Destiny Scripted

Last night I watched two movies on DVD - 'Full Metal Jacket' and 'The Last Samurai'. This is not going to be a review but to be fair, 'Full Metal Jacket' is good solely because it is Stanley Kubrick's work. 'The Last Samurai' is a class on its own and only because Tom Cruise is in it. These two ranks very high on my list of 'must watch' movies.

In one of 'The Last Samurai' scene, Tom Cruise says,"A man does what he can, until his destiny is revealed." This got me thinking.

I strongly believe that a person's "destiny" is pretty much in his or her own hands. However, I also believe that certain events are predestined and essentially inevitable. I also believe in things like serendipity and coincidences.

So now the question becomes, if something happens to a person, how would she or he know that it was meant to happen no matter what that person might do? And does she or he even need to know. And how much of a person's life is, shall we say, "scripted".

I personally don't like the idea that whatever we do, regardless how little or insignificant it is, is scripted. It implies lack of control and the idea that I don't actually have any control of my own life is quite frightening.

When I think about it, our life is controlled by us with a few major events that are scripted, like cut scenes from a movie. If you believe in a divine being, then it is He who takes on this role. But that's my opinion.

Now, if only I wasn't too sleepy, I swear I would have downed another beer and pondered on this a little longer. But this was too much to take in for a night.

I was destined to sleep peacefully.

I Didn't Last Night

I knocked off a little late yesterday evening and while driving out from my office building, as usual I drove pass a few watering holes. I saw a few acquaintances. Most waved me down to stop. Others called. I gave them excuses. They were the same crowd I was with two nights ago.

I could have but I didn't. The urge was there. The craving, the wanting, the all too familiar need to have a go at it was too strong. Just one...

I then instinctively drove over to 'my place' and was about to turn into the junction but for reasons beyond the grasp of my concious mind, I didn't. Divine intervention, you think? Maybe. And so I reached home early for the very first time in a few months. Had my shower and cooked dinner. I decided to do that lest eating out might lead to something else afterwards. I have a well stocked fridge with beers. I didn't reach for one.

I picked a book and read instead.

I woke up this morning feeling much better.

End

That's Joanne wrapped in my arms. She's one of 'my place' beautiful staff and she is the funny one. She is prone to accidents. When she was younger, she had fallen many times hitting her head which have in a way caused her cognitive and various faculties to now sometimes fail her. And then there was this coconut incident from her childhood days. But that's another story.

I remember when she first started work. I walked in at happy hours and there she was, standing at the door with a loud t-shirt which had this print - "I AM A VIRGIN" stretched across her chest (I was very tempted to type 'breast' or 'tits' but I'm no sexist) for better visuals. I stopped dead in my track and asked her if she really was. There was an innocent but suggestive smile on her face and she told me to read the smaller prints instead. And it read, "This is a really old t-shirt".

I like Joanne. She's a fun person to be with. She also has an amazing good voice. She sings and plays the guitar too and we have on a few occasions sang some good duets.

She's leaving 'my place'. Last night was her last day at work. And with that, my chance of ever getting into her pants.

I will miss her.

Jim the barman left too. I wasn't aware of him leaving but that's like him. He doesn't tell. I got a message instead on my mobile. I miss the man too.

To Joanne and Jim, I say good luck to whatever you are pursuing. And for the times you were there at the bar serving me beer and various other poison and in the process have in a way contributed to inflict further damage to my liver, I say 'Thank You!' from the bottom of my brown arse.

Responsible Drunk

I may have a problem. I say, I may because I'm just not convinced that I have this problem. I don't want it to be a problem and I dread to think that it might just one day be.

I'm also aware that years of alcohol abuse can essentially lead to brain damage and debilitation of various cognitive skills. But see, I'm not abusing it. How could I abuse something I love. My theory is this, if one is in love with alcohol, one should love it responsibly. Period. Those who don't eventually die of cirrhosis of the liver. I will probably die of natural causes, like old age. This week alone, on separate occasion three good friends asked me the same question - 'How do you do it, man? Where do you derive the strength?'. This is bad.

I know they mean well. And I don't take this line of questioning as an insult to my being or an intrusion to whatever I do in private. After all, it is my life. My shit. But it's good to have friends who are concern. This could only mean one thing. That I may have this problem. They see it. Friends don't just ask you this if it wasn't.

