Every year, at this time, like clock work, my world is thrown into tail spin of what it is I want, what is lacking and what I really shouldn’t give a shit about…every year, at this time, like clock work…I remain confused.
The new years chaos brings with it unavoidable introspection and retrospection about what I prioritize in my life. Given recent context (the aunt I reference in my last posting has since passed on) this self analysis has been exaggerated. I have always been a firm believer that ones life can easily be illustrated as a pie chart…each wonderful piece signifying a partition that contributes to ones self. A piece for family, one for work, one for hobbies. One for the general bunch of friends and one for the really close ones. Then there is a piece each for a section related to “the romantic real” and another (probably the most important) for ones self. This year end stock take, provokes thoughts around contribution and management of each and every piece.
Those that have availed themselves to my meandering thoughts, will know that this time of year nears 2 of the saddest days of the year for me…the silver going to the uber commercialized “New Years” and gold (by a country mile) to my birthday that follows not soon after. Yes, yes, its all about perception and mindset and all that jazz…but my mindset and perception and attached jazz saddens me, as these two days, till this, my soon to be 25th experience of it, have all been anticlimactic. No new year has been a complete and utter thoughtless event surrounded by good friend and family and no birthday has ever been glorified or validating. I should be bigger than this. I know, but screw it…if not on this, the most important day in your life (as one ex referred to it), then when else does one get spoilt and completely self absorbed? The completely over commercialized February 14th?
What aggravates further, is that in general, I have moved heaven and earth for those close to me, to at the very least, know that on that day, they are all that matter. With the exception of one this year (I’m sorry, but I adopted this philosophy given context and this thought process and you got caught in the cross fire), I have been good in this regard.
As I process them chronologically (which came first, the birthday or the new year) I look back on another year of short comings, lack of articulation, disappointments and lack of commitments, both from and to. Ranging from not being able to quit smoking entirely to a continuation of the romantic tragedy it continues to be (and everything in between) I am saddened at how I did not follow through on the undoubted potential that the unknown holds. Granted, there have been many positives from this time period (time period being the last new years till this) with regards to career, sport, friendships found and lost and interactions that have fueled both thought and action…something has been lacking. What exactly it is… I cannot pin point.
For those that read this that know me, please remain calm, I am neither homicidal nor suicidal, despite the dark rings around my eyes. I am merely thrown into a period of deep and analytical thought. Seeking what it is I should change and what, of the regrets that I have accumulated, that I should rather look fondly on or merely remember as incidents of a past or seriously consider putting on the “crap, I wish I could have changed that” shelf.
2007 was meant to be a year in which I pulled my finger out and took control of an existence that I felt, in certain realms, I was merely floating along in. The year began with heart ache, continued with confusion, was punctuated with frustration and has reached this junction. Before I sound like my life is completely a helpless and hopeless situation, I have to admit to shining lights of happiness and clarity that have popped up here and there…be them in the context of my career moves, new interactions (and the re-emergence of old ones)or the growing personalities of my stunning nieces.
I am however, bored. The pieces of the pie interest, but sorta fail to intrigue…how did this happen? Well, simple. Continually giving without condition and hesitation has left me a wee bit tired and listless (lacking list). It’s not melancholia, but it’s certainly not rays of fucking sunshine.
I’m more tired, more often and one observer even ventured an analysis…”It must be lonely being you”. A perception that’s not entirely off the mark. Though I very much enjoy being by myself, I am filled with infinite thoughts of what’s missing, what do I want and what do I want to ignore.
I am my own island! (Contrary to Jon Bon Fucking Jovi) I do not owe anyone, anything. There is no case of me being selfish, because, as Hugh Grant’s once character said “I can’t be selfish, because there is no one to put before me, it’s just me.”
