Part 1: Reign of Carrots
One morning a fuchsia aardvark peeped at the 8 lanes highway and saw the well fed driving huge cars at the legal speed of light. And he knew they were heading towards the American dream.
And then he took a glimpse of some crowded street where the middle class heroes were riding their bikes towards the call-centers. They were leaving the Indian dream; and their Sanjanas and Dheepas were also in the picture – the fair virgins with a natural inclination towards giving birth to a thousand sons so they ‘d have multiple choices for the one setting aflame their death pyre.
And then the fuchsia aardvark heard the claxons of the brand new Peugeots and Mercedeses driven by Nike dressed, grumpy, but determined guys. They were leaving the Romanian dream.
Thing is we all have a dream.
I take the bus to work. I am one of those horrible creatures who rises her eyebrow in discontent at the look of a bag of chips. I am a vegetarian, a garbage-separator, I got insomnias after becoming aware of global dimming (you didn’t actually believe that the global warming is the greatest shit that’s happening to us now, did you?!).
My dream is to lead a rightful life (eating veggies, drinking green tea, thinking positive thoughts, etc) that would protect my karma at least for the time I’m present on this Earth in the shape of Ancu.
And there are also two demons that entice me into taking this dream and sticking it up my ass. The first comes from my pervasive aversion towards carrots. The second one comes from the carrots-lovers and the way they tend to interfere with my life.
Part 2: When the Irrational Strikes Back
In a dark corner of my mind I strongly believe that a rightful life destroys my creativity. Now, I am perfectly aware that all the substances that affect your nervous system in an instant way (such as coffee and booze) also screw it in the long run. Yet no yoga teacher and no documentary on Discovery will ever annihilate the low vibe of my soul ticking “eating carrots makes you dull!” “carrots are the worst thing that can happen to you!”.
The Americans believe that the terrorist can be terminated only by splashing on them some fresh blood coming from the youngsters sent to the Afghan dessert. See? The irrational thoughts make the world go round.
In Ancu’s vision of the world, creativity has two main purposes: to get you out of the shit unless depression got there first and to make sure that the shit looks cool, so depression doesn’t get there first. So shit does play his own part in the universal order of things.
Perfectly balanced life - no shit - no fun. I’ll live to be ninety, serve as an impeccable example to my grand-grand-children, and have no story to tell them.
Part 3: Purity as a Disease
The Americans (not the ones believing in the bearded man hiding in the desert, the other ones – the Indians, the Russians, the Pakis) deliver so many scientific theories because they have the material basis for doing it, and also because they just take any natural manifestation of - let’s say - human experience, and formalize it.
A subspecies of formalization is the assignment of a Latin-derived name or of an acronym to a human behavior that just doesn’t fit the 90% percent of socially accepted part from the Gauss curve. That is considering that a kid that feels like playing instead of listening to a boring lecture has ADHD. And if the same kid is not able or willing to learn the completely illogical English spelling – well, that’s because of his dyslexia.
We have PMS, PTSD, dyscalculics, anorexics, dyslexics, and orthorexics.
The orthorexics are the people who dedicate a great part of their time to spotting the neologisms on the labels of food products, that see the enemy in the carb bubble in the water that should always be still and coming from a controlled source.
Their totem is a giant Carrot, and its greatness derives from its importance and high content of vitamins, and by no means from the chemicals in the soil where it grew.
Thou shall not be fooled into believing that orthorexics are a peaceful species! Oh, no! Part of their mission in this world is to impose on the others the cult of the mighty Carrot. They build their self-esteem on the belief that they are superior to the common fellow who enjoys an ice-cream every now and then. They kindly remind you that you’re going to die one day and that drop of oil is bringing you much closer to that moment. Your fear is their ladder to the sky and your denial will only stir their purifying rage.
There’s nothing that makes me drool over a bag of chips such as their voice. There’s nothing convincing me that a low-carb diet leads to perpetual unhappiness and dullness, such as the look in their eyes.
And in the end, there’s nothing left in my tired soul but pity. I know that they’d also enjoy ice cream. I know the price they paid for saying no to cigarettes and coffee. I know they dream of Coke and chocolate cakes. Orthorexia is a lethal disease, just as going to McDonald’s every day and just as life itself.
Allowing myself to play the wise ass part to its glorious end, I’d remind them that imposing something on others – no matter how positive that thing is – is just another type of aggressiveness, that actually destroys the karma. So orthorexics will have the chance to eat carrots all day long during their next reincarnation, as Bugs Bunnies.
Saturday 28 February 2009
Thursday 19 February 2009
the Evil Female Touch that could have Transformed el Che into just another John or Hans
At some point during the past century I learnt how to write. “Elevul scrie.” was the mantra of that epoque - tasteless, emotionless and completely uncreative. Communist, I dare say.
