Lovehatre!

I hate prisons. I really do hate prisons. I hate prisons because I hate the imagination of being a slave and most of your abilities limited behind walls. I don't love limitations. I don't love limitations that are predictable. Of late I found out that I hate prisons because I really do love freedom. Freedom is cool. Freedom is not like slavery. It is not like being dungeoned all day long. Nah. Freedom to me is an underground description of ‘I-have-all-the-food/things-I-need-and-I-feel-great-that-you-have-no-control-over-my-supply…’ Freedom is sunshine-like…
But before I talk too much, there are also two things I hate: braggarts and correctionists (don’t tafuta this in your dictionary because hautaipata.) Period!
Mr. Thoughts (that’s what I call my errand mind) feels like there are times when hatred and love should just be mixed into one word: lovehatre; pronounced – ‘lav-ata’. And the conditions for the use of such a word should be when the feelings directed towards the recipient (or in a contextual situation) have or contain both extremes. Then maybe the following ranting will make sense…
Mistakes are part of life. That is life, I think. Mistakes (or sin to the spiritual) are humanity’s weak points exposed. There is no perfect person (at least I think so). We also are always pointing out mistakes in others. We may all crave perfection at some point (or at all times) in life, but as we move on, we are reminded that perfection is a showroom of our weakness, an exposition our inadequateness, an announcement of our filthiness and a mockery of our serial inconsistency. It always runs away from us. And we are always zealously chasing after it! Even the ‘most’ perfect are just paradoxical hedonists… they later realize that their ways were or eventually are just as bad as those of the rest of the gang… Here in between is a mixture of love and hatred... Of love because we all admire perfection; but of hatred because 'who really loves to feel inadequate anyway?'
I have met people who use the phrase ‘I hate you’. Those are very strong words to use on someone. It is more weird when all those people you hate have done is not to bring every chaos to your life but just one. Hatred is weird. An you really need to have the best of reasons in order to cast that net of animosity on anyone. I have heard it used in the movies. In my favorite movies. I have heard it from those confused soaps (no gongo-gongo on this laadies, pleease), that define life through TV screens and imagination… I have heard it from places I had never expected and from lips so exclusive (and it is so, that I didn’t expect it from such zones, because I thought that thinking of its prevalence in such contexts was ridiculous, and not that it wasn’t possible). I have heard it from confused minds and from steadfast ones… That word just bites, you know. It is as ugly as an avocado-eating warthog. Ugly and unimaginable. Then “I love you” as a phrase is just the same… but on the other side of the line: beautiful and imaginable…! You too should have good reason(s) as to why you love someone... When you mix the two phrases in the commonness of a feeling, you end up with confusion as a result. Or maybe normalcy of some kind... There in between you realize a mixture of hatred and love. A ixture of extreme feelings.... Of hatred because we hate someone else showing us our mistakes and ridiculing our inner pride; and of love because we enjoy what we do and how we do it... really!
We don’t love to be corrected. Human beings love being right. It is an obsession of some kind. We love being the ones to order the ‘Terms and Conditions’. We hate being wrong. That is why we rarely say, ‘Yeah, I did it. It was my fault’, or ‘How can I become better, then?’ We love being our own bosses; and this makes me say that I don't think correction and acknowledgement of it were born of the same mother. They are just distant brothers, perhaps… because they always occupy the same place: one person's emotional world... and they are or borne of a stimuli (some reaction towards a known or an unknown happening...)
