Religion: The Talents of Sin

I found this post today, as a comment attached to a news story about some sick school prat carving up a cabbie in New York just because he professes to be Muslim. The comment pretty much concurs exactly with what I know from an old school chum who attended Harvard Divinity School back in the late 80's for a Masters in comparative religions with a focus on the Middle East: Judaism, Muslim and Christian beliefs.

While the word Inquisition and Crusade do not appear in The Bible as a whole, the comments below do appear in the Quran. Allah, it seems, is also very anti-woman, not simply anti-feminist, which was the flash point for wine fuelled student discussion in the 1980s.

I tend to believe that an omniscient God would clearly prefer to be forgotten today; and would look upon Atheists who use their talents for the benefit of God's creation as His followers rather than the ones who either give lip service and bury/hide their talents away from the usefulness of God's creation or who perpetrate malediction on God's creation. It is an interesting thought - well in league with the story I am finally writing.

For posterity, here is the comment:

Islam is not a religion, it is an agenda. Islam means submission and Sharia is a form of government which clearly violates the establishment clause of the First Amendment. The agenda to establish Sharia makes Islam illegal, according the U.S. Constitution.


Right From The Qur’an:

“Slay the unbelievers wherever you find them.” Qur’an 2:191
“Make war on the infidels living in your neighborhood.” Qur’an 9:123
“When opportunity arises, kill the infidels wherever you catch them.” Qur’an 9:5
“Any religion other than Islam is not acceptable.” Qur’an 3:85
“The Jews and the Christians are perverts; fight them.” Qur’an 9:30
“Maim and crucify the infidels if they criticize Islam” Qur’an 5:33
“The infidels are unclean; do not let them into a mosque.” Qur’an 9:28
“Punish the unbelievers with garments of fire, hooked iron rods, boiling water; melt their skin and bellies.” Qur’an 22:19
“Do not hanker for peace with the infidels; behead them when you catch them.” Qur’an 47:4
“The unbelievers are stupid; urge the Muslims to fight them.” Qur’an 8:65
“Muslims must not take the infidels as friends.” Qur’an 3:28
“Terrorize and behead those who believe in scriptures other than the Qur’an.” Qur’an 8:12
“Muslims must muster all weapons to terrorize the infidels.” Qur’an 8:60

The Dungeon of Dread

Just so that I look back on this week of nothing written and remember what a trial it actually was. As you can see from the photo I am creating the first dungeon for the D&D group in 8 days! I am fighting my panic. I have descriptions to prepare: the travel, the random monster encounters, the inn, the inn's non-playing characters (NPCs) and their rumours, and at least describe several rooms of the dungeon itself BEFORE I write in the rules so I can follow them, PLUS I have player characters (PCs) to make up. So I am in real panic mode - not to mention that I have 9 important Elven names that are giving me a huge writer's block. I am trembling at this task. I do not care that this fear is over a silly thing - this is about making deadlines and I am more worried that I willnot be ready than I am about not being ready.

Plus I have the guilt about not writing in my Blog. I will solve that by putting in what I have prepared for this dungeon. The best part is that I am focused on creating for the first time in a long time and were it not for my need to have rules, I would be writing a "story outline" now. Wait a minute... I am writing a story outline for an improvisational play!

Top all this off with the ongoing life: Marta's emotional rages that are deleterious to me; my weeping nostalgia over my broken life (I know I am pathetic too); and I still have to supply a dance for senior executives - venue, catering, music - to happen for the Association on 4 June (nothing is done for it and the clock is ticking for the 30 April promotion deadline) AND I have not got the letters of association signed and to the court YET!!!

Weasels say: Run Away!
Arnold says: I'll be back.

Defining The Obstacles

As I work hard to ignite myself in an immolation of writing, and get myself "fucking frustrated" as I eloquently expressed earlier today, I stumble upon am eMail from a friend that is worth sharing with myself again. Funny enough he had sent me some research material that I am only now bringing myself to use.

Some words never age in their healing power....

It is worth keeping and re-reading this letter on this Blog because the frustration I feel is real, and it won't be going away any time soon. Though I do walk my path alone I find that there are other voices encouraging me and I need to listen to those voices.


Date: Fri, September 14, 2007 5:29 pm

Your inability to get started on a creative project is something most writers experience. It has happened often to me, in fact. Co-writing with another author that is attuned to your own style is one way to get past such blockage.

Looking forward to hearing from you in the future:)

Cheers,
Gary

"Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven." Matthew 5:16

Medieval Noble Titles

Finally! Face-to-face with someone and it still took me two hours to pull from someone this basic information. But, hey, now I know the power structure setting of my fantasy story - which is good because the story is all about the power structure. No power structure and I am left with only my wild imagination, which I have learnt does not pay the bills.


One small noteworthy observation is that what follows is a simple idiot's guide - just the kind I like - and that took 2 hours to pull from an intelligent young man. Hmmm....? (And nothing mentioned about an Earl. I will have to fix that.)

Naturally... I Google something which I cannot even remember what and I come upon this site www.shadowedrealm.com/glossary and the information below which is everything I need. Now if only I had this information 2 months ago. Either I am stupid or I am supernaturally blind to miss this site and then stumble upon it. The word FUCK! is appropos to describe my frustration with myself. It is vulgar, base and an all too common situation of time wasting I cannot seem to elevate myself above. FUCK YOU Paul Varjak. God Damn it!


NOBLE
In a feudal sense, a noble was a member of the nobility. Nobles were often also referred to as aristocrats. In England, nobles were members of the peerage.

PEERAGE
The positions and rankings of nobility that existed in England. Peerages were granted by the king or queen. Hereditary peerages were usually passed on to the eldest son as an inheritance. If there was no son in the line, then rules existed for who would receive the peerage

THANE
A later Anglo-Saxon term for a great noble or aristocrat. Earlier, the term gesith was used for this type of person.

TITLES IN LINES OF SUCCESSION:

King then Queen (in situations where the queen is not chattel)
Royal Scion = Prince or Princess (the daughter used for alliances)
Duke/Duchess =
1. Sibling of the King
2. Son of the Duke (i.e. the King's Nephew
3. conveyed title to Duke's grandson or through marriage (husband assuming the Duches' masculine title Duke, or by the King's decree if marriage to Prince/Princess)

TITLES IN NOBLE HOUSES:

Marquis/Marquess
Also called a marquis. A rank within the nobility lying below Duke and above Count (or Earl in the English peerage)

Marquise (France)
In France a woman that holds the same rank as a male marquess or marquis in her own right. Outside of France she would be called a marchioness.

Marchioness (Abroad)
A woman that holds the same rank as a male marquess or marquis in her own right. In France she would be called a marquise

Earl = Count
A ranking within the English peerage lying below the rank of marquess/marquis and above the rank of viscount

Count = Earl
A ranking within the European nobility that was the equivalent of an earl in the British peerage (an earl lies below the rank of marquess/marquis and above the rank of viscount).

Viscount
A ranking within the nobility (and the English peerage) that lies below the rank of earl or count and above the rank of baron

Viscountess
A woman that holds the same rank as a male viscount in her own right

Baron
A ranking of nobility, below viscount and above the rank of baronet. The baron lies at the bottom level of nobility in the British peerage and is the lowest grade in the House of Lords.

