Roses, Titles and Beers for Tea

It really has been a while. And no, the memory lane promenade just made me cringe. Although I have to say, it does matter – there is my being there, you know? It’s easy to dismiss things you said or wrote a while ago but I never could. There’s a whole world in the way you twisted some letters and not others, in the way you reasoned. Frankly though, there are times I read things I wrote in the past and I’m left staring at the page, literally in awe or disgust (no in between). Only God knows how I forget some things.

Speaking of Him..

… There is no actual point to this post.

It is good to be here though. A challenge I do not even want to ponder right now but, something I know I’ll personally end up loving.

Anyway, it all happens for a reason so, HERE GOES 🙂

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You will know them by their Fruit

We are led to believe that Africa is the bedrock of hope. Some days I know this, and some days I could never feel more at loggerheads with the very thought. Allow me to share this tug of war that at some point in time, in one way or another, has filled the hearts and minds of most African children. Let me start by saying that, there is much to be weary of. If you are objective about the matter, that is to say, objective about the African experience, you will see the personification of a Beauty consumed by the beasts within. Decade after decade, questionable (and some would rather, damnable) economic and political policies have continually stood firm against the right to joy and prosperity. And so, day in and day out, we are torn asunder by the inequality of this land, an inequality imposed by men on their fellow men (cue Thomas Hobbes, known henceforth on this blog as, The Genius.).

 

“I came into the world imbued with the will to find meaning in things, my spirit filled with desire to attain the source of the world, and then I found out that I was an object among other objects.”

Franz Fanon, “Black Skin, White Masks”

 

Is this what happened to our people? Were they underwhelmed by the prospects offered by endemic poverty? Did they, in that state of disillusionment, lose the essence of humanity? ‘Realizing’ that they, were objects, to be used, and abused, and as such, acting in like, made that vengeance much too vivid for all? The aforementioned excerpt was voiced by one whose attraction to African liberation burned brightly throughout his life. I would unfortunately offer that not many share this frankly idealist enthusiasm for political consciousness, and not many would be willing to entertain the measures he did. Despite this, his very works spoke to the fact that it is difficult to be an African and be a man of hope. And with a glint in my eye, I realize that the experience of being a child of this continent can be somewhat likened to the first few verses of Romans 5. With no doubt, the verses speak of a maturity that would be continually learned, again and again, as the peaks and plateaus of life showed themselves true. As one would unfortunately intuit however, this is not a “luxury” many aspiring politicians on our dear continent can afford.

 

This became all the more vivid after I had a conversation with a friend of mine a few days ago. This conversation in my mind is in fact entitled, “The State of the Kenyan Nation – WHAT KENYAN NATION?” She in essence was painting pictures of a day in the life of the Ngiturkana. It is a life many of us Kenyans think we know of, but in verity, could not even fathom. We are a shameful people sometimes. No matter. I shall proceed. She had gone to their little country on assignment and was filling me in on the life altering experience she encountered. Yes, I said THEIR COUNTRY. Let no one kid themselves into believing that Turkana is treated as part of Kenya; indeed its fate has most certainly and most recently been affected by the prospect of oil discovery but if we disregard this blatant greed, the root of abandonment still remains. As I digress. She spoke of a Turkana that I indeed, had never fathomed. I saw, figuratively of course, a land alive with beauty and promise, hurled into a time-defying abyss of hopelessness and dearth. The gravity of this absurdity very ironically was far past the very definition of “ironic” – I say this in very weighty consideration of the Devolution dispensation, and all it espouses to be. As the conversation progressed (and our disappointment grew more acute), we realized how the development of underdevelopment was still being actively perpetuated.

 

Now when I say men preying on fellow men, this is what I refer to. As long as there is no development of the Nation; the sacred development of that collective consciousness that draws Turkana and Taita alike nigh to an existence more sublime than the very present affliction, there can never be a State that rises to the occasion. Why? The State exists to make manifest that very consciousness; to fulfill the dreams and aspirations of the indigenous man. And that is the SOLE reason any and every State would find itself worthy of the title. This has been the “conundrum” of the African continent. All throughout history, and unfortunately, the entire continent, ideals upon which a nation, a true nation is founded, have fallen prey to the greed within the State. This, in the African experience, has given birth to a “symbiotic” relationship of most disturbing proportions.

 

“Ye shall know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles?”

 

What can be said thence? What tears can be shed? Our fathers, uncles and grandfathers have burgled from their mothers, daughters and wives all for the satiation of  inferiority complexes  misplaced vanity . Some would suffice it to say that they have robbed them of their own dignity – please note that I used the word “burgle”. This is not used in pursuit of word play, neither is it used in an absence of metaphor. The people SEE this blatant thievery, KNOW of the abhorring practices of impunity – but what do they do? A myriad of answers would surface.

