was it the time or was it the smile, i don't know, all i know is that she danced away with a certain part of my fancy. she was neither bright nor beautiful, and she had giant, water-melon-sized breasts. she must have admired them and i hope she still does for she had a way of squashing your shoulders with it if you flattered her, but she did it in such a mundane fashion that it could not be termed as erotic, pitiful at most..............
and she used to zubaa ( there is no english equivalent for that verb), to zubaa is too try crossing a highway, eager to get to the other side , a lot of thoughts in your mind and have it suddenly poof away, as if some angel flew away with your brain and you are left standing in the middle of the road wondering why that heavy truck is coming to crash you.....oops nasty thought
anyway agatha was one of my poorer attempts at dating ( it was not really dating, more of a muddled desperation of a zubaad girl to a lad whose eagerness to dating could only be matched by the bankruptness of her beauty)..............
nways, i do not know whether i should date. my brother says that if you do not get a better half in campus then you are as good as a zubaad agatha, he has in his proud possession ( pliz excuse the insensitivity) a caramel complexioned cameo who has bestowed upon him a caramel complexioned baby, seeing the three together is like witnessing a nativity scene........
an acquaintance ( i differentiate them from friends in that the former are close enough that i could borrow money from them but not that close that they should borrow money from me), anyway the acquaintance accused me of having no real feelings for ladies.....this has some serious intimations....and i looked at him with those what-do-you-mean-eyes......
i think i hate the whole game of lads running after lasses...why can't love just happen.....e.g.....you walk into a lady's hall of residence....and you see this butter-skinned butterfly sashaying in a bath-robe in the corridor... a total stranger....and a gust of wind tears furiously into the room, bearing with it the bathrobe....the same furious wind also bears you off the ground and hurls your mighty frame at her nubile form and you end up tumbled and interlocked on the floor ( welcome to the fantasies of the masculine mind)....from there it is so easy to declare your love.... i don't think that in such a privileged position any of you can afford to play with the usual beating-around-the-bush nuances of this ancient game......
wouldn't it be so nice if men could just be honest with women
"look here, i really don't want to watch Oprah with you, i came here to have sex and if you are humane enough you will appreciate the urgency of my carnal desires and be compliant to my swiftest caresses..you see i usually sleep with your sister susan on thursday but she is not in town today....you could substitute her well...i am willing to overlook the cellulite and the multiple chin...hop off your clothes now"
nways, my mind is not that twisted, i was an altar boy remember ( read through my blog if you can't).....it is just that this relationship making-breaking stuff bore me.....and campus chicks bore me as much as i bore them of course...they don't care about you, they only care for your card-your sound stereo and your snoop-doggy-dog style......please don't think that this is a materially-deprived student's consolation.....i mean....actually.....i just don't know ( oops losing my connection).....all in all it is not fair out and out, for girls to behave that way in an institution of higher learning... i thought we had come so far in education to remove blinders from our eyes and see material possessions for what they are.....worldy decorations that have little value compared to the person....ladies should be deep for they are naturally abundantly endowed with that aspect.....well, this is just my opinion, not a fact, may be i am the one with the wrong attitude, if anyone has his/her opinion i will be more than delighted to read your comment..
speaking of deep ladies, i really pray that whitney houston gets better soon if she is not better already ( i really don't trust the media when it comes too reporting celebrity details-it seems the dirtier the better...am sure with such an incentive i would not be too wrong to say that they might have cooked something up about this fiery alto)....and yep, i believe she is a deep lady....just listen to her songs for confirmation.....
otherwise, the sem is coming to an end, trying hard to chop early enough and not to procrastinate like we usually do......wish me luck peeps..
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
a rumour called agatha
was it the time or was it the smile, i don't know, all i know is that she danced away with a certain part of my fancy. she was neither bright nor beautiful, and she had giant, water-melon-sized breasts. she must have admired them and i hope she still does for she had a way of squashing your shoulders with it if you flattered her, but she did it in such a mundane fashion that it could not be termed as erotic, pitiful at most..............
and she used to zubaa ( there is no english equivalent for that verb), to zubaa is too try crossing a highway, eager to get to the other side , a lot of thoughts in your mind and have it suddenly poof away, as if some angel flew away with your brain and you are left standing in the middle of the road wondering why that heavy truck is coming to crash you.....oops nasty thought
anyway agatha was one of my poorer attempts at dating ( it was not really dating, more of a muddled desperation of a zubaad girl to a lad whose eagerness to dating could only be matched by the bankruptness of her beauty)..............
nways, i do not know whether i should date. my brother says that if you do not get a better half in campus then you are as good as a zubaad agatha, he has in his proud possession ( pliz excuse the insensitivity) a caramel complexioned cameo who has bestowed upon him a caramel complexioned baby, seeing the three together is like witnessing a nativity scene........
an acquaintance ( i differentiate them from friends in that the former are close enough that i could borrow money from them but not that close that they should borrow money from me), anyway the acquaintance accused me of having no real feelings for ladies.....this has some serious intimations....and i looked at him with those what-do-you-mean-eyes......