Baronet
A dignity or degree of honor next below a baron and above a knight and is the only knighthood that is hereditary.

Knight
From the Saxon cniht, originally a man-at-arms bound to the performance of certain duties, among others to attend his sovereign or feudal superior mounted on horseback in time of war.

The institution of knighthood, as conferred by investiture, and with certain oaths and ceremonies, arose gradually throughout Europe as an adjunct of the feudal system. The character of the knight was at once military and religious. The defense of the Holy Sepulchre and the protection of pilgrims were the objects to which, in the early times of the institution, he especially devoted himself.

The ceremonies practiced in conferring knighthood have varied at different periods. In general, some religious ceremonies were performed and the sword and spurs were bound on the candidate. After this a blow was dealt him on the cheek or shoulder, as the last affront which he was to receive unrequitted. He then to an oath to protect the distressed, maintiain right against might, and never by word or deed stain his character as knight and a Christian.

A knight might be degraded for the infringement of any part of his oath, in which case his spurs were chopped off with a hatchet, his sword was broken, his escutcheon reversed, and some religious observations were added, during which each piece of armor was taken off in succession and cast from the recreant knight.

Knight-banneret

A knight who carried a banner, who possessed fiefs to a greater amount then the knight-bachelor, and who was obliged to serve in war with a greater number of attendants. He was created by the sovereign in person on the field of battle.

Also, military commanders who sometimes stood in for tenants-in-chief to lead Battles (an organizational division for armies) but who technically were not qualified to do so.

Knight-errant

Literally, a wandering knight. A knight who traveled in search of adventures, for the purpose of exhibiting military skill, prowess, and generosity.

KNIGHT SERVICE - Knight Fiefdom

A tenure of lands held by knights on condition of performing military service. It was abolished in the time of Charles II of England (c. 1630).

The system of knight-service introduced into England by William the Conqueror empowered the king, or even a superior lord who was a subject, to compel every holder of a certain extent of land, called the knight's fee, to become a member of the knightly order. A knight's investiture was accounted proof that he possessed the requisite of knightly arms and was sufficiently trained in their use. After the long war between France and England, it became the practice for the sovereign to receive money compensations from subjects who were unwilling to receive knighthood. A series of grievances developed out of this system.

Lord
In the medieval sense a person with authority over others and usually a title of nobility that may have been either inherited or gained. Major medieval lords (such as kings) often had control over a great deal of land that they could parcel out to vassals in exchange for feudal obligations. Smaller lords might have only have one manor with which to administer their lands.

Lady
A woman who exercised power, whether over a manor, over vassals, or even over a realm.

No Focus

Today was a lost day. Unlike yesterday's success at finding another recording studio interested in recording my throaty Barry White voice, nothing happened on the plus side for me during the daylight. I even bailed on my Toastmasters meeting because I have a total lack of energy that was killer. I was even unable to focus all day.

I am actually feeling that this is the turn for the worse with my health. I hope that by returning myself as close to my childhood as possible I can counter this feeling. That is IF this is all just some psychosomatic neuroticism I am experiencing at the moment.

The evening was a little brighter for me by contrast. I managed to set up a meeting with the men who will play in the Dungeons and Dragons game I intend to run in April. I hope it goes down smooth.

There was something else too... something minor probably but I cannot remember it now. I have also included the NewbieDM Blog into my Blog reading tonight.

And that's it for March. Tomorrow is April Fools.

Author! Author!

Well, I am just returned from Toastmasters. The theme of the meeting, all Toastmaster meetings have a theme, was theatre of dreams, which was really about fulfilling dreams. If you are unfamiliar with the basic Toastmaster’s club meeting structure, and I should assume that you have never heard of Toastmasters as a good writer, let me outline it for you.

A toastmaster, who presents an agenda, a theme and introduces the participants, emcees the meeting. Meetings can last 2 hours. There are functionaries that make the meeting formal. These functionaries evaluate and keep track of different meeting components: grammar, time, and verbal intercalations, and someone evaluates the whole meeting. There are speeches, of course I was one of three speakers this evening, and there are people who evaluate the speeches and introduce the speakers. The emcee asks a General Question of the Day to ensure everyone has an active part during the meeting, which serves to introduce everyone. A Table Topics Toastmaster will ask a variety of questions to attendees chosen at random later during the meeting, but not usually directing questions to the evenings’ speakers.

All this generally follows the theme created by the meeting’s emcee, formally introduced as the meeting’s toastmaster.

The meeting’s emcee opened the meeting with a film clip showing toastmaster members who won public speaking contests. The emcee had more clips to present throughout the evening that would show the power of dreams, such as the old Apple commercial. And the question was: what is your biggest dream? I answered it as my biggest goal: to use my creativity as a means of financially supporting myself. I embellished my answer a little to take up 30 seconds, the suggested timing for such answers.

The room was set up seminar style and it has an audience capacity of about 70, of which 35 or so were in the audience. Wednesday’s group is much larger than the handful on the Tuesday meetings I also attend. The room on Wednesday is also better equipped with a computer, speakers and a ceiling mounted light projector. The Tuesday room only has a functioning white board. I especially like the Wednesday group because I can enter the room well ahead of time to prepare my speech and I can also go there to practice my delivery without too many questions being asked.

I arrived tonight at 17:30, which is 90 minutes before the start of the meeting. I had to load my Power Point presentation onto the computer and then test the equipment. There is a remote to operate the light projector but I have to ask for the one that works every time. One day, it will have no batteries. I also wanted to work on my delivery with the slides one more time but it was not meant to be.

Here is how the slice of my life in this foreign country works. I have a mentor to assist me with creating my speeches. On Monday I met with my speech evaluator, gracious enough to sit through my speech and help me better structure it. He is not my mentor. My mentor arrived early before I actually got myself technically prepared. As he is my mentor, officially, I thought to get his comment on my speech ahead of time. It would have been nice. My evaluator contacted me before my speech to organize our meeting. My mentor ignored me. Not much of a mentor, if you want my editorial.

So, with my mentor sitting in the room I went to get the functioning remote. I do not speak the language so twisting someone into doing something right is not possible for me to do verbally. I need to rely on the kind nature of people wanting to help me and on my trying to be careful how I express my request and show gratitude. Countless times I meet opposition from people who appear as dumb as sticks and this was one of those evenings. Despite my request having been made 3 or 4 times to the same person over the past 3 months, he was still unaware of what I wanted when I came up to him with a fresh, nice smile on my face and a defective projector remote in my hand. He had to come with me to the room and then tell me that the defective remote was working perfectly. Also, there was no other remote.

Yes. It is childish.

However, I am not using but the basics of the language, body language, demonstration and brand names. The remote that works is a Logitech remote. It is possible that the Logitech remote is in use in another room, which easily translates to there is no other remote. But, though I have no children of my own, I have been in this country long enough to know there is much better odds that someone would rather work harder to avoid being helpful than to actually help. Essentially, when I come up to the man sitting at reception with a defective remote and play out a scene he and I have played out a handful of times already, he can just take the Logitech from his desk drawer. Instead we do the whole process again.