Bet me out that we can all testify to the fact no-one really loves to be pointed fingers at. No one. No one loves to take the blame in anything. Except Jesus. He was and still is the most exceptional human being. The normal us hate blemish tendencies. We love pointing fingers at others. We hate being pointed fingers at. We may have enjoyed the passion or the ‘joy’ together (as in the case of a pregnancy) but one party is always in denial. We may have enjoyed the genge stuff together (as in the case of beer, champagne, tequilas, wine and drugs) but one will always blame the others for indulgence or overindulgence or for death or for any catastrophic aftermath. We may have been a team, playing ‘cool’ games here and there, but one party always ends up being the carrier of the burden. That is human nature, I think. Bad human nature. We love the moments but hate the consequences… Love is always on one side, and hate on the other side - or are they just in the same place? I don't know...
Another way of seeing this, is when there are times you hate thinking that, a sense of unity between two rival chicken may just be due to the presence of a common enemy (the kite). And that those two chicken may not be real buddies. That they are just in some cave - in some prison - because their common enemy has/had threatened their existence; and also because of a common friendship borne out of wanting a hiding place... a hiding place that could easily be shared. They may be partners because of circumstance or friends with a distant common course. They may have fallen in love (I’m still talking of the chicken) because the moment allows them to. Therefore, there between you detect a mixture of love and hatred… Of love because they share and enjoy the hiding place together; and of hatred because once the enemy is gone, they will still fight over teritory...
Love and hatred are laws that scream, ‘Don’t do that!’ They are laws of beauty and flaw. They show us a two sided life that is just but one thing. They paint out a condition: It is because I don’t love it or I hate it… that I behave like I do behave... They imprison the soul and the mind. They make us vulnerable to stupidity. They make us overrule possibilities or undoubtedly accept them. They make us love and hate. They breed in us a momentous emotion - lovehatre! They compel us to love people at one moment because of one good thing they have done or they do; but possibility sticks on point to say that we can really hate the same people or person because of another thing we really desire to be blotted out of their lives or because of another thing they they have done/do. So ‘I hate you’ may just be a phrase meaning, ‘Kamon man, that really pisses me off’ but said in a bad language… It may be a way of saying, ‘I appreciate your correction, but you put it as if I am the devil himself, so I don’t care about what you are saying to me right now; and I was wrong to think you are the good person (or chicken) we hid in the cave with… (at least!!)’. 'I love you' can as well be just deceptive... a feeling of engrossment in superficial hypnosis... a wreckage of the soul that is softened to condone good feelings... to absorb within oneself feelings of pride in someone or something... But tables can still turn the other way round...
So I hate and love correctionists and braggarts. I hate them because they tell me the truth (which my human nature dislikes); and I love them because they are my friends anyway. This knowledge is what sheds light on what each human being possesses: an intrinsic and often extrinsic love-hate feeling that is real. Emotions play games on us. We sometimes call them ‘the fabricators of human behaviour’ if and when one is not careful to lead his/her life in the right way… I hate and love prisons… When I was still spankable by my father, I hated and loved him – all at the same time…
Lovehatre…

