave at the cameras, smile at his daughters and promise one of them a puppy in his acceptance speech? These people, lovers of the constitution, liquor and their extensive rifle collection...(ok, that's not all of them, but it is enough of them for me to generalise the rest of them as being the same way....and if they're in this group, then I don't really see where I have to take special care HOW I classify you, you dumb..).., who now claim that Obama will trample all over the constitution (and what the hell do they think that George W. Bush was doing for the last eight years, spit shining it?), and bring fire, brimstone, a dozen plagues, the apocalypse, a new holocaust (I'm not even going to go INTO that one, uh uh, not this individual) and maybe, oh, I don't know...respectability, grace and, oh, can it be HOPE, INTELLIGENCE and RIGHT MINDEDNESS to the whole process of governing of the greatest (in terms of potential to influence events on a worldwide scale from a single nation standpoint) nation on earth?

What's that you say? Bush was smart enough for you? Well, if you put it like that...step right this way, there's a bridge I'd like to sell you. Speaking of which, who else finds it ridiculous that you can buy islands, both real AND MAN MADE, houses built underwater, trips into space and real estate on the moon....but the saying 'I've got a bridge I want to sell you' is still a worldwide analogy for gullibility and stupidity.......anyway.

So yeah. That's my desire in this post. To express my....deep seated concern regarding the, almost in counterpoint and in abject contrast to the groundswell of love, support and hope for the future that Obama has created in the American people, the just......saturated population of haters and ill-wishers of Obama and his family. We've all seen what one angry American, supported by a system where anything (and I do mean anything) can be garnered for enough money or in support of a like-minded individual, and apathy towards how one uses that anything, can create. I do not think I need to extrapolate on this. American history, both recent and distant, is rife with these individuals (Lincoln and JFK come to mind...and dammit if the news media have not been comparing Obama to JFK for a minute now).

Even beyond that, however, will be the fact that these people will, in blind support of their negative ideals and backward thinking leaders, will, in so many ways, obvious and covert, stand in the way of Obama and all that he and his supporters will try to do. Now, in a time when America needs to be unified, as it has a laundry list from hell of situations to solve and obstacles to overcome, both within the nation the world at large, not the least of which is the contempt it is held in, both as a nation, and as a people, that elected and supported the (previous) leader of that nation. Now, more than ever, Obama's campaign rhetoric needs to be repeated, in quiet conversations and at the tops of voices at outdoor rallies.....'yes we can!'

Not as a nation of people electing a black president (y'all just did that, remember, did you drink so much last night in celebration that you FORGOT why you were celebrating.....if so, shame *wags finger in reproach*) or being governed by one....but as a nation of people needing to move forward together behind an (insulting classification of citizenship deleted)-American leader to begin to repair the economy, the myriad of foreign policy disasters visited on the world by G. W. Bush and Dick 'Darth Vader' Cheney in the past eight years, a government with more power over its people than a dictator would find comfortable (...actually no, he'd be just fine with it), and a prison filled as a result of an occupation of a foreign nation, an occupation based on reasons less insubstantial than wet tissue paper in the face of a category five tornado.

If you get my drift.

So that's my concern at this time. I can't be caught up in the euphoric celebration of Martin Luther King's dream being fulfilled (and if you believe that, here, this rope bridge is going cheap, comes with a gorge and a nice long fall.....), I'd rather think about the next 75 + 1461 days (not thinking about the 2012 ticket as yet, lets get past this mountain first). Its that long till he's sworn in on January 20th and becomes president, and then that next figure is the length of his (first :) ) term as president. Its a very long time to be the one BLACK man at the top of the world. Sittin' on nukes....and a throne made out of blades.

I do not envy you, good sir.

More as it develops.

Best Laid Plans...

So.

Today was to have been my triumphant return to the blogosphere. I had an interview of a certain professor, and his findings regarding american children and sex, which I was going to analyse and critique. I also had a few opinions to raise about the current election race going on in america, and maybe throw in a humorous anecdote at the end.

Instead, I've got a budding headache and eyeache, another underutilised day, and just a general feeling of having not done enough. Its amazing, how when you try to live your life right, that it seems to shrink down to a bunch of tasks and objectives, which do not seem so important in and of themselves, but if you are determined (and I most certainly am), then accomplishing them becomes a major part of your day, as well as a heightened sense of accomplishment when they are done. This, to someone who doesn't achieve very much on a daily basis, is a BIG DEAL.

