6 keys from the edge…

I have been dreading this. The return to the Blogosphere.I really wish I had a great excuse for the absence. I do, actually. And as far as excuses go, this one is great. Won’t get into it though, not really my style.

While I was away, Ernest introduced me to Lolcats. Its, by his definition, this phenom that has swept the states like a craze involving pix of cats and silly captions…and very bad grammar. In fact, that is one of the reasons I have abstained from blogging for a bit. I was actually afraid that my grammar had been tainted…

Joshi is bringing back his Askari tales, and how awesome is that? There’s some inspiration in there somewhat. I want to make money so bad; I am without a fitting idiom. That’s just how bad it’s gotten.

There is an advert that’s been running in the press lately. It’s a loan thingy from Barclays and then there’s a lingering question, “What would you do with it?”. I’m sorry Barclays, but I cannot tell you that. Why don’t you just give me the money without the questions? I imagine the transaction will go thus;

Me: I saw your ad in the paper.
They: So you want a loan? Of 20 million? Like in our advert?
Me: Uh, yes. Actually. I just want money. It doesn’t need to be 20 million. I just want to “be around”
They: Of course. Now sign here and answer me this….What will you do with it?
Me: Huh?
They: But surely, you musta seen it coming. Its in the advert.
Me: I just thought it was part of the creative process.
They: Creative what? Anyway, what do you want to be around for?
Me: I just want to have some money on me, you know, so when my friends are buying airtime I can also pull out my money and say “Boy, bring me airtime of 100,000/= also.” I want to be able to pay for my fare in the taxi. I’m tired of that deal I have to make with the taxi conductor where I sit on him and I don’t have to pay…
They: You…you sit on the conductor?
Me: Times are hard…

The other day I picked up Grey’s Anatomy which we all know is a chic series…which is why I didn’t pick it up for myself. So, she borrows it, yeah, and then she says that its 24. That was funny on very many levels. I hate 24. Then again, I reasoned, as I have been known to, that it was Grey’s 24 Hour Anatomy. Then I was asked to shut up.

Bought a new housing for my phone. It gives the false impression that I have in fact purchased a new phone. Until the battery bars drop dramatically from full to zilch. I suspect they move to someone else’s phone, because everyone else seems to have full batteries. And they say shit like, “ That’s odd, I could have sworn I had no more battery “power”…Ivan, is your phone still donating battery?”
I have network though, loads of it. In fact, I am tempted to think that my battery never is charged but what I see is in fact the network bars as they are touring the edges of my screen.

Speaking of screens, this paragraph has been added in an attempt to pass time. I was tired of looking at the screen and then it hit me. This is not going anywhere. The page is still loading. Taking its sweet time, the page is.

I have come to accept that life is too short to wallow in self pity and all. Rather, look back, smile as you remember the good stuff. And if numbers make sense….here’s looking at you.

This blog exists for the simple reason that some people can not access my other blog

Also, I want to see how I can tweak themes here.

I’ve been chatting with a pal…its this thing you do where you sit back and watch as a window seemingly materializes on your screen and words appear. Your hands receive a message from the brain. They respond and they proceed to hack away at the keyboard until the letters come together in a union that makes sense. This union is called a “word”. It’s a beautiful thing this, “word”. So beautiful in fact, some times, these words beget words and before you know it, a cluster of words is in front of you. That’s not to say that words form only on PC…far from it, but the words before you got here that way.

They made their clusters and by gosh, they made sentences. But as is wont to happen, these things grow out of hand and sentences beget sentences and a paragraph is born. The cycle continues… I don’t know how poems work… it’s a whole new ball game there… but one thing is for sure, writing begins with just the one word…the little word that could.

Now ages ago, no one knows how far back and honestly, no one really cares, people discovered words. It was a gigantic leap from playing drums and thumping chests which, as you can imagine had all sorts of complications springing forth, like asthma and Hip Hop. So words were discovered and they were strung together to form sentences and stories and subpoenas. They were also put together to form what people call scripts, but hardly ever use because words don’t look pretty without repeat appearances by the letter “R”…come to think of it, words don’t sound pretty with repeated rrrrs.

As words came together some people looked on and tried to understand what the deal was. Because this was tideous,they settled for the spot on the couch or bench or whatever and read the words put together by others. We shall call these readers. Its only fair, they also call us names.

Those with abilities to marry words to beget families were few and far between. They were, as the French would say, scarce. The French say a lot of things and that is a fact that can not be disputed. SO anyway, these writers did their thing and the readers looked on from the side lines, some content, some with disdain and some with a strong conviction that they too could write.

Then suddenly something went awry, writing ceased to be a thing that only the brainy sorts would do…sure they still did it and we suffer through their bloody textbooks and pamphlets, but nonetheless the realization dawned. Writing was something that could be done. All one had to do was try. And try many did…and fail, but try nonetheless and they certainly deserve some sort of credit for trying, though it would have been way better if he’d in fact gotten posted to Sudan.

Curiously, some that could, didn’t bother trying. It would seem like “coming out”. And no one wants that…no. But those that did seldom had regrets, the few that did, well they got over them.

Life goes on and with each passing day someone else discovers that (s)he can actually put words together…whether these are words shared is an entirely different issue. And also with each passing day, others discover that they too can fashion statements…statements damning those that put their thoughts down, put their opinions out there.
We are writers and, like it or not, we do the write thing.