i think i hate the whole game of lads running after lasses...why can't love just happen.....e.g.....you walk into a lady's hall of residence....and you see this butter-skinned butterfly sashaying in a bath-robe in the corridor... a total stranger....and a gust of wind tears furiously into the room, bearing with it the bathrobe....the same furious wind also bears you off the ground and hurls your mighty frame at her nubile form and you end up tumbled and interlocked on the floor ( welcome to the fantasies of the masculine mind)....from there it is so easy to declare your love.... i don't think that in such a privileged position any of you can afford to play with the usual beating-around-the-bush nuances of this ancient game......
wouldn't it be so nice if men could just be honest with women
"look here, i really don't want to watch Oprah with you, i came here to have sex and if you are humane enough you will appreciate the urgency of my carnal desires and be compliant to my swiftest caresses..you see i usually sleep with your sister susan on thursday but she is not in town today....you could substitute her well...i am willing to overlook the cellulite and the multiple chin...hop off your clothes now"
nways, my mind is not that twisted, i was an altar boy remember ( read through my blog if you can't).....it is just that this relationship making-breaking stuff bore me.....and campus chicks bore me as much as they bore me of course...they don't care about you, they only care for your card-your sound stereo and your snoop-doggy-dog style......please don't think that this is a materially-deprived student's consolation.....i mean....actually.....i just don't know ( oops losing my connection).....all in all it is not fair out and out, for girls to behave that way in an institution of higher learning... i thought we had come so far in education to remove blinders from our eyes and see material possessions for what they are.....worldy decorations that have little value compared to the person....ladies should be deep for they are naturally abundantly endowed with that aspect.....well, this is just mu opinion, not a fact, may be i am the one with the wrong attitute, if anyone has his/her opinion i will be more than delighted to read your comment..
speaking of deep ladies, i really pray that whitney houston gets better soon if she is not better already ( i really don't trust the media when it comes too reporting celebrity details-it seems the dirtier the better...am sure with such an incentive i would not be too wrong to say that they might have cooked something up about this fiery alto)....and yep, i believe she is a deep lady....just listen to her songs for confirmation.....
otherwise, the sem is coming to an end, trying hard to chop early enough and not to procrastinate like we usually do......wish me luck peeps..
and she used to zubaa ( there is no english equivalent for that verb), to zubaa is too try crossing a highway, eager to get to the other side , a lot of thoughts in your mind and have it suddenly poof away, as if some angel flew away with your brain and you are left standing in the middle of the road wondering why that heavy truck is coming to crash you.....oops nasty thought
anyway agatha was one of my poorer attempts at dating ( it was not really dating, more of a muddled desperation of a zubaad girl to a lad whose eagerness to dating could only be matched by the bankruptness of her beauty)..............
nways, i do not know whether i should date. my brother says that if you do not get a better half in campus then you are as good as a zubaad agatha, he has in his proud possession ( pliz excuse the insensitivity) a caramel complexioned cameo who has bestowed upon him a caramel complexioned baby, seeing the three together is like witnessing a nativity scene........
an acquaintance ( i differentiate them from friends in that the former are close enough that i could borrow money from them but not that close that they should borrow money from me), anyway the acquaintance accused me of having no real feelings for ladies.....this has some serious intimations....and i looked at him with those what-do-you-mean-eyes......
i think i hate the whole game of lads running after lasses...why can't love just happen.....e.g.....you walk into a lady's hall of residence....and you see this butter-skinned butterfly sashaying in a bath-robe in the corridor... a total stranger....and a gust of wind tears furiously into the room, bearing with it the bathrobe....the same furious wind also bears you off the ground and hurls your mighty frame at her nubile form and you end up tumbled and interlocked on the floor ( welcome to the fantasies of the masculine mind)....from there it is so easy to declare your love.... i don't think that in such a privileged position any of you can afford to play with the usual beating-around-the-bush nuances of this ancient game......
wouldn't it be so nice if men could just be honest with women
"look here, i really don't want to watch Oprah with you, i came here to have sex and if you are humane enough you will appreciate the urgency of my carnal desires and be compliant to my swiftest caresses..you see i usually sleep with your sister susan on thursday but she is not in town today....you could substitute her well...i am willing to overlook the cellulite and the multiple chin...hop off your clothes now"
nways, my mind is not that twisted, i was an altar boy remember ( read through my blog if you can't).....it is just that this relationship making-breaking stuff bore me.....and campus chicks bore me as much as they bore me of course...they don't care about you, they only care for your card-your sound stereo and your snoop-doggy-dog style......please don't think that this is a materially-deprived student's consolation.....i mean....actually.....i just don't know ( oops losing my connection).....all in all it is not fair out and out, for girls to behave that way in an institution of higher learning... i thought we had come so far in education to remove blinders from our eyes and see material possessions for what they are.....worldy decorations that have little value compared to the person....ladies should be deep for they are naturally abundantly endowed with that aspect.....well, this is just mu opinion, not a fact, may be i am the one with the wrong attitute, if anyone has his/her opinion i will be more than delighted to read your comment..
speaking of deep ladies, i really pray that whitney houston gets better soon if she is not better already ( i really don't trust the media when it comes too reporting celebrity details-it seems the dirtier the better...am sure with such an incentive i would not be too wrong to say that they might have cooked something up about this fiery alto)....and yep, i believe she is a deep lady....just listen to her songs for confirmation.....
otherwise, the sem is coming to an end, trying hard to chop early enough and not to procrastinate like we usually do......wish me luck peeps..
