Language and Thought

Linguistic determinism has been majorly debated for years and years without any satisfactory conclusion. "Do the limits of our language really mean the limit of our world?" Well, for the sake of my sanity, I won't go too deep into the confusing details of the theory. It's much safer for my average mind to remain where its understanding makes its stop. And this stop is on Peter Gordon's hypothesis that states that "language MAY shape human thought!" I've purposely capitalized "may" for obvious reasons... Anyway, this is the question that prompted this post; do humans always think in a language they know, or does thought have its own unique language? I've tried to quietly listen to my thoughts a number of times to make sense of it all but I still can't come up with a favorable answer. I know for sure that I think in a particular language when I'm writing,reciting or rehearsing a speech. For I'm more conscious then. But does the same apply when I'm thinking unconsciously? I've never thought so! It's like the mind has its own unique language...a language only the mind understands. Damn, trying to explain this is harder than I thought. Well, sod it! Language may shape human thought but at the end of the day it's the thought that creates language! I'm done here!

Marriages and Divorces

I know I said I had come to the end of my blogging days in one of my previous posts... Oh well, I lied! I'm a soul tortured by words. I can never stop blogging! My intention when I logged in was merely to give my opinion on Demi Moore and Ashton Kuctcher's impending divorce. But I've changed my mind. Quoting Ashton Kutcher: "Marriage is one of the most difficult things in the world and unfortunately sometimes they fail." That says it all. Everything! Finito!!!

Surrealism

They say "what you never had you never miss"? Well... How come I painfully miss him - the one close to the peak where the spirits of the ancestors reside? How come I longingly think of him with every tick of the clock? How come I see him in my cosiest, rosiest dreams?

I strongly believe that besides a gift of natural talent, every great artist has with them an emotion, so overwhelmingly deep, that motivates and helps them be expert at what they do. Others like to call this motivation a drive. As I've always said in my previous posts, an overflow of sadness prompted me to blog. I honestly have no idea what transpired this sadness, but it was so much it needed an outlet. So I blogged. And blogged. I don't know if it's the blogging that cured me of my condition (which I thought was chronic) but one day I woke up and I wasn't sad any more. To my big surprise! And now that I'm no longer sad, I've frustratingly been finding it hard to come up with anything juicy to put down on my anxious page. I feel like my creativity has made a duck on me...has deserted me when I need it the most... When I still badly want to write... Oh yes, I want to write... So bad, the feeling makes me ache so ravingly in my bones. I want to write And write... I want to write till it makes me sick to my stomach Only I have nothing else left to write... So till I'm sad again, or when an emotion more tormenting than sadness grips my soul, it's adios to you my dear blog! ***

Sleep tight, Heavy D!

Another hip hop star bites the dust.
A crystal- clear reminder that everything that has a beginning has to eventually get to that final full-stop. An end!

Till later, Heavy D!

X

Firstly, I'm seriously considering losing my bloody iPhone. This little gadget is more trouble than it's worth. It irritatingly shrieks incessantly, bringing discomfort in my life. Plus, it is pig-headed, thinks it knows it all.

Secondly, I wanted to talk a little about Michael Jackson's trial and Kim Kadarshan's divorce. But I'm just after realizing now the immensity of the f*** I don't give about the two topics.

Thirdly, it's all about Zahara's Loliwe. Damn, if you can't find it in your soul to love Zahara, then I guess you have no single shred of appreciation for real talent!

Finally, I have nothing more to discuss. Thank you!

Jehovah Witness Woes...

Jehovah Witness advocates have been frequent visitors of my household for the past couple of years. They are the only humans who've stood at my door step more than a hundred times, or close...that's if my calculation serves me correctly. These people have also broken a record of violently ringing my door bell more times than any other creature who's ever rang it. I rest my case a long time ago. The guys' persistence is a bit on a petrifying side. Very inhuman! Even for true advocates!!!

From the first day the godly guys graced my doorstep, I've lied I can't speak the Queens Language properly, and that I don't own the house. They know me as just an illiterate babysitter from Malawi. (Don't you start with preaching to me about lying being a sin. I know that already. And I'm fully prepared to burn in hell...).
So every occasion they've visited and found me, I've always repeated the very same untrue phrases: "Me babysitter. No English. Boss not here."

But last night, things took a very dramatic turn!
It was 7pm, and I had just got home from work. I was comfortably clad in my pajamas watching my favorite series in my bed when the door bell angrily rang.
I should have just ignored it!
There they were, my godly buddies...
I was like "Holy Shite"! (In my mind, of course).

This is the verbal exchange we had:

Jehovah witness: "Hi again, Muado (that's the alias I use when dealing with the godly guys. It's slang for "underwear" in my language). Is your boss here today?
Me: "boss, wo...
Before I finished saying the word work, my 6 year old idiot came down the steps from upstairs.

Orama: (while poking me in the back) "Mum, quick, Eastenders is on... come on..."
All eyes were on me...
Then he looked at me, then at the Jehovah Witness and said: "oh, mum, I didn't know you could speak Chinese. Cool."

You can just imagine the weight of my shame!!!