 

But on the other hand…

 

There are days I am filled inexplicably with hope. Watching the Burkinabe oust a man – all in the name of Thomas Sankara spawned rays, nay, waves of joy in a manner that words are much too shallow to express. But I must say that I do not logically experience this hope, no, I cannot say that I am hopeful because of pragmatic discourse. Pragmatic discourse has, time and TIME AGAIN, proven that we in essence, are creatures damned by the very self-defeatist habits that have come to define us. And yet, the feeling is as liberating as sun on my skin – especially after a cloudy spell. This priori, because that is what it is, remains, and is the manifestation of what WE, COULD BE. In my mind, it is the cornerstone upon which the liberation of the African people was envisioned; the momentous, and continuous realization of dreams painfully dreamt by our parents and grandparents. It is the voyage to a consciousness born of our own hearts, a consciousness shaped by the very beat of these hopeful hearts.

 

These may very well be dreams, maybe even mirages I hallucinate whilst gazing into images of Africa, believing I gaze upon our future. I am sad to say that the positivism directed at our future is massacred in its premature tracks; weeded out by the realities I face all around. It is a battle that faces far too many on our continent; a raging war between what we SHOULD feel; hope, tenacity, excitement – against what we all SEE and unfortunately encounter. I presume that this, is what Fanon may have referred to, and if one truly contemplates the easier feeling to rely on, the priori or the posteriori, it would most certainly be that which would pay the rent.

 

But we will be known by our Fruit, we will be judged by the experiences we allowed to define us. The people we allowed to speak our destiny to us, the battles and wars we failed to fight. Our leaders may be the Rotten Fruit, but we are the Bad Seeds.

 

New Post… Same “Old” Thoughts: An Introduction

It may have been a while for all those who’ve publicly gotten a glimpse into my mind, but its been mere days for me. I open the “New Post” page more often than you would care to believe. As such, far too many drafts lay in the proverbial dust-ridden draft folder, never to be uncovered.

No I haven’t really been experiencing a writer’s block, or a lack of material to share on. The ideas are always there. Half the time, I can’t maintain a single train of thought long enough to document it. I am plagued by all my eyes can capture and my mind can process. Over the months (this phrase will not become popular and there is good reason why), there have been quite a few people who’ve spent considerable chunks of their time inundating my mind further with their expectations on the matter. The queries (read pressures) arise from the presumption that I don’t think enough, or that I am too selfish to share what I think.

For the record, this is far from the truth.

What IS the truth?

One, I am not nearly as perceptive as the paragraphs would suggest. The truth is, I’m growing too quickly for my mind to keep up. Whereas the events of my life are seemingly mundane to most, the reality is that, the lessons I am exposed to are so profound that I have too much to consider at the conclusion of any given day. There are maybe one or two people (and this really is the probable maximum) who may understand the genesis of these thoughts.  And so for everyone else (maybe), I’m the quiet girl who has judgmental, tired and sometimes, angry eyes (again, maybe).

This isn’t an issue for me. It never has been. Well, I may very well be lying there. On most days, the lessons are welcome. Especially because I think I have distinct vein of naivety coursing through me. However, there are times the weight causes me to get home and black out mere hours after 7 (the humiliation of that sentence, ha). And so these thoughts compound the confines of my cranium and never find sufficient release.

There is no actual point to this post. Well, that isn’t true, there’s a point to everything. This (for me, anyway) is the beginning of record; the record of my Exodus. From a state of folly in the Almighty Kingdom of the Faithful and True, in pursuit of Righteousness, Love and Faith.

The attempt to capture a snapshot of each thought, motion and emotion in its most intense is the essence of this blog and maybe, just maybe along the way, I can be able to share just what the Lord means to me, has done for me, and everything that falls thereon. Yes, I will admit, there has also been cowardice and a fear that has hindered the sharing of my thoughts and observations thence. BUT the Word of God is clear, both as an encouragement and a warning, and that’s where I’ll pick it up from.

 

May my Soul never be Weary in the Presence of His Liberating Love.

Why Randy Rothwell and I should be friends.

From a significantly tender age, I was aware of the fact that I had a will that could withstand pretty much anything. My mind could adjust to any situation thrown at me without much fuss or mulling over what exactly it was I was adjusting to. I factually held on to this empirically tested Ninja Mindset until I started walking home from work. When you’re prancing along with a pleasant companion, the kilometers do not diminish before your eyes but, the nature of the experience is EXACTLY that – pleasant. In the chronicles of my lone travels, however, the weight of my laptop, and absurdly non-existent levels of fitness (ie lactic acid) continually did me in. I sometimes just wanted to calmly lie by the roadside and lament ie loudly chastise myself on how useless I was, and not because I couldn’t get into a jav and feel useless in there but, because my “empirically tested” mindset had been blown apart in less than a week. Interestingly this week, however, something drastic and unexpected happened. I was walking home, without the laptop ie, baggage of failure  as I unconsciously began to prove verses I’ve always loved:

“And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also ;
knowing that tribulation worketh patience ;
and patience, experience
and experience, hope”

(I REALLY do love KJV)

Anyway.