Saturday, May 13, 2006
if i had a song for africa
my blackness is not my skin,..... it is my pain and my destiny,..... i recoil beneath it like a tortoise, ....seeking covering in its velvety covering .....when the world overwhelms me.
i carry within me the dreams of the many children ......who have died of aids, genocides and famine, .......there voices whisper to me in the dark of the night, ......telling me that their destinies were unfulfilled, ........the world only heard the sorrowful stanzas of their song, that rang only of misery and despair, ......but their song was much bigger than that, ........and its sound would have stilled the eagles in the sky
it was a song of africa,....... africa whose feet are shod in the gold of south africa and whose hair is the shifting sanddunes of the sahara,....... africa to whom palaces were built from timbuktu to songhai, ........from zimbabwe to heliopolis egypt
they tell me that our mother has been naked to long,........ naked to the shame of oppression and indignity,...... but now africa wants to be clothed in designers, ........she wants pearl earrings on her ears to match the richness of her heart,.......... for too long has she cried,....... tears longer than the river nile
am black i say again,........... though i have lived in the dark my dawn is nigh, and the sun will rise on me tomorrow and i will sing a new song for africa......if you say am mad give me privileges for my madness, ............if you say am proud my pride is of a loving kind but if you accuse me of being black then just lock your lips and throw away the keys ......for i am black...i am black .....i am black!
i carry within me the dreams of the many children ......who have died of aids, genocides and famine, .......there voices whisper to me in the dark of the night, ......telling me that their destinies were unfulfilled, ........the world only heard the sorrowful stanzas of their song, that rang only of misery and despair, ......but their song was much bigger than that, ........and its sound would have stilled the eagles in the sky
it was a song of africa,....... africa whose feet are shod in the gold of south africa and whose hair is the shifting sanddunes of the sahara,....... africa to whom palaces were built from timbuktu to songhai, ........from zimbabwe to heliopolis egypt
they tell me that our mother has been naked to long,........ naked to the shame of oppression and indignity,...... but now africa wants to be clothed in designers, ........she wants pearl earrings on her ears to match the richness of her heart,.......... for too long has she cried,....... tears longer than the river nile
am black i say again,........... though i have lived in the dark my dawn is nigh, and the sun will rise on me tomorrow and i will sing a new song for africa......if you say am mad give me privileges for my madness, ............if you say am proud my pride is of a loving kind but if you accuse me of being black then just lock your lips and throw away the keys ......for i am black...i am black .....i am black!
if i had a song for africa
my blackness is not my skin,..... it is my pain and my destiny,..... i recoil beneath it like a tortoise, ....seeking covering in its velvety covering .....when the world overwhelms me.
i carry within me the dreams of the many children ......who have died of aids, genocides and famine, .......there voices whisper to me in the dark of the night, ......telling me that their destinies were unfulfilled, ........the world only heard the sorrowful stanzas of their song, that rang only of misery and despair, ......but their song was much bigger than that, ........and its sound would have stilled the eagles in the sky
it was a song of africa,....... africa whose feet are shod in the gold of south africa and whose hair is the shifting sanddunes of the sahara,....... africa to whom palaces were built from timbuktu to songhai, ........from zimbabwe to heliopolis egypt
they tell me that our mother has been naked to long,........ naked to the shame of oppression and indignity,...... but now africa wants to be clothed in designers, ........she wants pearl earrings on her ears to match the richness of her heart,.......... for too long has she cried, tears longer than the river nile
am black i say again,........... though i have lived in the dark my dawn is nigh, and the sun will rise on me tomorrow and i will sing a new song for africa......if you say am mad give me privileges for my madness, ............if you say am proud my pride is of a loving kind but if you accuse me of being black then just lock your lips and throw away the keys ......for i am black...i am black .....i am black!
i carry within me the dreams of the many children ......who have died of aids, genocides and famine, .......there voices whisper to me in the dark of the night, ......telling me that their destinies were unfulfilled, ........the world only heard the sorrowful stanzas of their song, that rang only of misery and despair, ......but their song was much bigger than that, ........and its sound would have stilled the eagles in the sky
it was a song of africa,....... africa whose feet are shod in the gold of south africa and whose hair is the shifting sanddunes of the sahara,....... africa to whom palaces were built from timbuktu to songhai, ........from zimbabwe to heliopolis egypt
they tell me that our mother has been naked to long,........ naked to the shame of oppression and indignity,...... but now africa wants to be clothed in designers, ........she wants pearl earrings on her ears to match the richness of her heart,.......... for too long has she cried, tears longer than the river nile
am black i say again,........... though i have lived in the dark my dawn is nigh, and the sun will rise on me tomorrow and i will sing a new song for africa......if you say am mad give me privileges for my madness, ............if you say am proud my pride is of a loving kind but if you accuse me of being black then just lock your lips and throw away the keys ......for i am black...i am black .....i am black!
