Idols, Tied Tongues and Me May 21, 2008

 

This is the very reason why it’s always a safe bet to idolize people like say Shakespeare or T.S. Elliot or Elvis. They’re dead. There’s no chance of you getting the stupid, stupid and it is necessary that I add, stupid notion of meeting them into your head. It’s almost akin to being in love as the experience is told. You go all tongue tied and whatnot and whatever you say after the first spurt of incoherence cannot undo that opening train wreck masquerading as words that left your mouth.

 

 This is most likely going to end in an ego trip far faraway for the idol in question here but then again doesn’t the fact that I actually idolize him warrant that? Maybe an alias will tone down the imminent damage a notch or two. Something bad, horrid, to counter the fact of idolization because while I am not disinclined to admitting there are living people I am willing to devote idol space to in my mind, I prefer that they remain ignorant of this little shame.

Anyway, I met one of the few today. It was as excruciating as all these meetings are destined to go. It is pre-ordained. If one such meeting goes contrarily to what is writ then it should be concluded that something was amiss. They were never really an idol or they don’t deserve the honor.

 

 This one deserved the honor more than I cared him to. Of course it’s a man. Can’t go around idolizing women, that’s just sad, the fact that I consider myself the greatest one notwithstanding.

 

 I’ve long given up that bad habit of starting sentences with the phrase “you know when…” in the deluded assumption that everyone else has moments such as I do. I’m learning to both my consternation and delight that most of my “such” experiences are exclusive to me.

But surely you all know when you meet someone for the first time and serial killer like murder their first impression of you. Your tongue sprouts a life of its own and twists out Ls where Rs are summoned. It’s pathetic really; no one (who I don’t hate) should have to go through that kind of panty in a knot embarrassment. If you don’t start sweating to make up for years of drought in the North you’ll be sure to trip and fall messily as you make what you had hoped would be your saving exit.

 

 None of the above, however, happened for me. I mentioned something about being unique? I didn’t? Well, I just did.

  

So I didn’t stutter, stammer or ramble like the class idiot who got it so bad for being in a literature class and knowing abysmally next to nothing about the rule of speech and grammar. I actually believe the exact reverse is what I did, because the minute he walked in I knew it was him. (First meeting; so I had to discard all former fantasies and illusions of what he looked like in person and tear down his wall of obsession on my mind’s walls. Some interesting photos were lost in the process but that’s another one.)

The minute I saw him my tongue clammed up. It also knew very well where such foolish un-premeditated meetings led and it was not about to be in the mouth on a body that went through that. So it literally clamped itself to the roof of my mouth the moment he walked in. I might have been dead. I think I stopped breathing, just a little. Just a little, okay! I’m still alive aren’t I?

 

 So he sat there and conversation of which he was a part proceeded. For all the whoring in the world I would have sat there and watched him, analyzed him, assessed him, striped to him to the suit and taken all of him in till I knew him like the back of my eyelid. Which, considering the fact that it is nothing but blackness, I know pretty well.

Then I got introduced and all hell broke loose. It’s irritating how you always want to take a leak so bad in these moments. Irritating also how a scene you had played out over and over again in your mind like an obsessed director goes so wrong.

Stunned tongue allowed me a “hello” and clamp all over again.

 

I repeat so all witless wanderers wasting shooting stars and ladybirds on wishing they could meet their idol should know. It is not written in the book of Idols and their Idolizers that the two should ever meet. There are no rules on the thing. And that goes without saying that there would be pandemonium should a meeting occur. No rules? You have got to be a Mugabe of sorts to venture into such unregulated territory!

I have learnt my lesson. After all that is what this experience bollocks is supposed to do, teach lessons. The rest of the list can breathe easy. I am not plotting any “chance” meetings with you. You can carry on your personal lives without fear of some part crazy desperate with a transparently scripted speech walking up to you and introducing herself.

Failed Attempts To Fly May 2, 2008

I have been working on a novel for so long now if it ever gets published I should think that all things formerly impossible would choose then to prove themselves otherwise. The way Danielle Steel dispels her writing you would think she did it in between sex breaks and after the warm memory of her climax draws to an end so does her next novel (for lack of a better word). 

But then again she writes for a different audience all together. And all the while I pray for these people, pray for their souls, pray that their lives may find more concrete meaning, more worth, and higher purpose than in the confines of the sappy and romantic universes that Steel chooses to inflict so successively, so cruelly upon the world. Such a time should and will come when I finally write my book.  Not to mention in precise coincidence with the flimsy wisps and grayed shadows of ghosts roaming my mind in insistent demand for release in the form of writing. While this sounds vain, I do not doubt as do all the vain, that it is as honest as I can ever possibly be for I believe in this as though it were The Christ child come from the heavens hands scarred and all.

And while urgent grows this need with each passing year, blank remains my writers canvas.(Maybe that’s why…I’m trying to write on canvas…a lol moment back there). My hand hovers over the blank page hungry for the blood of the massacre of the purity that is the pages’ blankness and… nothing.  I fail yet again to put down that satisfactory enough that I might let another read it and offer criticism, remain cocooned in what I know as a black hole devoid of inspiration and drive.

 

 

 

 

And Then There Was Light February 22, 2008

I’m trying to be all dramatic with the “then there was light” thingy. Is it working?

Also, i couldn’t let that “hello world” bullcrap be my opening blog. It is clear evidence that the geniuses who come up with innovative and bless-worthy sites such as, have off-days. Very bad off-days. I identify and I pat you guys’ backs. Anyway, this is for your reading pleasure… wait, I lie… Displeasure. You will not derive any pleasure whatsoever from reading my stuff. You might actually commit suicide. I don’t do cheery sunny rainbows and bright summer days in some foreign rainless land with ponies and butterflies. I do hell. Or so I should like to think. You have been warned. Consider this a disclaimer. Cue over-used dramatic evil laugh he he he he. typo. muahahahahahahahaha.