… I felt beauty.

Yes, even in sweat, there is beauty.

Beauty in things that I would never have perceived or begun to fathom unless my much-too-rusty comfort zone was tormented a tad. The more heavily my body was challenged, the more aptly it responded. Now, don’t get me wrong, these record breaking moments are only in reference to MY ability; lack thereof. However, there is in fact a distinct joy in those moments in which you’re very much aware of the fact that you’re being tested, be it physically or mentally. It’s something my boss brought up sometime ago, albeit with very different intent; training your mind to function and perceive on an alternate level by continually challenging yourself. And with my Faith, I’m learning it in an absolutely jaw dropping manner. I discovered new things on Monday; things that had always been there that I never saw because now, I had yielded to the demands of the experience, and was willing to push as hard as I needed to (BUT with the weight of an approximately 100 gram backpack strapped to me). As a result, HOWEVER, I appreciated how these disagreeable (the mind is willing but the body, woi) moments are seen with delight and rejoicing;

I finally understood why some people treat working out like Fudge Cake.

The Living God and my journey with Him has shown me the value of how unprepared and overwhelmed I may always be; mentally anticipating but unable to comprehensively calibrate. The push has been for His Glory: whence my broadened, and more robust horizon brings clearer vision and understanding into the eyes of my Faith. (Let me digress a little more, if I may) I remember seeing a bevy of ladies on this same day, who, I can say with some level of confidence, were daily help. They each had these gargantuan loads on their backs, and yet, there was a sweet tenacity in their conversation that made my eavesdrop nerves tingle. Reasons why? One, the fact that they almost flying even with these Atlas like encounters on their backs; and two, they seemed much happier than the millions (no, really, so many people jog nowadays??) of joggers whose shoes cost more than their monthly wage.

Life is wondrous like that, isn’t it?

And this all happened in Kile.

Moving on.

The greatest lesson was to let go, and really just Let God. Because the things I shall see, I shall insist on seeing, are things that undermine His ability; my potential. All the plausible dimensions of pure awesome that humanity cannot generate. Even in the trying moments that draw painful solitude in the nature of the experience, HE will be there and I will be better for it. I have a picture in mind. You know how this year’s Daily Bread looks? I don’t want that for my Faith; it has a certain, “I have a shiny beginning, clean middle and pleasurable end” feel to it. I instead would rather the Daily Bread from Bangladesh. Now, I don’t mean to be condescending at all about this, I really don’t. Think of what you know of Bangladesh, and if it’s as much as I do, you’re only aware of two things: buildings usually collapse because of how cheap labour is there and, the location of High Commission in Kenya. My life in Christ is like a Bangladesh. I have no bearing of my where life will take me in a couple of years, and I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all because, even in my dimwittedness (yeees, we read that study in which, we’re dafter than atheists); I have this SOURCE of Joy, and Grace, and Wonder, that makes me think of those days I lived without it in perplexment. I know there are profoundly “lactic” moments I’ll encounter, melt downs, too, and when the trepidation begins to cause palpitations, I’ll continue to remember that True Love drives out all fear.

What else do I need.

“Bless the Lord, O my soul,
and forget not all his benefits :
who forgiveth all thine iniquities ;
who healeth all thy diseases ;
who redeemeth thy life from destruction ;
who crowneth thee with loving-kindness and tender mercies ;
who satisfieth thy mouth with good things ;
so that thy youth is renewed like the eagle’s.”

I think of the Mastery (I’ve heard a review) and the 48 Laws of Power and shudder in the pleasure of my dimwittedness; the world would tell you to search for a man’s weaknesses and use that to your advantage to further your own goal.

As if Hobbes needed to be proven right.

A young citizen of the Kingdom of God may turn to Psalms 103:1-5; I do and my faculties fail me in lieu of the true feeling of success that continually gushes over me. The interesting bit is that Christianity is not for the meek; it’s not easy to lead, it’s not plainly worded out for today’s world as the Pope and his British friend would have us believe. It is a daily journey, whence the strength, the grace and the courage is drawn to lead a life over pouring with Joy. So that, in every moment of struggle, there are no tears, only a stirring of His Strength, renewed even in our sin, for the Joy of His Salvation is sublime – in Spirit and in Truth, as he prepares me to be a Sanctuary, pure and holy, tried and true, so true.

The Silence has been… so Wonderfully Overwhelming.