Friday, May 12, 2006
islands in the stream
islands in the stream
that is what we are
no one in between
how can we be wrong
sail away with me
to another world
where we belong to each other
aa--aaah
country musicians really impress me, they treat words as if they are horses that can be galloped away with. nways, i always find myself flowing back to that sentimental tune...dolly parton is way deep, i tell you ( can't say much about the endless make-overs though)
wish i had a horse right now, a palomino or an appaloosa ( the names sound so fantasi-romantic ) and a thousand acres, somewhere in the deep hinterlands of the lone star county, wish also my heart was as big as texas and that i never meet with meddle-some people
meddles-some peeps...they are the worst people you can ever eat, sorry meet...they think they know so much and go about criticising everyone without even taking notice of the shame that is there in their lives...is it some sort of cover-up for the misery that is there in their lives that they have to speak so negatively of everyone who is around them..
...take not of this, there are this people who walk around my country ( i just want to be specific) claiming that if we could just be a bit more clever the woes that surround us would not exist at all..nothing bad in that thought, quite ponderable in fact, but since when in the history of mankind does one who knows not what it is to be hungry, what it is to be suffering from aids, what it is to be uneducated accuse others who are dipped in those very shifting sands of torture that it is they who authored their miseries...
i might sound a bit incoherent today, but i am just fired up with a song, it is a song every black person in sub-saharan africa knows by heart but has a craven fear of admitting it......it was the fiery singer Angelique Kidjoe who struck those first chords in my soul....never make people feel guilty she said so, for when you bring in the cycle of guilt you kill there spirit... nobody chose to be poor, to be a bean-pole, to be born black or white, and it is not like rich people are the most hardworking and poor people the laziest, and before you criticize someone take time to walk a thousand miles in his shoes, you might end up with a different tale
we look so much to define the world, but it can never be defined, it is amorphous and mystical, just as is every human, this is just the bizarreness of this cosmic phenomena called life...so don't strut like a turkey-cock believing you are so right and everyone is a fool and only you have the right ideas on how everyone should live their life...keep cool and flow with the beat, don't see the rough crust..see the diamond..see the sparkle waiting to shine...and dude don't try to hide its glitter for it will only shine brighter...and one day it will shine so bright that its light will consume you with all your contempt and show the world all the dirt hidden therein your heart...
that is what we are
no one in between
how can we be wrong
sail away with me
to another world
where we belong to each other
aa--aaah
country musicians really impress me, they treat words as if they are horses that can be galloped away with. nways, i always find myself flowing back to that sentimental tune...dolly parton is way deep, i tell you ( can't say much about the endless make-overs though)
wish i had a horse right now, a palomino or an appaloosa ( the names sound so fantasi-romantic ) and a thousand acres, somewhere in the deep hinterlands of the lone star county, wish also my heart was as big as texas and that i never meet with meddle-some people
meddles-some peeps...they are the worst people you can ever eat, sorry meet...they think they know so much and go about criticising everyone without even taking notice of the shame that is there in their lives...is it some sort of cover-up for the misery that is there in their lives that they have to speak so negatively of everyone who is around them..
...take not of this, there are this people who walk around my country ( i just want to be specific) claiming that if we could just be a bit more clever the woes that surround us would not exist at all..nothing bad in that thought, quite ponderable in fact, but since when in the history of mankind does one who knows not what it is to be hungry, what it is to be suffering from aids, what it is to be uneducated accuse others who are dipped in those very shifting sands of torture that it is they who authored their miseries...
i might sound a bit incoherent today, but i am just fired up with a song, it is a song every black person in sub-saharan africa knows by heart but has a craven fear of admitting it......it was the fiery singer Angelique Kidjoe who struck those first chords in my soul....never make people feel guilty she said so, for when you bring in the cycle of guilt you kill there spirit... nobody chose to be poor, to be a bean-pole, to be born black or white, and it is not like rich people are the most hardworking and poor people the laziest, and before you criticize someone take time to walk a thousand miles in his shoes, you might end up with a different tale
we look so much to define the world, but it can never be defined, it is amorphous and mystical, just as is every human, this is just the bizarreness of this cosmic phenomena called life...so don't strut like a turkey-cock believing you are so right and everyone is a fool and only you have the right ideas on how everyone should live their life...keep cool and flow with the beat, don't see the rough crust..see the diamond..see the sparkle waiting to shine...and dude don't try to hide its glitter for it will only shine brighter...and one day it will shine so bright that its light will consume you with all your contempt and show the world all the dirt hidden therein your heart...
Thursday, May 04, 2006
the king of takka tukku
who am i kidding? the only reason why i ventured into blogging is because i was bored with life in the real, un-e-world. and why should i not be bored. i am ensconsced in college room where my next-door neighbour does nothing but have sex all day ( at least that is how it appears to me with all the attendant bumpings and moanings i usually get as a free orchestra service). and he expects me to shake his hand in the morgen, no way...
nways, i also bought a pair of jeans, real heavy jeans but it seems they were a size too huge ( my friend says that they must have been designed to keep Danish cows warm in winter).why didn't i see that?now i am stuck with a pair of jeans that i will never get to wear unless i intend to hire myself out as a circus clown-so nerve-grating isn't it...
then again, i got chased out of class this morgen, for being late, i have never been late this much befor, but its like my head just shut off and i couldn't get up early,couldn't take breakfast (actually i could, only that i choose that moment when i was too take a bite of bread to mull over the writings of Plato so i ended up like a greek statue my hand frozen with the bread and my eyes staring solemnly into space).....
it was so disgusting you know, the guy doesn't know how to control the tone of his voice and when he shouted at me the whole class turned around thinking that Hitler had entered the room and it was all i could do not to break into flight, though my legs had developed a new life of their own and did not wish to tarry slow with me....