NB: Love and hatred as used in this passage are to be termed as feelings only and nothing else... and with no spiritual entity...

Morris.

Downtown Devils

She is innocent. She is herself. She is so innocent that her innocence screams all over the place. You can almost touch it. It yells. It yells the moment you see her. The innocence is a font of its own. She can be described well in terms of flowers and calm coast breezes. Her fragility is like the flowers of lilies by the riverside. It is like the breeze I desire in the noonday. Her fingers are small. And thin. And fragile. They are thick-thin. Just a little bit thin, but with tweaks of ladyishness. Her nails have no paint. Not that paint will spoil their natural feel, but that it will tarnish her statement. She has a statement - a statement I can see. A statement I can feel. You can see it in her eyes. In her eyes. Her eyes are tormenting because they remind you of a beauty you don’t often see on this side of the world. They are bright. They remind you of stars. They remind you of when you met Jesus. How He looked straight at you and revealed you. She is plain. You can see it in the way she moves her hands. The language of her body is not deceptive. She is sure of what she says and does. You can be sure of what she says. The movement of her lips reveal meekness. Mildness and meekness. I’m not falling in love. No. I already fell in love with another. I’m just describing her. Her dress says a lot about her mama and her moral code. It says that she only knows two languages: “Mama said” and “Teacher says”. Her weakness is impressive. You will admire her the moment you see her. Even tempted a lil’ bit. You can see her 'cheapness'. A cheapness you can’t buy. You somehow become scared of touching this innocent thing. She has ambitions and goals. She narrates them with passion. They are not all ‘potatoes-soup-and-rice’ thing. They are real stuff, dude/dudette...!
He is confident. He walks in a relaxed way. He doesn’t sway from side to side. He is so sure of himself that he makes you quiver a lil’ bit. He is not that masculine but is promising. He is a lot more than what I commonly see. Perfect. Composed. Well intended. Uncommon. I love uniqueness. And he has it. He is still ‘green’, but not foolish. He is a daddish kind-a guy. He has a heart of a rock. He ain’t a fad. He is real. He is not a freak. Girls can be sure that he keeps his word. He still apologizes when he does wrong. He knows how to control his temper. I tested it. I broke his best gems and voila! He just looked at me, felt like yelling, but later smiled. Cool. I don’t find that everywhere. I can assure you of that. He is principled. Takes good care of himself. Doesn’t move around too much. Dude is cool. Damn coooool. Did I mention he goes to church quite often? Even prays in private and lifts up his hands in Worship? Mhhhhhh...
Just until...
Downtown mania strikes. Until bleakness jumps over the fence and offers a ride. And mummy+teacher-so-and-so is forgotten and becomes trash material. Damped in the bin. Kanjo stuff! Until the rules are changed and tables go upside down. Until I don’t know nothing about anyone anymore. Until words are lost and tempo and pitch are out of control. Until the music loses life and rolls into emptiness. I can’t dance anymore. I can’t dance. I can’t yell to no tune. Life becomes a bad song. A bad core. Volcanoes are better. Life strikes in downtownism like a bug. Dirty, infectious and itchy! Music is sweet when you can get its next chord, but when it flops, it becomes tasteless. It edges into blankness. Even darkness. And dark music is as bad as that porridge I used to drink somewhere. You drink it but without liking...
I don’t know what happened. Or what happens. I don’t know. But I’m trying to. I don’t know what crawls into the innocence and surety. I don’t know. Really. Those fingers just change; and the perfection fades. The fragility is stolen and bitterness engraves a once pure soul. Things do happen, I say. I blame it on devils. Yeah, they should be devils. Downtown devils. They should be devils that creep stealthily in the night seeking for innocent blood. They should be opportunistic devils that grab and transform innocence into a stupor of madness. They should be working underground in some pinky labs. They should be vampires too – which bite and transform... Grrrrrrrr! They should be some ‘Team-Jacob’ or ‘Team-Edward’ kind-of creatures... that silently but steadily haunt these ‘Bellas’ until all they see is “I need to be like Edward”. Grrrrrrr! Again! Downtown devils. I get a paleness of the mind here. One smart creature, normal and thriving gets changed overnight with a flip of the page. I see Bebo Norman’s song ‘A Page Is Turned’ in a different wild perspective here... I don’t know... I think we should kill the devils. Why should they keep tormenting our lives’ layouts? Why should they keep diminishing our hopes and ambitions and keep stealing us? Why should they keep enslaving us? Afterwhile we may dance again to the right tunes... to the tunes of life made in the stars and hanging in beauty, over glory... And watch the flowers blossom... And watch the rocks shine with polishing and not afraid of the sun anymore... And drink the wine of purity and enjoy the moments of surety... I think we should kill the devils... or render them useless...!

So remember...
The world never turns around overnight without us knowing,
Nor do the stars dance in the night when we can’t know,
Life never whizzes songs or tunes we can’t comprehend,
Nor does it offer choices we can’t deal with;
There is always an escape avenue or an entrance to every place in life,
Whence you entered, you can come out,
Whence you sang and danced, you can mourn,
The road is two way – there is going, and coming forth,
Only the going comes forth; and only the coming forth causes meaning...

Sincerely,
Morris.