So what the hell am I missing…its not kids, it’s not a stable relationship, its not more money (though that would be very cool)…The glass is not half empty, most of the time anyway. But I am just frustrated at the plethora of grey. I guess its simple enough for me to acknowledge that I need to take the proverbial bull by its proverbial horns…but I would need to figure out first if I wanted it to be a nice domesticated pet or a nice juicy steak.
To any of you that read this, that do know me; should the thought arise to try to inspire a change of opinion, please do not waste your time to rectify the years of vanilla. This will not be held against you and this post was never meant to insight action. You are as I see you now and this New Year or birthday, will not change my fond opinions of you (if I do, in fact have fond opinions of you) This is just a vent. An unadulterated, unjustified, minimal context, no validation vent.
Well, whatever the case, I guess I’ll figure it out in time. This sort of intense, deep, dark and generally self imposed depression fades shortly after the “gold” day…after yet another acknowledgment of what my role is to so many… but don’t worry. I’m ok. I promise.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Monday, November 5, 2007
Thoughts of a dying atheist
Last Saturday, I, for the first time in my life spoke to someone that was dying. Yes, yes, I know we are all dying in the physical/metaphorical sense. But my aunt is losing traction in her long battle with cancer.
An interesting woman that I was never too exposed to, she has exuded valor, strength, courage and determination through this torturous time. It’s absolutely amazing that this woman, whom has played such a peripheral role in my life, is the sole catalyst in a lot of introspection right now.
Her relationship with my mum is bound by the ultimate element…happy memories of a long since past. My mum and she were tennis champs together and supreme conquerors when it came to the doubles format.
I have my opinion on why my mum takes such great strain in this time, considering, growing up, I don’t recollect massive interaction between the two. Yet now, as I’m sure my mum does worry about her son and exhausted husband, it is their memories, forged in the realm of sport in an era of hardship that twists the knife in my aching mother’s heart.
Whilst chemo eats away at her, the core of who she is still shines through in no diluted format. Last week, after a battle longer than 2 years, she mentions to me “Took a bit of a bad turn last night, but are we still on for that game?” It took all of me to not start bawling then and there as she referenced a quip of mine regarding me playing her on her return to full health. There was, however, an undertone, a hint, maybe just an atom worth of exhaustion in her voice…something that I have never heard, even pretty much immediately post chemo.
As her condition has worsened since that last conversation, I think of her more and more each day and how pieces of me continue to bleed for my mother and my cousin’s heart.
To lose a sibling for me, with all of my creativity, would be unimaginable. To lose my mother, would be devastating. And as blasé as we try to be with ourselves, it is a near impossibility to pass “death is a part of life” of as a realistic mantra. If you are a person that had even an iota of your heart touched by a person that has since passed, you shed a tear…physically or otherwise.
My aunt, the athletic woman she kept herself to be until chemo and cancer robbed her off her physical presence, remains a competitive soul. After that conversation with her (curtailed by a sudden tiredness) I was left in pieces, sitting on my bed, wiping my eyes. Wondering what it was that was going on in her mind and more importantly, in her heart. Is she realizing that she may have suffered one relapse too many, or is she still giving the grim reaper a two fingered salute? What, strength pending, would she articulate and to whom? What are her last thoughts before bed and her first, each morning? Does she hate her God or give a metaphorical shrug of the shoulders and write it off as the hand she was dealt?
Is she angry, sad? Does she have regret and if so, what?
Does each eve feel like the last and is each morn a painful reminder of her physical state? Does time not even exist in her world and is it just a matter of piecing together moments?
One thing I do know though, she has shown me what the term “heart” truly is. I know it in a sporting sense, but in this very real life situation, she has been a true gladiator.
The strong hug I received from her in February, shortly after another one of those chemo sessions was not one of strength of God or advancement in medical technologies. It was one that came from the heart. To see a nephew that she wasn’t all that attached to, visit her at her home and speak to her as a long lost aunt that has just been away for a bit. She played the doting aunt and I was the good little nephew that constantly kept in touch. It mattered to neither of us that there were decades that slipped through the cracks…just that she wanted people to be sincere and that’s what I offered.