now he is one of those lecturers who give sudden, surprise quizzes,bolts from the blue ( truly they are bolts for they are hard like magic) and since there seems to be no love lost between the two of us ( from this and other experiences) he might just strike with his lightening staff ( his acquired the image of Zeus in my mind, sitting on a throne in mount Olympus while we get crushed underneath) and worst of all since he does not tolerate people who miss even a zenith of his classes ( i find this odd to believe because if he wants full classes why does he chase people out) he might be evil enough to dish out a disgusting grade at the end of the sem, despite all my superlative efforts..but no way, i am not going to allow that to happen, i have worked hard enough and i deserve a break....
so let me just cross my fingers and see what happens...ciao dudes, peeps, giants, trolls, orcs, philosophers, wizards..
nways, i also bought a pair of jeans, real heavy jeans but it seems they were a size too huge ( my friend says that they must have been designed to keep Danish cows warm in winter).why didn't i see that?now i am stuck with a pair of jeans that i will never get to wear unless i intend to hire myself out as a circus clown-so nerve-grating isn't it...
then again, i got chased out of class this morgen, for being late, i have never been late this much befor, but its like my head just shut off and i couldn't get up early,couldn't take breakfast (actually i could, only that i choose that moment when i was too take a bite of bread to mull over the writings of Plato so i ended up like a greek statue my hand frozen with the bread and my eyes staring solemnly into space).....
it was so disgusting you know, the guy doesn't know how to control the tone of his voice and when he shouted at me the whole class turned around thinking that Hitler had entered the room and it was all i could do not to break into flight, though my legs had developed a new life of their own and did not wish to tarry slow with me....
now he is one of those lecturers who give sudden, surprise quizzes,bolts from the blue ( truly they are bolts for they are hard like magic) and since there seems to be no love lost between the two of us ( from this and other experiences) he might just strike with his lightening staff ( his acquired the image of Zeus in my mind, sitting on a throne in mount Olympus while we get crushed underneath) and worst of all since he does not tolerate people who miss even a zenith of his classes ( i find this odd to believe because if he wants full classes why does he chase people out) he might be evil enough to dish out a disgusting grade at the end of the sem, despite all my superlative efforts..but no way, i am not going to allow that to happen, i have worked hard enough and i deserve a break....
so let me just cross my fingers and see what happens...ciao dudes, peeps, giants, trolls, orcs, philosophers, wizards..
Monday, April 24, 2006
yoyo dances
life can be frustrating at times, especially when you are searching for something exciting, looking for that special friend who will make your sojourn on earth more lively and engaging, that special moments in sesame street where life is just about jumping up and down and having fun. well, it seldom never is unless you choose to find joy in the situation you are in. just ask God for help in that.
Anyway, i meant to talk about gender inequality in movies, i am not an expert in this and i have not done much research so as to come up with accurate statistics. but have you realized that male characters practically outnumber their female counterparts in the screen.
let us start with an example, in the film THE ICE AGE, that lovely digital cartoon about a grumpy mammoth, a nerve-grating sloth-like mammal and a suave sabre-toothed tiger named Diego are out in a noble mission to bring a human baby back to his 'herd'. nothing wrong with that really only that both herds, the tiger one and the human herd, held no hint of the female form. it is a naturally expected fact that for a race to survive, females have to outnumber men since they can only give birth once a year unlike men who can impregnate many women at a time.
now i do not know what ploy the ice age marketers were trying to use but i certainly did not appreciate the fact that was presented to kids like the ice age was just a world for men.
look again in Titanic, that lofty tear-jerker that had many reaching for their hankerchiefs. why is it that that female lead character could only discover her freedom after being shown how to by a man ( leonardo di caprio's character). could she not guess things for herself, could she not discover her power by herself without involving a man.
why is it that in every sensational novel or movie, the woman is shown as being an emotional wreck who finds love in the most inconceivable form such as falling in love with the pirate who killed her brother, the former governor of San Domingo
yes it is always like that, the men have worthwhile careers, whether clean (governor) or vile (pirate), the woman is just at home being dressed and pampered by maids employed in her father's rich estate while being tormented by sexual images. pathetic isn't it?
well, i could talk on forever and give you more and more examples, all i want to say is that those screen writers and novelists should finally realise what century we are in. ciao
Anyway, i meant to talk about gender inequality in movies, i am not an expert in this and i have not done much research so as to come up with accurate statistics. but have you realized that male characters practically outnumber their female counterparts in the screen.
let us start with an example, in the film THE ICE AGE, that lovely digital cartoon about a grumpy mammoth, a nerve-grating sloth-like mammal and a suave sabre-toothed tiger named Diego are out in a noble mission to bring a human baby back to his 'herd'. nothing wrong with that really only that both herds, the tiger one and the human herd, held no hint of the female form. it is a naturally expected fact that for a race to survive, females have to outnumber men since they can only give birth once a year unlike men who can impregnate many women at a time.
now i do not know what ploy the ice age marketers were trying to use but i certainly did not appreciate the fact that was presented to kids like the ice age was just a world for men.