When I started this little blog with ingenious ideas like, making all the colours clash, I wasn’t even aware of the ACTUAL trajectory it would take. All I had was a gnawing little pinch to share the few thoughts that accosted me from time to time. Some of the words I subsequently shared (and please note that this is not a stab at self marketing) have gotten splendid reviews for reasons I’m not too conversant with. Whereas the very slight recognition has done wonders to exercise the 12 muscles in my face that keep my youth “intact”, I regard my page in retrospect now as I am in this moment, and recognize that indeed, transforming isn’t just for akina Megatron – hence the title, in fact. You MAY have noticed that I haven’t posted anything in a while, and it really isn’t that my brain has shut down in view of the Christmas season, or that my “imminent” graduation from this phase has come to pass (there is someone in this Nairobi who actually believes that this, my medium of inquisitive discourse, is a phase) but it is in verity, a de facto paradigm shift of the most epic proportions. If I may modify the statement I would say, it is a graduation from self destructive darkness to Infinite Light: where my senses are constantly being overcome by Sublime Splendor.

 The silence has been deafening; the poignant brutality of the irony is, even as I spoke against the sociopolitical darkness of the world, I was engulfed in a similar vacuum that grew more and more insatiable, complete with damning abyss-like silence (read self defeatist tendencies) where I observed the anguish of others with a twisted empathy… and then HE saved me with an epiphany of Love Everlasting: I have been overwhelmed by a beautifully deafening calm.

Seeing as that I can’t seem to keep explanations to myself, I shall indeed expound. However, let me clarify that deafening here doesn’t actually refer to me becoming deaf but  to the realization that I live in this world but, I am not of it. Like, I am being deafened to the ways of the world. Moving on.

To me, salvation had always seemed a futile exercise, particularly in this day and age, and all for a very simple reason: Christians are hypocrites. Please note that this idea still languishes in my mind to a certain degree. However, before my Surrender, I genuinely did believe that this journey was already being travelled in my heart, albeit with a little too much Pilsner from time to time. Even in the moments that my flesh ran away with my dignity and staggered on a much-too-, I knew my heart was purer than the hearts of many who had been saved around the time that Mao Zedong was in primary school. I thought it ludicrous to share a platform with these faceless fiends who were tarnishing the sacred Honour of His name with their mere presence and so, I let the purity of my heart speak to Heaven and I genuinely convinced myself that I would make it there. This is actually one of the things that still irk me about supposed children of the Kingdom: people come and try minister to you by using the Heaven/Hell gimmick – scaring people into getting born again. I used excuses like these to hinder my final step into His capable embrace, assuring myself that I was on a somewhat successful pursuit of happiness (please cue Kid Cudi because THAT IS MY POINT) and yet, we all know how fleeting this sort of happiness is.

God brought one of my closest friends, a co-worker and a man who doesn’t even know my name to a nexus in which I was drawn to the very entrance of a new life. It was a magical fortnight because my spirit was drawn closer and closer to HE, who is with us until, I had nothing left to go back to, and an eternity of True Peace to behold. (I can say this now, although at the moment itself, I had the constant feeling of an impending implosion of my skull as all logic escaped me)

Peace, Joy, Patience, Love.

As some of you may know, these comprise a fraction of the Fruit of the Holy Ghost and this blog post for all intents and purposes, is my testimony; that’s why I put the afore mentioned in such a manner. These “nouns” are being manifest through the Cross in my life and have changed the way I see EVERYTHING, and I don’t even have to put it in a tattoo. I am born again, not because I wanted to save myself from hell, or because I thought struggle will be but a memory, but because His Love has transformed me, is transforming me, and will continue to transform me in a way that no other love can. I look the same; have the same sense of style, have the same voice but, these avenues are no longer tuned into the things of this planet and yes, dear children, I love the feeling.

… There is no such thing as Tabula Rasa: The Cycle of Spontaneity.

The past several days have been for me, a culmination of a life-long lesson that had been darting silently in the shadows, lingering wordlessly behind my ignorance and me. I wouldn’t want to say that the experience has been pleasant but, when the world teaches you a lesson I find that you never do forget it, and it thus sets in motion a version of yourself that forever negates whoever you may have been before the “life altering event”. Not that the “event” has led to a need for shock therapy however, it has forced me to perceive man and his nature;  is he inherently bad or, do we just need to spread a little more love in the world?  Think about it, and while you’re at it, take your mind on a little trip around the world: feel free to indulge the vast expanse of time that has provided us with an insight into human nature. I never wanted to believe this but, I think man has the potential for the sort of cruel tendencies that may never be completely purged by wonderful pure, simplicity. Think of the priceless innocence radiated through a child’s eyes into your very existence; the glimpse into their soul is instantaneous and thus, shaming to your own sinful one and so, no matter how many monks burn themselves in silent revolution against political inhumanity, there will always be monks beating up a clergyman somewhere else.