So I'm not gonna let it get me down. I strive always to resist the pull of human entropy, which itself is constant, until you either learn to deal with it or to ignore it. Its a slow process, little victories and accomplishments each day. Wake up. Get out of bed. Do one useful thing each day, then two, then more. Get out of the house (that hasn't been happening of late), walk around (resist the urge to buy any cancer sticks) and breathe the open air. Just...live one day at a time (I never really understood what that meant before).

Just live, learn to appreciate yourself, what you have and what you can do. Learn about yourself. Take a walk into your mind. Sit in quiet, and listen to what you have to say to yourself. If you are quiet, you can hear your mind telling you what to do (this does not include that subsection of society that hears voices telling them that there are spies in the ice cream; these people need to either receive or go back on their meds, and not listen to themselves too much, if at all), and how to go about fixing the mess you're currently in. Then, when you've learned that much, you can go about gathering the necessary energy to get up and accomplish these goals.

Its not easy. Not by a long shot. There were days when getting out of bed was my major accomplishment for the day. Those are, thank god, FAR behind me at this point. Now, its achieving what's on my little list of things to do each day. The tendency to ship my oars and just float is ever present, and sometimes I'll catch myself just wasting time, and I'll have to get up and get back to what I was doing.

One does not break the programming of years of living overnight.

But breaking it IS possible, and it takes guts, grit, and the willingness to take a lot of healthy criticism from all those around you that really, truly care for you (the ability to recognise which, my friends, is one of THE best skills you can ever acquire in your life, mark my words). It takes starting, stopping, starting again, falling over, getting up, brushing yourself off, maybe a sigh or two, and starting again. After a while, it stops being starting and starts to become continuing, and the periods in between the interruptions get smaller and smaller. That's where I'm headed, and I'm not stopping for nothing. I have too much people (and one beautiful young woman in particular) waiting and hoping for me to realise all I have to offer, and get to work offering it to the world (their words, not mine :) )

Anyway.

I'm tired, and my eyes and head hurts, but I now feel better. One more thing I can say that I did with my day, and one less thing to feel guilty over as I go to my rest this night.

Peace my friends, you will be seeing a lot more of me around these parts in the future. Yeah, yeah, I've said that before, I know....


Anyway.

Walk in the light, think happy thoughts, and for gods sake think before you act. I'll see you around.

*Blink*

*Blink*

You stand in a field of yellow flowers, all minor suns. In their center, a small ring of blue, like a child's tear, lies nestled. A small wind ruffles their perfect symmetry, a momentary bending of their heads to a higher power, then all isagain still. You look around. All is still, all is silent. All is perfect.

You shade your eyes against the sun and the blue, the yellow below and the impossibility of the situation. A single step would crush dozens of these minor suns, all packed in and around each other. You take that step, and an aroma like sunday mornings in the park, a perfect blue sky and your first kiss fills your nostrils, and you are momentarily lifted. Walking, the aroma is now a constant companion, so much so that have to blink to keep this field of yellow/blue in sight. The sky is a blue wall below which is spread this infinite yellow tablecloth, pure and unblemished. So blue it hurts.You squint.

(How did you get here...how...)

You blink. You are standing in a desert, with sand blowing in your eyes. Your mouth. Your teeth. Your nostrils. You cough and cover your face and ears. Its in your hair. Under your nails. You stumble forward, hacking against the storm. Fall to your knees and try to breathe through the onslaught.

It takes a few seconds before you realise that you're not feeling anything but the wind. The sand passes through you, around you, untouching. You kneel there, not understanding. The wind howls, and you feel its loneliness and despair in your bones. It echoes in the back of your mind, reminding you of disappointments past, and the many more to come. Despair. A constant companion.

(What, where...the hell is going on...?)

You stand, and walk. You discern movement, images, figures in the haze. Frozen. No. They move, but only when you look away, and only in a speed discernable by one familiar.

(Familiar...with what...hold on, what...?)

They're dozens of them around you, and you then realize that its not a storm, but thousands, no, millions of overlapped images of figures, horses, soldiers, people, cars falling off of bridges, people dying, running, crying, falling, standing in shock, fear, curling up in pain, shaking...just the pure horror of human suffering poured out in visual form onto your eyeballs. You stand there in shock yourself...and just watch. It washes over you. Your very heart turns black within your chest, and you shudder with the realisation that this is you, this is what it means to be human. To suffer, live in pain, and then die.

(No....it can't...what...)

Blink.

