"if you find someone to take the blame for all your failures, then at least you can fail with dignity." I don't know whose quote this is, but I'm in love with it.
Eve is the person responsible for all my shortcomings. Yes, Eve Adam. She's the reason my life feels like sandpaper.
Wasn't there a garden boy in the garden of Eden who she could have crept with instead of that Mamba...?
Really, Eve fucked up a lot of shite for us women!
Right now I've chosen to burn my husband's lunch, and Eve's going to take the blame.
Damn, it feels good!
*but here comes a million pound question..*
Why did God, (the almighty, the Mr-know-it-all) put that wicked fruit in the middle of Eden when he knew it was bad? Why did he not just chop it down to save the world from sin?
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Khoswe ndi mphemvu.
Do animals ever smack their young one? Like discipline them?
Nanga ndi chifukwa chani khoswe alibe khalidwe?
Makoswe nonse omwe muli ndi ana, chonde yesetsani kupatsa ana anuwo mwambo. Ife anthu tatopa ndi makhalidwe anu oyipa, okuba!
Ena ndi Ana a mphemvu..... Khalidwe labwino linawadutsa.
I wonder what would happen if a mphemvu was to marry a khoswe?
Dziko lingayipe ndithu!
Nanga ndi chifukwa chani khoswe alibe khalidwe?
Makoswe nonse omwe muli ndi ana, chonde yesetsani kupatsa ana anuwo mwambo. Ife anthu tatopa ndi makhalidwe anu oyipa, okuba!
Ena ndi Ana a mphemvu..... Khalidwe labwino linawadutsa.
I wonder what would happen if a mphemvu was to marry a khoswe?
Dziko lingayipe ndithu!
Friday, November 19, 2010
Questions.
Hey G,
I'm gonna have to call you that from now onwards. Graceful takes up too much space on my page. And I need every bit of it for my rage...lol my raging sage, I mean. Besides, G is kinda cute:)
Anyway, my mind is a simmering volcano of questions this morning. I tried to tweet them but you know how economic twitter is with it's characters. Very frustrating! But I'm glad I have you. Unlike twitter, you are generous with your space.
I was thinking about this thing called love when I woke up this morning. That I still haven't reached it's core yet to fully understand it. And its getting really lame. All I know is that at one point in your life, a certain homo sapien comes your way and turns your heart into porridge. That sounds dorky, doesn't it?
But regardless of how stupid love seems and feels, (you know the whole rapid heartbeat thing, the scary feeling of feeling like you might poo in your pants after seeing the one that has your heart, and the whole making a fool of yourself by doing things you never did before just to impress...SUPERLAME!) it still remains a puzzle that needs to be completed. The world mysteriously revolves around love.
But does it truly exist, love, or is it one of those mysteries our minds refuse to give up believing?
I always try to convince people that love is a true fact. That I once came vis-a-vis with it. But did I, really, or was I just under some strange spell?
But what was it that made me want to dance around nude whenever I thought of him?
What was it that made me cry whenever I missed him?
What was it that turned the pit of my stomach into a play ground of butterflies whenever I saw him?
If that wasn't love, as Jennifer Hudson asked in one of her tracks, then what the hell was it?
People say when you love someone deeply enough, you'd never hesitate to move immovable mountains, cross 'uncrossable' oceans and seas..., bring the moon and the stars for them. That, G, is what puts doubts in my mind about whether I truly had a taste of this rarity called love. Every time I try to convince myself that I did, my mind gets back to all mentioned above.
The truth is, I gave up before I even tried to move Everest for the one I loved. Or thought I loved.
But had I dared try, could I have moved it, with my chicken stamina?
Moving on to crossing the Irish sea...., that I failed to do too.
But If I were to put on my sexy swim suit and found my way to the salty Irish waters, would I have made it to the other end without drowning or being feasted by sharks, or both?
And the idea of going all the way to space to extract the moon from it's orbit for my boo sounded a bit like an impossible grade 1 adventure. Plus, it was going to be tough persuading mr moon to come along with me. So I ditched that too.
What do you make out of all the above failures?
What do you think?
That I should have tried harder?
That I should have worn a braver spirit and risked the sharks?
Do you think the reason for me failing to try had something to do with the fact that I didn't love deeply enough?
*ndiye iwe Chelsea uluzenso lero...*
I'm gonna have to call you that from now onwards. Graceful takes up too much space on my page. And I need every bit of it for my rage...lol my raging sage, I mean. Besides, G is kinda cute:)
Anyway, my mind is a simmering volcano of questions this morning. I tried to tweet them but you know how economic twitter is with it's characters. Very frustrating! But I'm glad I have you. Unlike twitter, you are generous with your space.
I was thinking about this thing called love when I woke up this morning. That I still haven't reached it's core yet to fully understand it. And its getting really lame. All I know is that at one point in your life, a certain homo sapien comes your way and turns your heart into porridge. That sounds dorky, doesn't it?
But regardless of how stupid love seems and feels, (you know the whole rapid heartbeat thing, the scary feeling of feeling like you might poo in your pants after seeing the one that has your heart, and the whole making a fool of yourself by doing things you never did before just to impress...SUPERLAME!) it still remains a puzzle that needs to be completed. The world mysteriously revolves around love.
But does it truly exist, love, or is it one of those mysteries our minds refuse to give up believing?