I am saddened that I never got to absorb more of her now. Who knows, if circumstances had offered us more time minus this context, I may not have even like her…but that’s if our hands were different.
As she lays in a nursing home, on oxygen permanently and shunning away visitors, I know for a fact of what a warrior she is. Her fight has been a long and exhausting affair and all I could wish for her is that she feels complete and utter bliss and peace in either a path to recovery or that alternative reality that we shall all be faced with one day.
Should a grieving family member or friend be given ones full attention when they wish to show affection/sympathy/or just to see that person? Or is it not one’s right to be dismissive of others in this time of personal discomfort?
Who has right?
This blogger’s thoughts have shifted to him. Being placed in a situation of personal terminal illness or one of instantaneous death like a car crash…I find myself digging up an age old fear: Did I do anything in my time here? To elaborate, did I manage to positively touch someone’s life? Did I validate them? Did I give them something that fed their soul? Well, only time will tell on that one, and when that day comes, may all that I have done that has caused harm, with whatever reasoning behind it, be temporarily forgiven…for if not then, then when else would the thoughts of a dying atheist be heard?
To my aunt…you validated, you invoked, you inspired…
An interesting woman that I was never too exposed to, she has exuded valor, strength, courage and determination through this torturous time. It’s absolutely amazing that this woman, whom has played such a peripheral role in my life, is the sole catalyst in a lot of introspection right now.
Her relationship with my mum is bound by the ultimate element…happy memories of a long since past. My mum and she were tennis champs together and supreme conquerors when it came to the doubles format.
I have my opinion on why my mum takes such great strain in this time, considering, growing up, I don’t recollect massive interaction between the two. Yet now, as I’m sure my mum does worry about her son and exhausted husband, it is their memories, forged in the realm of sport in an era of hardship that twists the knife in my aching mother’s heart.
Whilst chemo eats away at her, the core of who she is still shines through in no diluted format. Last week, after a battle longer than 2 years, she mentions to me “Took a bit of a bad turn last night, but are we still on for that game?” It took all of me to not start bawling then and there as she referenced a quip of mine regarding me playing her on her return to full health. There was, however, an undertone, a hint, maybe just an atom worth of exhaustion in her voice…something that I have never heard, even pretty much immediately post chemo.
As her condition has worsened since that last conversation, I think of her more and more each day and how pieces of me continue to bleed for my mother and my cousin’s heart.
To lose a sibling for me, with all of my creativity, would be unimaginable. To lose my mother, would be devastating. And as blasé as we try to be with ourselves, it is a near impossibility to pass “death is a part of life” of as a realistic mantra. If you are a person that had even an iota of your heart touched by a person that has since passed, you shed a tear…physically or otherwise.
My aunt, the athletic woman she kept herself to be until chemo and cancer robbed her off her physical presence, remains a competitive soul. After that conversation with her (curtailed by a sudden tiredness) I was left in pieces, sitting on my bed, wiping my eyes. Wondering what it was that was going on in her mind and more importantly, in her heart. Is she realizing that she may have suffered one relapse too many, or is she still giving the grim reaper a two fingered salute? What, strength pending, would she articulate and to whom? What are her last thoughts before bed and her first, each morning? Does she hate her God or give a metaphorical shrug of the shoulders and write it off as the hand she was dealt?
Is she angry, sad? Does she have regret and if so, what?
Does each eve feel like the last and is each morn a painful reminder of her physical state? Does time not even exist in her world and is it just a matter of piecing together moments?
One thing I do know though, she has shown me what the term “heart” truly is. I know it in a sporting sense, but in this very real life situation, she has been a true gladiator.