So what am I to do? I really don't know. In fact, I don't really want to do anything about it just yet. I'm responsible for my action. Look, I'm a responsible drunk. Seriously. Go ask the guys at 'my place'.

Let It Slide

What do you do when you hear something disturbing or offensive, especially when those things are related to you in some way? I got my fair share of these of late.

I have a choice. I could respond and retaliate or I could just let it slide. I let it slide. I'm going to ignore that part of my psyche that screams,"Silence is an admission of guilt !!!". I don't need to deal with things like this.

There will be none of that school yard you-hit-me-first-now-I-hit-you-later stuff going on here.

I guess I'm going to have to live with the fact that not everyone is going to like me. I mean, as a rule people are allowed to pick and choose who they associate with. No one is good enough for everyone. That's a fact.

I guess I never really came to terms with the idea that I, by simply being myself, can rub others the wrong way. I never really accepted the fact that I can be less than what other people want or look for. It hurts the pride to be considered lacking and to know that to some, I'm not worth it.

To some people, I'm all kinds of bad. I may be too boorish or too opinionated or too lacking in tact and finesse. Maybe I'm too simple or too complicated. Perhaps I'm not artful and articulate enough for some people. And for others, maybe I'm not manly or hard enough. And to yet more people, maybe I'm simply too plain without any obvious charm.

To some people, maybe I'm alright. To others, I may not be so good. Or perhaps I'm just nondescript and ordinary for them.

I am a composite of many things, including flaws and shortcomings and more. I can't expect everyone to tolerate those, can I?

Obviously, I haven't figured how much of myself I need to change before I can be accused of selling out. Such a fine line isn't it? What do you do? Be true and stick to yourself or give face and try to change.

And so, rather than whining about how unfair and unpleasant it is, instead of lashing out and coming out with all sorts of allegations, I'm going to try and accept it like it is instead. Not everyone is going to think I'm an ok person. That's a fact. No need to think of the whys and the how comes. Fuck all!!!

It's life and it's people.

And that's just the way it is.

Of Nemesis, Tisiphone and Hell Fire

I was doing a bit of spring cleaning in my little library when I found my little book of mindless writings. Long before I had the luxury of a personal computer or even a laptop, I wrote in note pads, scrap of papers and even tissues. And later re-write them in my little book. I still prefer the good ol' way. Pen and paper.

Here's something from my college days. I remember it was during Ms Garnette's literature session. She recited this one. It wasn't a big group. In fact by the end of our term, a handful of us were left. But I enjoyed every minute of it. If there was one thing I can fondly recall about 'Ms G', it was how she referred to everyone affectionately as 'luv'. Yes, I know. All good English women say this but she said it with such candour and...affection. And of course her passion for literature. I don't know if she's still at the uni or if she is still alive. She never told us her age and nobody did ask. Someone said she was 60 years old. But she never looked her age. I miss the old lady.

"Begone!!!

Ye screams of silence, harbingers of pain!!!

Cloaked in isolation, you mock in harsh disdain...

My soul is torn asunder, I curse you, God of Hell!!!

As you pierced my tortured soul, what horrors I befell.

You spoke of quiet solitude, to tempt me to your lair...

Then lanced me in my trouble heart, to depths of dark despair...

Nemesis, I beg of thee...rise up in righteous ire...

Protect me from Tisiphone, from Hell's eternal fire...

With all my voice I scream to you, protect me from the night...

Alas, in forlorn desperation, I journey to the light...

Banished to minds Coventry, I heed the demon's call...

Beckoned by the silent screams...

I enter Dante's Hall."

(24 March 1993, Anglia Polytechnic University, Chelmsford)

Principles, Macaroni And Cheese

Principles are long dead.

Those who have it are deemed harsh and uncompromising. Take it from me - it is tiring to maintain dignity when you have infallible faith in doing what is right rather than what is popular. People want to screw you over and if you don't have a strong sense of principles, those around you will eventually swallow you up whole...into their own moshpit of shallowness.

I had a bad day.

But not until sixthseal.com called at an unholy hour of 4:00pm for macaroni and cheese over at his sanctuary. I dropped everything and drove over. This was necessary.

