It’s interesting that a lot of people do amazing things, just because. Not because they are asked to, not because it is expected of them but just, because because. The mentality of extra…
You’re doing something. You’ve been working hard and for long. You’ve forgotten that your body needs food and water because your mind is wholly focused on the one activity at hand. That is all and that is it. You’re exhausted, surviving at this point on sheer will. You’re eyes are trying to bail out on you — they’re parched and they sting. You’re even starting to hallucinate; shadowy figures criss-crossing all over your vision. Delirium set in a while back. Perhaps the radio is on and you’re singing along at the top of your voice (and most probably out of tune). Perhaps you’re having a nonsensical but, at this point, oh-so-stimulating conversation, with a colleague who’s in a similar state of extreme mental focus and extreme physical neglect. Or maybe you’re having it with the invisible friend you resurrected from when you were 5.
Maybe it hasn’t reached the final stage yet and you can afford to take a brief break in the interests of extending your battery power. If you have a habit, you gluttonously indulge, like you’ve been chewing serious withdrawal. Perhaps you rush to the local all-night off-license/bodega to get your fix of coffee, Coke® or Red Bull (or D, all of the above). More ‘sensible’ people may take an invigorating shower or a power nap. Even more sensible people may realize that this would only be tempting fate and might be just a little more comfortable than is advisable at this stage.
Maybe you have reached the final stage where every joint and muscle of your body aches. Where your body spasms involuntarily as it jeers at you, spitefully demonstrating what happens when you relinquish your responsibilities to it. You did this to yourself!
…but you also did it for yourself. There was a point, hours ago, when you had fulfilled the given requirements. The assignment had been completed. But then a small voice entered your consciousness and said ‘well, what if…?’ And so was opened a (benevolent) can of worms. ‘What if’ became ‘and then when…’ which led to ‘but there is another way too’ and caught up in the spirit, you realized that you had unknowingly signed a contract with your will to carry out your demanding vision to your full satisfaction.
And that is, I believe, how/why amazing things get done. For reasons that are usually quite hard to articulate and convey to people outside oneself and so indeed it is often easier to say…”just because.”
Amazed by:
tokyoplastic.com
stoeker.com
Monday, August 29, 2005
Thursday, August 25, 2005
The Big Cross-Sell
Having been kindly invited to spread my venom over on to The Fredd Kambo Joint, I am extending an invitation to you, oh noble visitor, to come on over and check out the scenery. And to changamsha (stir up) some more over there.
Monday, August 08, 2005
A Loose Psychology
Random unscientific observation leads me to the hypothesis that there people can be ushered into 4 basic categories:
The Jumpers
These people are commonly referred to as fools, exposing the inherent failures of nomenclature. These people realize that today is more important than any other day. Well- informed by the past, it determines the future. They enter into it fully present, ready to give whatever it takes and whatever they have. Recognizing that in order to get 100% you have to give at least that, they have faith that such great efforts will be duly rewarded. They remove obstacles such as fear and expectation from their path, creating much space for success. These 'fools' are the sure winners.
The Sidesteppers
Exhibiting an undiagnosed aversion to progress, these people's greatest efforts are directed towards sabotaging themselves. Always yearning for things to be better, always nipping in the bud any possibilities of that actually becoming a reality. These people see life as a treacherous trek that they must approach with extreme fear (caution is what they like to call it) if they approach it at all!
The Spring-backs
A fascinating demographic. They reek of winning yet when the ball is so positively in their court, something seems to become suddenly unscrewed, paralyzing them. From there, they are sent all the way back to square one where they reawaken, seemingly oblivious to this regression and its cause and therefore usually continue to proceed in the same manner as before (insanity is indeed defined as doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results)! However, because the paralysis usually only affects a certain aspect of their lives, they may be perceived by the outside world to be exponentially winning. Sometimes it is not until their sunset years that the effects of paralysis and regression become apparent. Unfortunately by that time, a lot of time has been lost and it may be highly difficult to reverse or destroy the pattern.
The People with Ascension in their Legs (PALS)
A species that I have only recently observed in its full essence. Extremely intriguing for it is not yet clear to
Whether their fate is sealed or whether hope for them is actually abundant. These people are winners at
Heart. Their every action is filled with the desire to jump but they are held back, usually by the fear of reoccurrences of past disappointments. These people, unlike the Spring-backs, are usually brutally aware of what holds them back. They want to be rid of these nails through their feet but they are not quite yet sure how. Not sure of how to annihilate the fear. Next to the Jumpers, these are the most honest, open and communicative people.
(From a professed aspiring Jumper with extreme Spring-back tendencies!)
The Jumpers
These people are commonly referred to as fools, exposing the inherent failures of nomenclature. These people realize that today is more important than any other day. Well- informed by the past, it determines the future. They enter into it fully present, ready to give whatever it takes and whatever they have. Recognizing that in order to get 100% you have to give at least that, they have faith that such great efforts will be duly rewarded. They remove obstacles such as fear and expectation from their path, creating much space for success. These 'fools' are the sure winners.
The Sidesteppers
Exhibiting an undiagnosed aversion to progress, these people's greatest efforts are directed towards sabotaging themselves. Always yearning for things to be better, always nipping in the bud any possibilities of that actually becoming a reality. These people see life as a treacherous trek that they must approach with extreme fear (caution is what they like to call it) if they approach it at all!
The Spring-backs
A fascinating demographic. They reek of winning yet when the ball is so positively in their court, something seems to become suddenly unscrewed, paralyzing them. From there, they are sent all the way back to square one where they reawaken, seemingly oblivious to this regression and its cause and therefore usually continue to proceed in the same manner as before (insanity is indeed defined as doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results)! However, because the paralysis usually only affects a certain aspect of their lives, they may be perceived by the outside world to be exponentially winning. Sometimes it is not until their sunset years that the effects of paralysis and regression become apparent. Unfortunately by that time, a lot of time has been lost and it may be highly difficult to reverse or destroy the pattern.