The strong hug I received from her in February, shortly after another one of those chemo sessions was not one of strength of God or advancement in medical technologies. It was one that came from the heart. To see a nephew that she wasn’t all that attached to, visit her at her home and speak to her as a long lost aunt that has just been away for a bit. She played the doting aunt and I was the good little nephew that constantly kept in touch. It mattered to neither of us that there were decades that slipped through the cracks…just that she wanted people to be sincere and that’s what I offered.
I am saddened that I never got to absorb more of her now. Who knows, if circumstances had offered us more time minus this context, I may not have even like her…but that’s if our hands were different.
As she lays in a nursing home, on oxygen permanently and shunning away visitors, I know for a fact of what a warrior she is. Her fight has been a long and exhausting affair and all I could wish for her is that she feels complete and utter bliss and peace in either a path to recovery or that alternative reality that we shall all be faced with one day.
Should a grieving family member or friend be given ones full attention when they wish to show affection/sympathy/or just to see that person? Or is it not one’s right to be dismissive of others in this time of personal discomfort?
Who has right?
This blogger’s thoughts have shifted to him. Being placed in a situation of personal terminal illness or one of instantaneous death like a car crash…I find myself digging up an age old fear: Did I do anything in my time here? To elaborate, did I manage to positively touch someone’s life? Did I validate them? Did I give them something that fed their soul? Well, only time will tell on that one, and when that day comes, may all that I have done that has caused harm, with whatever reasoning behind it, be temporarily forgiven…for if not then, then when else would the thoughts of a dying atheist be heard?
To my aunt…you validated, you invoked, you inspired…
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Accounting, Economics, Business Management and Mr. Keating
After finishing 2 out of 3 exams tied to an attempt in vain for a BCOM Informatics, I am daunted at what my life resembles. Why am I writing these exams? Spending hours, sacrificing life, time with mates, action cricket fixtures and Rugby World Cup review/preview programs.
Logically, I know why I am registered for this degree. To pretty up my CV. No real intention to finish this in a hurry, but with all the ambition in the world to start it. Now they expect me to write exams for the bloody thing too! How about an honorary degree based on intent, surely that’s worth something?
It is becoming glaringly clear to me that I have fallen into the rigmarole that is a corporate. As a young man, fresh out of school, I was faced with options of Pharmacy at Rhodes, Physiotherapy at Wits and IT at Natal University. No gap year or Euro tripping or bumming around on parental grace, just a student loan pertinent to a selected field. I folded and flaked at the last moment and did IT at Natal Technikon. A half compromise in my eyes. I did hold out till the very last week of registration and had a much cheaper student loan loom over my head.
These exams remind me of the very questions I had been faced with at Matric and Tech final exams. What the hell for? In my life I had made cavalier decisions, but only socially. My family’s financial standing meant flamboyance was limited to my circle of friends. Nothing near career path or life planning, just whether to drink beer or whiskey on the night….beer was cheaper.
As I strive to make heads or tails of where I am and where I am heading, it has dawned on me that I will never figure it out. All I can do is try to make the best of it…when it comes to my career anyway.
You see, I have been seduced by my lifestyle. Affluent, it isn’t, comfortable, it is. I do not count Rands and cents when I go to a store or worry about what is the exact minimum I contribute to a group restaurant bill. It works for me. But, it has shortened my minds eye (sight) with regards to following my dreams and passions…when it comes to my career anyway.
For a day, I am King…every Saturday, during cricket season. My job finances these fantasies. As it has Optimus Prime, my overly priced cricket bat, ventures to movies, the car I drive, the DVDs and CDs I collect and the gigs I review.
I fully understand that round pegs fit square holes in this working world, this is how it works. We need to live, in the monetary sense, that is.
However, there is on last world where we can truly be philosophical poets. Dream on dreams and toss away our fears. Fling away inhibitions and hope above all hope that you are not alone with your perceptions and stand point. Doctors, Lawyers, Bankers, these are all noble trades that are necessary to sustain life. But love, laughter and romance…these are what we live for! Poetry, affection, shrieks of laughter, these are the things that fuel us getting up in the morning, hoping that inner flame will be awakened from the dormant glow that simmers in the pits of our souls.
