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Friday, June 12, 2009

Gone for good.

On the edge of cliff, overlooking the infinite horizon, sits a man huddled in a tent. Dark intelligent eyes gaze over his meager belongings. Hunched on his back feet, he shuffles towards the door to cook his afternoon meal.

This is Bondi Beach. This is a place where tourists from all over the world gather to frolic in the sun and to play in the water. Hard bodies saunter their importance on the beach not far away, but here remains this man. He has somehow managed to impose a complete self-isolation even in such a crowded place as this. He does not notice the cameras clicking, nor the jeers of an intoxicated youth. He is a celebrity with no need for fame. This man is content in his flimsy one roomed shack.

Some would even argue that he has the best place to live in the entirety of Sydney. He is after all, living on some of the most expensive retail property in the world. He wakes and sleeps to an ocean view everyday, he watches flecks of gold and red splash across the sky every night before he goes to sleep. He has no bills to pay, nor a tax man knocking at his door. Does this not sound appealing? Would you not want to be able to fall asleep to the gentle lapping of the waves below?

I would hazard a guess that this is one of the most content men living in the city, either that or his gambling habit got the best of him.

Focused beam.

Lucky and unhappy he began to plod down the lane. All he wanted to do was float for a free style life. He dark blue eyes brimmed with tears. His teacher, the most beautiful women on this earth had hit him. How, how could she have betrayed him like that? How could a slap from women whom he considered his mother be so vicious? Red plastic fingernails scraping and tearing the soft skin off his cheek leaving marks etched to his soul not soon to be forgotten.

A tear slipped down his cheek as he looked down at the pavement. He just wanted Teddy. His soft, furry, lovable Teddy. How he wanted to hold him right now, just to caress his face in his soft stomach.

Through misty eyes he saw a glint of metal reflect reflect from a puddle of yesterdays rainwater. It reminded him of his magnifying glass on a hot summer day. Oh how he loathed those ants! Those dirty sneaky ants! Always getting into places where they weren't supposed to! Their creepy crawly legs tickling his feet everytime he would try to sit and eat a sandwich in his backyard! He would find their queen one day, and when he did...oh my, she better watch out. She better watch from the front, because thats where he would come from. Not from the back, not from the side but to her face. Be afraid, be very very afraid.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Rationality and Pragmatism is cool man.

Grow up. Everyone.

Monday, June 1, 2009

Finding the Nice in Nice.

Someone once told me that I amuse myself entirely too easily. An imagination run rampant on a battlefield of logic and categories. I was told that I blurred lines between colors too often and did so in such a way that blues and greens no longer remained distinguishable to the naked eye.

What do you do with someone that enjoys mixing and painting on the proverbial easel of life? What do you do with someone who doesn’t see it as such a terrible thing? I only ask because when I do so, I am no longer seen as normal. Now, I am “something special,” a child who has somehow managed to scamper off the short bus and sneak a ride along with the big kids. A little boy straining to raise a sword that was forged for a man.

Perhaps I attribute too much importance to myself and honestly its not my place to say where I will lye in the grand scheme of things. History will always be the final judge and truth be told, all people will never be fully satiated with what I do. I have no doubt that the road will be littered with some pain and heartache. That, as with any great truth, needs to be accepted. However, in that rocky and dedicated climb, some beautiful paint WILL spill out onto the gray concrete and perhaps we will be smart enough to take out our plastic buckets and scoop up what we can, when we can. New colors are created with every breath and every step, some so magnificent that even trying to fathom from which they came would be a folly.

I wonder what would happen if ALL of us were constantly hovering over our porcelain bathtubs, eyes strained in concentration as we begin to stir great concoctions of crimson reds and sparkling yellows? What is stopping us from splashing personal colors of pleasure over our own stretched canvases?

Could it be anything else but the ugly manifestations of our horn tipped friend, the ego? Is our ego, who sits cooly by the rock, the one who causes such strife and misery? 

It is possible. However, let me propose another idea. Perhaps we have all just been misunderstanding our shaded friend. What would you do, if you saw your ego coming home from another long day of work only to drown himself into a cup of whiskey poured fresh every night? Would you not feel sorry? Would you not want to help? Perhaps it is time we sat down with him and put aside some time for family counseling. After all, he does live with us and although the dishes may go unwashed and the carpets remain dirty he IS a relative with whom the house needs to be shared with.

Lets face facts though, the ego is not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. He bumbles and plods his way through life often with no care of who he tramples underneath his clown shaped shoes. He is, for the lack of a better word, an imbecile. A bratty child who only receives so much attention because of his constant yelling. What do you do with a child like that? Slap it around? Give it a lollipop so he shuts up for a couple of minutes? Or do you take him firm by the hand, stare him straight in the eye and tell him the truth?

Explain to this child, that your not going to take his shit anymore. He isn’t going to get what he wants because he isn’t the centre of the world. Granted, it probably won’t work the first time, nor the second, nor the third, but eventually his ears will perk up. The child WILL listen and realize that, “Wait a minute, Im not getting the same attention that I used to. WHAT IS GOING ON?”

That my friends is growth. That is how children turn into adults. When everything they have ever held dear gets thrown into their face and are left naked sitting on a cardboard box wondering where their pants went. That is how we progress.

Who is to say which way is the right way? After all, these are nothing but words. Sure I could talk, I could blather, hell I could even quote Confucius, but to what end? It is the individual who has to change, it is the individual who has to believe. I can’t do that for anyone. I can’t force what I believe on you because for any of this to work you have to truly believe it yourself. There is no room for superficiality in this game, nor is there any room for philistines. There needs to be true change, and there needs to be true faith in YOURSELF. Forget me, focus on you.

A wise man named K-OS told me, If you cant pull the boulder, lets just help push it along. Lets just help push it along.


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