Only this time the corridor filled up with toastmasters. 80 minutes before the meeting, 4 toastmasters arrived by the elevators. These people were gathering to have a meeting and were surprised to see me; they being the management of the club and me being a simple member. My mentor is also a member of the management. All know English and the language of my host country. My mentor is a native from here.

So as I was trying to explain that I wanted the Logitech, two toastmasters came to my rescue. My mentor came out from the room and a gentleman named Jerry. Jerry tried to persuade the man at reception to help. The man resumed his dance with him. The Logitech I was asking about was unavailable because it did not exist. Again, this could be a translation problem but I was unconvinced because I tend to dream in bed and not when I am walking around. My grandiose mentor sidled up next to me in his knowing way and guaranteed to me that someone, he did not know whom, would bring a functioning remote in time for my speech. This pompous penguin totally missed the point of my coming early to prepare my equipment and myself.

I wonder how many other people would read him to be a time waster based upon this incident. I have other instances to base such a character read but he was proving to be a better obstruction than the man at reception. Jerry finally wore out the man at reception because he was able to allow me, through is precise interpretation, to get to the fact that the man needed to reach into his desk for the right remote. He did and I went back to prepare.

Yes, this is a tiring activity. It is tiring to write about. It is more tiring to live through. It is why I am so tired after living in the land of “impossible” for 10 years. Had I a Luger and a license to cull this crowd, I would have served several Darwin Awards to such obstacles already. I was a pacifist when I arrived in this European war theatre but I am not that now thanks to the Culture Of No” that dogs me. That’s right, CON for short. And I have a history of killing CONs but the effort here, because it permeates the people so thoroughly, makes the effort Herculean.

I got back to the room, followed by the waddling Penguin, and found the 2nd Speaker in the room. This is impressive because more people brought up in the local culture are lazy. After 10 years, I am becoming a master of lazy too so the kettle knows the pot for the fire were sit upon is from the same source. I am rather depressed at how easily I succumbed to it.

Anyway, I made sure my technicals were working and left the room to find another place to read through my speech. I have a terrible time memorizing. Like I wrote in my speech, anything written longer than 2 pages and I am asleep. My eyes actually cross before they give out. As an aside, I was experiencing trouble pronouncing words tonight before I did my mouth and tongue exercises. I arrived back into the room for the start of the meeting just on time, squeezing every moment I could out of my preparation time.

I was the 3rd speaker so I enjoyed the show, loosening up enough by giving written feedback to the other speakers in the form of short notes. It was helpful to me not to focus on myself sitting in the front row waiting my turn.

The 2nd speaker, after a smooth 1st speaker, experienced an utter failure. Alas, the difference between arriving early and arriving early to prepare! He decided to change his speech topic from something humorous to something deadly serious: the killing of infant girls in China. He repeated his former speech topic as he apologized for the last minute switch in topic but he forgot to announce the name or the theme of his speech. He just barreled right into it. After two slides accompanied by statistics about the disparate male and female growth rates in China compared to the rest of the world, his slide presentation ended. Apparently he had not even loaded it into the computer. He then disappeared under the desk to work out the problem abandoning his audience. This was after one minute of the speech.

The emcee decided it was a good place to call upon the penguin to tell a joke. The penguin leapt out of his seat – I kid you not – and ran to the center stage. He told an off colour joke, which got an easy laugh. Then we returned to the topic of killing baby girls, with the accompaniment of the Power Point Slides.

I used to fancy myself a specialist in communications before I came to this country. Perhaps this little vignette will explain why I went broke here and ended up living with Martha. This sort of thing does not only happen at a Toastmaster’s meeting sadly.

My evaluator introduced me by pumping me up with hyperbole. I am a good speaker. I have good healthy collagen chops. But injecting a speaker with Botox in the introduction of his speech is not helpful to any speaker. The measure should be under promise and over perform but this is part of the CON and I am not about to crusade against it. I do appreciate the evaluator was totally unaware of the Botox injection and was trying to pump the audience for me. So, bottom line, I am grateful and hope to have him as my evaluator again.

Aside from the over promise, he did pay me a huge compliment. He used a slide with my photo on it to recap my speeches. He told everyone that I joined the group at the end of December and gave my first speech at the first meeting in January. He recalled I paid on my first visit to become an official member. He informed everyone I am now 4 out of 10 towards my Competent Communicator certificate. He encouraged everyone to follow my model. This is what the author-da-fé is about!

Take that Paul Varjak! But my membership is paid off the back of Martha and my preparation is possible because Martha toils to keep me warm, fed, clothed and plugged into The Internet. Still, I am doing something! It is nice to get a back pat on the back from someone else's hand.

Now I was really nervous. My hands was shaking like a Parkinson’s victim. I had trouble reading my notes in my delivery practice. I tried to make a few revisions and cuts – just noting down places I could skip where I could shave time to be under the maximum time limit of 7 minutes. I was having difficulty pronouncing words and stumbling over my notes in practice. And I had just received my Botox injection.

I got up to shake my evaluator’s hand and looked at the timer to let him know I was going to stall for time. I did talk to the audience as I crossed the room, took a cup from the plastic wrapper and poured myself a cup of water. I even made the joke that I was so nervous I did not know if I wanted to drink from my cup or the bottle. I tried to bring down my hype and I tried for common ground as I essentially took the stage and tried to hold it through sheer will before I could begin to sort my speech and speak.

Anyway, I did it all with a smile and went through the speech. It was not my best outing but I was glad to have it done to get back to the rigor of speaking in public and the self-discipline of preparing for a deadline. I was happy with the comments I received back and with the evaluation, which was presented in the second half of the meeting.

Jerry, the same Jerry who was surprised to see me so early, was a little upset during the evening. He came to sit next to me during the break. His opening gambit in conversation was to tell me how upset the man at reception was at me, and by suggesting in his tone that I was abusing a privilege by practicing my speeches in vacant rooms. This was an awkward approach because Jerry is a consummate performer. I had met him 10 years ago when he first came to Toastmasters, fresh off the boat from the USA. I was member of Toastmasters when I first arrived but I chose to give it up to pour my entire heart and soul into the bones of the failed retiree I am. Jerry and I (and another familiar face in the crowd) are familiar with each other from those days. If you need something done, he will tell you directly if he can do it or not. Moreover, he give the impression that if he does it, it will be done right no matter how long it takes. In fact, it will be a work of art because he is a craftsman, and the timings of his speeches suffers from this subject dedication overkill. Public speaking is a true challenge for him, on a few levels, and he takes his tasks as serious as a heart attack. So he knows the value of preparation.

In my experience, when an argument sounds hollow it just signals that the internal conversation has broken through to the surface. As it turns out, as I let Jerry talk himself out, he was upset with himself. He was to give a speech two weeks ago but did not. I was to evaluate it, and happy to do so. Jerry deserves a kind and solid evaluation. Since I used to train people in English presentation skills, I would have given him one of the best he has ever had. I like this guy but I just cannot stand his boorishness. Perhaps, as often is the case in such emotional reactions, it is because I am a boor myself.

