Sunday, 23 November 2008


Time. What a guileful rapscallion. I am surely not the first one to point out the slippery quality of time, how she always escapes the grasp of busy, occupied people, and refuses to fly when life seems dreariest. Still, it exasperates me immensely that I cannot have twenty-seven hours in a day. Twenty-four hours just does not quite seem to suffice with the hectic lifestyle of people in  today's unfulfilling, alienated and impersonal society. Today I realized I missed out on Sunday, my favourite day, because I simply had forgotten to write down "leisure" in my day planner.

I feel as if I am on a constant adrenaline high, in a perpetual survival mode. A state of mind where, in addition to not feeling hunger or fatigue, I cannot say I feel or think at all. I am devoid of everything beyond instinct. I, quite monotonously, get up in the morning, perform what needs to be performed and collapse in my bed in the evening. I find myself waking up in the middle of the night in order to have some time just to read. Almost as if I'm on a diet, but at nights I sneak to the refrigerator to eat ice cream. During the day I dream about those transitory moments of nocturnal solitude.

Acknowledgement is the first step towards being cured, I suppose.

Time. What a cunning scalawag. The whole concept of days divided into hours is merely a configuration designed by man, who is to say if time abides by the rules we have imposed on her? In fact, there is proof of her not doing so, since every once in a while we just have to add a day to our year in order for everything to add up as it should. This to me is perplexing. I think  time is too clever a character to simply adhere to our laws.

asioistaan vaitonainen
kyyneleensä kiertää
päältä jäinen
rakkaudessa kerjäläinen
kuljettaa ja hiertää

hei tie
vie reunalle ja yli
kauas täältä
sinne missä oon
vie toiveista pois
sylistä syliin
en enää tiedä
missä oon
kännillä sotke päätä
mä oon 
paperisen ohut
ja mun sydän 
syväjäätä kasvattaa.

Monday, 17 November 2008

Vanwa Hîni.

Power. Authority. Influence. Dominance. Puissance.

In a very Nietzschean spirit, I've come to the conclusion that there are, in fact, two kinds of people. The kind who prefers to dominate, and the kind who more than willingly accepts their position as a subordinate. Simultaneously, however, all people want to feel significant, important and needed. They want to, at the very least, consider themselves as people of influence. They want their opinions and values to be embraced by others, preferably the majority.

The dominating impose these opinions and values upon the dominated, which adopt them as their own simply because it is what the majority assumes to be correct, so to speak. This is how the subordinate assume the illusion of influence, by considering their opinions and values to be a result of an analytical conclusion of their own making, when in fact they have, much like the majority of other people, simply embraced what the dominating have persuaded them to. The result being that everyone considers themselves influential and significant, a deviant and a nonconformist. When in fact very few actually are. Which does not matter really, since everyone, at the end of the day, is more or less happy with their situation. This concept is, to some extent, what philosopher Antonio Gramsci calls hegemony, which, according to him, is what the contemporary, consumerist society revolves around.

Problems arise, however, as communities form with the majority being of the dominating kind. I, in fact, witness this phenomenon on a daily basis, as I am involved in the student council of the humanistic institution at my university. This council and its meetings could just as easily be referred to as an arena for a battle between peacocks. Simultaneously, it is a stage for weaselly rogues stabbing each other in the back, all the while smiling. I find these plays they put up interesting and worth observing and cogitating on, but at the end of the day, I find myself wondering if it really is worth it. Despite not joining in and playing along, I feel abhorrence and despise after I've witnessed it. It is exhausting to be a part of, to say the least.

People really don't change as they age, they just grow old; and still, at a seemingly adult age, they keep uttering the phrase, "you can't play in our sandbox". They simply exchange the words for other ones.

I seize on little things
you can tell
a lot about people
by the way
they comb their hair
or the way they don't look
you in the eye

I have prided myself
on being in
the great tradition
albeit circus
that the show 
must go on
though in my community
the vernacular is

one monkey don't stop the show.

Thursday, 13 November 2008

Animalia Arthropoda Insecta Pterygota Neoptera Dictyoptera Blattaria.

I am officially letting the cat out of the bag. I suffer from a quite ungovernable fear of insects of the Blattaria order, more commonly known as cockroaches. This particular fear has been sneaking up on me over the years, since I really cannot tell at what point in time it came into being. Today, however, this fear of mine causes quite the predicament almost every day.

In the manner of phobias, it is exacerbating at an alarming pace, to the point where merely the uttering of the word used when referring to these critters makes me ill at ease, and the image of them brings me to tears. This happened only yesterday.

The development of this fear to me is perplexing, since I, as far as I can recall, have harboured a love for all insects and arachnids in general. I've many times thought to myself the only thing keeping me from becoming an entomologist is the fact that I actually find pleasure in the company of other people as well, and fascination for arthropods is not a common one I've come to understand(not that I find shrimp especially interesting).

So yesterday, after dealing with yet another rather uncomfortable situation relating to the Blattarias(a word that causes much less anxiety), I decided to put my natural curiosity to use and turn my fear into an obsession, by finding out as much about them as I possibly can. So once again, I spent the night googling. After approximately eighteen panic attacks caused by the inevitable image results for my searches, I started getting intrigued. 

