The bravest writer I know

I ran into a lady I had once taken a writing class with. Before even a hello, she asked me what I thought of the shades of grey poo, need I say more. I did add that I am jealous, perhaps a step above jealous. The kind of jealous that looks down on jealous, with its nose up high. A horrible color on me but there I was completely cloaked in it wearing it without shame. In her case, it would not have killed her to have someone edit the sex book before filling her money room. I am pretty sure her money room is bigger than Scrooge McDuck’s. While she swims around deep in her coins in her money room as all rich folk do, a school of writers who clearly missed this class, lie awake choking on her inability to use the language correctly as well as her repetition and and and and.

I read through another writers work and it just doesn’t sit well with me. Perhaps it just doesn’t resonate. At this point I realize that he is brave. He strips off his clothes everyday to show the world more than most and invites a criticism that only creative’s attract.

Tell me my math is off I will open a book. Tell me that which I awaken everyday to do and the only thing that brings me happiness is terrible, well then you might as well rip from my body my beating heart and eat it.  Not that constructive criticism isn’t welcomed. We are all learning and growing, this is important. Also lets not forget our tastes differ and I am okay with that. I am not the kid on the playground who is going to try make best friends with all the others kids. But respect the fragility of the creative soul, give it air to breath. Every person who wakes up everyday to create in my books is brave as hell.

The animal that darkens your doorway

Loyalty for the place we grew is built into us. To know where we are going we must always look from where we have come.

Along the way we encounter two animals. The one is a fickle beast the other is mans best friend. We are capable of living beside either as long as we choose to understand both. Understanding can only be gained through experience. To know loyalty we must know deception. In order to know deception we need to have inhaled loyalty. They oppose each other yet they cannot live apart.

Now the question comes to mind. What would it entail to truly know oneself. One has to have lived with each animal. Been infected by its breath to such a degree one finds themselves sympathetic to the creature.

After which one can then move far enough away to remain consistent in spite of which animal it is that darkens their doorway. Yet it must also be said that where you rest your head determines how peaceful your rest as mans best friend will not bite in the night.

Thank you asshole

It is hard to find inspiration and to keep that fire burning.

Today I was inspired.

I was inspired by those who do what they love and love what they do.

More often than not my question which follows the standard question of the nine to five job is to ask people if they love what they do?

I am so interested in this answer. It is not very surprising that most people do not love what they do. I once told someone, I believed that we all need to find what we love and do that. She disagreed and said that we can do anything provided we are making time for that which we love.

Some random hour of the saturday morning my drunken palm was read by a runt of some litter.

He told me I would die young. He told me to enjoy my last nine years. This stuck to my mind as one finds predictions of their death tend to do.

Firstly that guy is an asshole. Who tells people that?

Secondly, let us not have a cry over spilled whiskey (although this is sinful behavior I must add). I am not dead yet.

I am doing what I love at this moment and have been pushed to perhaps write that little bit faster so the point is therefore not whether it is true or not. It is more about being made aware of the hour glass. The sand that does not stop falling even when one might miss their boat.

Perhaps an asshole crossed my path for that reason. Maybe I was walking a running race and here I am again picking up the pace.

Thank you asshole.

sandwich thief

The years have been unkind to her, in her youth she never thought of a time she would be unable to trust her body and for that she now suffers.
The room fills and empties and again I am sitting here alone, sitting on my tongue sitting on my impatience.

The older man who sat here before eyed out the tray of sandwiches as he walked in. The dealership where my car is being serviced, kindly trying to buy the patience of their customers. By the time sandwich thief leaves three empty spaces are visible. Twice I watched him very subtlety, yet at a fast pace move in, the third time; he was lurking in the darkness and waited the right moment to bounce, I never saw him swoop in.

Another guy breathes deeply I feel his anxiety, like the rest of us he would rather not be here. His cap backwards a contradiction to the bag he is carrying, which is that of a man of business.

Time served is over back to the world where one must pay for ones own sandwiches. I didn’t indulge just for the record.

Life granting us credibility

I have in my years experienced many different sides to life. Today as It has many times before, the question was raised as to what gives us credibility to speak of the things we know or think we know for arguments sake.

I spend three years of my four years at varsity battling with my philosophy teachers. I had my own theories on everything, I was almost insulted that my views could not be added into my arguments. Why did I think than I had the credibility that takes many people a life time to achieve. Why did I think I could speak of things from how I understood them to be at that moment.

It was only years later that I finally understood exactly what my teachers were trying to tell me. Respect for tradition is key. How can one move forward without having gone backwards first. This is why I have since than and until this day had a deep respect for tradition.

Many people experience something bad and than go around speaking of it (for money of course) Does there have to be a line from which they must have crossed in order to take up this position as teacher or maybe even a role model to others. What if this person has not an ethical bone in their body have they still something to teach.

Perhaps we are all students and teachers, I just feel that although I have spent many years researching life I am far from writing my book maybe I need a life time of research to gain some credibility or would my book still be held in the highest regard if I were to write it on life thus far?

Its a book’s life

Three years ago when I moved to cape town I couldn’t bare parting with my book collection. Where I go, my books go. They can be likened to my clothes they clothe my soul they are very much apart of me and who I am. And the journey of thought that has led me to the person I am today.

Every move my books move with me. My moves which now stands at no5 in three years. A figure I am most proud of. I was hoping to reach ten before five years (another theory I will not get into now) but which has been altered due to the mad love I feel for my existing place of residence.

Now considering the fact I don’t plan on moving for a very long time its ironic that my view of my book collection should change at such a time.