Cherie and Joanne cooked it seemed. The macaroni was creamy and had bacon bits. For extra flavour of which was undoubtedly something very new and inventive, caviar was added.

We also had wine. For dessert, apple pie with vanilla ice-cream toppings. And then some...

I had a good time.

Fuck Me

A love like this...

...a feeling of bliss

The sweetest kiss...

...its all part of this

A crazy sensation...

...running through my body

The way you touch me...

...feels so naughty but nice

Roll the dice...

...play this game

Hide your shame in this room...

...its just me and you

Our body's together...

...our love forever

A kiss...

A lick...

A touch...

A feel...

This much is impossible sex appeal...

I only want you to make this sweet...

In this giant world...

...how did we meet?

Touch me...

Hold me...

Feel me...

Need me...

I only want you to fuck me...

The Weekend

Owen Nicholas at the 6th Songwriters Round, MoJo

Right now, I have a slight hangover. It's funny, I keep saying I have to refrain from indulging too much but last night I gave in to temptation, yet again. It was rather quiet at my place like any other Sunday and I told myself I'd have an early night. That was not to be as I had good company in the person of someone I will refer to from today as just, dad. Turned out dad is Cherie's old man. A very good man, he is. We talked, I drank some more and left slightly before the shutters went down. I hit the sack with a good buzz.

Shal Sagan with a big ass guitar, MoJo

I had a great weekend. I was at the 6th Songwriters Round at MoJo on Saturday. Owen Nicholas performed as usual and this time he had CD's to give away which was cool. I was a little late for the show and by the time I entered, the place was already packed. A different crowd this time and much livelier and noisier from the last.

There were new faces on stage but I didn't get their names. All young talents with great musical and songwriting inventiveness. One performer had this line in his song - 'Jesus left me for the whore next door'- which I thought was...thought provoking. Besides Owen, Shal Sagan sang. She was the guest artiste for the night. If you didn't know yet, she has an album out and she's currently working on her next. She was beautiful and her songs rather depressing which she later informed me summed up her life in general.

I was planning to stay for a while until this fellow, Kojak took the mike. Heard he's the front man of this local punk band call 'The United Kid's of Oi!' or something like that. I can't say much about him but he did a rendition of Bob Marley's 'No Woman, No Cry' and midway through it, I knew I had to go.

I swung by at my place where I downed more beers. Hope, the ever beautiful Hope then suggested sucking face. I found out later that lots of wine, lots of beer and the exercise involving sucking face does not mix very well.

I was floored.

Traditions

Yesterday marked my last day of grieving for Fred. The gang suggested seven days to be appropriate as a show of respect to the brother. There were no specific conditions or taboo to be observed and we were free to do or not do something to show him our love. Some of the boys went unshaven while others stayed away from their watering holes. No need for me to get into the technicalities of what I did but mine involved a lot of time spent at my place partaking in mindless indulgence of single arm exercises - Fred would have approved of this.

Being native is tough. Even in death. I found out there were a number of taboos that Fred's family had to observed before they were 'freed'. I was talking to one of his older uncles and was appalled at the absurdity of some of it. For example, the immediate family were not allowed to eat vegetables for 40 days. And if the deceased left a widow, she was to carry a scissor with her wherever she went and until one of the deceased immediate family dies was she allowed to throw it away. But this was the old ways, I was told.

And so we buried Fred last Saturday. I intended to fly back the same night but was persuaded to stay for some merry-making. I expected this as I've been to my fellow native brothers and sisters funerals before and having a bit of laugh after sending the deceased to his rightful place was, somewhat considered appropriate. One cannot be crying forever, one of the uncles said. And so I stayed.

We were having a strict non-vegetarian dinner when the merry-making started just outside of Fred's family house. I quickly took leave from the table and walked out. What greeted me was most disturbing. There were four small tables erected and surrounded by little boys and girls, parents included and they were happily putting their money on some strange characters displayed on said tables. Little baby boys and baby girls, folks!!!. I noticed a few were barely even four years old and they were actually making a bit.

Its tradition, they explained and was allowed. The gambling went on late into the night. The children went to bed while the parents continued. The drinking got a bit rowdier and there was a lot of laughter.

Fred would have approved of this.