The People with Ascension in their Legs (PALS)
A species that I have only recently observed in its full essence. Extremely intriguing for it is not yet clear to
Whether their fate is sealed or whether hope for them is actually abundant. These people are winners at
Heart. Their every action is filled with the desire to jump but they are held back, usually by the fear of reoccurrences of past disappointments. These people, unlike the Spring-backs, are usually brutally aware of what holds them back. They want to be rid of these nails through their feet but they are not quite yet sure how. Not sure of how to annihilate the fear. Next to the Jumpers, these are the most honest, open and communicative people.
(From a professed aspiring Jumper with extreme Spring-back tendencies!)
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Daily Gospel
The great scientist Albert Einstein said some great things that can be interpreted as heralding the importance of the Arts in Society. So many times have I come across hard heads that look down upon art as 'easy' and inferior and devoid of intellect. In so many ways, the Arts and the Sciences facilitate each others existence. There is no need for choosing sides here…
"Imagination is more important than knowledge."
"The pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are permitted to remain children all our lives."
And indeed, once again we see how Children really know what's up! Socialization is the number one cause of death in my books!
"Imagination is more important than knowledge."
"The pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are permitted to remain children all our lives."
And indeed, once again we see how Children really know what's up! Socialization is the number one cause of death in my books!
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Artspirations
Great artists are extremely intelligent people. It is so in history, in my experience and in my mind, as a budding rule. Great artists are purveyors of beauty (even though the subjects of their work may not necessarily be sunny, aesthetically there is visual harmony) and true beauty I believe is an extension of Truth. That ever-elusive abstract that is only ever understood through experiencing it (recognition requires no preparation, we have an in-built talent to detect it. Whether we trust and allow that intuition is another matter).
That said, often to project Truth, you are aware of it. Beautiful accidents do appear to happen but in such cases, I believe that the creator is somehow in tune with the Truth, albeit subconsciously. And intelligence is just another word for being of mind open enough to question, challenge, assimilate, deconstruct, filter and then reassemble information. That is what artists do.
They stop and breathe. They surrender to their senses allowing them to pick up sensations that most people are too busy striving to absorb. In this way they are able to find beauty in the mundane, in the horrific, in the misunderstood…seeing the God in everything. They translate these available visions in ways worthy of no other label than ingenious, allowing the numbed masses to behold more accessibly that which they had missed.
Am I presuming that art is accessible? Yes. There is also pretentious overly calculated obsequious work devoid of passion. Effusive saturation of flourishes for flourishes sake. Who decides what is art and what is not art? Who decides what art is great and what is not? You do. I can only speak for myself and thus of my own opinion. Nonetheless, I like to think that, if people are honest with themselves and not bent on trying to sound one way or another in order to impress, there is some level of universal consensus when it comes to quality. "Some level" I stress because, on the other hand, if we all had the same preferences, life would have no seasoning. So perhaps the word "quality" should be ingested with consideration to myriad different interpretations from an infinitely diverse range of voices.
Art is alive in every of our breathing moments. From the device that wakes us up to the clothes and adornments we wear to the vehicle we are transported in to the reading material we hold in front of us. Design is art. Typography (oh how I love the possibilities for play that letters and symbols afford!) is art. The way in which food is prepared and presented is art. The form, packaging, and science of products are art. The exploration of the different ways of moving, using, connecting, sharing and transcending the body, is art. The experimentation with different sounds and timbres in an infinite number of combinations and variations is surely art. The way you carry yourself, the way you move, the way you express yourself, is art. It is there for all of us, at every moment.
There is no greater satisfaction I have found than that that comes from creation. Misconception claims that only artists are creative. But artists are merely problem-solvers who favour visual, musical, theatrical, cinematic, literary (and so on) solutions. People are constantly being posed with problems and continually have to dig deep to find innovative ways to solve them. This is creation too. Creation is our gift from God, the universe and/or whatever it is that you believe in. To live and not to create, is not to live at all. It is to be an ungrateful passive bystander of an exciting and elaborate game. You have the capabilities required but are too lazy to figure out how to play.
There's this one line I've been quoting all over the place, by a certain Eastern yogi:
"Without space, creation cannot take place."
I guess that's what we need to always be aware of if we want to be in the game. The requisite of space. Everybody needs space if they are to be in touch with their Selves. Oh that so-frequently used line that releases parties from the potentially self-erasing grips of an unhealthy relationship! It originates from a real and profound place. The site where creation buds and desires nothing but to be let be.
"He who does not, in this world, follow the wheel of creation thus set in motion, is sinful in nature and indulges in sensual pleasures and lives in vain."
-from the Bhagavad Gita
That said, often to project Truth, you are aware of it. Beautiful accidents do appear to happen but in such cases, I believe that the creator is somehow in tune with the Truth, albeit subconsciously. And intelligence is just another word for being of mind open enough to question, challenge, assimilate, deconstruct, filter and then reassemble information. That is what artists do.
They stop and breathe. They surrender to their senses allowing them to pick up sensations that most people are too busy striving to absorb. In this way they are able to find beauty in the mundane, in the horrific, in the misunderstood…seeing the God in everything. They translate these available visions in ways worthy of no other label than ingenious, allowing the numbed masses to behold more accessibly that which they had missed.
Am I presuming that art is accessible? Yes. There is also pretentious overly calculated obsequious work devoid of passion. Effusive saturation of flourishes for flourishes sake. Who decides what is art and what is not art? Who decides what art is great and what is not? You do. I can only speak for myself and thus of my own opinion. Nonetheless, I like to think that, if people are honest with themselves and not bent on trying to sound one way or another in order to impress, there is some level of universal consensus when it comes to quality. "Some level" I stress because, on the other hand, if we all had the same preferences, life would have no seasoning. So perhaps the word "quality" should be ingested with consideration to myriad different interpretations from an infinitely diverse range of voices.
Art is alive in every of our breathing moments. From the device that wakes us up to the clothes and adornments we wear to the vehicle we are transported in to the reading material we hold in front of us. Design is art. Typography (oh how I love the possibilities for play that letters and symbols afford!) is art. The way in which food is prepared and presented is art. The form, packaging, and science of products are art. The exploration of the different ways of moving, using, connecting, sharing and transcending the body, is art. The experimentation with different sounds and timbres in an infinite number of combinations and variations is surely art. The way you carry yourself, the way you move, the way you express yourself, is art. It is there for all of us, at every moment.