During my first semester in university, I took a class known as Social Psychology. I fear that the subject matter of the course pales in comparison to the sweet silent promises offered in the title. No matter, I learnt something that I believe is worth sharing: socialization, according to this class, is the basis for the erection of an individual’s psychological structure. The lecturer indulged various examples to prove his point and whereas the logic was very apparent, I wondered whether it can be accepted as gospel truth; this is why I brought up indulging your mind in the history of the world. Socialization encourages a certain degree of Utopia in that, positive socialization yields Mother Theresa, and vice versa could yield Issey Sagawa. More than anything, socialization emphasizes that a parent, as a primary agent of socialization for instance, may single handedly derail a child from being a sociopath: yes, yes, this is utter bullshit. I recognize that indeed, environmental factors (socialization really) can mold you into a being that you may have otherwise never been, but is the CYCLE of life truly THAT spontaneous? Please recognize the oxymoron – one that we like to propagate as truth so shamelessly. I wonder who, with absolute certainty, can be able to argue against the value of inherited traits, especially in opposition of socialization in determining the nature of one’s behaviour. I believe that one is guided in their adult life by a need to achieve and secure his own wants and needs, and this is the point of pointless life.

Life is Solitary, Poor, Nasty, Brutish and Short

Enter, Thomas.

Thomas Hobbes felt that man was well, a violent douche in the “State of Nature” and I completely agree. I never used to feel this way; it must be said that I believed it was Locke who had seen human nature in its entirety, that there is innate goodness, selflessness, humanity in the world, but now, I’m hard pressed to believe that he didn’t grab the wrong end of the Chicken vs. Egg debate. Acting from the point of personal interest is indeed the basis of human nature, is it not? This is why, methinks, realism is so robust today and it is why I must stand on the same end of the debate with Hobbes, albeit reluctantly. I recognize that Gandhi DID die for peace and that there are good intentions within noble men BUT, I am also cognizant of how depressingly sick and twisted many people are, and how innate it is (I mean, people can comfortably rape animals, old women and little creatures who can barely even own the title “girl” and be audacious enough to sleep at night).  If you sit down and truly think of the League of Nations and it’s inconsequential successor, the civil wars in the world and “goodwill” exhibited by the developed world in the developing world, you may recognize the selfish nature of men AROUND THE WORLD, THROUGHOUT HISTORY This, in my opinion, is not generally the curriculum in schools, or the teachings in homes and yet, nature, and a cruel one at that, always seems to trump nurture, no matter how pure it may be. This is not even about those nuns whose convent was discovered to be a host of all sorts of sexual and alcohol debauchery, but it does it add to the point.

I must state for the record that academia, even in my shallow understanding of it, can be much too theoretical to prove the things that really matter. However, on this point, I shall embrace it wholeheartedly. Hobbes’ belief that man is too selfish and self serving to co-exist with his fellow man in the absence of a leviathan, whose objective is to regulate the cruel nature of human organization and ambition may be harsh, but true. The Social Contract Theory is indeed one of the most profound attempts to explain human organization and the factors that influence that very same organization in what is in essence, a political system. As a side note, we could even thrive without the presence of governments considering just how bloody useless incompatible they are with their respective nation’s needs. You may be thinking that I am being a cow because, they are humans too and so, I can’t really judge as we are all so visibly flawed. That is actually my point. Another very poignant illustration can be read where the Jedi’s Council meets Plato’s Republic.

Why exactly is Robert Greene’s little orange and blue book such a success? I think we can agree it is not because he felt guilty about the underhanded and brutally selfish nature of the corporate ladder in the way Facebook feels about sharing decapitation videos for the sake of derailing people from watching them, you know what I mean? (The Facebook thing really is mind boggling, though) He wrote the 48 Laws of Power because that is indeed the body of work one would need whilst in pursuit of success in today’s capitalist world. There is no need to explain the logic behind it, human beings are just self important assholes. Why else are the permanent members of the UN Security Council incidentally the most powerful nations in the world? And why are they suddenly so friendly with the same Germany that was written off after Hitler’s little “suicide”? My point is, we will always be perversely self serving beings. In fact, I read an article that compared Locke’s and Hobbes’ differing ideals on rights that may make my point. The former believed that rights were inherent, even in the state of nature, whereas the latter believed that in the state of nature, as so sublimely illustrated by our much wilder compatriots in jungles that, such aspects are of no use unless there are institutions that can support these same rights, that is, man would basically descend into an oblivion of self serving mayhem. According to Hobbes, it is why the social contract was created in the first place.

I wonder if I’m being too critical because the Social Contract Theory was propounded in the 17th Century and it has insight into a verity that no one can deny today. Somalia is an unfortunate example. If I am being too critical then, why has socialization and the nurturing hand of humanity failed to rectify this? We are here today, harping about the same inherent selfishness that Plato talked of.