Two opposing thoughts. One takes you back to sandy of a year ago. I had met a very interesting gentleman. Randomly this man made his way into the art gallery I was running at this time. Hands down one of the most special conversations I had the pleasure to share with a complete stranger. He said something which I loved so much.
– When someone walks into his home, into his space and comes across his books; they instantly learn so much about him and the person he is. As well as his interests and way of thinking.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago and meet the older and wiser sandy whom after reading a
Paulo Coelho write up on books changed her tune 360 degrees. (I do enjoy referring to my myself in third person)

Anyways Mr Coelho who is not only an incredible writer but a gifted philosopher as well, basically wrote that books have a life and that leaving them on a shelf is not the intended life of a book. I liked that very much and agree with it completely it almost seems unfair to keep my books hostage. Don’t get me wrong I have many I will never part with and which I will read and reread a million times over. But the others deserve to carry on, on their journeys until someone feels so strongly about them they will never think even for a second about parting with them.

My grandfather had a majestic book collection, a whole room with shelves build into the walls just decorated with books. I love this but at the same time I will have to spend my life time collecting just the right books to adore my book room with only my favorites.

My hair is brown

I just told someone that writing is in my soul..

Sometimes you hear yourself say something and every part of you feels the truth of your own words.

A person of words, I consider myself to be. However when it comes to close relationships I recently told my closest that I have no words. Some things are beyond words, strange to say as a writer. With that thought in mind I dont know how I am going to write her wedding card.

I always wander who has the patience to read the –good- crap that spills out of me. As well as acknowledge the millions of people who feel the same sort of passion for writing themselves as I do.

Writing for me reminds me of that high when I threw myself out of a plane. (I am a terrible liar, I was strapped to someone I was forced) That refreshing high when I swim in the freezing ocean. …

Just like I can never change the colour of my hair… I can ignore my God given colour and dye it till the sun doesn’t shine anymore but forever I will have brown hair (yes its true, its brown)

As I cannot change this nor can I change that which stirs my soul, nor would I try…

Half assed

Something happened a few days back that left its mark on me. Apart of me that has been sleeping for sometime was awakened. So caught up in my daily existence I haven’t found the time to read, to write, to battle the endless list of questions that life presents me with..

Such events were perfectly described by my new friend as magical and I realized that magical days are long and far between.

Two years back I was reading a book about the art of conversation, the book speaks of normal day to day run of the mill conversation that everyone encounters. Along with the deep and meaningful stuff that we walk away from feeling lighter perhaps even motivated and if we are lucky somewhat altered. This ‘magical’ conversation is what we all need without it we are somewhat lost and empty.

It’s so easy to find that in the time we live in, in-depth conversations like these are very rare. Even on my morning walk I noticed so many people on their cell phones.

Unfortunately we are never really where we are, we are always elsewhere. On our bbm, our e-mail, our facebook, our twitter, our skype… If there was ever such a thing as being to available, too much in contact with the world- than that is how we have become.

The days of interpersonal communication are taking a back seat; interactions like I was lucky enough to have the other day will be further between.

I have had my cell phone off all morning, this is my attempt to be where I am, but I guess it’s a half ass attempt as at this moment my blog is open to write this, along with my e-mail…

 

 

Ten points

George from Seinfeld says that we have an agreement with the pigeons (I am pretty sure this extends to seagulls).

We don’t knock them over and they don’t shit on our cars.

Its safe to say this agreement has not been upheld on either side. My car used to constantly be the best gathering for all birds in the area who thought that a poo party was in order. I used to have a pigeon on my balcony, named Selwyn who I am sure used to recognize me; perhaps they are smarter than we give them credit for.

Crossing the road the other day, I noticed a beautiful white sea gull loitering about. I heard a taxi rushing up behind me as I got to the pavement I heard the most terrible noise – a cry of absolute pain. That careless asshole had knocked the bird over. I got to him in time to see him crawling under a car.

Having been in many taxis, I know the consensus in the taxi must have been “stupid bird they should learn to cross the road”, the taxi can do no wrong, but this is a story for another time. Safe to say no one inside the taxi lost any sleep over the incident.

I cant exactly claim to love these birds, many times I have been heard calling them rats with wings while having a swing at them because they were looking at my food in the wrong way. Yet an injured one always softens my heart.

The last great bird rescue of 09 my friend was largely responsible for – unfortunately Jerry died soon after rescue, which led me to believe that some times nature should be left to sort itself out.

But maybe, just maybe we as drivers can avoid playing ten points a hit with birds..

Swimming Upstream

I have always known that my life would not carry me in the same direction as most. For a while now I have fought this feeling and have been trying to find that which society deems to be normal. The nine to five. Don’t get me wrong there is something very satisfying about a hard days work. Not to mention the importance of the green stuff. But the soul is left empty the morning always arrives when one awakes to realize that the gap cannot be filled by money or status.

Ask anyone what he or she does and they will tell you they are an accountant or a lawyer. But does that title define them even encapsulate them.I have always hated that very question yet find myself asking others the very question that unsettles me. I know I ask not because the center of my every thought right now is work but rather because I am truly interested what people do as well as whether or not they do so out of true love and passion or found themselves trapped and never pushed to move outside of the prisons they created for themselves. Do we at the end of the day live to work or do we work to live. I have for a while now answered that very question with humor in order to lower the blow for myself everyday I heard the words “unemployed” or “between jobs” come out of my mouth.

Today I realized I am not unemployed rather I am a writer. A strong answer. Mid movie tonight I couldn’t fight the urge to put pen to paper and I think that’s what its about. Words are my bond they have never failed me.I am fighting the good fight the road is long but at least I am no longer walking in the dark.

Good day.