6 keys from the edge…

I’ll be the first to acknowledge that I hadn’t thought through the evangelical mission I had intended to undertake (ya think?!). But at the end of the day, and I assure you this day is much longer than Jack Bauer’s, I am still into money. Concordantly, I have come up with another idea. I am going to apply for funding to do research. Obviously not from here, seeing as Jimmy Boy has messed me up with his reluctance to get out of jail and fork over the money. You see the stories in the paper, dumb projects get funded all the time. Mine will be different though, they will be beneficial. The findings will read like this…

Most Humans have 5 toes

A study undertaken by legendary researcher Ivan “Goodness Itself” M*****, has proven that human beings do in fact have 5 toes… on each foot. Ivan “all round good guy”, says that he was inspired to undertake the study whilst he was out one day watching grass grow, “ I was looking at the ground when suddenly it hit me. Do all humans have five toes just as I do?” Ivan then applied for funding to conduct his research. However things got off on the wrong foot (heh) when it was discovered that Ivan “Property Master” M***** was conducting his research from squalid conditions. He was thus granted his current abode, which this reporter couldn’t help but notice looks disturbingly better than Bill Gates’….

Martin Luther King does not hold monopoly on dreams, study shows…

World renown scholar Ivan “Insomniac Of Sorts” M***** has made the above claim.

“I also have dreams. That anyone should come out and disprove this…well, that’s just lame, youknow! In fact. Once my application for a research grant is approved by the World Bank (and it damn well will, I have “connections”!) I will go on a worldwide fact finding mission whose sole purpose…which’s sole… generally I will go out mainly to prove that other people have dreams and have just been fearing to come out of their closets.” When this reporter pointed out that coming out of the closet was just not appropriate, Ivan “Can’t Nobody Hold Us Down” M*****, went on a rant describing some of his dreams. This publication however will not go into that, because you don’t pay us enough for sleaze…

Good food goes down well

Ivan, “Man I could eat a pig with weight problems” M***** has finally made good on his promise to show that food does go down well. You, the dear reader of this piece may recall, that some time back Ivan. “I Really Can Eat an Elephant” M***** was asked to produce proof that he did not misappropriate funds for research on food and those other things that go along with it. You will be happy to know that the accused called for a press conference from his hospital bed where he is receiving treatment for Obesity and during said conference proceeded to produce receipts from hotels, inns, markets, people’s homes… He claims that he had them all along, but he was lying on top of them so it was hard to find them. This reporter, however, believes it’s a Fat lie.

I’m not a kid person. I don’t mean I loathe them or anything, but I know I won’t be gushing over them the way lesser mortals do. I’m not going to go all “goo-goo ga-ga” and make faces at them. I’m not Jim Carrey. I will also-and this is a fact- not think its cute that a kid has gone and spewed his/her/its lunch on my shoulder.

I suppose the sentiment or emotion that kids evoke in me is more FEAR than anything else. Babies scare me. I don’t know where it came from but the thought always lingers that if I’m asked to carry the child, I may accidentally drop him…or her…or it. Then what will I say? “Oops”?

As luck would have it, I have relatives with child bearing abilities. I know this for a fact because I have nephews and nieces. They are wonderful and everything and I don’t mind looking at them I just don’t want to carry them or anything. For some reason, their parents seem to think that I’m in denial. I am not! I will attend their visiting days soon as they are shipped off to some school whose position, judging by the distance we will cover to get there, will be at the edge of the world’s end. Going by what some of the students look like, the belief will be reinforced.

Last week my cousin came over with her two kids in tow. The younger, a girl knows her stuff. She’ll just chill out and keep quiet…until a negotiation goes wrong. I can’t understand why this happens given that her idea of a trade usually involves offering her brother her itty-bitty pink shoe in exchange for his glass of juice.

So anyway, whilst these kids were around so was another aunt who, quite unlike me is not averse to begging toddlers for hugs proceeded to ask my nephew for a hug or some such thing. Come on, if I did it I’d be screwed, given that I have no recording contract or own a ranch or a pet monkey called Bubbles.

My nephew on his part regarded her with the kind of look that said, “what have you done for me lately?”. Now don’t get me wrong, I love my job as much as any other bloke that gets to wear sandals and a cap to work with no qualms, but my cousin ( the hug requesting one) has a job I’d raze a forest for. The perks and salary and what not are THAT GOOD. If I were my nephew I’d hug my aunt and not my uncle. I’d hug my aunt and spew my lunch on my uncle and giggle with delight as all my other relatives looked at the goop like it was molten gold laced with rubies and pearls… its almost a wonder no pictures are taken or scoops kept for posterity.

Long story short, my nephew at this early age is already misguided. I know this because he hugged me instead.

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.

I’m in pain. So much so, the rest of this piece will be written in the style of a Telenovela…