He confessed that he could have done the speech but he fell into the lazy trap of this CON. I did not judge him. That would have been a rich and unforgivable thing indeed! He did not prepare and, because he is who he is, he cancelled his speech at the last minute. It hurt him to feel his disappointment when he saw me in the room early preparing myself, just as it hurt him to see how unprepared was the 2nd speaker.

The comment was made that the speech failure was not the fault of the speaker but of the technical equipment during the evaluation. That is a big steaming load of unadulterated bullshit in the springtime. Everyone in communications knows it is an unforgivable sin to shift the speaker’s blame onto his equipment. Jerry saw how I had to fight through my barriers to get the remote control. He saw the opposition I had in people telling me it was impossible to get what I wanted, even something so small. Knowing all this, Jerry was uncontrollably pissed. Sitting next to me when the evaluation of the 2nd speaker was presented, he uttered the loud guttural throat clearing we all recognize as disgust no matter where we live.

Jerry’s like that, if a little hypocritical in this situation. It is the whore who makes the Madonna with the strongest voice; the lady protest too much me thinks, and all that. You have no need ask why I like this guy though I recognize he can be a bore.

After the short 10-minute break, the film clips continued. Old grainy films of Ghandi, Einstein, Martin Luther King Jr., Amelia Earhart, and other great people recognized as dreamers and status quo challengers were presented between the different sections: the return from break, the Table Topic session and at the close. They were part of the emcee’s underlying theme and he made a few remarks of encouragement to us.

Every time the film clip ended, the slide with my face came up on the screen. This was the slide that my evaluator used to introduce me. It amused me, now that my speech was done, and it was a little embarrassing. I know how these things work being what I thought of as a competent communicator before I realized the truth to the old admonition never to argue with a fool for he lowers you to his level and beats you with experience. I did that crusade for 6 years before Martha came to my rescue, and I never won once. Tonight I was the product placement, experiencing the halo effect of the many great people who challenged the status quo but fared far better than I.

This was a bittersweet moment for me too. Paul Varjak does not deserve it but I was not always his minion. Even the emcee made a nervous comment on how I fit in with this crowd. It happened naturally.

Now the Toastmasters know me from my introduction. I am retired at 42. And I have not tried to explain why I am retired. I do not even tell them I live with (or off-of) someone. Most of my fellow Toastmasters think I am a rich success, retired at an early age. Really, I am a miserable middle-aged failure just trying to write one more post before I succumb to a habit of masturbation developed over the last few years of life less living.

Creativity's Flipside

It took me the whole 8-hour day to write this little speech and it will take me several more hours to practice its presentation before it is ready. So here it is as my Blog entry today. I think it should count as my 1000 word per day exercise.

CREATIVITY'S FLIPSIDE

There is a part of me I do not master. A part of me that does not answer to me but I answer to it. It is a guilty pleasure. It is the weak link in my self-discipline. It is my greatest shortcoming. It is the flipside of creativity. Creativity is my weakness.


The flipside of Creativity makes me a poor student because I lack the focus to prepare for examination test questions. It obstructs my ability to efficiently structure my CD collection; or to pre-plan a pro forma workflow in a proposal of service for a client, or even prepare a speech as simple as this one. It is an obstacle that prevents my being entertained, or informed, or understanding anything written longer than a couple of pages. In fact, reading anything puts me to sleep at any time when I read.

SPIRAL 1

But you would be surprised how tough my greatest flaw is. I could easily go off on a tangent telling you just how tough it was. I could make you cry. I could make you laugh. I could tell secrets. But tonight I want to focus on creativity’s flipside.

SPIRAL 2

There are many jobs that require the castration of creativity:
Bookkeeping,
Pharmacology,
Wealth management,
Scientific research,
Factory worker,
Bus driver,
Librarian,
Reporter,

Just to name a few.

The career I choose 22 years ago was not one of those jobs. Public relations is a function in business that should be dynamic and fluid. As an executive management function, relationship management should conduct messages to-and-fro between a corporation and it many publics, and, sometimes plays a communication role between the many publics that serve the corporation. Relationship building was the most creative job I could find when I was looking for work that would reward my looking out the window so much.

Creativity has let my eyes see the light for clients who are in the dark about their challenges, and sometimes their opportunities. But creativity has kept my thinking in the dark when it comes to quickly forming structures. To imagine how I survive in structured business environment you need to see it like two puzzle pieces that fit together. One piece is my client’s challenge. The other piece is my imagination and creativity. I would not make a very good employee. But I make one hell of a consultant. And because the nature of communications is changeable, my creativity was always engaged in this interlock.
 
That’s a very academic way to explain the results. I am not sure I can explain the process, how I differ as a businessman. I dress like a businessman. I conduct my business like a businessman. I sound like a businessman. But, when I am working for a client in business, I do not work like a businessman.

Does everyone in the audience tonight know about the movie “A Beautiful Mind”? Has everyone seen it? It is the story of a man, John Nash, who won the 1994 Nobel Prize in Economics for "his pioneering analysis of equilibria in the theory of non-cooperative games."


You may be aware of the fact that he was Schizophrenic and that Russell Crowe played him in the film. What I want to make you aware of is how the film - in moving pictures - described how he solved problems because it is the best description I have seen to reveal to you the way the answers for my clients come to me.
 
I do not explain what happens to me for clients this way. And I usually do have more information from research to support my explanations. But this is how my inspiration works.

In the film, John Nash is asked to work for the Pentagon as a code breaker: a cipher. He is taken to a large backlit display of numbers. He stares at it for quite some time. As he stands staring at this backlight board, patterns illuminate themselves: pyramids, stars, triangles, number sequences, all light up in his mind. He starts to make sense of these patterns that only present themselves to him, until he suddenly realises the code he is breaking is communicating longitude and latitude co-ordinates. He tells his client his observation and it makes sense to them. It solves their challenge.

I would propose a plan of action in a formal proposal to a client. But I experience the same mystical problem solving as the film describes when I look at a client’s problem and I understand the underlying scientific documentation I have on hand. I explain to clients in concrete terms what really happens to me intangibly.
 
How can this be successful? It is not taught in any business school. In fact, because of my weakness, I could not complete a higher education degree. I tried twice. But there is some very good advice how to be successful in such a situation, and it comes from President Abraham Lincoln.

The best way
to destroy an enemy
is
to make him a friend.

About Last Night...

I finished the last blog post just as Martha came in through the front door. Talk about timing! Writing is not the same kind of impatient activity as is reading. Yesterday's Blog post took me over 30 minutes to produce and it was rather quick to write. It was a note to school relatively speaking. I simply put down my thoughts, which came out in a relatively organised list; reworked the paragraphs a little, buffing one up and collapsing one into another; after I published it, searched Google for the image I dropped in; and wrote the opening to bookend my original ending.

The T-shirt photo was based on the last line but also on the events of last week, heavy in my thoughts because I had yet to write them down. I still have not written them down but that will be next.