In other words, I am now one step closer to being healed of this affliction of mine. I find it essential that I try, seeing as how the climate is not getting any cooler and I cannot venture much further north. For motives beyond my reason, the Blattarias are also very popular in the extraordinary form of contemporary culture known as reality TV. This is why I've decided to undertake the challenge of ridding myself of this not-so-much-a-secret-anymore of mine. It is, plainly and quite simply, embarrassing and arduous. Wish me luck!

(If you catch me in the act of staring at Madagascar Hissing Cockroach in a pet shop, it is because I am admiring its way of living in close physical contact with its offspring even after they've grown up to become humongous, disgusting hissing machines themselves.)

Wednesday, 12 November 2008

The Complications You Could Do Without.

Delightful, heartening, enlighting, jovious, facetious, protracted, somber, dolorous, sepulchral.

on the floor
at the great divide
with my shirt tucked in
and my shoes untied
I am crying
in the bathroom

in the morning 
when you finally go
and the nurse runs in
with her head hung low
and the cardinal
hits the window
in the morning
in the winter shade
I thought I saw
you breathing

oh the glory 
that the lord 
has made
and the complications
when I see his face
in the morning 
in the window
oh the glory
when he took
our place
but he took my shoulders
and he shook my face
and he takes
and he takes

and he takes.

I have a pressing urge to ride a train. Whereverto. There and back again.

Tuesday, 11 November 2008

Let The Seasons Begin.

And I know winter
will pass by slow
without my heart
what can I do
and we grow fat
on the charms of our 
idle, dreary days
see the shadows grow
see an ominous display
with no alarm
could we say
we had expected
this that way
under certain death
penance and decay.

I feel rather despondent as winter, with its murkiness, is at my doorstep, pounding on the windows. I can feel it surrounding my house, telling me to stay indoors, preferably under covers. The vacant side of the bed is permanently occupied by stacks of books, mainly dealing with issues ranging from substance abuse to nuclear war and its consequences. In other words, I am not feeling all that jolly.

carousels twirl
all around
we are tonight
in a world
full of thrills
it can carry me up
far above it all

times I've betrayed
it's a long way down
from here
to the sound
watch the faces
go 'round
to the stars

then the ground.

Wednesday, 5 November 2008

Well Done.

"She was born just a generation past slavery; a time when there were no cars on the road or planes in the sky; when someone like her couldn't vote for two reasons - because she was a woman and because of the color of her skin. 

And tonight, I think about all that she's seen throughout her century in America - the heartache and the hope; the struggle and the progress; the times we were told that we can't, and the people who pressed with that American creed: Yes we can.

At a time when women's voices were silenced and their hopes dismissed, she lived to see them stand up and speak out and reach for the ballot. Yes we can.

When there was despair in the dust bowl and depression across the land, she saw a nation conquer fear itself with a new deal, new jobs, a new sense of common purpose. Yes we can.

When the bombs fell on our harbour and tyranny threatened the world, she was there to witness a generation rise to greatness and a democracy was saved. Yes we can.

She was there for the buses of Montgomery, the hoses in Birmingham, a bridge in Selma and a preacher from Atlanta, who told people that "we shall overcome". Yes we can.

A man touched down on the moon, a wall came down in Berlin, a world was connected by our own science and imagination. And this year, in this election, she touched her finger to a screen, and cast her vote, because after 106 years in America, through the best of times and the darkest of hours, she knows how America can change. Yes we can.

America, we have come so far. We have seen so much. But there is so much more to do. So tonight, let us ask ourselves - if our children should live to see the next century; if my daughters should be so lucky to live as long as Ann Nixon Cooper, what change will they see? What progress will we have made?

This is our chance to answer that call. This is our moment. This is our time, to put people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth, that out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope. And where we are met with cynicism and doubts and those who tell us that we can't, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people:

Yes we can.

Today I awoke to a different world.

I feel both gratitude and admiration for the American people.

Where I come from people won't venture outside their homes to vote on Election Day if it's raining, not to mention if they actually had to stand in line for several hours to do so. So hats off to you, Americans. And I sincerely mean that. Can't complain on the choice you made, either(understatement of the year, I was moved to tears when Obama - who in my humble opinion is the most rhetorically gifted person I've ever come across - won).

No more talk of  knowing "the human being and fish can coexist peacefully".

Tuesday, 4 November 2008

Monday, 3 November 2008

I wonder if the waves get weary
with the salt and surfers on their backs
or if the wind is angry 
when it throws the rain against my windows?
I wonder if the mountains are lonely
or only aloof
if the desert is as sullen as it seems
or only sad?
I wonder if the gulls are sick
of eating fish
if the sandpipers don't get tired
of dodging waves?

maybe we could send a man from earth
to study the stress on the waves
to chart the temper of the wind
and the temperament of the mountains
to tell the desert jokes until the sage shakes with laughter
to feed the gulls a balanced diet with mineral supplements
and the sandpipers?
well tune them into TV
to hear the future of the tides

I wonder funny things
do sandcrabs live in condominiums?

They Move On Tracks Of Never-Ending Light.

Dance with me.

I've decided to start adding photographs to my daily ramblings. Mainly to describe a feeling I've had or a mood I've been in, but also to develop myself as a photographer. The general idea is that I  take at least one picture I'm satisfied with every single day.

Today I felt something almost magical, and I took this picture of the very last mosquitoes to be found. Both their presence and the way they were dancing made them seem like magical fairies to my eyes.