Of Love and the Hitherto Furore

Are you dreaming of falling in love? Don’t.
Maybe I’ll say just fall in love a lil’ bit. Just a lil’ bit, yeah…
‘Ve been walking around town. Freedom of the eye reigns you know. Downtown has wonders. Downtown may not be as interesting and mysterious as Ghetto but it has its own unique stories. It has its own wonders. Abnormal wonders. Downtown belongs (or rather belonged) to the styled in society. To people with swag… I don’t think I ever longed going there when I was still green. Green? Mama advised me that it was not the best thing, She told me it is an avaricious animal. A black one to be exact. And I believed her. You believed/believe yours didn’t you? Or did that ‘Mama’s-got-the-best-swag-in-town’ end with my generation? I don’t know…
Shame on me if you misquote me on this one. Or if you decide to make me a ‘discuss-able’ topic for your wall post. You may decide to make me the subject of those kinds of aimless discussions on Facebook that will always begin with, ‘I wonder…’ or ‘I am sick of…’ or ‘Why is…’. Yeah. Me thinks it is there that Facebook just fails in the game of social media. Those wall posts are as damn predictable as they are sick! #ImJustSaying…
But maybe love will save you from your agony. Maybe. Maybe love will swallow up your insecurities. Maybe it will become your salvation from that bug of low self-esteem. It may just boost you a lil’ bit. Yeah. Maybe. It is drama. Finding it involves drama. It just never seems to be found. Quote me on this one too… grrrrrrr! You may decide to walk downtown advertising yourself as marketable; the smoke of love coming out of your nostrils and the brightness in your eyes failing your intentions. You may decide to seek for some TLC. Internet has some TLC too! And internet is just part of Downtown, if you didn’t know. Maybe you picked on it. I don’t know. It has too many pot holes though… Just be ready for them. Some are so big that they are fatal…!
Scenario #1: Bag in one hand, phone in the other. Supras on your heels, smarted up in your pocks… Gladiators or stilettos down under, styled-up on your head. Picks in the bag, show in the mind. Drama like karma stealing up your ambers. Light in the eye, dots on the cheek. Binge in your heart, starvation down the soul-line. Marked for any extremes you are. Love tastes like pork. Some love it. Some hate it. Both two extremes. Love is drama. Love isn’t your mama. Love does not know how to take care of stupid people. It only knows how to take care of the wise. Love is not blind. If you are seeking to fall in love blindly, that ain’t it! That is voodoo! You may be Haitian… You may need the services of a psychiatrist…
So you are out in your dream world. Raging thoughts. Tweaks of holding smart phone in one hand, gum in the cheek, planning nothing, waiting to be planned for. Plainness well described. Plan-dumb. Strummed. Strumming too. Music in headphones. Gaaa-gaaa. Stolen but still free. Free in an enslavement portfolio.
You won’t find love. Not in that place. Not from those match-making sites. You are endearing ghosts. You are crying foul for yourself. You are chasing ghosts. Don’t think of love right there… Don’t….
Scenario #2: Good looking. Plain good. Humble. Standardised. Principled. But love’s missing. Mmmmmh. Very lonely. Needs TLC too. But in uncompromised hollas… Good point. Holds phone. Wants to call someone. Feels sweaty. Can see it on the palm. Says no. Scrolls down the phone book. Not to get a number but to thief thoughts away. Calls friend instead. Long-forgotten friend. Friend wonders. But feels good about the call. Ditch. Dark pit. Yaaak, why is this one sooo happy and I need someone’s shoulder who will get into my shoes and cry with me? Grrrrr! Kills a bug with a dooosh. Bug ain’t dying. Something running mad deep within. *Asks self*: Am I desperate? Someone out there feeling how I feel?... Falls on bed. Masturbation lacks behind. A shadow of sinfulness. Bad idea. Decides to get out. Closes door. Says bye friend next room: *I’ll be back in a few…* Coldness increases. Meets trees dancing happily in the wind. Feels agitated. Why can’t a tree feel me? Hug me, even? *My answer*: ‘It ain’t human. Pets won’t help either.’ Lacking love is painful, huh? It is like a fire consuming within. A fire we can’t see. A fire that keeps on recurring… Won’t find it their either. Love is slippery. It can’t just be found when you are so much dreaming of it. Can’t be found even when you scream it out… Blank page too…
Why? Why can’t love meet you? Why can’t it even greet you and just pass by? Why can’t it be found, huh? We think of it too much. We seek for it in the wrong places. @Mavuno.org says we have not decided to nurture it within so that we may give it forth. Why do we expect people to meet us and love us in their most perfect forms while we ain’t good enough for them? Excuses. We give excuses. We give excuses as to why men/women are bad. Mmmmmh. That sounds reasonable. But we too are me and women ain’t we? Love plays around us all the time I guess, but we keep on looking for it elsewhere. It dances in us, but we don’t want to recognise or appreciate it. We don’t want to dance with it. We don’t want to nurture it in the right way… So we always fail to get it… It slips away… And it may never be found if we keep screaming in this furore…