Last night I did nothing. Technically I did do something until midnight but results-wise I did nothing. Martha detests her job but she rejects working for herself. It's a classic catch-22 and she essentially needs someone else to live her life for her. She goes to bed by 8pm some times because she lives in this repressive state, and I am not so talented a writer that I can explain it, or do I wish to explain it, any better than that. Since her going to bed is not a routine thing, I never know when she will come out of the bedroom while I am writing and walk straight into my Blog in the living room. Sometimes I can enjoy 4 hours of uninterrupted peace and other times my typing on the keyboard is so loud that she awakes to complain to me: what am I writing? It is late! Late would be 10pm, for example, and Martha is 35 years old. (I am in my 40's.) So I talked with her from 8pm when she expressed interest in going to sleep until she finally went to bed, which was close to 10pm yesterday. I was exhausted for the experience but busied myself with something so unimportant to me that I cannot recall what I did at this moment, not wishing to go to bed at the appropriate time for a 70-year-old.

Now I have some writing to catch myself up on, and the process begins anew.

Pissing Contests Tire Me

I been there, done that, got the T-Shirt.

I have decided I am not going to Toastmasters this evening. It is almost 3-hours before my speech is to be delivered and I am not ready. Plus I am still dealing with Steering Committee issues. This means I will have to give my speech in the future and I am hoping that future time is next Wednesday.

It does break my rule: #1 show up. But fuck it. I am not the whole show. There are two other speakers tonight. It looks like there is only one speaker next week. God's in his heavens and all is right with the world. If I do my speech next week, I will accept the thanks for all the prearranged planning. Lord knows I took alot of heat last week - see last week's Blog posts.

Now you would think that with the luxury of this time I could do some catch up writing on my Blog, especially since my subject is my confesional writing. But you would be wrong since Martha will be home in under 30 minutes and I am hiding this Blog from her as surely as I am hiding it from other people who might know this writer's identity.

Maybe I will work on my speech instead....? It will take me alot of time to prepare something, even though I have it in my head. The problem is I have not put it into a structure and creating structure is what this speech practice is about for me. I will tell you more about what I did today bright and early tomorrow. As for now: my stress level is killing me and I need to have a piss.

The ReOrganisation

Well, it has been an age since my last Blog post... Despite my good intentions I am still just on the road to Author-de-fe and not actually burning yet. Paul Varjak sent me a simple congratulatory message that caught up to me on my journey, which was akin to a weeping blood Madonna's plea: Please come back. Sloth has forgiven.
Sadly, I do have some compunctions to write but they do not come easily in the morning or at a structured schedule regardless of the time. I am not at the point where I can say between 9am and 12pm I will to put fingers to keyboard for 3 hours. Even now, I am suppressing the fear that grips me as I write. Tonight I have a a 5-7 minute presentation to deliver at Toastmasters that makes me fearful of failure. I want to discuss in this time the problems I have with creativity as a skill that visits me at odd hours and at odd times. Powerful but unharnessed, like having a lion in the house or a rabid watchdog.

I have made Blog posts to outline future 1,000 word blog posts for the past week but I have not gotten to them, or have I been able to be faithful to all the days after those Blog posts were supposed to be made. My writing boots sink deeper in the mud in the race against my natural nonwriting inclinations. Not a good foreboding.

Today is Wednesday and this day marks three days when I have not written this week IF I let it pass. So I am not going to let it pass without a fight. At least I am not stuck with a blank page and a specific topic to write about, although strict confessional writing is not what I had in mind when I started my personal auto-de-fe. It is what I am left with if nothing else. And, on a day like this, when I have yet another difficult task to complete ahead of me by deadline confessional writing will have to do.

I confess: one word after another strung together to make a coherent sentence like so many popcorn on a string; and sentence after sentence to create a paragraph like a tight knots on a length of rope; until finally the whole post appears like a pearl necklace is about all the craftsmanship I can muster. While I reorganise myself to make good on those shells of Blog posts awaiting my backward gaze, I am stuck with more frustration to deal with in the posts ahead.

Now onward to my Toastmasters' speech and more time tomorrow to write the past. It is either this or I take up jogging in the morning.

Facebook Wednesday Professional

dead.

Like I Need This?

Today I called 2/3 of the Audit Board to rally support to oust the BoD.

I also did a speak at Toast Masters, How To Say It. This is the 4th Speech in the first workbook entitled Competent Communicator. I did not pre-present my speech to a live person as is my routine but used three poems to prepare and fill time. It was a cheap trick but it worked. The poems highlighted the need for



were and prepared my introduction for Jerzy, who will be giving his speech tomorrow and which I will be the evaluator and introduce him.

The Putch’s Putsh Putch

dinner
the founding fee
the yahoo email
the lawyer
the meeting

Some Nazty Business

So, another blank page and another 1,000 words objective today. And, typically, I think I have nothing to relate, express, articulate or say. This must be some dangerous, jive psychological template I have been handed to me because in every other situation I have lots to say – just ask anyone I have bored to tears. Just ask Martha who despises anything I say so much that reverse psychology is ineffective and I have learnt to be Silent George. But now that I have to deliver, I go all shy and blank like a coy schoolgirl. Is this what a writer’s block is – or is this more Sloth? Either way, the debate fixes nothing and only serves to prolong the agony of what I must do. Well, I can at least write another diary entry.

No-one is going to read this stuff anyway.

Dear Internet,

This nasty business not writing every day makes me feel lazy and annoyingly dirty. It has been a long few weeks of emotional struggle with few rewards and I hate to have to admit that I do nothing when it is my own accomplishment at stake. I want to write every day, just like I want to complete my first Toastmaster certificate. So how big a task is this? Let me recount it.

I tried to overcome my paralyzing disempowerment with good, old-fashioned consumerism. Nothing can easily change my psychology of despair, in my experience, like the expectation from a shopping trip. I am not saying I like to leave my home but eBay is such a friend. Not only do I not have to leave my home, but the goods arrive at some half-expected near future time. Fuck this running to nowhere or eating a tub of ice cream to biologically change my psychology. Anyone who talks to me about those other remedies does not know me. And how odd can I be in this regard? Promise me the mere opportunity to get laid and I clean the whole house, quickly and efficiently. Am I the only man ever to find my second wind this way? What does the medical profession do to so emasculate a doctor’s thinking? Get out and run for an hour? Why? Where am I going? What’s chasing me? Of course, these days I need much more than the simple promise of something to get my juices flowing. And living with Martha means I have less juice to flow. So, making use of my resource, Martha is part of my solution here. I do not have much money to spend but if I find some I can spend it like I am living at home again.

I am the man searching for the boy inside to revive his own manhood. I suppose that is an elegant way to say mid-life crisis though I really do not connect Martha with my mid-life expect by chronology.

Shopping, like eating ice cream, does have its drawbacks. I have picked up some new DVDs:. Shogun: the mini-series, Masada, the complete epic mini-series, and The Seven Per Cent Solution. I prize these, especially as I turn my focus to writing. The writing in these films is quite good in my opinion though I watch them a little more critically than when I first watched them. But just watching them again and re-experiencing how they influenced my early creativity does restore a little bit of myself to me: like a vaccine’s booster shot re-immunizing me. What was it I wrote about writers being daydreamers? Yet I have to say that my plan has partially backfired. I am still awaiting two shipments and this is an added weight on my mind. Yay they finally arrive after I am plagued by the fermenting notion that my money is stolen for so long is a definite unnecessary burden on an already troubled mind. I waited for Dragon Age: Origins to arrive for so long that the great expectation to play it out before I started this Blog is now devolved into the fear of diversion and is a battle in its own right. The seller was in communication with me so I did not experience the problem of fear of loss, as I am doing with another merchant at present. This other merchant is long past due to send me 25 DVDs and CDs, which I bought for a great sum of money, and has sent me more troubles.

