She finds solace in
the reel lives of others,
she still knows which one’s real
hence the knot in her chest
that doesn’t seem to know
how to roll
She finds solace in
the reel lives of others,
she still knows which one’s real
hence the knot in her chest
that doesn’t seem to know
how to roll
This can’t be it. Although I begged for this out of some desperation, it feels as though I am made to see how it was dodgy from the start. A certain percentage still disagrees because some wonderful things were borne out of this. But when everyday is like walking up a faulty escalator going down at a faster speed, optimism can be futile. And these demanding hormones are a treat. Treacherous.
And it’s all so confusing. Go for your dreams. If not now, then when. YOLO. And the perpetual search for relevance. I have checked my chute and gear, propped my coiffe, put on my lucky lip balm and aerodynamic stilettos, jumped in the aeroplane… but the skies are closed indefinitely. WTH, man!
“Sorry, the Universe is busy at the moment. Please leave your message after the beep.”
Beep, my asp.
When the world is caving in while all your innards are bursting out, suggest an exit route? It’s damn frustrating to say the least and this ever excited arrhythmia needs to calm down. But. Friggin life has go on, coz people depend on you.
So pardon getting scorched or dipped in arctic scoffs, they don’t follow a schedule. It’s an all-inclusive holiday to the forties no one wants to win in a raffle but everyone has to get out of, preferably alive and sane.
As for the first matter, sadly I am a slave of Hope. F*** you, Hope. Nowadays, you don’t feel like Pandora’s salvation. As Mr. Fry had sardonically suggested, you are as well one sneaky and immortal damnation.
All the best,
Older gave younger a yard of her flesh
although still at the yawning dawn
to dress for no one but one’s own mirth
clothing with joy stitched on
not for worms or that feverish imp
nor for that glittering ghost
but if her fabric inspires a wish
and fills a deep most inner hole
thank and welcome this consequence
and give her time to only when
she meets another with a vivid plan
and not a head full of ghouls
for those who only have their luscious dreams
might never wake to grab the chance
and she might find herself one day
fenced in thorns once wrapped in starry hands
a pound of flesh is nothing
if a song she grows strength to mind
to firmly know she need no other
but her spirit, her will to be kind.
For if only flesh you have to offer
what then if it crumbles to dust
and only layers of painted metal
which time ever renders as rust
so what if your gold holds you up like an armour
yet woe freely whistles within
when all the worldly lose their fervour
what will a cold heart bring in
and when the fleeting you hold so dear
are empty of heavenly weight
what will be left without coin or skin
will you be known at memory’s gate?
As if the oceans were not enough distance
time and circumstance are too
no friends of ours
we only have stolen conversations
imagined with sandy feet
and our choice of vintage
for how can two unmet souls
be each other’s echo
within the walls of our words
Like a forked road
that either takes you to
your better self
or to a longer list
Your snowdrop in Winter
blue standing proud behind bruised clouds
unwavering as the eastern chariot
blazing in your heavy wakened eyes
he has left from what seems like another lifetime
but the memory of his scent still
makes you smile
I watched a video of me and my friends yesterday. It was a weird and slightly unsettling experience to watch myself as an observer. Unsettling because I saw as a third person — witnessed — how un-feminine I really am. From that I think it’s still something I have to come to terms with. I remember back in my twenties, I proclaimed I didn’t like that aspect of myself. And although since then I can say I have become wiser and more self-accepting, it still haunts me occasionally.
Don’t get me wrong, I do like myself. I’m clever enough, healthy enough (cue evil laugh). I’m able to do things my own happy way, and I’m appreciated and loved enough by those who matter. But sometimes I find myself in the wrong crowd, or in situations that just make me rock-shabby my self-esteem. Sometimes, choosing what’s right or just being myself is too much for others and that makes me uncomfortable because I’m no super egotistical sociopath.
So when I was watching myself in that video, being myself, being my boyish self enjoying the company I had around — although we were laughing and having abs-inducing fun, it made me feel sad. It reminded me how being boyish made life for me a lot harder. It reminded me of how difficult it was to just be myself in a world full of boxes and labels. It made me want to blame all over again whoever allowed it. But oh well. Wallow a bit and move on quickly.
I have tried more than once to be less of myself to fit in, we’ve all done that. But each time always stole a puzzle piece of me and left me hollow. I’m still lucky to have a very rare select set of family and friends who don’t flinch or laugh at my weirdness. These people find me amazing, not amusing. They’re fewer than the digits I have on my hands and feet (I still have them all), but they’re what makes the sun melt away a gloomy sky. But when everyone’s also fighting their own battles in different parts of the world, lifting one’s own thick depressing raincloud isn’t always easy but somehow, what enough wisdom I have gained through the years helps me course through it, no matter how turbulent. Sometimes I think it’s a burden having an ability to decipher things quicker and deeper than others, but it’s been one heck of an armour.