If there is one place, just one place (read with William Wallace accent) in this modern, intellectual age where we get to be cavalier and flamboyant, let it be in the romantic realm. Believe in the fact that you will fix yourself, should the outcome be negative. Believe that giving something a chance, when it ekes even half an iota of potential, is the right thing to do. You are broken and cracked, so is everyone else…discover this knowing that whatever the final chapters read, you did so with minimal hesitation. Let the Elizabethan degrees of romance be something that you liken your attempts to. Do this knowing, without an ounce of reservation, that your life will actually turn out OK. And know that you did all you could, it’s the least you could ask yourself.
We work jobs we don’t like, for shit we don’t need…why not let this one facet feed the soul and make it all worthwhile. Like only it can, romance stirs insanity, along with it, those damned butterflies, sweaty palms, animal noises (when you speak to her) and animalistic feelings (when you touch her). Somewhere along the line, age does something to taint and tarnish this most whimsical of theories. We are taught that prudence is to be exercised when getting into something with potential. It is true, you cannot live on love and fresh air….but love does make you come alive!
And laugh a little too, it might make that analysis document that much more bearable.
“…the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?”
Logically, I know why I am registered for this degree. To pretty up my CV. No real intention to finish this in a hurry, but with all the ambition in the world to start it. Now they expect me to write exams for the bloody thing too! How about an honorary degree based on intent, surely that’s worth something?
It is becoming glaringly clear to me that I have fallen into the rigmarole that is a corporate. As a young man, fresh out of school, I was faced with options of Pharmacy at Rhodes, Physiotherapy at Wits and IT at Natal University. No gap year or Euro tripping or bumming around on parental grace, just a student loan pertinent to a selected field. I folded and flaked at the last moment and did IT at Natal Technikon. A half compromise in my eyes. I did hold out till the very last week of registration and had a much cheaper student loan loom over my head.
These exams remind me of the very questions I had been faced with at Matric and Tech final exams. What the hell for? In my life I had made cavalier decisions, but only socially. My family’s financial standing meant flamboyance was limited to my circle of friends. Nothing near career path or life planning, just whether to drink beer or whiskey on the night….beer was cheaper.
As I strive to make heads or tails of where I am and where I am heading, it has dawned on me that I will never figure it out. All I can do is try to make the best of it…when it comes to my career anyway.
You see, I have been seduced by my lifestyle. Affluent, it isn’t, comfortable, it is. I do not count Rands and cents when I go to a store or worry about what is the exact minimum I contribute to a group restaurant bill. It works for me. But, it has shortened my minds eye (sight) with regards to following my dreams and passions…when it comes to my career anyway.
For a day, I am King…every Saturday, during cricket season. My job finances these fantasies. As it has Optimus Prime, my overly priced cricket bat, ventures to movies, the car I drive, the DVDs and CDs I collect and the gigs I review.
I fully understand that round pegs fit square holes in this working world, this is how it works. We need to live, in the monetary sense, that is.
However, there is on last world where we can truly be philosophical poets. Dream on dreams and toss away our fears. Fling away inhibitions and hope above all hope that you are not alone with your perceptions and stand point. Doctors, Lawyers, Bankers, these are all noble trades that are necessary to sustain life. But love, laughter and romance…these are what we live for! Poetry, affection, shrieks of laughter, these are the things that fuel us getting up in the morning, hoping that inner flame will be awakened from the dormant glow that simmers in the pits of our souls.
If there is one place, just one place (read with William Wallace accent) in this modern, intellectual age where we get to be cavalier and flamboyant, let it be in the romantic realm. Believe in the fact that you will fix yourself, should the outcome be negative. Believe that giving something a chance, when it ekes even half an iota of potential, is the right thing to do. You are broken and cracked, so is everyone else…discover this knowing that whatever the final chapters read, you did so with minimal hesitation. Let the Elizabethan degrees of romance be something that you liken your attempts to. Do this knowing, without an ounce of reservation, that your life will actually turn out OK. And know that you did all you could, it’s the least you could ask yourself.