I will not say man is bad, even though I did mention it much earlier. I think we’re animals and we do whatever needs to be done to achieve any given end goal and because of the advancement of ethics, religion, “evolution”, we now realize there is something wrong with that, but, we can’t REALLY change. We never will. Will Somalia EVER achieve true stability, and I ask with my most sincere wishes of success in their pursuits on the table. However, facts do not lie.Their year old Prime Minister may be impeached before you finish reading this. Another question: why else do people always repent when they present themselves to the Almighty in prayer? Even in children, there are those whom an adult can see is just a little douche; the mean little boy who won’t share anything, irrespective of his mother’s hard smacks (if he is African).

Morbid or not, Hobbes’ gaped into your ancestors soul and ripped your heart out through your chest because, facts don’t lie.

What Aesthetics mean to a Young African Girl featuring, Norma Jeane Mortenson: The Story that SHOULD have been told

I feel so strongly about this, I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to go ahead and make my ideas on it known. Ideas on beauty, especially in THIS world, have taken a much too skewed form, resembling nothing (in my most humble opinion) close to what true beauty SHOULD look like. And in fact, therein lies my point; true beauty shouldn’t be seen so much as heard, felt, encountered. Whence these absurd notions of beauty find their origin, I believe; a corruption, and in many ways, corrosion of the philosophically and spiritually realized ideals of aesthetics realized in places like The Academy into one linear, monopolized, superficial load of concentrated crap that we celebrate  today (again, this is in my most humble opinion). I do admit, that there is indeed a fine line between beauty and well, beasts and so my treasure isn’t necessarily yours and this cultural relativity is what makes the world is deliciously diverse in some respects (this message was brought to you courtesy of Anthropology). However,  the similarities that can be drawn from “diverse ideals of beauty” from around the world are a little, woi?

Enter Norma.

In my mind (because she and I have been permanently separated by time), I see her as a beautifully flawed individual, whose kinks were her strengths, and she was stunning in each respect technology has allowed me to encounter her. In the world in which she lived however, that was not the kind of beauty that society was interested in. Whereas no one in the world seems particularly interested, I’ve spent all the years I’ve known of her, held captive by my curiosity that has been so inclined to the waves of emotive, unpleasant truth that laid beneath the so carefully crafted veneer. But, again, I do believe that aesthetics refer to an entirely different enterprise, and Norma, thus ended up riding that superficial tide to a T, abusing it, as it abused her.

Why would I say such a factual thing; Norma, and I mean NORMA (if you already understand of whom exactly I speak), and I share deep, sacred and even shameful similarities, needs I would call them and Maslow has shown this. I think that’s why I may be as inclined to this warped concept of aesthetics in the modern era. These needs surround our almost gluttonous vacuums within, insatiable for anything and everything that could even pretend to fill the hole more commonly known as self worth (cue Out of Eden’s “Looking for Love in all the Wrong Places”. You know why you don’t know that song? You weren’t good girls and boys in Sunday School). People spend their entire lives, struggling to clutch at the elusive straws, and because they do it from the outside to the inside, looking good to feel good as it were, it ends up being a most futile lifestyle and at the end of the day, all you leave behind are dreams, because you never actually had the chance to share what YOUR beauty truly was.

At this juncture I must state that, this idea could go in very different directions. I say this because, beauty has come to define the world, well rather, our pursuit of beauty: with the idea that once we embody the fleeting concept, happiness, self actualization and peace galore shall be our portion. It may look like a sentence directed at women but, it really isn’t.

I haven’t done any research on it or anything, these are but the lamentations of my soul, in regards to, in connection with, a soul that, is simultaneously separated and joined with my own. I read a blog post earlier today about what true romance entails, and things like, a man wrapping his arm around his wife’s thickening waist, stood out. More and more, I hear people speak of love and as they do, they highlight all the things you don’t actually SEE. Despite this, I feel that the studies and lamentations of Plato, Kant (and Longinus?), in which the roots and nature of true beauty were pretty philosophically reflected upon are ignorantly and continually corrupted as time has progresses.

Thus, beauty has become more and more institutionalized as it becomes more and more fleeting, and a within-the-box conclusion had been drawn from it: very few human beings are naturally beautiful and it is your duty to be beautiful for the world, whether or not your soul can stomach it. This isn’t about dying your hair, wearing cosmetic contact lenses or even losing weight, it is very obviously about WHY these things are important to many women – and men.

Back to Dearest Norma.

“She had a luminous quality. A combination of wistfulness, radiance, and yearning that set her apart and made everyone wish to be part of it – to share in the childish naivete which was at once so shy and yet so vibrant”

Lee Strasberg, as he read her eulogy.

Norma had a big bright smile, wonderful auburn hair, a little button nose and a very characteristic overbite. She, in my opinion, and maybe this will come off as a little homo but, would be the girl I took home to meet andu wakwa if I could marry girls and just like me, other people also thought her stunning (albeit for some slightly more perverse reasons). I recognize why she was ultimately thrust to stardom – she had it, and she didn’t even know it. I think that is the basis of beauty; I don’t want to say stupid things like it’s the “X” factor but, like a prism, draws in the “ordinary” from within and expresses it extraordinarily in simple experiences of humanity – and if you think of people who are beautiful from the inside out, that’s their thing. In this direction, I feel I should share a little bit of Plotinus; he and this extract from Ennead are millenia old but, so pretty and profound…. thus this extract has become a little sacred to me, in fact.