look again in Titanic, that lofty tear-jerker that had many reaching for their hankerchiefs. why is it that that female lead character could only discover her freedom after being shown how to by a man ( leonardo di caprio's character). could she not guess things for herself, could she not discover her power by herself without involving a man.
why is it that in every sensational novel or movie, the woman is shown as being an emotional wreck who finds love in the most inconceivable form such as falling in love with the pirate who killed her brother, the former governor of San Domingo
yes it is always like that, the men have worthwhile careers, whether clean (governor) or vile (pirate), the woman is just at home being dressed and pampered by maids employed in her father's rich estate while being tormented by sexual images. pathetic isn't it?
well, i could talk on forever and give you more and more examples, all i want to say is that those screen writers and novelists should finally realise what century we are in. ciao
Monday, April 03, 2006
the long road home
there is an old viking tale that when a brave warrior dies in battle his soul goes to valhalla where he is entertained by a thousand virgin maidens for all eternity. i shared this with a friend and he said that the chances of finding a virgin maiden is just as possible as being hit by lightening twice under a very clear sky.
anyway, i meant to talk about myself and not to scorn the virtues of the female kind(which am sure there are plenty around)
it is midnight and i am typing randomly on my keyboard. i wonder if anyone is up late with me for there is a full moon outside complete with a fairy ring, maybe if i look close enough i could see those pixies going round and round in their enchanting dance. there is always something sinister about the moon; it is full of werewolf tales and witches swishing to and fro on their ugly brooms. someone told me that there was a full moon the day Judas Iscariot betrayed my saviour Jesus. i don't know about that but it is enough to get me scared.
but today the moon is different. i have closed my room lights so that i can type with her sheen. her light is different today as it slowly sifts through my window. today she is hiding away everything ugly-the concrete, the steel cages commonly known as sky scrapers-and all i can see are the tender buds of the purple jacaranda and the dew drifting down her leaves like soft tears. it makes me think that if i could just open the window i could drift back to my childhood.
i was born about 300 miles from Nairobi a long time ago ( but not that long time ago that you wonder what it is i'm still doing in campus). my parents brought me from hospital and my grandmother blessed me by touching my forehead with red ochre smeared with fresh milk.
mine was the nature around me, the guinea fowls that strutted around with their harsh shrill cry( we used to take their eggs and hatch them with a pullet so that they would grow up believing that they were domestic fowl) and the squirrels that stole our precious millet from the farm, i found it hard to associate thievery with those cute fellows and forgave them, never stoning them when they skittered away with a few grains of sorghum.
school was a mile or so away, and it meant leaving my village of 500 chimneys to pass through a dark , gloomy forest, ha ha that is a cliche, it was not gloomy at all but warm and full of wondrous lights dropping like liquid jade all the way down to the forest floor. there were monkeys along the way, colobus monkeys dressed like old men in white and black suits and another bluish-whitish monkey whose name in English i cannot tell. someone told me that another monkey lived in the forest too- a big ,black baboon that stole little boys like me when no one was looking. this made me very afraid and i never walked in there without company.
at school i was the only one with shoes and the kids must have spent a better amount of their time in admiring my pretty bubble-gummers than in listening to the teacher, no wonder i garnered all the As as they floundered along.
girls were never an issue. after all i was timothy, the altar boy who helped the kindly italian priest every sunday at the catholic mass. he had a mule, that italian priest, a pretty mule with a tail like a horse and with a bite scarier than a dog's. i meant to befriend him in spite of all and fed him with bread when the italian priest was not looking ( bread was precious and meant only for humans). he let me ride him once, when the children performed the nativity play, although i was a boy i insisted to play the part of the virgin mary so that i could ride the mule. and boy did i ride him like a king, sorry, queen.
when i was about to join high school a girl walked into my class and into my heart. before that all the girls had been the cheeky annoying type that hid away my story books so that i should kiss them before taking it back. but clarissa, with her long black hair cascading down her back like a waterfall was different, her hands were soft like a butter and her luscious lips begged to be kissed ( i had read my share of romance novels set back in the days of chilvary to develop such a lusty little mind). knights fought dragons to win the love of their damsels but i went back to my monkey-filled forest to bring her the sweet red lamaek berries, they grow so high up in the trees and i was so short, like a hammer more or less. to cut the long tale short i fell and broke my leg and my cries brought me a local farmer who whisked me to hospital in his tractor, my search for the lamaek fruits left unproven in the forest floor, just like my love for clarissa.
high school was a long way of, in a dusty town called eldoret. it was a national school where the bright kids went to meet with others of their kind from all over the country. it was in high school that i developed a love for literature and for language, admiring the lyrical French that we were now learning. high school was a unique experience altogether-some were rich, most were poor- some were the kids of diplomats and had grown up in Europe, most had,like me, had grown up in sequestred forested villages.
my roommate was a sleek savvy guy named Arjuna who hailed all the way from Gujarati India, he used to torture me with spooky tales and i never realized till much, much later that it was he who filched soft drinks from my locker in the dead of the night while i shivered in bed believing that a ghost was prowling about.
high school came and went and it was back to my green village while i considered the places where i could pursue a higher education. the forest was gone now, replaced by wheat-fields and concrete houses all in the name of development. the only monkey left was a sad blue one, emaciated to the bone, sitting beside the road, his hand stretched out begging for food. i couldn't hold back the tears, it was like a piece of my child hood had been stolen .