We work jobs we don’t like, for shit we don’t need…why not let this one facet feed the soul and make it all worthwhile. Like only it can, romance stirs insanity, along with it, those damned butterflies, sweaty palms, animal noises (when you speak to her) and animalistic feelings (when you touch her). Somewhere along the line, age does something to taint and tarnish this most whimsical of theories. We are taught that prudence is to be exercised when getting into something with potential. It is true, you cannot live on love and fresh air….but love does make you come alive!
And laugh a little too, it might make that analysis document that much more bearable.
“…the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?”
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
calm down...
Right…seeing that I have an audience that surpasses every expectation (lets just say that I thought 2 would be it), I am now required to comment and post with more vigor astuteness…
Firstly…for the tabloids that slander my impeccable character with talks me being scared by the harassment, well, this is preposterous and uncalled for! I did not have sexual relations with that woman!
I have been approached (harassed) to divulge the proverbial skinny on a few issues…my place of work, my tattoos and my most recent sexual exploits…interesting indeed…
So far as my employers go…(removed due to the fact that should someone stumble across this and make me, as the author...a painful sequence of events could follow)
My tattoos…each very, very dear to me and prior to me having them, they did not exist. This is true, my tats are unique. Each encapsulating their own massive chunk of who I am. The first (wrist) is my “fuck you to the world”…essentially glorifying my existence and a constant reminder to me that I am who I am, for all my alleged eloquence and charm, ignorance and wit…this is me, like it or not, I’m going to live this life. Yes, it may seem hard core…ish (and borderline cheesy and clichéd), but it’s more a case of a manifestation of the inner me…of all that I am. And it’s who I am.
Granted, I have compromised on that promise to myself here and there (as Kevin Spacey said, “today is the first day of the rest of your life, unless if it’s the day you die”) but who hasn’t choked every now and again. So that’s the high level coverage about the one on me wrist…
Next, an ode to an old friend (left shoulder)…a pavement special extraordinaire…his name was Ranger and he was anything but of pure blood but certainly all of royalty…that’s right, a tattoo dedicated to a dog. He had character, but not like just some random personalities that people talk of their mates (not using the word “pets”), he really had charm, charisma (to burn) and a sensitivity and insight beyond his years…truly an awesome soul that suffered a very tragic ending (as is the case with epic heroes, I guess)…he was a great friend, an awesome fellow adventure and a fearless personality…character was him.
And lastly…a bond of infinite strength, though time wears away at both our hairlines and joints…I wear on my right shoulder a connection to the best person I know, my brother…affectionately known as “Doc”…the purest heart that I have crossed paths with, no other has exuded such sincerity and genuine care for others. Not just because of his profession, but also because of his duties as a brother (which have been sorely surpassed) He has excelled with regards to selfless acts and thoughtless gestures…and remains the man I am proud to know despite many adverse moments in his (our) life.
And now to the juicy…the down and dirrrrty….my recent past….
Damn! Gotta get back to work…will return to regular broadcasting soon...
later bloggers...
Firstly…for the tabloids that slander my impeccable character with talks me being scared by the harassment, well, this is preposterous and uncalled for! I did not have sexual relations with that woman!
I have been approached (harassed) to divulge the proverbial skinny on a few issues…my place of work, my tattoos and my most recent sexual exploits…interesting indeed…
So far as my employers go…(removed due to the fact that should someone stumble across this and make me, as the author...a painful sequence of events could follow)
My tattoos…each very, very dear to me and prior to me having them, they did not exist. This is true, my tats are unique. Each encapsulating their own massive chunk of who I am. The first (wrist) is my “fuck you to the world”…essentially glorifying my existence and a constant reminder to me that I am who I am, for all my alleged eloquence and charm, ignorance and wit…this is me, like it or not, I’m going to live this life. Yes, it may seem hard core…ish (and borderline cheesy and clichéd), but it’s more a case of a manifestation of the inner me…of all that I am. And it’s who I am.