Martha is angry that I spent my money on myself, and she was an instrumental block to me in regards to this other merchant, which she secretly relishes while I anguish. To be fair to myself I did try to assuage her with some Christmas gifts I bought with this same money but she is insatiable. On one hand, she harbors an indignation any moron can understand while on the other hand she refuses any advice I can give to her to help her situation. Full steam ahead Martha, and I (and everyone else) can pay for it. Well, I do not feel too bad about shopping for myself, ungrateful though I may be.

Martha understands my shopping as self-medication for a broken spirit so problems with that medicine is an opportunity for her to lord it over me. I threw away money hurts me enough but that dagger goes with a twist for Martha! I disrespected her! She could have had that money instead! Now I am not eager for the countdown until my gifts arrive but anxiously counting the days since the gifts should have arrived but have not. Please hurt me. Here is the razor, and it is both arteries that get slashed: guilt and fear.

Did I really pay for this sadomasochism? I realise that the great many women enjoy exploiting these situations on men. Women are the worst emotional bullies by way of explanation of their ever-tragic her-story under the evil Patriarchy of Paters and Godlike Christ-figures. They share their endless suffering to make the world a more egalitarian hell. But I have to ask myself with this eBay purchase, did I really just accomplish the diametrical opposite of my objective to make myself feel better and pay out my own money for it too? It just adds to the negativity of my situation.

But the last few weeks have not been as easy on me as my eBay dilemma. That anxiety goes away if I can just lay down in bed and wait for the inevitable to pass like a kidney stone. The rest I have had to deal with does not allow me to rest from the recoil of my bleeding fear and guilt. And Martha is there to exploit this too. Martha gets her money’s worth from me.

Before I turned my focus onto writing as a last hope, I had created a group from about 100 business leaders from whom I hoped to find work. My thinking was to get a steady income started so I can leave Martha, and Martha knows this. So there is this stasis in our relationship between me not earning any money and my not providing any money. She can complain about it both ways while she subtly sabotages the equation. It is very rewarding for her to play the victim against me the failure. Maybe I do not seem so ungrateful and misogynic now as the underdog in this end game.

The best thing for her, she tells me, is that I leave her. And the best thing for me is to do the same. But I cannot. I think she truly believes I am too lazy and that the odds are too long for me to succeed as a writer. She must believe this because how she speaks to me about staying home all day and the constant telephone calls about nothing (I feel lonely, some asshole said something to me, I am tired) that punctuate the hours of my day like the shelling of Bagdad is tiring. Worse is that I fear she may be right.

I have thought about adopting her belief that someone else – a new woman for example – whisks me away to a utopia Neverland. I get a reality check when I hear this philosophy blatantly sold from Martha’s mouth, a Mouth of Sauron. Then I am snapped back to my center of consciousness, renewed like the Sword of Elendil slicing through the bullshit.



The Mouth Of Sauron Speaks To Me Daily

On personal reflection I am satisfied with myself. I can conclude that, before taking this perilous path of penmanship, I have tried everything other than becoming a writer first, and I do appreciate how much I have achieved before the results of my effort (in the direction I had aimed) revealed failure. How many abject failures surviving off the avails of a woman can claim they started a semi-successful non-profit association for CEOs? How many resigned to such a fate would even find the energy? My efforts have gathered a group of local business leaders around me to whom I have almost single-handedly fed 4-course dinners for the last 18-months, providing not only the food but also the venue and entertainment. Again, to succeed in such monumental tasks yet fail to find simple gainful employment from said tasks executed competently leaves me looking at the glaring snake-eyes of destiny manifest. It is possible to seek modest revenue from them in the form of an annual membership fee from their company. But to do that I need to establish this group as a legal non-profit entity and open a bank account. On this path I need a Board of Directors.

That is where the tale takes a turn for the worse. Maybe if I write it all down I will understand my role in this mess better. Martha feverishly portrays me as the victim – usually the first sign that I bear some responsibility that I can fix. Think about that sympathy for a moment and you will see why I want to look at this situation a little harder, though I believe it is as hopeless as a 3-Stooge movie. In fact, the whole 4-man Steering Committee needs to be sent to the lions, and this is my task next Thursday.



This disaster movie features Moe Hailstone playing the part of Nicholas “the stall it’s my fault” Lawyer. Field Marshal Curly Gallstone presents the role of Chris “the covert operations concrete” Mixer, and Larry Pebble is Ashim Numbers, fugitive from Russian prostitution mafia. Shemp makes a guest appearance too, in the person of Paul “I never got the memo” Membership. As ineffectual a group as you ever care to meet.

Except this is serious nazty business instigated by clever guys designed to hurt me. Recall I started this post about my psychology needing a boost? Well, to move this group into the status of a recognised non-profit association catering to senior executives is a pretty big accomplishment. I may be a total washout but, at least, I could hold my head up high as the founder of such an association while I write from home. No one will believe I could have gone so far in my current position, and I have a Steering Committee looking to block me.

With friends like these, who needs enemies? And, truly, I hand picked these guys. FAIL. It is moments like this I recall Dale Carnegie’s observation from How To Win Friends And Influence Others: Andrew Carnegie told him that his success was based upon the people whom he surrounded himself. Well, surround yourself with The Stooges and suffer the consequences. Of course, I thought they were friends at the time.

When the story began in mid-August 2009, a meeting was held with Moe, Curly and Larry in Moe’s offices. This meeting set the date for a founders meeting to occurr at 13:00 on 28 August and outlined the Letters of Association to be drawn up. I gathered the fifteen residents, important CEOs, to sign the Letters of Association, which Moe had not even written. In fact, Moe was completely unprepared and hid the majority of the time leaving me to chair an empty meeting. Hamish, you’re a comedy fuckmuppet if ever there was, school tie and all.

Between that time and October 2009, nothing was done. In October, I put on another quarterly dinner for the group providing the business address on branding myself. By this time I had also accomplished another major step forward by attracting the CEO of a website company to design and implement a website for the group. It was at this meeting I had planned/hoped to announce an annual membership fee for members charged to their companies, but nothing had been accomplished by Moe. As a result, no bank account existed.

Yes, that’s right. All these guys got jobs and I do not - going on 10-years.

The next dinner was set for last Tuesday , 16 February. In the interim, I organised the guest speaker for the dinner and found myself a piece of work – my only piece of work for the whole year – during 8 days in December. No doubt you were wondering the origin of my eBay money all this time. My health problems flared up and on Christmas Eve I found myself taken by ambulance to the hospital. About this incident I will say that I know beyond any doubt what real pain is now.