their new parents now, new parents who have sassy jobs in distant towns and smell of new money. and to prove their wealth they stuff their kids with chocolates and ice-cream, with video games and salsa lessons. the kids no longer speak the local kalenjin language, they now prefer, although seldom, swahili but most of the times they prove themselves in their english, imitating the britons and the americans they see on tv. it stabs me to see a language going to waste like that, it is like allowing a whole species to dwindle in extinction, i fear that one day kalenjin will go the way of the mammoth and the mastodons.
they now listen to 50 cent and Britney Spears, trying to behave like them, how do you behave like an artist who is worth 150 million dollars while you don't even earn a single, miserable penny a day. they should concentrate on building their lives and their countries, and not waste their tender, African lives in hopeless imitation of others.
anyway, i came to Nairobi University, where i am currently pursuing a degree in commerce, majoring in marketing, i plan to work for a while, in a reputable company and then do my masters in a foreign university, i want to understand money and why it has so much power, power that could often lead to good but often ends up destroying, and i want to come back to my country with some of it and build back the shattered lives around.
may be we will all find our way back to valhalla and be entertained by a thousand colobus monkeys all our lives, just think of that........
goodnight!
anyway, i meant to talk about myself and not to scorn the virtues of the female kind(which am sure there are plenty around)
it is midnight and i am typing randomly on my keyboard. i wonder if anyone is up late with me for there is a full moon outside complete with a fairy ring, maybe if i look close enough i could see those pixies going round and round in their enchanting dance. there is always something sinister about the moon; it is full of werewolf tales and witches swishing to and fro on their ugly brooms. someone told me that there was a full moon the day Judas Iscariot betrayed my saviour Jesus. i don't know about that but it is enough to get me scared.
but today the moon is different. i have closed my room lights so that i can type with her sheen. her light is different today as it slowly sifts through my window. today she is hiding away everything ugly-the concrete, the steel cages commonly known as sky scrapers-and all i can see are the tender buds of the purple jacaranda and the dew drifting down her leaves like soft tears. it makes me think that if i could just open the window i could drift back to my childhood.
i was born about 300 miles from Nairobi a long time ago ( but not that long time ago that you wonder what it is i'm still doing in campus). my parents brought me from hospital and my grandmother blessed me by touching my forehead with red ochre smeared with fresh milk.
mine was the nature around me, the guinea fowls that strutted around with their harsh shrill cry( we used to take their eggs and hatch them with a pullet so that they would grow up believing that they were domestic fowl) and the squirrels that stole our precious millet from the farm, i found it hard to associate thievery with those cute fellows and forgave them, never stoning them when they skittered away with a few grains of sorghum.
school was a mile or so away, and it meant leaving my village of 500 chimneys to pass through a dark , gloomy forest, ha ha that is a cliche, it was not gloomy at all but warm and full of wondrous lights dropping like liquid jade all the way down to the forest floor. there were monkeys along the way, colobus monkeys dressed like old men in white and black suits and another bluish-whitish monkey whose name in English i cannot tell. someone told me that another monkey lived in the forest too- a big ,black baboon that stole little boys like me when no one was looking. this made me very afraid and i never walked in there without company.
at school i was the only one with shoes and the kids must have spent a better amount of their time in admiring my pretty bubble-gummers than in listening to the teacher, no wonder i garnered all the As as they floundered along.
girls were never an issue. after all i was timothy, the altar boy who helped the kindly italian priest every sunday at the catholic mass. he had a mule, that italian priest, a pretty mule with a tail like a horse and with a bite scarier than a dog's. i meant to befriend him in spite of all and fed him with bread when the italian priest was not looking ( bread was precious and meant only for humans). he let me ride him once, when the children performed the nativity play, although i was a boy i insisted to play the part of the virgin mary so that i could ride the mule. and boy did i ride him like a king, sorry, queen.
when i was about to join high school a girl walked into my class and into my heart. before that all the girls had been the cheeky annoying type that hid away my story books so that i should kiss them before taking it back. but clarissa, with her long black hair cascading down her back like a waterfall was different, her hands were soft like a butter and her luscious lips begged to be kissed ( i had read my share of romance novels set back in the days of chilvary to develop such a lusty little mind). knights fought dragons to win the love of their damsels but i went back to my monkey-filled forest to bring her the sweet red lamaek berries, they grow so high up in the trees and i was so short, like a hammer more or less. to cut the long tale short i fell and broke my leg and my cries brought me a local farmer who whisked me to hospital in his tractor, my search for the lamaek fruits left unproven in the forest floor, just like my love for clarissa.
high school was a long way of, in a dusty town called eldoret. it was a national school where the bright kids went to meet with others of their kind from all over the country. it was in high school that i developed a love for literature and for language, admiring the lyrical French that we were now learning. high school was a unique experience altogether-some were rich, most were poor- some were the kids of diplomats and had grown up in Europe, most had,like me, had grown up in sequestred forested villages.
my roommate was a sleek savvy guy named Arjuna who hailed all the way from Gujarati India, he used to torture me with spooky tales and i never realized till much, much later that it was he who filched soft drinks from my locker in the dead of the night while i shivered in bed believing that a ghost was prowling about.