“It is shown that beauty cannot lie wholly in matter, nor wholly in a form which is only one expression of the beauty dwelling in art, and which is inferior to the original form in the artist’s mind, for still more beautiful than these must be the cause of both, the reason which contains art. 

Turning to nature, it is shown that the beauty of an animal is not merely in flesh or in size of body, but in the form imparted by nature to her works furthermore, that the cause of nature must be more beautiful than nature herself. Beauty does not consist in size, because the same form can be given both to a large and to a small object. 

    Coming then to man, it is pointed out that he may enjoy the beauty of the external world, and yet be unaware of internal beauty, and of that within the soul which is the cause of his delight in the outer form. The inner beauty is to be found in things without magnitude, such as duty, virtue, law, and a beauty of character in soul, so great as to render the observer oblivious to lack of bodily beauty. 

In order to appreciate fully such formless beauty, man must himself to the same degree become beautiful within.”

The reason I mentioned earlier that Norma Jeane Mortenson (Baker, etc) and I share a few sacred similarities is because, I know what it’s like to be self defeatist; to internally (please read constantly and humiliatingly), sub consciously  and in “vain”, seek for that grandeur, Divine purpose that warrants your existence; to struggle with the true meaning of beauty and whether the conclusions you draw should be commensurate with the definitions set by society; to want to change aspects of yourself in the hopes of better aligning yourself with acceptance from fools who, like to talk about nothing, anyway. I’ve never judged her for her struggle, there was a lot to struggle with and in fact, that struggle added to the harmonious disunity that was her.

Even as Marilyn Monroe, I still feel drawn to her, but it really is not the same and I wonder why people find that version of her beautiful, especially in relation to what she was before? I guess she (Marilyn) was a dream, an unattainable illusion which drives among many things, the fickle attainment of true “beauty”. Marilyn, despite looking as perfectly effortless as she did, was involved in a lot of shit that contradicted that sex symbol persona that still haunts little boys today.However, the person that people say her to be, with great fondness – isn’t THAT what ACTUALLY made her beautiful? To me, women idolize her for the most absurd reasons; she should be a sex symbol for the spirit that illuminated pictures by way of her mere presence, that made watching her on film so rewarding, not the superficial nonsense of a constructed being that she perambulated so daintily as.

Why are the most “beautiful” the most screwed up? What IS BEAUTY? Is it what we parade on TV screens for little girls to see? Is it something one can apply on their skin?I just remembered a little girl I really used to be fond of, dancing on a table for her parents, basically performing a music video she had seen on TV. Now, believe me when I say that if you saw how that little 5 year old girl looked, it would draw tears to your eyes, or a bucket to your mouth. It was pretty uncomfortable to witness, and it was mainly because her mother was especially impressed with the spectacle. Instead of interrogating what beauty is in this child, she sat there and collaborated in the decay of this child’s being as the little thing shook her ass to Rihanna.

I know what the title of the post says, and I know what is theoretically true, what kills me, time and time again is, we’re moving further and further from the ingredients of the cake and are getting more and more ensconced in the cream on top.

I was born to be a man… or, why Feminism is a fallacy (Take your pick)

As this is a registry of my thoughts, it must be stated for the record that, I think men are the more sublime sex. I say this MAINLY (you know the reasons are a tad many) because modern women have somehow managed to collectively make life just a little more untenable for us. Now it’s true, I’m a girl myself, however I MUST be an advocate against B.S; women like to shoot themselves in the foot from marriage to cars. We can all agree that the typical femme moderne is a tad queer, and I am only human so I have a number of these peculiar habits in my back pocket as well.

Indeed, I’ve even gotten into a physical confrontation with an Afande of Suburban Law, and please believe that I was SUCH a woman about it. Shouting, Cursing, Crying, Yoghurt Hurling; I went the whole fucking nine yards on it. It was quite embarrassing because in hindsight, the emotions I was hurling all over the place made me appear to be that paradoxical woman. My greatest reason for being such a wreck was, I was COMPLETELY defenseless against this guy yet I demanded him to respect me like the grown ass mother fucker that I couldn’t really be unless I was literally Conjestina with a little Mike. (Btw, resistance was quite futile – he was superhuman next to non-existent my upper body strength). I used that example for a reason: I am a part of the stereotype and thus sooooo much more invested because it raises a ka conundrum or two. But first, I’ll tell you why the modern woman and her feminist rants are deluded. It’s a slightly suicidal thing to say but is pretty damn factual. To prove my point, I’ll take it from the top.