Expectations, Patience and Anxiety

There is nothing more meaningless than expecting nothing; and there is nothing as futile to the soul as expectations that have gone wrong. The former tells that you are a purposeless fool, while the latter insists that you became too wise that your wisdom ate you up.
There is a way life gets hold of us, putting us in dark places of uncertainty, in irrelevant corners where we don’t see the whole. Where we see things half way – half-empty-glass-syndrome... Where the world is never seen as it should be seen. Somehow we always want to get out fast and yell out to the whole world that we are ‘sick and tired of being sick and tired’; or the more spiritual kind of u – staging a fight, calling the Creator and asking Him stupid questions; telling him things. Telling Him stupid things. Judging Him. Feeling baaaaad. Wondering why solutions we’ve been waiting for, for such a long time are not forthcoming. We get held up in a wonder world that may consume us whole and drain us into apostasy or into blame games of no substantial entities.
There is no time when a human being is prone to stupidity and arrogance than when they are expecting things that never appear...things that move in winds and ashes... Then is when all wisdom may vanish and the heaviness of anxiety takes charge to throw us deep down a pit of regret...
And the sad side of things is that patience-without-murmuring has never been taught in class. No one ever teaches that to any one! Patience and waiting are lessons that life teaches someone – your or my mama won’t teach us that! And even if you may want to teach me, you won’t help me apply it. You may want to blame it on our upbringing or on our personalities, or on our different encounters and experiences from birth; or on our parents, or friends... but no one is to be blamed when we all have sounds of ignited agony in our minds and hearts when things are not coming forth as we expected. No-one. No one is to blame for our wrong choices fuelled by impatience. No one is to blame for our avaricious acts, for our uncalculated steps due to haste. No-one. No one is to blame for our fornication, our immoral deeds, our bribery acts, our visionless ways due to lacking the guts to wait ‘just a little bit more’.
Because we are all different, and diversity should be embraced rather than condemned, we should never stop to learn the few virtues that life wants to teach us. If we by chance meet a need for patience staring at us, we should greet it and learn from it. Life is all about acquiring knowledge so that next time ‘you’re a bit smarter than before’.
We should not stop expecting things to happen. We should not stop to wait for stuff to come up... How can life be interesting without longing for a miracle, or a gift, or a promise to be fulfilled? All we should do is to learn from every one of the situations we have on our way, embrace God more, how to run the game of expectancy without falling into the pit of self denial or low self-esteem, or blaming others or God. Expectations may be painful, but what comes out and how we deal with it is what matters most. God rewards us at the point of His coming and depending on how He finds us; although when we are almost giving up is when He appears (almost always) just to show us that it is in our weaknesses He reveals himself...
Learn how to expect today!
Quote: God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, but shouts in our pain; it is His megaphone to arouse a deaf world! – C. S. Lewis.
Sincerely, Morris.