After Christmas and during the holiday, I asked the individuals of the Steering Committee for their help. We needed a venue and catering for the dinner. The speaker and presentation were a lock with that groundwork having been done in November. The Steering Committee would do nothing except tell me the dinner should be postponed indefinitely. So I went ahead and spent more of my eBay money at a member’s restaurant to buy the venue and catering. This means I put together the whole deal in a very short time and not in the best of health. As I was so busy it slipped my mind to invite the Steering Committee.

The dinner was not a roaring success but it got done. A small group under 10 had dinner together and the presentation was successful. Moreover the group has not missed one dinner since I founded it.

Paper Back

A funny thing about writers of my acquaintance; a character observation based upon nothing more substantiated than my own observation and suppressed experience as a young wannabe auteur. I recognise writers to be affable gadabouts with an eloquent silver slipperiness plied more in the service of avoiding common work than in anything close to articulating the human condition - unless it is their own, of course. The verisimilitude extends to simile: surrendering the bar to an alcoholic to receive an expert opinion of what's on tap comparative to asking the daydreamer to pronounce life's meaning. Even given my experience as a middle-aged adult, I am still confident that in the everyday world an alcoholic would be turned out were he to use such an obvious trope. Yet writers, a group in the main comprised of middling talents like myself, use this trope with great success. This personal observation accounts for both my decision to pursue a career other than writing as a young man and my aversion to stake my financial well being now as a matured man on the notion that the pen is mightier than a general accounting course. Yet here I am publishing my own daydreams on the most irresponsible and pornographic medium ever created, The Internet.

Sloth

Most people would think that I live the life of Reiley were I not so wretched to speak the truth. As far as my immediate situation is concerned, and as far as it has been concerned for the last 9 years, it hasn't meant a toss to my destiny what I do during the day. In fact, working hard when I first arrived in this country landed me in the hospital for infectious diseases for three days, and continuing to work like a slave put me into the direct path of Martha who arrived with food for my empty fridge and money to pay a doctor to visit me for over exhaustion, yet again. It is commonly understood that I would have nothing to do with Martha were it not for the issue of money and a decisive lack of self-sufficiency in my life. I am not ungrateful to Martha but there is only so much gratitude I can display given my situation to meet her expectations. This sucks us into a repetitive and violent vortex where my powerlessness assuages her personal insecurities while breeding contempt for my powerlessness at the same stroke. This goes beyond a case of someone capricious and unable to decide whether the glass is half empty or half full. It travels into dangerous, dark psychological territory. I do not like to play the role of George but I see no other option, as I am no longer my own man. The more I soldier on, the worse things get; sort of a macabre grotesque of a complementary relationship. George challenges Martha with how much of her he can take before he snaps. It is a ghastly co-dependency wherein I have nowhere else to go/run.

I only have this little inviolate space on The Internet. And even this place must compete with Martha’s expansive sphere of insecurity as well as my poor time management. Moreover, I am insouciantly lazy. It would be wholly unfair for someone other than myself who is familiar with me to categorize me as lazy. Yet, that is the definition of my situation now. It was not always the case. The lesson that no matter what I do the treadmill bears me back is a poignant lesson in abject futility. I will not lower myself to compare my situation to Sisyphus for I believe myself neither living in Hades nor meriting the badge of a legendary figure outside of my own mind/travails. I leave such comparisons for Martha to make as she often browbeats the world, me and troubles deaf Heaven with her bootless cries.

The fact that Albee wrote about my situation so well is purely a case of precognitive art imitating life I can assure you. I used to have a difficult time suspending my belief when watching Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? until I awoke to the reality of myself lying in my bed next to the leading female character. Even my writing this private journal here is a lesson in emotional and intellectual skullduggery, betrayal and guilt. The question is: how do I cope? And the simple answer is: badly.

And the hopelessness that often overwhelms me is the prime lever of Sloth. I try to work my life around these Blog entries as a means of throwing off this cute little demon spawn. It is hard to do when the energy level is below functional normal and the opportunities for detour from the path of industry is so great. Almost anything connected with a normal life can be a trigger. Masturbation is one example.

Nothing is more destructive to my productive day than enjoying a good wank in the morning, and nothing is more compelling to fill the void of an endless day. Masturbation proffers a deceptive promise of fulfillment, which is as bogus as its guarantee of a quick practicality. In actuality, it is the satisfying effect of fulfillment that is premature and the detrimental affect of the practice that is long lasting on me.

The allure of sex, for me, is about primal control. On the one hand, being the male counterpart, I first need to exact more control on my person than my female counterpart exacts on her body otherwise the whole activity prematurely concludes. On the other hand, my partner needs to lose her control and inhibition to me. Masturbation imbalances this equation with only one hand to fulfill the whole action, as I have no counterpart but myself, and it requires my failure on that hand to exert self-control. The bodily process of sexual activity is about this sweaty-sweet struggle that concludes in a mutually satisfying climax in my definition. The fulfilling process of fucking means I master myself and I must also master my partner. To put it euphemistically, my goal is to send my female counterpart into orbit before I blast off. But when this bodily process functions as a standard procedure of mechanical release, it affectively destroys the alluring component of control as it simply empties my vessel. I then become this emptied vessel when I am seduced by my own adult desire, reducing the scope of my manhood to a daily grind of wanking myself to exhaustion accompanied by nothing more authentic than my own hand, my imagination and a choice selection of lesbian pornography.

And once that is done, I have nothing more I want to accomplish than cuddle Narcissus and go to sleep.

Sadly, this is one accomplishment I can achieve everyday in the last 9 years I have lived where I do now. Habits are hard to form in the best of circumstances. It is difficult for me to habitually write everyday, or even be routinely disciplined about other matters, and I always have a variety of excuses from a big black duffle bag of my own conscious and subconscious experience. Masturbation is much easier a habit to form since its reward is at once pleasingly illusionary and essentially need fulfilling at the most base level.

But that little sloth sure fucks up my day. No pun intended.

And Martha…? Well, it seems weird to me that anyone might not understand but a shrill, screaming, childlike and dangerous harpy-shrew is not alluring to me in bed. She is good looking and otherwise that might be alluring on it own – more so than a stack of lesbian pornography. But beauty alone is not adequate to tip the scales of my masculinity when so much else weighs so heavy on emasculating me.

To find the boy to become the man, I look to my writing. Is it a right of passage? Passage to where?