You're back in the field of blue and yellow, and you fall forward to your knees, choking on the tears you did not know were coming. Your vision blurs, and you cry your heart out there in that beautiful, lonely oasis. You fumble forward, and that scent of cotton candy and soft touches in the hall, holding hands as you walk and dancing under hot lights with the one you desire/love/lust after fills you again, and you begin to laugh through your tears. You feel as if you are going insane. Unable to process emotions of such diametric difference all at once, your body executes the most useful feature it possesses. In the face of an overwhelming situation that it cannot immediately comprehend or process, the human body possesses the ability to turn itself off.

You faint.

When you wake up, you're standing on a beach. The water makes a quiet shh-shhhh as it peaks beneath your feet, then recedes back to the arms of its mother, the ocean. You are barefooted, and the water is warm on your toes. A gentle wind, smelling of salt and sugar cane tickles your nose, and somewhere in the distance you hear the gentle strains of relaxed revelry. You lift your head, and allow the calm and peace of the moment to suffuse your being. You breathe, happy to have woken from that...nightmare. In, out, in, out, the breaths come. Your heart slows (hm, what, no...there was something...no..forget it) as you return to your normal state of calm. You turn to walk back towards (where...wait, where was I going before...wait wait wait) when a voice says;

"But its never that easy, is it? Being human, I mean."

You whirl, disturbing the sand and the scene. Everything shimmers for a second, white white, then settles back to normal colour. Standing a few feet down the beach is a man, nondescript, small, inconsequential. White shirt, white pants, straw hat. Beach bum. Beer in hand, his back to you.

"Its never that easy, being anything in this world."

He looks out from under his hat at you, and you realise...no, it can't be....

Blink.


You wake up in bed, and there is no more sleep for you that night. In the back of your head, you can hear the soft whisper of the waves on the beach, and beneath them...the silent cries of all those trapped in the haze. The sunflowers evade your mind, even as you reach for them in a desperate attempt as SOME kind of solace from this crazy dream. There will be no more sleep for you this night. None at all. You have much to think about, and morning....? It is still far, far away.

Tuxedo Mask

*looks up from sweeping*

So today I decide to go online and finally, finally, FINALLY decide on a tuxedo for myself and my groomsmen. Having not chosen one the last time (contrary to what my fiance believes, hm) I decide that enough is enough, I need to go on and just get this done.

Right.

So, I'm on this site, looking around at the various styles, comparing one to another, and looking at the different cuts and whatnot, and it comes to my attention that most of these look awfully similar. I flip back and forth, not daring to blink lest I miss a difference in the cut of the lapel or the length of the jacket or whatnot. If the difference isn't made obvious by the name (a 'shawl lapel' versus a 'notch lapel', and the promisingly titled but oh so disappointing double breasted suit) or a glaring difference, well then, I have to focus my eyes on a point on the tux and flip back and forth to spot a difference. Yet another case of complexity outgrowing necessity, but that's the way it is and has been.

I've discovered that I go for the more traditional cuts and styles (up to a point). Like, I would never, ever see myself in a tux that's not a dark colour, maybe grey being the highest shade I would go. A white tux appalls me to no end, and don't get me started on the other colours (pimpwear, as I call them). Knowing absolutely nothing about the history of the tux, and maybe having worn one maybe once before (my second sister's wedding, go figure) I've come to the conclusion (no doubt based on years of James Bond, fashion magazines and other such trustworthy and upstanding sources) that a tux should be of dark colour, the darker the better.
I've also realized that I dislike cummerbunds to no end.

UGH. Why do you need that band of colour, in what is an awkward place to draw attention to for most men?

*clears throat*

*lays aside broom and walks over to window*

I went to wikipedia just now to look up the history of the tux. Makes sense that something that's giving me this much trouble would be british in origin (and funnily enough, was popularised by an act intended to enable a lord to get it on with another mans wife. So much for its being the symbol of the wedding, and all that crap). Damn brits, first they colonize my country (well, one of the many, but more on that later) and then they give me this headache. Curse you britannia!!!

*breathes*

Right. So. I've settled on a three button something or other, and this other one that looks really cool (can't remember the names right now, I mean come on, have you seen the names of these things???) and might fit me well, if I can just start exercising again, and stay away from the cigs (24 hours and counting, how many more times will I quit?...anyway). I'm really excited, like, I never thought these things would ever look good on me, much less get married, and here I am, picking out my tux for my wedding.

So excited. Can you tell?

Sure you can.

Peace out, I'm done for the day. Bathe, and then to bed. Tomorrow I've got things to do, and then I gotta go to town to see the pastor. More on that later as well.

The return of the King.

*looks around*

*knocks dust off of overturned chair*

*places chair upright, raising a cloud of dust*

*sneezes*

*sits*

Oh-kay. *dusts off pants* Wow, I've really let this place go to ruin. Haven't been here in ages, and I guess you can take the (past) failure of this as an indication of how things have been going in my life recently. Whoo, haven't been here since...the 27th of Oct. last year. Wow. 6 months and change.