There is no greater satisfaction I have found than that that comes from creation. Misconception claims that only artists are creative. But artists are merely problem-solvers who favour visual, musical, theatrical, cinematic, literary (and so on) solutions. People are constantly being posed with problems and continually have to dig deep to find innovative ways to solve them. This is creation too. Creation is our gift from God, the universe and/or whatever it is that you believe in. To live and not to create, is not to live at all. It is to be an ungrateful passive bystander of an exciting and elaborate game. You have the capabilities required but are too lazy to figure out how to play.
There's this one line I've been quoting all over the place, by a certain Eastern yogi:
"Without space, creation cannot take place."
I guess that's what we need to always be aware of if we want to be in the game. The requisite of space. Everybody needs space if they are to be in touch with their Selves. Oh that so-frequently used line that releases parties from the potentially self-erasing grips of an unhealthy relationship! It originates from a real and profound place. The site where creation buds and desires nothing but to be let be.
"He who does not, in this world, follow the wheel of creation thus set in motion, is sinful in nature and indulges in sensual pleasures and lives in vain."
-from the Bhagavad Gita
Book Tag!
Thank you Luna for indulging me in one of my favourite (guilty-pleasure-like) pastimes: answering questions about myself!
# of books that you own?
I think that if all the pals who've borrowed this and that here and there would facilitate their reappearance back to where they were found, we could possibly be in view of the 100-point mark.
Last book you bought?
In My Father's House by Kwame Anthony Appiah
Five books that mean a lot to you?
The Fountainhead---Ayn Rand: The most "selfish" thing that I could have ever done was to read this book. I wish I hadn't waited 22 years! If I were to have a personal bible, this may just be the strongest contender. I'm so anxious to read more of her work but given the density (literally, intellectually and spiritually…), I've been tiptoeing the mission!
Veronika Decides To Die---Paulo Coelho: PC is a winner and every book of his is another insight on how to win; mixed in with magic, intriguing characters, unusual settings etc. Actually perhaps my favourite of his books is "Confessions of a Pilgrim" which is actually an interview where he tells amazing tales of his life experiences. However, Veronika was where my fascination began so she shall always hold a place in my heart.
The Beautyful Ones Are Not Yet Born---Ayi Kwei Armah: This book reintroduced me to the richness, uniqueness and wonder of African literature. Beautiful imagery emerges from misery in a way that can only be described as lyrical. And that's how I think the book manages to make such a powerful and profound political statement. Every African should read it. Heck, every person should!
One Hundred Years Of Solitude---Gabriel Garcia Marquez: I believe in magic. I really do, just not perhaps the kind that fits the description of that in your Oxford or Webster Dictionary. The father of magical realism intertwines reality and fantasy without a flinch in ways that may make you question for a moment, whether perhaps indeed this could all really happen. I read this book in the dead of a Balkans winter and if you haven't experienced one, may you endeavour never to even think about doing so! What a brilliant escape I was afforded by being transported to the lush mystical Macondo. There is something about his writing that really resonates with the African experience that makes it all the more involving.
Siddhartha---Hermann Hesse: I dodged this book for years because of presumptions and preconceptions-boy did I learn a lesson! Transcendental on a personal level for it offered me answers right when I was having a lot of difficulty understanding how to reconcile seemingly-conflicting ideologies I was toying with. So simple, so complex, a poem of sorts, a journey.
And a huge shout out to The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera, Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe, Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi Dangaremba, Temple of My Familiar by Alice Walker, Jivamukti Yoga by Shannon Gannon & David Life and not to forget The Joy of Sex,
Last book(s) you've read?
Histories of the Hanged by David Anderson to school myself further on some Kenyan History, hmmm… Currently juggling the Bhagavad Gita, The Famished Road by Ben Okri and the last book I bought…oooh and not to forget The Joy of Sex.
Pick 5 Bloggers
Mr. Kambo, The Thinker, The mwanamke mwendawazimu, Afromusing and The mental acrobatic. If this is redundant for any of you, oh well, cheers!
# of books that you own?
I think that if all the pals who've borrowed this and that here and there would facilitate their reappearance back to where they were found, we could possibly be in view of the 100-point mark.
Last book you bought?
In My Father's House by Kwame Anthony Appiah
Five books that mean a lot to you?
The Fountainhead---Ayn Rand: The most "selfish" thing that I could have ever done was to read this book. I wish I hadn't waited 22 years! If I were to have a personal bible, this may just be the strongest contender. I'm so anxious to read more of her work but given the density (literally, intellectually and spiritually…), I've been tiptoeing the mission!
Veronika Decides To Die---Paulo Coelho: PC is a winner and every book of his is another insight on how to win; mixed in with magic, intriguing characters, unusual settings etc. Actually perhaps my favourite of his books is "Confessions of a Pilgrim" which is actually an interview where he tells amazing tales of his life experiences. However, Veronika was where my fascination began so she shall always hold a place in my heart.
The Beautyful Ones Are Not Yet Born---Ayi Kwei Armah: This book reintroduced me to the richness, uniqueness and wonder of African literature. Beautiful imagery emerges from misery in a way that can only be described as lyrical. And that's how I think the book manages to make such a powerful and profound political statement. Every African should read it. Heck, every person should!
One Hundred Years Of Solitude---Gabriel Garcia Marquez: I believe in magic. I really do, just not perhaps the kind that fits the description of that in your Oxford or Webster Dictionary. The father of magical realism intertwines reality and fantasy without a flinch in ways that may make you question for a moment, whether perhaps indeed this could all really happen. I read this book in the dead of a Balkans winter and if you haven't experienced one, may you endeavour never to even think about doing so! What a brilliant escape I was afforded by being transported to the lush mystical Macondo. There is something about his writing that really resonates with the African experience that makes it all the more involving.