The preparation for IELTS brought into my life another kind of topics – English seemed to be all about some foreign students (one of them definitely had to be an Asian) trying to find their way in a huge campus in UK, the ultimate destination of their learning adventure.
Pero el español… pues… I’ve been taught the Spanish subjunctive based one of Shakira’s songs. Love and war – that’s what they use to teach the foreigners that need to acknowledge Spanish as The Language not because it’s widespread and practical, such as English, but because it’s gorgeously passionate. There’s a conquistador hidden in the heart of my 60 years old teacher who has “libertad” as a username for the course forum. Their is a sparkle in each Spanish speaker’s eyes that only a revolution or a woman is able and will instantly bring to life.
And they have every right to be proud of this sparkle. You see, the Finns are now able to enjoy a chill swim in the lake after sauna because for ages they systemically removed the cardiacs from their gene pool. Now, these Spanish fellows worked out their asses to burn witches, to eliminate all the evil, impure creatures that could steer their dark thoughts and passions. Floating in a worry-free space, they are now able to enjoy the purity of admiring, caressing and whispering sweet thoughts in the ears of spotless fairies.
While the evil ones now inhabit a hell of their own, together with all the pagans who do know which plants are more powerful than the trivial coca.
The preparation for IELTS brought into my life another kind of topics – English seemed to be all about some foreign students (one of them definitely had to be an Asian) trying to find their way in a huge campus in UK, the ultimate destination of their learning adventure.
Pero el español… pues… I’ve been taught the Spanish subjunctive based one of Shakira’s songs. Love and war – that’s what they use to teach the foreigners that need to acknowledge Spanish as The Language not because it’s widespread and practical, such as English, but because it’s gorgeously passionate. There’s a conquistador hidden in the heart of my 60 years old teacher who has “libertad” as a username for the course forum. Their is a sparkle in each Spanish speaker’s eyes that only a revolution or a woman is able and will instantly bring to life.
And they have every right to be proud of this sparkle. You see, the Finns are now able to enjoy a chill swim in the lake after sauna because for ages they systemically removed the cardiacs from their gene pool. Now, these Spanish fellows worked out their asses to burn witches, to eliminate all the evil, impure creatures that could steer their dark thoughts and passions. Floating in a worry-free space, they are now able to enjoy the purity of admiring, caressing and whispering sweet thoughts in the ears of spotless fairies.
While the evil ones now inhabit a hell of their own, together with all the pagans who do know which plants are more powerful than the trivial coca.
Sunday 8 February 2009
Survival of the Depressed
Long before Prozac, before depression became a distinctive feature of those that go beyond the surface of things and venture into the world of existential questioning, before the poets decided that being depressed because of a beauty is far more productive than enjoying her, so before depression became trendy - well, the Universe had to have a pretty good reason to allow the depressives to survive.
It’s pretty obvious why the anxious personalities did – they were the only ones able to perceive the least probable dangers ten years before they appeared. The paranoids were spotting the evil intentions of the neighboring tribes and smashed them just in case, the antisocials do survive anyway, the histrionics were making the religious rituals far more interesting and they all had the schizotypal personalities to rely on when saints and miracles-makers were needed.
How about the depressed ones? Now, the Universe loves diversity and this is exactly why it kills a great part of his prototypes to allow others to be tested. And these fellows survived.
You see, these low-energy softies were not going to battle, nor were they joining the others in the rain dance. So they were willing to stay home and guard the possessions. (I’d also venture a bit further in the world of urban myths and say that, well, no surprise there are more depressed women than men.)
Next time I go around some booze I’ll reflect on the survival of those with attention deficit. I know, that’s called introspection.
It’s pretty obvious why the anxious personalities did – they were the only ones able to perceive the least probable dangers ten years before they appeared. The paranoids were spotting the evil intentions of the neighboring tribes and smashed them just in case, the antisocials do survive anyway, the histrionics were making the religious rituals far more interesting and they all had the schizotypal personalities to rely on when saints and miracles-makers were needed.
How about the depressed ones? Now, the Universe loves diversity and this is exactly why it kills a great part of his prototypes to allow others to be tested. And these fellows survived.
You see, these low-energy softies were not going to battle, nor were they joining the others in the rain dance. So they were willing to stay home and guard the possessions. (I’d also venture a bit further in the world of urban myths and say that, well, no surprise there are more depressed women than men.)
Next time I go around some booze I’ll reflect on the survival of those with attention deficit. I know, that’s called introspection.
the Short Happy Life of a Puutarha Tonttu
Sudenkorento is back, looking for pikku jääkarhu. And for the 16 modes of the verbs in the past tense. There are nine million bicycles in Beijing and supposedly 5 fluent Suomi speakers in Bucharest. And thou shall find them.
I have a message for the German speakers. Hey, there! I used to look up to you! For more than one year I fooled myself into thinking you’re the rare diamonds that I receive after having played Sissify! You know what?! Few weeks ago the Universe cast a light on me and I realized that you’re almost as plain and common as the French speakers!