*looks around again*

Its not that this isn't a nice place and, its not that I don't like talking to you all. Its just that sometime I feel pressured, and I realise now that that was the entirely wrong approach to be taking. Sure, its cool to be pressured, it motivates us to bigger and better things. However, we should never let ourselves get so pressured that we lose sight of who we are, and why we're doing the things in the first place. If we do that, then...the whole point of the exercise becomes pointless, and we may as well have been at home, reading manga online for all the good any further pursuit of that venture will do us.

That is what happened to me recently.

*breathes for a few minutes, looking around at the mess, covered furniture and layers of cobwebs and dust*

I forgot why it was I was getting married, hell, I forgot why it was that I was in the relationship with my fiance. Its not because we're going to get married, no, the marriage is the end result of us wanting to be together for the rest of our lives, in a manner that will allow us to be unmolested or shunned (shun the unbeliever, my god, charlie the unicorn, youtube is a time waster's paradise, shun) by all and sundry. Also, since we (all, or most of us at least) were young, we've been taught that that is the socially acceptable thing to do, before man and God; when you find the one you love, and want to make babies, grow these babies, let them out into the crazy ant's nest that's the world, and then grow old and crotchety with this person, you marry this person.

Hence you avoid being shunned and sanctioned by society at large.

So, she and I are getting married. However, somewhere along the way I lost sight of that fact, that the marriage came after the desire to grow old together and whatnot, and that clouded my judgment, perspective, whatever-you-want-to-call-it there for a while, and things got messy, both inside and outside of my head.

Whoo. *looks around again*

But I'm back now, and I've managed to (with the help of a few friends, more on that later) get myself back in the game. Granted, I'm not in the same position that I was in before this...run in with reality (and let me tell you, try and avoid running into reality, its an unforgiving bitch), but where I am, I can make it work, with focus and determination.

And all those other things that they say one needs to have to be successful, but whatever. I'm simply gonna get up everyday and do it to it, that's all. No big philosophy, just a state of mind.

*wipes hands on pants, and rises, stirring up yet more dust*

So, I'm back, as they say, and you'll be seeing a whole lot more of me around here than you did before. I know now that I have no obligation to post here whatsoever, which has, as these things are wont to do, made it that much easier for me to come here and post my thoughts, feelings, musings, brain hiccups, whatever. There's a lot of work to be done with the place, but...its my goddamn place, and the onus is on me to fix it so...lets just get it done.

Right. *looks around* Now, just where the hell do I start....?



P. S. Scouting for Girls is a lovely little indie-pop band. I don't remember exactly how I heard of them (more than likely from the fiance), but I've since acquired their album, and I must say its been holding its own on my playlist for a bit now. Songs like 'Elvis ain't dead' and 'James Bond' illustrates their uniquely british sense of humor, even when dealing with heartbreak and issues of identity (...or at least, I assume that they are...). Also, 'I need a Holiday' is the british look at the grind, and guess what, they hate it as much as we do, if not more so. Topping it all off is their oh so appealing british accent, and youthful earnestness pouring out of each effort (along with a lighthearted but talented instrumentation on every track), and you've got another surefire summer hit reel here folks. Go check it out.

Charlie the Unicorn. Charlie, the goddamned Unicorn. What, the mother****? No, I mean, come on, if I didn't know that it existed before, I've surely just encountered abstract comedy. Sketch comedy, no, this has moved beyond that, to test the edges of what can logically be called a plot and humor. Stop motion unicorns with squeaky voices going on random quests, meeting stranger and stranger individuals, in an ever increasing comedy maelstrom that comes to its inevitable climax with charlie (the third unicorn, if you weren't following) getting shafted in some unspeakable way. Arguably the strangest thing I've seen online in recent memory. But with all that said, then, why do I find it so goddamned hilarious (shun the unbeliever, shun)? Maybe its the voices of the two other unicorns...yeah, that has to be it, the voices make me break out into peals of laughter in public, earning me dark looks from the more upstanding members of our society, those that I've now started referring to as (dear god) unbelievers. I need help. Charlie needs to just wait for those two with an uzi and some c-4, and wipe them out before they can get their mouths open, that's his only chance of a night of peace. As for you...whether or not you go and check out Charlie the Unicorn on youtube is up to you. But remember, you have been warned. Whether or not I have done so adequately, however, well...that remains to be seen, no doesn't it.

Peace.

People

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.

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.

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.

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.

"....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.

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.