Siddhartha---Hermann Hesse: I dodged this book for years because of presumptions and preconceptions-boy did I learn a lesson! Transcendental on a personal level for it offered me answers right when I was having a lot of difficulty understanding how to reconcile seemingly-conflicting ideologies I was toying with. So simple, so complex, a poem of sorts, a journey.
And a huge shout out to The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera, Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe, Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi Dangaremba, Temple of My Familiar by Alice Walker, Jivamukti Yoga by Shannon Gannon & David Life and not to forget The Joy of Sex,
Last book(s) you've read?
Histories of the Hanged by David Anderson to school myself further on some Kenyan History, hmmm… Currently juggling the Bhagavad Gita, The Famished Road by Ben Okri and the last book I bought…oooh and not to forget The Joy of Sex.
Pick 5 Bloggers
Mr. Kambo, The Thinker, The mwanamke mwendawazimu, Afromusing and The mental acrobatic. If this is redundant for any of you, oh well, cheers!
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Daily Gospel
"the truth is a powerful thing that haunts you when you don't let it be."
– Sanaa @ Pressure Makes Diamond
– Sanaa @ Pressure Makes Diamond
Bon Appetit
"To belong is to have a place from which to face the world. To belong is to be a part of something. To belong is to realise the luxury and peril of both being able to reject and the possibility of being rejected. To belong is to actively repudiate that which dares to question the basis of one's belonging. To belong is not to be an alien in place, person, or practice."
—Raimi Gbadamosi
Curator, Mixed Belongings: Eight Contemporary African Makers
A must-see exhibition for anyone interested in art, identity and all the conversations that join and polemics that attempt to disconnect the two.
@ the Crafts Council, London, UK until 21 August '05
—Raimi Gbadamosi
Curator, Mixed Belongings: Eight Contemporary African Makers
A must-see exhibition for anyone interested in art, identity and all the conversations that join and polemics that attempt to disconnect the two.
@ the Crafts Council, London, UK until 21 August '05
Flowers for Russell/ Always Everything
I'm sitting in Bloomsbury Park by Russell Square. Not too far way, on the grass, there is a memorial—flowers, candles, cards, and sentiments for the victims from last week's explosions in London. People keep venturing there, absorbing it for extended periods of time. It's quite interesting to watch this human behaviour. I assume that most are random opportunistic spectators who are drawn by the commotion and colourful display. Drawn by curiosity and it is the nature of this curiosity that intrigues me.
Sometimes I fear that I’m heartless but surely, if I were to care deeply about everything, I would have nothing left within me to carry on even just basic survival. It would take too much out of me — the grief, the sorrow. So I gaze, somewhat distanced, across at the moving crowd.
What draws them?
Does the display remind them of their mortality? Does it remind them that, whatever they may be going through, it could be worse (presuming that most view death as a bad thing, which is also an unfortunate fact. And why does it take negative events to remind us of how positive every day and every breath is, or can be?)? Is it out of sympathy that that they are compelled to come and look?
Personally, I despise the concept of sympathy. One can never feel another’s pain unless they go through it exactly themselves, from the same perspective too. You can claim to ‘know’ how it feels but this knowledge is pieced together from social mores and probably from a lot of media absorption/propaganda. And what does sympathy do anyway? Nothing I can think of with any great consequence. The victim of your sympathy will probably not significantly alter their perception of you because of this expression. (I feel a lot of people extend their sympathies because it is “the right thing” to do. Because it is expected.) Actually, if you are indeed a close and special associate, they might begin to doubt your genuineness for, in my experience, overly-conscious sympathy comes across as phony as it can get! Just be there, as yourself. That’s all anyone should ever expect from you anyway.
So back to the commemoration in question. I cannot help but think that it is, after all, done in the spirit of exhibitionism. The families and friends of the victims have perhaps placed pictures and eulogies there for the world to see and feel their loss. Is it out of that common human drive to show and share your love. The families and friends may not live anywhere near this display. Its location is only guided by proximity to the scene of the crime. Who and what does that really serve? I don’t know. But then again, I feel that way about cemeteries too. Nowadays, with people being buried at cemetery grounds I wonder, why should I have to travel to ‘spend time’ with my deceased. That traditionally people were buried in their villages, near the homes that their families had and would continue to live for generations, makes a little more sense to me. However, nowadays with landlessness and movement being more the norm, that no longer holds. Why are we so fixated with physical space? So skeptical of and resistant to the intangible? Why do we limit ourselves so? Our people are with us everywhere and at every moment.
I would like to be cremated and have my ashes thrown in the Indian Ocean — left to travel to wherever they will. Left to once again become anonymous, just another in a universe of particles. Each relatively insignificant, nothing, and yet always everything. And that is what I can fathom to truly be a resting place.
I think I’ll take a close walk by this commemoration. Perhaps it will bring new insight and understanding.
For all the victims and their people — peace.
Sometimes I fear that I’m heartless but surely, if I were to care deeply about everything, I would have nothing left within me to carry on even just basic survival. It would take too much out of me — the grief, the sorrow. So I gaze, somewhat distanced, across at the moving crowd.
What draws them?
Does the display remind them of their mortality? Does it remind them that, whatever they may be going through, it could be worse (presuming that most view death as a bad thing, which is also an unfortunate fact. And why does it take negative events to remind us of how positive every day and every breath is, or can be?)? Is it out of sympathy that that they are compelled to come and look?
Personally, I despise the concept of sympathy. One can never feel another’s pain unless they go through it exactly themselves, from the same perspective too. You can claim to ‘know’ how it feels but this knowledge is pieced together from social mores and probably from a lot of media absorption/propaganda. And what does sympathy do anyway? Nothing I can think of with any great consequence. The victim of your sympathy will probably not significantly alter their perception of you because of this expression. (I feel a lot of people extend their sympathies because it is “the right thing” to do. Because it is expected.) Actually, if you are indeed a close and special associate, they might begin to doubt your genuineness for, in my experience, overly-conscious sympathy comes across as phony as it can get! Just be there, as yourself. That’s all anyone should ever expect from you anyway.