Granted, I have compromised on that promise to myself here and there (as Kevin Spacey said, “today is the first day of the rest of your life, unless if it’s the day you die”) but who hasn’t choked every now and again. So that’s the high level coverage about the one on me wrist…
Next, an ode to an old friend (left shoulder)…a pavement special extraordinaire…his name was Ranger and he was anything but of pure blood but certainly all of royalty…that’s right, a tattoo dedicated to a dog. He had character, but not like just some random personalities that people talk of their mates (not using the word “pets”), he really had charm, charisma (to burn) and a sensitivity and insight beyond his years…truly an awesome soul that suffered a very tragic ending (as is the case with epic heroes, I guess)…he was a great friend, an awesome fellow adventure and a fearless personality…character was him.
And lastly…a bond of infinite strength, though time wears away at both our hairlines and joints…I wear on my right shoulder a connection to the best person I know, my brother…affectionately known as “Doc”…the purest heart that I have crossed paths with, no other has exuded such sincerity and genuine care for others. Not just because of his profession, but also because of his duties as a brother (which have been sorely surpassed) He has excelled with regards to selfless acts and thoughtless gestures…and remains the man I am proud to know despite many adverse moments in his (our) life.
And now to the juicy…the down and dirrrrty….my recent past….
Damn! Gotta get back to work…will return to regular broadcasting soon...
later bloggers...
Monday, July 30, 2007
Context vs Bubblegum
I go to bed this eve, the very tiredness that accompanied this morn stays with me still. Can’t shake it, can’t contemplate it, can’t correlate it…
Days like these ask the question of life, love and all its peripheral plug and play add-ons. As easy as fast food and just as effective and wholesome.
The humorous, sarcastic, less made for TV version of myself, reminds me how dramatic reading this will one day make, As a child of 24, trying to string it all together in my spare time. Lacking the ambition to truly reveal all that stirs within, but never short of a whimsical quip to trivialize such thoughts in a forum.
Henry David Theroux wrote of himself making a trip to the woods to live life with vigor and essentially, truly personify and animate that very term… life. Personally, he may have meant that all he needed was to step out for a few minutes, synchronize his heart beat with the flickering leaves dancing to the anthem of the wind, or maybe to settle his thoughts that insisted on jumping around like ecstasy filled teenagers or maybe, in fact, those are my wants.
The question begs itself all too often, who is flying this plane? With everything from made-for-TV movies to made for TV friends, getting into character has become part and parcel of what we are, even scarier, it’s become integral to who we are!
How on earth did such farcical behavior and insincere gestures become a societal norm? Easy, commercialization. Everything from VD’s to brands of humor have been, well, branded. People dressed in suits are described as “very Bond”, those appreciated for their sense of humor/intellect/wit, can only be done so as a novel case, or likened to something less ordinary and mainstream. Essentially, it’s going to become so passé offering more than the average. In effect, inferring that being specifically and specially different would make you a sheep.
Pink is the new black, reading meaningful literature is the new cultural norm and knowing yourself, yet still exuding confidence has become standard issue overalls.
The nerd in the corner of the class is no longer a minority and thanks to John Cusack and Hugh Grant, bumbling wit, means they have also become charmingly attractive. Like an indie band that only she knows of, a girl articulates the glory of her unquantifiable attraction to Dexter.
People get on with moving on faster because they get on with falling in fake love faster. Closure is no longer premium and the concept of “internal growth” deemed highly overrated and in some instances, negligible.
In a society where 40 something’s find themselves wanting less and loving more, 30 something’s find themselves, 20 something’s find their careers and teenagers find orgasms, bubblegum culture grows in strength as its packaging morphs to fit to size any age or cultural or gender grouping.