high school came and went and it was back to my green village while i considered the places where i could pursue a higher education. the forest was gone now, replaced by wheat-fields and concrete houses all in the name of development. the only monkey left was a sad blue one, emaciated to the bone, sitting beside the road, his hand stretched out begging for food. i couldn't hold back the tears, it was like a piece of my child hood had been stolen .
their new parents now, new parents who have sassy jobs in distant towns and smell of new money. and to prove their wealth they stuff their kids with chocolates and ice-cream, with video games and salsa lessons. the kids no longer speak the local kalenjin language, they now prefer, although seldom, swahili but most of the times they prove themselves in their english, imitating the britons and the americans they see on tv. it stabs me to see a language going to waste like that, it is like allowing a whole species to dwindle in extinction, i fear that one day kalenjin will go the way of the mammoth and the mastodons.
they now listen to 50 cent and Britney Spears, trying to behave like them, how do you behave like an artist who is worth 150 million dollars while you don't even earn a single, miserable penny a day. they should concentrate on building their lives and their countries, and not waste their tender, African lives in hopeless imitation of others.
anyway, i came to Nairobi University, where i am currently pursuing a degree in commerce, majoring in marketing, i plan to work for a while, in a reputable company and then do my masters in a foreign university, i want to understand money and why it has so much power, power that could often lead to good but often ends up destroying, and i want to come back to my country with some of it and build back the shattered lives around.
may be we will all find our way back to valhalla and be entertained by a thousand colobus monkeys all our lives, just think of that........
goodnight!
Thursday, August 04, 2005
on the corners of heaven i sat- tale of an old man
i sat on the corner's of heaven's pearly gates i sat. peter was there, a gentle father abraham, and the fruits of the tree of life looked so luscious. well, all i could do is accept jesus and step in and enjoy the warmth( lovelier than the sun it was). but i thought of earth, of that one last drink of beer i could have, one last tryst, one last lie, one last puff of marijuana......
the presence of sin felt so welcoming. and i looked up to heaven. and thought of the many evil men who went there only by confessing at the last minute and i told God no, book me a space, am coming back. and now am old and my days are done, my life is wasted, i have beared no fruit. and i look up to God and the day when i sat beside heaven's gate, at all the blessings i had missed, of how my life was now even more empty, and i ask" God why is it so hard to accept you when i know you are the best!"
the presence of sin felt so welcoming. and i looked up to heaven. and thought of the many evil men who went there only by confessing at the last minute and i told God no, book me a space, am coming back. and now am old and my days are done, my life is wasted, i have beared no fruit. and i look up to God and the day when i sat beside heaven's gate, at all the blessings i had missed, of how my life was now even more empty, and i ask" God why is it so hard to accept you when i know you are the best!"
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
memories of a diamond-studded night
life is full of possibilities we ay never get to see for we are so unwilling to try. i learnt this the other day when a friend of mine shared this tale with me. he had loved running ever since he was a child but never explored it for folks considered it as a mindless pastime.anyway, one day, i do not how, he could not resist the urge. and the urge pursued him for so long that it was not uncommon to see him galloping like a thoroughbred horse in the chilly fields of nairobi university.
an ogre lived nearby, not an ogre really, for it was only his wife who saw him that way. nonetheless he had been told gently by his doc that people who were ballooned like constipated hippopotamuses could very easily float to heaven with a gentle breeze, which was a nice way of saying that the grave was knocking at his door in the form of heart attacks and the like. you see the man had weight, real weight from the piles and layers of fat coiled upon his slight frame like humongous pythons.
so one fine morning while grieving his predicament, he looked upon his window and what does he see but a sturdy young man riding in the wind like an angel in flight. what spirit possessed the lad that he did not mind the chill and the mud in the early morning? wondered the ogre, sorry the man.
so my friend was stopped on his tracks one day by the man who happened to be an expatriate from norway. my friend had inspired him so much that he insisted they be running each day together.
"pick me up whether rain or shine" was the expatriate's broad proclamation.
so began their work-outs, each one encouraging the other. and finally, when the expatriate flew back to norway, his wife saw him as a better version of brad pitt and my friend, to whom he indebted all the support and encouragement, is looking forward to a fully-funded trip to norway to meet the man and his beloved norway family.
just look at that!
an ogre lived nearby, not an ogre really, for it was only his wife who saw him that way. nonetheless he had been told gently by his doc that people who were ballooned like constipated hippopotamuses could very easily float to heaven with a gentle breeze, which was a nice way of saying that the grave was knocking at his door in the form of heart attacks and the like. you see the man had weight, real weight from the piles and layers of fat coiled upon his slight frame like humongous pythons.
so one fine morning while grieving his predicament, he looked upon his window and what does he see but a sturdy young man riding in the wind like an angel in flight. what spirit possessed the lad that he did not mind the chill and the mud in the early morning? wondered the ogre, sorry the man.
so my friend was stopped on his tracks one day by the man who happened to be an expatriate from norway. my friend had inspired him so much that he insisted they be running each day together.
"pick me up whether rain or shine" was the expatriate's broad proclamation.
so began their work-outs, each one encouraging the other. and finally, when the expatriate flew back to norway, his wife saw him as a better version of brad pitt and my friend, to whom he indebted all the support and encouragement, is looking forward to a fully-funded trip to norway to meet the man and his beloved norway family.
just look at that!
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