O-Bloody, Ob-La-Da

I awoke about 7am, by the time the sun had already arisen. My Benefactrix, to whom I will henceforth refer as Martha, was just pulling her shimmy over her head in the routine preparation to face the impending workday. This is a weekday ritual that is, for me as a spectator, something akin to watching boys dress in a locker room. Once upon a time, I was a boy in a locker room gearing up to face the competition outside and privy to the systematic pre-game skeining ritual. I vaguely recall now there was a spiritual sacredness to the operation incanting a vibration inside an invisible, infinite stone sanctuary. Thoughts within this sanctuary banished concerns from the outside world with each piece of gear, assembled outer layers to sheath us at the center of a mental onion. The best of us invested ourselves in stoic silence as we donned our armour raiment and looked forward to the events on the field where we would meet and shape our destiny. As a boy, I did this unconsciously. I played the position of centreman in ice hockey and turned over in my mind inventive ways to win the draw, and visualized moments of potential glory. I remember that I was a very good centreman, controlling the puck more times than losing it. I hated losing and took out my frustration abusively on my hockey stick at the end of a poorly played game. I remember being fiercely committed to taking the puck away from my opponent by attacking his initiative. I also recall my concern for personal safety. I was a small build, weighing about 60 pounds (27 Kg) at the time, so I thought of ways to avoid body checks and inflict physical damage on my would be tormentors. Preparing to address the coming challenges through dressing the soul is a symbolic as well as a practical matter to me, and quiet moments I took into my later life as an adult. Mulling over what my day ahead might look like would begin as I openned my eyes in the hot shower and carry though as I garbed myself. Of course, I do not have to do that now as a kept man but I do have my lapses when I fall back into old habits. As I watched Martha dress in her careless manner I could see that 7am was the time the game had ended with a loss for her team in the lockers.

Sometimes I am awake for this part of the ritual and sometimes I am not. Generally the whole practice goes unnoticed by me. I cart myself over to the computer, fire it up, pad to the toilet, and then see Martha off like a faithful pet. I have foregone my morning pattern to shower these days, preferring to dry from the greasiness of night sweats until afternoon or return to bed, sometimes going whole days without either a shower or a shave.

I shave once a week now, on the day I go to Toastmasters. Toastmaster meetings are a recent addition to my life's siesta, and I do expect to be halfway through my first certificate in 3 months - a rapid pace for this region of the world where telephones that are answered after the caller has forgotten the purpose of his call but just before he hangs up are considered speedy.

Blogging The Block

So I have monkeyed around with this site's eye candy compiling the widget things for a total of one whole morning. Hurray for me. The Internet proves once again that it is better than carrying an empty file folder around the office and it is just as meaningful. No wonder it is an army invention.

Alas, I find myself with time remaining in the day and no pressing engagements while Ms. Benefactrix is out making the money. Moreover I have the vitality to write more meaningless, never-to-be-read, purple prose. If I remain true to form, I shall tire shortly if inspiration continues to drive me so harshly. Nothing beats practice like lazy I can attest.

I have been living cloistered in a foreign country serving what amounts to a 10-year sentence sequestered in seclusion with the appearance of freedom. Clearly this was my choice mitigated by experience and opportunity. This won't stop me from railing against my prison but the realisation does suggest some wisdom is waiting for me around the corner. I just hope it is the next corner. Ten years ago is a long time to rehash a diary entry so I will make the conscious effort to live today forward rather than backward. My one regret is that I did not follow the creative writer's path earlier when I had the chance 24 years ago. I cannot be entirely sincere in this rueful reminiscence as a mother cannot completely regret her child. I did follow a different path and that easily suggests it was not all that bad.

Still my time with this backward culture and its people have taught me the power of being an author. Perpetually unemployed, unless it is the spiritually crushing spurts that position me like some exhibit at the English language zoo, I have ample time to romanticize from my chair behind this side of The Internet about being a published author and the economic freedom that would provide for me. In my daydream, I carelessly spend imaginary earnings from Bangor to Bombay and travel without worry as I once did as a child. This, alongside my daily realisation that my apprehension of the English language mechanics remained relegated to the native speaker darkness, is the intellectual legacy of my arrival here at the turn of the century.

Ironically, I have improved my English with the locals while any facility with the locals' language has gone undeveloped. So much for the power of native speakers is my wry observation when, in truth, language comes to me with some difficulty. If it were not the case, I would have become a writer a quarter century ago. Living by my wits, I have honed my perspicacity to sharpen my strengths and avoid falling prey to my weakness. However, this culture does not value my strengths and this leaves me operating in an upside-down world.

I have tried to bring my strengths to bear on my destiny over the last near decade but to no avail. For the last 4 years, Ms. Benefactrix has been my sole economy to pay for food, shelter, and clothing as well as the occasional doctors' fee and cup of coffee. It is not a role I enjoy in this upside-down world I live but it is what it is - and the relationship is eerily akin to Albee's George and Martha, their child being the aborted economy Benefactrix holds over me. Snap go the dragons indeed!



When I was a teenager, I had this fantasy to be married to a woman who would earn the money that would allow me to stay home and write. I was writing at that time. Now I find writing to be a tedious exercise and it is like running: something that takes routine and practice before it can become enjoyable. I do not like running either but that is the comparison I make from what runners have told me. I have resisted running much better than I have resisted writing all these years but fate has now granted me my childhood fantasy it seems; and the only way I can recover my manhood is by finding that boy within me and his capacity to write.


I mean it is not as like I am running to do anything else at this point...

The Author-Da-Fé

What is an author-da-fé?
It is a faith I have in my own inability to continue my procrastination in regards achieving my creative writing goals. I am a heretical author: a writer who has not written anything in a good many years. My God is Paul Varjak. I take some comfort in knowing I am one of a great throng worshiping him in the bars, cafés and bus stops all over the word wherever a pretty girl can be chatted up. This religion is a haven for mediocrity within the arts that is second only to the main branch that serves the many waiters/actors and porn stars. I would say the no talents but that would be imprecise because many of us sadly have the talent but all of us lack the impetus. We are what Casanova would have been were he castrated.

My goal, you may inquisit, is to become a heretic of this faith. Yes, I intend today to actually stop loitering in the room where the women come and go talking of Michelangelo and actually create something. God knows what because Paul Varjak knows not. Perhaps I just wish to create anything; to give but one simple worship to the Tempter as I am led by the spirit onto the heights of penmanship after a very long creative fast.

Or perhaps this will be a short lived burst of pretentious crap? If so, it does not matter. Paul Varjak does not mind. He will welcome me back to the throng in his worship with his affable indifference.

Every charlatan knows that a writer must write. So this blog is to aid me in that - to give me some proof positive. It is not to be a coherent running essay on a topic. It is not to be a novel. In fact, I take a certain perverse delight in designing this blog's appellation so that no one will read it except me. I do have two stories imprisoned in my mind but I have not written a meaningful word about either, as is my habit. Since my habits are hard to break, this is an electronic place for those unmeaningful words to gather in practice waiting for the day when meaningful words take their place on a printed page. I am sure this will be a tedious everyday eventuality.

My current situation mirrors Paul Varjak in the most key way: Mrs. Failenson. In my particular case, my little Benefactrix is a Ms. and lives with me in a contemptuous parasitic love affair that threatens to auto asphyxiate us. Thus, proving once again we can die by it, if not live by love. And if unfit for tomb or hearse our legend be, it will be fit for verse. And if no piece of chronicle we prove, we'll build in sonnets pretty rooms. So much for my education. Well, what's Donne is done.

If this experiment is successful, I will be writing everyday. If I am not writing to become an author on paper then I will be writing electronically here to test the limits of my procrastination. Whereas I will be writing creatively for paper, I will be writing as close to the truth here as possible so that it serves a purpose for me in reading it backwards.

My Benefactrix makes keeping a personal diary anywhere else but on the anonymous Web an impossible achievement. Parasites, regarding their own self interest, do not mean to harm the host but they often do. It is in their nature I suppose.