So back to the commemoration in question. I cannot help but think that it is, after all, done in the spirit of exhibitionism. The families and friends of the victims have perhaps placed pictures and eulogies there for the world to see and feel their loss. Is it out of that common human drive to show and share your love. The families and friends may not live anywhere near this display. Its location is only guided by proximity to the scene of the crime. Who and what does that really serve? I don’t know. But then again, I feel that way about cemeteries too. Nowadays, with people being buried at cemetery grounds I wonder, why should I have to travel to ‘spend time’ with my deceased. That traditionally people were buried in their villages, near the homes that their families had and would continue to live for generations, makes a little more sense to me. However, nowadays with landlessness and movement being more the norm, that no longer holds. Why are we so fixated with physical space? So skeptical of and resistant to the intangible? Why do we limit ourselves so? Our people are with us everywhere and at every moment.
I would like to be cremated and have my ashes thrown in the Indian Ocean — left to travel to wherever they will. Left to once again become anonymous, just another in a universe of particles. Each relatively insignificant, nothing, and yet always everything. And that is what I can fathom to truly be a resting place.
I think I’ll take a close walk by this commemoration. Perhaps it will bring new insight and understanding.
For all the victims and their people — peace.
Monday, July 11, 2005
DISattachment
Location is an amazing thing. It can play such profound tricks and games on the mind. Or to be specific, on the mind that chooses to, even momentarily, lose focus. Everything about life is so delicate. Any slight change in the conditions that keep something in one state can significantly alter it. And since change is inevitable, consistency is hard to hold on to. And it all reminds me about the dangers of attachment. Attachment is like a heavy parasite that becomes so much a part of you that you begin to depend on it almost as much as it depends on you. In the spirit of annihilating any and every instance, occurrence, example of this certifiably ludicrous behaviour, I embrace the great unknown knowing that Complacency (Attachment’s favourite vice) will not be able to keep up with me on the journey. I embrace Newness and it’s great mentor Growth. I challenge Nostalgia knowing that she can never bring me down and if anything, will only push me closer to Total Conviction. Always climbing, always breaking through.
Sunday, June 26, 2005
The Camera as a Weapon
Storyteller extraordinaire, the father of African film, Ousmane Sembene speaks about filmmaking in Africa, pan-Africanism and where it all comes together. If you haven't already and are presented with the opportunity, watch his latest production "Moolade".
Saturday, June 25, 2005
Have You Used Your Voice Today?
We have been blessed with these great abilities to observe, assess, think, respond, to express ourselves! But it's amazing how under-exercised they some of them are. I have lately become very antagonistic toward several service-providers Stateside. But ahhhh, the beauty of Customer Service. Well, not quite. Usually I get through to a machine who obviously can never cater to your individual needs and queries and they are making it increasingly impossible to get past all the menus and options to talk to a real live human-being. What thoroughly frustrated me the other day was the fact that a company like Amazon.com doesn't even have the courtesy to provide customers with a telephone number! No. This was not going to work. Seek and ye shall find and this I did: answers and an excellent example of using one's voice. Peruse and be impressed (or not).
The Pleasure of Unemployment
A lot of people I know have lately been dropping out of the 9 to 5. The parent generation shake their heads and despair for the future of their children. Now, appreciating that everyone’s experience is unique, I cannot help but look at the great potential and world of possibility in a decision like that. Our generation has a lot more choice and often when we take advantage of that fact, we are seen as naïve, spoiled, frivolous and inexperienced. Well, of course we are inexperienced and experience is the only thing that begets experience. So let us jump into the fires we create. They may turn out to be the kind of fires that destroy and they just may turn out to be the kind of fires that create new substances of value. The parents should only hope that they have prepared us well enough to deal with the scalding and to not let it discourage us from jumping in again.
Below is something I wrote a while ago, at a point where I decided grab 9 to 5 (well more like 9 to whatever time or day the deadline is) by the balls.
The Pleasure of Unemployment
On my job search, I have realized that most calls for graphic designers are really calls for either impressionable putty to be moulded to required specifications or for already formed but malleable material that is content to oblige to any required specification.
There is always that point in the interview when I realize whether or not I’m going to get the job. The moments preceding it have been equivocal, either outcome was still possible but then, right then, I realize that everything following is merely formality. That the decision is made. Sometimes that moment occurs when I step into the building, sometimes it happens when the first employee passes by me, sometimes it even occurs when I answer the ad posting the job. You would think I derive pleasure from it as if it is some sort of game. You may think that I’m a masochist who goes around searching out disappointment. The thing is however, it’s not disappointment that I feel. It’s a quiet acceptance and further concretization of the truth that I have been trying so hard to conceal. Now as I start to open myself up to it, it no longer hurts but in fact relieves. This is what I’ve been afraid of. This is why I’ve wasted so much time?
But I don’t look at it as wasted time because that in itself is wasting time. I am brought to this point in my life. And had any single detail been different, I may not have reached this point, like this. Like how? One may ask. Like this: calm, ready, enlightened, excited, invigorated, prepared, confident, cool, thankful. All the experiences and decisions made in my life so far, have brought me to this point and for that, regretting is useless.
I guess the absence of disappointment is explained by the presence of affirmation. When I realize that I am not the kind of candidate that they are looking for, it is not failure, inadequacy or imcompetence that I feel. I know that I am competent. I spent my childhood proving to myself that I could do almost anything that I was really determined to do and that I could excel at if I so wanted. I know that I could do this job they’re asking of me brilliantly. But gone are the days when I am eagerly prepared to spend my precious time doing something that I derive no joy in; something that brings nothing positive to my existence—something that doesn’t celebrate it in anyway. Yes, thankfully those days are past. So as I sit in that interview room, I know that I have a choice. If I really wanted to, I feel I could convince the interviewer why I’m the perfect candidate for the position. It is not hard to make people like you. However, when I realize that the job is not really for me, I no longer see any need in wasting energy to get it. That seems to go against the nature of the universe: going after something which is not for you. It’s obvious that the only thing that can follow that is unhappiness. Of which I want no stake in.