Okay so, I think we (Kenyans, really) have seen how this Kenyan “modern woman” looks; she’s pretty much the quintessential material girl. She’s impressed by flashy things; for some, wedding rings, expensive perfume and the exorbitant shininess that makes the cocks of all rich men oh-so-pretty. The latter is for a particular group of women who have the most interesting definition of pride. This is very deliberately, NOT, about them.

Who is this about: very obviously, the Feminists. They’re probably part of this consumerist world, however, they sell such flawed ideals. I wonder, just how many women in the world really think of feminism as a way of life. Whether you believe in the Creation Story or Evolution, I think we females are lying to ourselves about what equality really means. I’ll use the one person I think should be on the planet’s all time “failed people” list, Evans Kidero, to prove my point. If Kidero went and randomly punched his brother, who would give a fuck, honestly; the probable reasons it would grab attention surround the public nature of his current vocation, and his “salacious” problem with acting his age anger management. But when Kidero slapped Shebesh (a woman whose credibility is hanging by mere ropes) it was just pure SCANDAL. Chants of gender abuse echoed louder and louder with misguided optimism as they failed to scrutinize her part in the absurd incident, and only placed blame on Kidero’s shoulders.

“He accosted her!”;

“How can a man who doesn’t even respect women head this county”;

“I don’t care who you are, you NEVER slap a woman!”;

 

 It was just so ironic.

 

This is why: If Kidero were to have a strategic meeting with Shebesh, he would naturally be expected to treat her as a colleague – the only basis for superiority being his job. In every other way, Kidero would have to treat her as an equal, yet in fact, she proved with her continual verbal violence that, she wasn’t. If these two were truly equals, she would probably have hit him back, defended herself like she’s someone whose on the same plane as he is. And it furthers my point home. Women expect to be drowned in chivalry; protected and petted like these much too famous refugee camp escapee looking chihuahua , yet at the same time, be revered as strong characters in any situation: the oxymoron is almost too intense to articulate. Just from basic general knowledge of the two sexes, it’s quite obvious that men and women are not the same and thus, not equal. We can compare two brothers, but we can’t compare a man and his woman. The only reason that siblings of different sexes are compared is because there are common denominators. It really is like talking about equality between a horse and a lion – it’s a little impractical.

Men and women were created for different things, and retarded books like kina Venus vs. Mars actually prove the point. I think women should just get over the shit and pick a side; you can’t be strong AND weak? Look at it from this angle: in Kenya for example, we must have gender parity in government institutions, yes? In the National Assembly, a third of the MPs are supposed to be women. And this is something that women really did advocate for. Now, if there was true equality being practiced here, women wouldn’t be given such an easy time – all the men had to fight to get in, while the women could just throw their arms in the air and preach “gender equality”. Women want to be given opportunities because they are women – not because they’re qualified.

 In my mind, there is no way this contributes to any sort of equality in ANY shape, manner or form. Women celebrate Rosa Parks, Mother Teresa, more than they do Mahatma Gandhi and Malcolm X not because they achieved something no one else in their position did but, because they are women. You’re strong because you are a woman, not because your character evidences it. I believe that men do not have these foolish things; Isaac Newton isn’t celebrated by men because he was one of them, he is celebrated by the academic community because he was brilliant. Women want preferential treatment and then ask to be respected as a general would. It’s retrogressive beyond fucking measure and pretty crass – period. Let’s not be babies about it.

Remember that ka conundrum I was yapping about? So, here it is. I think women look at themselves as subordinates, and when I said that women propagate the problem, I was specifically talking about how women play these sexual, submissive roles just so that they can advance their careers (please keep the last paragraph in mind). I know the rumour mongers are a little vicious however, where there’s smoke, sugar, you know there’s a fire. You see this in the way they look; you can actually SEE the effort being put into the trade of womanhood, because yes, it is an economic activity now. Women use their looks to get ahead and yes, I’ve seen it happen a few times for me. The point I want to drive home is, WOMEN HAVE PLAYED INTO IT. Instead of demanding respect, they wrap themselves in these shorter, tighter skirts to play the game better, instead of asserting their individuality and more importantly, proving what emancipation should be about. Men indeed, look dapper yes, but it is a reflection of character more than anything else if you think about it. A nigga can’t buy class; he’s either on it, or he’s not. But men don’t dress a certain way to land a woman who’ll pay for among many other things, her children’s school fees; it would make Susan B. Anthony roll in her grave (even pictures of her depict her “no-no-boo-boo *snap three times* Madea face”). The men that do don’t have anyone’s respect and so, we can’t continue indulging further mention.

I wonder if I’ve even said anything worth noting. I believe that women need to sit and BE SERIOUS WITH OURSELVES; we are not an endangered species; unable to protect ourselves from the environment, yet we are so quick to scream “women’s rights” every two seconds.