I feel better now, I suppose. I can’t be asked to change myself to soothe the shock of a multitude of 3-plys and amber snowflakes. I will just turn into some unnatural frankensteinish empty drag. True colours are still best. More, diifferent, unique and honest-to-goodness real. So next time my boyishness starts to rock my confidence boat, I shall remind myself to shake if off by shaking with it. I always say I prefer calm and quiet but hell man! I wasn’t born to conform! I also need to remind myself I can only unite with that peace by hugging myself whole. If that raises hell out of the unwoke, perhaps hell should start hugging itself whole too. It’s the only way we can find happiness without stepping on another’s toe.
Free will came knocking at my door this week. Not quite welcomed, but I let it in, made some tea and brought out the biscuits. Said it missed me and we needed some catching up to do. These visits can be fun. But it’s like having your brain pushed to do a marathon. Thing is I’m not a fan of strenuous activity so when I am put in a situation where I am forced out of my zen zone, I walk out growling, especially when the jolt is uninvited like this. Metaphored enough? That’s coz I’m still out the zone and seething.
But nature certainly has a way of calming me down. Somehow it balances out the bad. Fresh air wakes up your brain with gentleness. Bird song brings out voices that have been yapping just inside your cranium. Bees buzzing howdy? yank your head in acknowledgment like you’ve been talking to bees all your life. That was me this morning because I chose to put down the tablet and do some gardening instead. Seems a bit neurotic but therapeutic. It was more productive than letting myself feel gradually dragged down by the continuous digital nonsense. The following are ramblings, the conversation I had with myself this morning while weeds went, birds warbled and bees curtseyed. It will be convoluted but just allow me to blab; my sanity will thank you.
So it started. My free will soliloquy, over imaginary tea and biscuits. I surmised that free will is definitely not a myth. It is a very real thing. It’s in every decision we make, no matter how small, even if we abstain. It’s every time we say yes or no, no matter how loud, discreet or denied. Even if we say we were just coerced or we had no choice. I think for people to have that as an excuse is a lame way to wash their hands off the blood. Some folk just can’t handle responsibility and accountability. And the vilest ones, I think, are those who feign ignorance or innocence to get sympathy and escape the sentence. Yes, the devil is in the detail. In every modern contraption regardless of form or time period, in everything really. It’s his/her job to be the devil, and to put the blame on that poor thing who probably should be given a raise for doing a job well done, is a putrid kind of cowardice and evil.
I also began thinking free will is not exclusive to human beings. I believe all living creatures make choices and that’s how they have either survived or not through time. To assume only human beings have free will made me see what an arrogant species we are. Just because we can speak English or French or Mandarin or Valyrian, we think we are gods in the animal kingdom, that we have been appointed royal stewards of life. With all the destruction the planet is fighting right now, we have failed upholding our self-proclaimed title big time. I’m not the only one who believes that the planet would have been better off without us.
Yes, human beings have the most advanced brain amongst all animals. Sadly though, it’s also the most corrupted and weak. It blames the heart and whatever else for its frailty, like the heart isn’t busy enough trying to keep the clockwork ticking. We’ve produced mind-boggling inventions, cures and ideas and we’ve had several golden ages to celebrate these amazing achievements. We’ve also had some of the most notorious criminals use this same brain to please the devil. But sometimes I think these bad boys and girls are nothing compared to those who don’t use said brain at all. Fine, some people just can’t. That’s why a few days ago I asked if free will also includes the responsibility to do the thinking for these not so lucky ones. How about those who can but refuse to use it?
Convoluted. Because there are so many questions to ask. I don’t really want to expand, it’s exhausting. And perhaps I’m just masking the fact that I’m angry and disappointed to find out I’ve been used and manipulated again simply because I prefer to see the good in others. And others aren’t always what they seem. Duped, deceived, denied the whole truth by omission. Hey, I can even write a whole song about it! Right, Stevie? But I won’t. This is more than enough effort for worthlessness such as this present buggersome thing that’s irking me off.
What to do with you, human being? That’s why free will came to visit. Because no matter the goodness of its gift, and yes the devil is good at its job, free will is abused. And the stewards of life are actually the ones in most need of looking after, most brilliant but also most corruptible. Can’t really blame me if I prefer the company of my books and the great in-and-outdoors, because really, so many are just not what they seem.