The pleasure of unemployment is not, as myopia may have one think, having nothing to do. To me, having nothing to do is a kind of hell. No purpose, no aim, no satisfaction in solving a given problem. The pleasure of unemployment is the freedom of working for yourself. And I do not mean that merely in the sense of being your own boss. A lot of these people still, in effect, work for others—those they want to impress, those who consume the services they provide, and it goes on… No, I mean the freedom of doing work that is your own. You created it, you go through the process of making it come to life and at the end, you judge it. Though others may too, your judgement is the only necessary one. The only satisfying one. The only one you could care to hear.
Now I may be venturing on idealist territory here. This is something that I often do and with no excuses. Every one of us has a unique voice. A unique calling and a unique thing to offer existence. If we tune into that, we will find that our work has space to exist. That if we do our work, we will find a place for it to rest, even though it may have seemed that there was no room. That is faith. That is what believing in yourself is all about. We were not brought to life to just use up oxygen. I believe there were more noble reasons. We insult our existence when we make nothing of it. When it is just our physicality that concerns us as if we are machines whose work is just to run as expected. Anonymous and regular, just like every other machine. No, that cannot be what life is about and those who make it so sentence themselves to the very unhappiness that they suffer.
* * * *
Incidentally, I did have this one amazing interview that is hard to even define as such. It was more like an easy conversation between friends—totally candid, totally real. And yes, I did get the job.
* * * *
Confucius say: "Choose a job you love and you will never have to work a day in your life."
Well, I don't look at work as a bad thing so may I take the liberty (the nerve!) to ammend quote to my liking: "Choose work you love and you will never have a job for a day in your life."
Well maybe it's not quite there yet. My point is, work, to me, is elevating whereas "job" is more synonymous with obligation.
The Lazy Way to Success
Below is something I wrote a while ago, at a point where I decided grab 9 to 5 (well more like 9 to whatever time or day the deadline is) by the balls.
The Pleasure of Unemployment
On my job search, I have realized that most calls for graphic designers are really calls for either impressionable putty to be moulded to required specifications or for already formed but malleable material that is content to oblige to any required specification.
There is always that point in the interview when I realize whether or not I’m going to get the job. The moments preceding it have been equivocal, either outcome was still possible but then, right then, I realize that everything following is merely formality. That the decision is made. Sometimes that moment occurs when I step into the building, sometimes it happens when the first employee passes by me, sometimes it even occurs when I answer the ad posting the job. You would think I derive pleasure from it as if it is some sort of game. You may think that I’m a masochist who goes around searching out disappointment. The thing is however, it’s not disappointment that I feel. It’s a quiet acceptance and further concretization of the truth that I have been trying so hard to conceal. Now as I start to open myself up to it, it no longer hurts but in fact relieves. This is what I’ve been afraid of. This is why I’ve wasted so much time?
But I don’t look at it as wasted time because that in itself is wasting time. I am brought to this point in my life. And had any single detail been different, I may not have reached this point, like this. Like how? One may ask. Like this: calm, ready, enlightened, excited, invigorated, prepared, confident, cool, thankful. All the experiences and decisions made in my life so far, have brought me to this point and for that, regretting is useless.
I guess the absence of disappointment is explained by the presence of affirmation. When I realize that I am not the kind of candidate that they are looking for, it is not failure, inadequacy or imcompetence that I feel. I know that I am competent. I spent my childhood proving to myself that I could do almost anything that I was really determined to do and that I could excel at if I so wanted. I know that I could do this job they’re asking of me brilliantly. But gone are the days when I am eagerly prepared to spend my precious time doing something that I derive no joy in; something that brings nothing positive to my existence—something that doesn’t celebrate it in anyway. Yes, thankfully those days are past. So as I sit in that interview room, I know that I have a choice. If I really wanted to, I feel I could convince the interviewer why I’m the perfect candidate for the position. It is not hard to make people like you. However, when I realize that the job is not really for me, I no longer see any need in wasting energy to get it. That seems to go against the nature of the universe: going after something which is not for you. It’s obvious that the only thing that can follow that is unhappiness. Of which I want no stake in.
The pleasure of unemployment is not, as myopia may have one think, having nothing to do. To me, having nothing to do is a kind of hell. No purpose, no aim, no satisfaction in solving a given problem. The pleasure of unemployment is the freedom of working for yourself. And I do not mean that merely in the sense of being your own boss. A lot of these people still, in effect, work for others—those they want to impress, those who consume the services they provide, and it goes on… No, I mean the freedom of doing work that is your own. You created it, you go through the process of making it come to life and at the end, you judge it. Though others may too, your judgement is the only necessary one. The only satisfying one. The only one you could care to hear.
Now I may be venturing on idealist territory here. This is something that I often do and with no excuses. Every one of us has a unique voice. A unique calling and a unique thing to offer existence. If we tune into that, we will find that our work has space to exist. That if we do our work, we will find a place for it to rest, even though it may have seemed that there was no room. That is faith. That is what believing in yourself is all about. We were not brought to life to just use up oxygen. I believe there were more noble reasons. We insult our existence when we make nothing of it. When it is just our physicality that concerns us as if we are machines whose work is just to run as expected. Anonymous and regular, just like every other machine. No, that cannot be what life is about and those who make it so sentence themselves to the very unhappiness that they suffer.
* * * *
Incidentally, I did have this one amazing interview that is hard to even define as such. It was more like an easy conversation between friends—totally candid, totally real. And yes, I did get the job.
* * * *
Confucius say: "Choose a job you love and you will never have to work a day in your life."
Well, I don't look at work as a bad thing so may I take the liberty (the nerve!) to ammend quote to my liking: "Choose work you love and you will never have a job for a day in your life."
Well maybe it's not quite there yet. My point is, work, to me, is elevating whereas "job" is more synonymous with obligation.
The Lazy Way to Success
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Flabbergasted/Strike Me Down!
I came about this in Psalms (137):
"O Babylon, you will be destroyed. Happy is the one who pays you back for what you have done to us. Happy is the one who takes your babies and smashes them against the rocks!"
This? In the Bible. Not some new Quentin Taratino vision but that old good book itself! Good book? Totem of a religion that claims to herald virtues such as tolerance yet intolerance reeks from its every breath? Schadenfreude, vindication, lovelessness. And don’t they tell you to love thy enemy?