I have a message for the German speakers. Hey, there! I used to look up to you! For more than one year I fooled myself into thinking you’re the rare diamonds that I receive after having played Sissify! You know what?! Few weeks ago the Universe cast a light on me and I realized that you’re almost as plain and common as the French speakers!
the World as a Causal System
There is a hidden reason why dark people look up to fair people. There is a hidden reason why Jesus may have never laughed. I am sure there is also a hidden reason why “snail” is not spelled “snale”.
And there is a hidden reason why there are no purple cars.
Magenta, move, Milka-coloured Mercedeses, Audis and Volkswagens. For me, it all started one night when an Ionesco character told me that her car is so ugly that she dyed it in purple. Which sensible thieve would break the barriers of professional dignity and steal one? Which sensible husband would drive the magenta beast instead of allowing his wife to do it?
I dream of a world of purple cars, black wedding dresses and tiny apartment giraffes. That’s where my fuchsia aardvarks leave!
And there is a hidden reason why there are no purple cars.
Magenta, move, Milka-coloured Mercedeses, Audis and Volkswagens. For me, it all started one night when an Ionesco character told me that her car is so ugly that she dyed it in purple. Which sensible thieve would break the barriers of professional dignity and steal one? Which sensible husband would drive the magenta beast instead of allowing his wife to do it?
I dream of a world of purple cars, black wedding dresses and tiny apartment giraffes. That’s where my fuchsia aardvarks leave!
on Tigers and Leeches
And then it hit me: I ain’t no hunter, man! I’m a bloody scavenger, a parasite, a leech. The acronyms that govern my waken life as well as my nightmares are not CEO, CFO and VP, but ERP, MFC and JSP. I don’t go for a coffee in an exquisite bar in order to incite a middle-aged, horizontally-challenged, officially dressed boss to take into account the long term development plans provided by my client.
I rot in front of a laptop digging the internet for emails of Jaspers and Ubuntus to convince them to move their ass in 100 meters further in the kingdom of Pipera for some extra 500 euros. My strategy doesn’t employ any extraordinary power of persuasion, nor an exclusive network of Armani dressed people, but the basics of human nature: begging, cheating, stealing, smuggling, imploring, misleading.
PS: as a consolation, one may also say that by scavenger you also mean vulture and that from the mud underlying the human dignity may one day arise the lotus.
That same day when the Linux people will haunt the streets dressed in pink, listening to Britney Spears.
I rot in front of a laptop digging the internet for emails of Jaspers and Ubuntus to convince them to move their ass in 100 meters further in the kingdom of Pipera for some extra 500 euros. My strategy doesn’t employ any extraordinary power of persuasion, nor an exclusive network of Armani dressed people, but the basics of human nature: begging, cheating, stealing, smuggling, imploring, misleading.
PS: as a consolation, one may also say that by scavenger you also mean vulture and that from the mud underlying the human dignity may one day arise the lotus.
That same day when the Linux people will haunt the streets dressed in pink, listening to Britney Spears.
the Reason why
I make a living out of the innocents who describe the deep passions of their lives and leave their IDs on blogs. I am a mole, a digger. My precious Drupals leave in the internet lands so that’s where I go hunting for them. Unscrupulously, voraciously, and of course, randomly.
But thou shalt not steal without paying back. Thou shalt be a good girl and pay the fucking toll before the fundamental laws of the Universe force the. Thou shalt also repent. But let’s not push things too far.
I am writing because I feel my mind slowly becoming a nut covered in smooth silk. Man, I’ll soon address my esteemed mother with “Best Regards, Yours Truly” and then put in a smiley after a three words line. Brain activity needs to be there. Otherwise, what’s the point in abstaining from booze?!
I am writing in a random manner because my inner world is random and because I am sure the universe is too wonderful to ruin it by imposing some artificial order on it. And also as a result of my quasi-total incapacity to focus.
I am also writing because I made a trade. Centuries of oppression and prejudice may have scarred the ethnical anima, but a trade it’s still a trade. (I traded my blog for two others, but this is a mere detail.)
But thou shalt not steal without paying back. Thou shalt be a good girl and pay the fucking toll before the fundamental laws of the Universe force the. Thou shalt also repent. But let’s not push things too far.
I am writing because I feel my mind slowly becoming a nut covered in smooth silk. Man, I’ll soon address my esteemed mother with “Best Regards, Yours Truly” and then put in a smiley after a three words line. Brain activity needs to be there. Otherwise, what’s the point in abstaining from booze?!
I am writing in a random manner because my inner world is random and because I am sure the universe is too wonderful to ruin it by imposing some artificial order on it. And also as a result of my quasi-total incapacity to focus.
I am also writing because I made a trade. Centuries of oppression and prejudice may have scarred the ethnical anima, but a trade it’s still a trade. (I traded my blog for two others, but this is a mere detail.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