Nonetheless, I will keep connecting with kindred spirits, carry on believing there’s good in everyone, continue being grateful for a good life with all its ups and downs. Because as we all still don’t know what exactly our existence is for, best just live it well without stepping on anyone’s toes. It’s a bit hard because I’m no angel. But I’ve had it again and again that choosing to be kind is still better. And yes, bitch, karma is real.
I have been asked a particular question even before I knew how to answer questions. It was thrown at me in different forms — an inquiry, a facial expression, an accusation, a rumour, an insult, an encouragement, etc.
This question in its many forms was presented because of the many reasons I am different from your average me of a particular generation — my walk, my talk, my clothing, my tone, my effortless non-compliance with what’s common and ordinary, etc., etc., etc.
It even got to a point where, because others seem to be so set at an answer to provide for me, I started asking myself THE question: Am I Gay? Oh, I have asked myself that a lot too, but the answer is always either a disappointment or relief for others. And a thing to laugh about for me.
However, recent things have resurfaced the question again in a different light. Nope, the answer is still the same but other issues, relevant issues, have emerged with it.
Some celebrity caught my attention. I checked him out and found out he’s had to come out accidentally after an unexpected awkward interview, where the interviewer started asking him about his sexuality that this actor found the direction of the interview intrusive and irrelevant. Then I read some more write ups about him after the incident, which, led me to stretch my own questions to other matters.
Yes. To be or not to be — gay, straight, black, white, modern, conservative, man, woman, muslim, christian… Why does it matter so much?
Over history, the human race has been plagued by labels and boxed up notions that have cost the lives of multitudes. Nowadays, it’s no different. We would’ve thought we’d progressed to better thinking and wider acknowledgement of our differences. Yes, it’s a breakthrough that marginalised people now are beginning to have a voice, that people are more assertive of their rights, regardless of whatever preferences they have.
However, in another interview with the actor after his coming out, he said something like… “nowadays, there is a clamour to be counted. To be declared and to identify with a group.” This made me question the essence of the lgbt hashtag. Why is there a need to be counted? Why does a person need to identify with a certain group? If one is truly proud of who he/she is, why the need to be affirmed by others? Why is one’s identity dependent on others’ approval/support?
On social media we see a lot of quotable quotes being passed around to boost each other’s morale. A lot of us instantly grab onto these quotes, like a sort of reminder for ourselves. Next minute, we engage in talking behind a person’s back. Or rumour-mongering. Or simply being nosy about other people’s lives. Sometimes, I wish I had more training in psychology and history to understand why humans are this way.
So back to my question. When people used to ask me if I was gay or not, I’d laugh and give them a confident no. But really, if I were, why does it matter? I feel that to answer a question like this should not stop with a yes or no. But I also feel that the people who have asked me this question will not be able to get in the flow of the conversation I want to have about the issue.
I’m female, biologically. I prefer men. There are women I find really attractive, and when I say that, one must know why. Like I said, it’s not black or white. It cannot be just yes or no. For each person, there are different reasons why we are attracted to people or things. Intelligence, for one is a rare qualification. With this acknowledgement, I also started asking myself if I might have a tendency to be gay. Presently, no. There are women who I find really attractive but that doesn’t mean I also have leanings to a particular lifestyle. I am attracted to the 90+ year old David Attenborough because he is such a magnificent and relevant man. To put it simply, for me, attraction is whatever draws me to someone or something, basically because this person/thing makes me feel good, not necessarily physically, but in a sense that a light is lit in me because these people/things exist.
There is so much darkness in our world. And most of it is our own doing, our own submission to a life of slavery and non-self. We live in a time where we assert our individuality but still fear to be that, because one’s individuality can still be dictated by a powerful few. And it’s such a joy to encounter personalities, ideas, things and what-have-you that even if they just make that repetitive scratching sound a struggling lighter does, we see the light in our minds. We see it promised.
Someone once said that I will always have a problem with authority. Maybe that person saw a fire burning in me that’s difficult to put out. Maybe they mistook my self-respect for blind stubbornness. Maybe because they saw that I am a strong-willed woman, they preferred me in their self-labeled box of obsolete ideas. Or maybe, they simply cannot have someone bravely live an honest existence while they rot in their own fears. Ouch.
So, to be or not to be? Even Shakespeare struggled and had to use so many brain-wrenching words to express what he thought. But it does matter to know what makes you happy. What makes you switch on your own Bat signal, what makes you have the sun on your face without burning others, what makes your life worth living despite the question why does it matter?
Labels, I think, calm the fears of those who refuse to live with respect for self and others. Just do your thing, regardless of hashtags, and best to have others in mind too. If you’re doing it right, and not at the expense of others, your spirit will know. And your spirit will thrive like wild flowers in spring and you wouldn’t have that itchy need for affirmation. xxx