Now before I obliviously unnecessarily offend any believers let me state here that I have never studied the Bible, I have rarely ever gone to church and the times that I have visited were mostly out of obligation to wedding parties and folks in need of confirmation. Incidentally, I come from a line of pastors and staunch believers. My grandfather preaching this, his brother preaching that, one uncle preaching the other, one uncle bringing the good book and “holy” music when he visits lest our secular lifestyle should tempt him out of the queue to salvation.
Now when it comes to God, I am a great believer. And I appreciate that everyone has their own interpretation and way of conversating with and appreciating God. Who am I to claim one way is better? Who am I to claim that in this world of billions, each person with different likes, dislikes, mannerisms, lifestyles, mentalities, cultures, identities, opinions…that there is ONE RIGHT WAY to reach salvation (that’s the common goal isn’t it?). Why should I be so concerned about my neighbours’ activities anyway, when my own aren’t necessarily in check?
And this concept called forgiveness? Should I only practice it when some ulterior motive nags me to (e.g.. when I want to justify my own latent shortcomings by accepting them in others)? Should I just claim that I practice it, for claiming’s sake when really I’m harbouring graphic schemes of how, after I have led under false pretences the offender into a sense of security and warmth, I shall blast them out of that naiveté with one deft blow of quid pro quo! (See aforementioned Psalm)
I am here now led to understand that, I should revel in vengeance. That were I to take it into my own hands, I should feel myself overcome with joy. That the sight of blood and baby bits splattered over rocks should bring me satisfaction and a sense of having gotten the job done.
"O Babylon, you will be destroyed. Happy is the one who pays you back for what you have done to us. Happy is the one who takes your babies and smashes them against the rocks!"
This? In the Bible. Not some new Quentin Taratino vision but that old good book itself! Good book? Totem of a religion that claims to herald virtues such as tolerance yet intolerance reeks from its every breath? Schadenfreude, vindication, lovelessness. And don’t they tell you to love thy enemy?
Now before I obliviously unnecessarily offend any believers let me state here that I have never studied the Bible, I have rarely ever gone to church and the times that I have visited were mostly out of obligation to wedding parties and folks in need of confirmation. Incidentally, I come from a line of pastors and staunch believers. My grandfather preaching this, his brother preaching that, one uncle preaching the other, one uncle bringing the good book and “holy” music when he visits lest our secular lifestyle should tempt him out of the queue to salvation.
Now when it comes to God, I am a great believer. And I appreciate that everyone has their own interpretation and way of conversating with and appreciating God. Who am I to claim one way is better? Who am I to claim that in this world of billions, each person with different likes, dislikes, mannerisms, lifestyles, mentalities, cultures, identities, opinions…that there is ONE RIGHT WAY to reach salvation (that’s the common goal isn’t it?). Why should I be so concerned about my neighbours’ activities anyway, when my own aren’t necessarily in check?
And this concept called forgiveness? Should I only practice it when some ulterior motive nags me to (e.g.. when I want to justify my own latent shortcomings by accepting them in others)? Should I just claim that I practice it, for claiming’s sake when really I’m harbouring graphic schemes of how, after I have led under false pretences the offender into a sense of security and warmth, I shall blast them out of that naiveté with one deft blow of quid pro quo! (See aforementioned Psalm)
I am here now led to understand that, I should revel in vengeance. That were I to take it into my own hands, I should feel myself overcome with joy. That the sight of blood and baby bits splattered over rocks should bring me satisfaction and a sense of having gotten the job done.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Daily Gospel
"if you can't beat them, arrange for them to be beaten."
(my good friend Spooky)
DISCLAIMER: Not always wise or sane but it is in the absence of these adjectives that great things usually come about.
(my good friend Spooky)
DISCLAIMER: Not always wise or sane but it is in the absence of these adjectives that great things usually come about.
A little bit of Om
It's so funny/pathetic how it sometimes takes reading another's account/view/opinion/thought to put together in a sense-ical manner those loose canons that have been tearing up cohesiveness and articulation in your mind.
The mind. Such a crazy dark crafty shrewd evil perfect enlightening wonderful fascinating perplexing space. And that different minds can come together in agreeance and better yet that different minds can conflict, destroy, build up again, supplement, complement, compliment eachother ensuing in even more crazy dark shrewd evil perfect enlightening…results!
This blog really isn't about anything, per se. It's just one of those times when I don't really have anything specific to say so random thoughts flock in from everywhere and go on stage with no particular script to follow. It's just me appreciating…every thing and it's own individual uniqueness (beauty, truth).
And it's amazing to realise, when you stop trying to be, that you already are.
Perhaps a little bit of context would help with clarity (but clarity is sometimes overrated anyway).
The mind. Such a crazy dark crafty shrewd evil perfect enlightening wonderful fascinating perplexing space. And that different minds can come together in agreeance and better yet that different minds can conflict, destroy, build up again, supplement, complement, compliment eachother ensuing in even more crazy dark shrewd evil perfect enlightening…results!
This blog really isn't about anything, per se. It's just one of those times when I don't really have anything specific to say so random thoughts flock in from everywhere and go on stage with no particular script to follow. It's just me appreciating…every thing and it's own individual uniqueness (beauty, truth).
And it's amazing to realise, when you stop trying to be, that you already are.
Perhaps a little bit of context would help with clarity (but clarity is sometimes overrated anyway).
Friday, May 27, 2005
Daily Gospel
"The best protection policy by far is to vigorously pursue winning rather than to expend most of one's energy (as most do) on avoiding defeat."
—Tom Peters
—Tom Peters
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Raising the Bar
It is ironic that in our society, relationships are set up to fail yet being in one seems to be held in such esteem. From the moment that we can discern the meanings of words, the brainwashing process begins as television, films, songs and books romanticize the idea of being in love and more specifically, being with someone. Little girls dream not of being great thinkers, great artists, great scientists, great leaders, but of being whisked away to eternal bliss by prince charming on a white horse. It is inevitable then that they will be disappointed. Boys, on the other hand, are pushed, held-up and guided toward self-actualization, independence and self-reliance. To them, relationships are fashioned to be symbols of success and institutions that allow for further support of their aspirations (Imagine a US president without a wife!). The women, in effect, are service-providers and as we all know—there is no use in continued patronage of a service that no longer fits your desires. So the girl who believes she has finally found the prince she's dreamt of all along, soon learns that she is expendable. That the adoration has cruised down a lonely one-way street and now she is back in her wilderness.