How does context even stand a chance with that? Maybe I over-romanticize the matter of unrequited love or even love lost or arguments about right and wrong or why David Beckham should have stayed at Real Madrid, but the Context vs Bubblegum war forges forward. We, as living, breathing, semi-coherent beings need to wind back the megabytes, channel our energies into what used to matter, what will matter and what does matter… now… to you.
The transition will by no means be something easy, with little thought placed on the why and too much on the how. A long and winding road awaits. I implore all ye that pass, do so with caution, hesitation and massive amounts of contestation. But chin up, so long as the want to know more, be more and feel more is inherently coded in our default processing, hope is with us. If Chandler and Monica can make it, so can we!
Days like these ask the question of life, love and all its peripheral plug and play add-ons. As easy as fast food and just as effective and wholesome.
The humorous, sarcastic, less made for TV version of myself, reminds me how dramatic reading this will one day make, As a child of 24, trying to string it all together in my spare time. Lacking the ambition to truly reveal all that stirs within, but never short of a whimsical quip to trivialize such thoughts in a forum.
Henry David Theroux wrote of himself making a trip to the woods to live life with vigor and essentially, truly personify and animate that very term… life. Personally, he may have meant that all he needed was to step out for a few minutes, synchronize his heart beat with the flickering leaves dancing to the anthem of the wind, or maybe to settle his thoughts that insisted on jumping around like ecstasy filled teenagers or maybe, in fact, those are my wants.
The question begs itself all too often, who is flying this plane? With everything from made-for-TV movies to made for TV friends, getting into character has become part and parcel of what we are, even scarier, it’s become integral to who we are!
How on earth did such farcical behavior and insincere gestures become a societal norm? Easy, commercialization. Everything from VD’s to brands of humor have been, well, branded. People dressed in suits are described as “very Bond”, those appreciated for their sense of humor/intellect/wit, can only be done so as a novel case, or likened to something less ordinary and mainstream. Essentially, it’s going to become so passé offering more than the average. In effect, inferring that being specifically and specially different would make you a sheep.
Pink is the new black, reading meaningful literature is the new cultural norm and knowing yourself, yet still exuding confidence has become standard issue overalls.
The nerd in the corner of the class is no longer a minority and thanks to John Cusack and Hugh Grant, bumbling wit, means they have also become charmingly attractive. Like an indie band that only she knows of, a girl articulates the glory of her unquantifiable attraction to Dexter.
People get on with moving on faster because they get on with falling in fake love faster. Closure is no longer premium and the concept of “internal growth” deemed highly overrated and in some instances, negligible.
In a society where 40 something’s find themselves wanting less and loving more, 30 something’s find themselves, 20 something’s find their careers and teenagers find orgasms, bubblegum culture grows in strength as its packaging morphs to fit to size any age or cultural or gender grouping.
How does context even stand a chance with that? Maybe I over-romanticize the matter of unrequited love or even love lost or arguments about right and wrong or why David Beckham should have stayed at Real Madrid, but the Context vs Bubblegum war forges forward. We, as living, breathing, semi-coherent beings need to wind back the megabytes, channel our energies into what used to matter, what will matter and what does matter… now… to you.
The transition will by no means be something easy, with little thought placed on the why and too much on the how. A long and winding road awaits. I implore all ye that pass, do so with caution, hesitation and massive amounts of contestation. But chin up, so long as the want to know more, be more and feel more is inherently coded in our default processing, hope is with us. If Chandler and Monica can make it, so can we!
This is me...
Growing up, I dreamt of fame, glory and uber hotties so hot that... well, they were really hot... as I grew up, I realised that though there is so much adversity in this world, and twists from bad to worse in this life... that, I was in fact deluded... welcome, to the life and times of a passionate, cynical, optimistic, slightly wound up, highly chilled professional appreciator of life....
I am Zoydberg...
I am Zoydberg...
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