When two people can meet, each recognising and respecting that the other has dreams and goals. When they can nurture each other to facilitate eachother's growth without being dependent on it. When they can see and believe in the other's potential and not get in the way of it. When they can speak even the most intimate of their thoughts and be their unabridged naked selves without fear of exposure vulnerability or judgement. When they can appreciate each other for what they are and not just what they are to eachother, together, in the relationship, but for what they will still be, irrespective of being "together." When there are no hesitations, no doubts but plain shameless candor. When no one else matters for the union is sacred to the two involved…
I don't think that's asking too much. Maybe tomorrow I'll change my mind and edit thoe expectations but, so far, this is the point that all my experiences have brought me to. I am never dejected: I am so very excited by the prospect of living this. Living thus.
love
When two people can meet, each recognising and respecting that the other has dreams and goals. When they can nurture each other to facilitate eachother's growth without being dependent on it. When they can see and believe in the other's potential and not get in the way of it. When they can speak even the most intimate of their thoughts and be their unabridged naked selves without fear of exposure vulnerability or judgement. When they can appreciate each other for what they are and not just what they are to eachother, together, in the relationship, but for what they will still be, irrespective of being "together." When there are no hesitations, no doubts but plain shameless candor. When no one else matters for the union is sacred to the two involved…
I don't think that's asking too much. Maybe tomorrow I'll change my mind and edit thoe expectations but, so far, this is the point that all my experiences have brought me to. I am never dejected: I am so very excited by the prospect of living this. Living thus.
love
Monday, May 23, 2005
Daily Gospel
I came across this blog with a great name:
"Mkombozi wa mwanamke ni mwanamke mwenyewe"!
(translation: the liberator/saviour of a woman is the woman herself)
"Mkombozi wa mwanamke ni mwanamke mwenyewe"!
(translation: the liberator/saviour of a woman is the woman herself)
Friday, May 20, 2005
On Lock Down but Free As Hell
So after almost a decade of threatening everyone that I would…I did. Now, I’ve tried it in the past but after a week, I gave up. I wasn’t ready. I was still attached to the (relative) novelty of my versatile ‘fro. But the winds of change have blown away my apprehension and here I sit, 4 weeks after beginning the locking process. Inspired by fellow bloggers Mama Junkyard and Soulsystah, I am compelled to write about locks in my life.
Well, the reality of other people’s reactions to my chosen hairstyle is still not with me. Currently I am around people who are tolerant of the idea, my mum surprisingly included. I have an inkling that she thinks it is a quickly passing phase. I believe that the first real test will come when I step out of customs and immigration at JKIA. My father subscribes to that (generational?) mentality where locks=dirty, scruffy, hoodlum etc. My brother went that way about 3 years ago and my father would plead with me to talk some ‘sense’ into him. Not a chance. Who now will talk sense into me? I’m sure I will be told by many how having locks will affect the way people look at and treat me. Sure enough, even with my tamed natural hair, people with similar but disguised hair textures would volunteer and reassure me that my hairstyle was okay, and that I would be alright. Thanks. It sure was reassuring to know that I would be alright despite the fact that I had chosen not to alter my hair with the use of chemicals!
As for the political implications of dreadlocks, I will not venture there in this particular post. I will admit however, that while those romantic notions of getting back to the “real” and shedding foreign standards of beauty sure can be attractive, that is not my main motivating force. Truth be told, ever since I refused to be a slave to Nice n’ Lovely, Soft n’ Beautiful, Crème of Nature (note the self-deprecating propaganda explicit in the names alone!), I have been exponentially happier. Nevertheless, it has not meant lower maintenance. The extra extra coarse grade of hair that I have been blessed with would loudly proclaim that it was opposed to combing and, when I defied it (and it was a tough job let me tell you), it would shortly demonstrate its opposition by behaving as if it had never known what a comb was! So I decided to submit and let it be. That does not mean that I am resorting to raising what I call “real dreads”, i.e. through the “neglect” method. No, I’m still too vain for that…
Support Group
Well, the reality of other people’s reactions to my chosen hairstyle is still not with me. Currently I am around people who are tolerant of the idea, my mum surprisingly included. I have an inkling that she thinks it is a quickly passing phase. I believe that the first real test will come when I step out of customs and immigration at JKIA. My father subscribes to that (generational?) mentality where locks=dirty, scruffy, hoodlum etc. My brother went that way about 3 years ago and my father would plead with me to talk some ‘sense’ into him. Not a chance. Who now will talk sense into me? I’m sure I will be told by many how having locks will affect the way people look at and treat me. Sure enough, even with my tamed natural hair, people with similar but disguised hair textures would volunteer and reassure me that my hairstyle was okay, and that I would be alright. Thanks. It sure was reassuring to know that I would be alright despite the fact that I had chosen not to alter my hair with the use of chemicals!
As for the political implications of dreadlocks, I will not venture there in this particular post. I will admit however, that while those romantic notions of getting back to the “real” and shedding foreign standards of beauty sure can be attractive, that is not my main motivating force. Truth be told, ever since I refused to be a slave to Nice n’ Lovely, Soft n’ Beautiful, Crème of Nature (note the self-deprecating propaganda explicit in the names alone!), I have been exponentially happier. Nevertheless, it has not meant lower maintenance. The extra extra coarse grade of hair that I have been blessed with would loudly proclaim that it was opposed to combing and, when I defied it (and it was a tough job let me tell you), it would shortly demonstrate its opposition by behaving as if it had never known what a comb was! So I decided to submit and let it be. That does not mean that I am resorting to raising what I call “real dreads”, i.e. through the “neglect” method. No, I’m still too vain for that…
Support Group
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