I always try to convince people that love is a true fact. That I once came vis-a-vis with it. But did I, really, or was I just under some strange spell?
But what was it that made me want to dance around nude whenever I thought of him?
What was it that made me cry whenever I missed him?
What was it that turned the pit of my stomach into a play ground of butterflies whenever I saw him?
If that wasn't love, as Jennifer Hudson asked in one of her tracks, then what the hell was it?
People say when you love someone deeply enough, you'd never hesitate to move immovable mountains, cross 'uncrossable' oceans and seas..., bring the moon and the stars for them. That, G, is what puts doubts in my mind about whether I truly had a taste of this rarity called love. Every time I try to convince myself that I did, my mind gets back to all mentioned above.
The truth is, I gave up before I even tried to move Everest for the one I loved. Or thought I loved.
But had I dared try, could I have moved it, with my chicken stamina?
Moving on to crossing the Irish sea...., that I failed to do too.
But If I were to put on my sexy swim suit and found my way to the salty Irish waters, would I have made it to the other end without drowning or being feasted by sharks, or both?
And the idea of going all the way to space to extract the moon from it's orbit for my boo sounded a bit like an impossible grade 1 adventure. Plus, it was going to be tough persuading mr moon to come along with me. So I ditched that too.
What do you make out of all the above failures?
What do you think?
That I should have tried harder?
That I should have worn a braver spirit and risked the sharks?
Do you think the reason for me failing to try had something to do with the fact that I didn't love deeply enough?
*ndiye iwe Chelsea uluzenso lero...*
ukapolo wa mpira.
I'm still hearing some idiots making of fun of Chelsea's epic loss to..., what is the name of that team again? Kaya akuti Sunderland..?
That's so last week, man!
Ngati mulibe chokamba sokani pakamwa. Iya!!!
That's so last week, man!
Ngati mulibe chokamba sokani pakamwa. Iya!!!
Idioteque
Hey Graceful,
I've got what people call the 'writers block'. But I guess in my case it would make more sense if I called it the 'bloggers block' instead...,right? Since I'm no writer yet....? Is that true, that I'm not a writer? So why do I feel it so frighteningly in my bones and blood cells that I am? And what is it that I'm doing here? I feel like myself and anyone else who's ever been able to put something down on page, whether a its love letter, or a memo, should have freedom to the title "writer". So yes, we are all writers...literally. Who says nyo, John Grisham, anyone?
Ok, let's move on to a more interesting subject... Only I have none. Shame on this blocked mind of mine!
Maybe you want to hear me whine about the dream I had last night that not only made me cry this morning, but also upset my whole 'fecking' day? That I'm ready to do. It seems that's all I'm good at these days. Whining...
Yes, it seems it's always the same story with me. You are probably having piles just reading it. I'm forever on the same page. And it's so getting old...! I have exhausted the "whys" and "hows" and all the possibly sensible answers that never answered enough in the first place. Even my eyes are exhausted of creating new tears. Right now I've attacked the reserve bank. Thats where all the extra tears are kept. If that runs out, I won't be able to cry at kiki's funeral - thats my sister's hamster. It only has about 2 weeks to feast on cheese...
Anyway, after all is said and done, at least now I know that a love that was once felt so strongly lives on! It's angry blazes continue to burn you over the years, probably for the rest of your life, even from a thousand miles away. And believe me, that ain't no child's play!
I'd love to say that I won't make the same mistake again in my next life..., of loving someone so deeply at a very young age, but I'd be lying through my 31 set of teeth (I lost one tooth in some dentistry war, in case you wanna know why I only have 31 if the grinders).
The thing is, no matter how sore my heart gets over what might have been, my soul still smiles broadly that at least "there had been", "there once was". In some weird, sick sense, I enjoy all the bittersweetness of what once was. I enjoy each and every painful moment that occurs after each bittersweet thought, after each sweet-and-sour dream.... After all pain is the only connection I still have with my sweet past. The only link.
In other words, no matter how much I cry and whine about wanting to forget, deep down I know I don't want to. My silly heart doesn't want to let go, EVER!
Maybe I'm just addicted to pain...or I'm just plain cuckoo..., or maybe both...you take your pcik!
Alright, my shameless clinging to the past has become a cliche. I'm sure you are all tired of reading the same kind of senseless shite. I promise to talk about something else next time I'm in this neighbourhood. Something like why Tony Parker and Eva Longoria have already had enough of each other so soon? Or why Hart and Pink have decided to bring a defenseless, talented idiot in their old age? Yes, 32 is very old if you are having your first child.
Ok, as my sons would say after overeating, "ENOUGH mum"! So enough nonsense for today:)
*Feeling better already. Scribbling is better than vodka*
Friday, November 12, 2010
What a big, boring, pointless routine life is!
Weekend is back again, and homo sapiens are going to do the same things over again; finish work, go home, eat, go to the pub and get sloshed, drink-drive back home, sleep and moan endlessly about hangover upon waking the following morning. Yikes!
Nothing ever changes in this life. Except our appearances...
Weekend is back again, and homo sapiens are going to do the same things over again; finish work, go home, eat, go to the pub and get sloshed, drink-drive back home, sleep and moan endlessly about hangover upon waking the following morning. Yikes!
Nothing ever changes in this life. Except our appearances...
Friday, October 29, 2010
Adult education = Mental illness
I am such an unhappy croc today. And believe me, I have no idea why!
There must be a serious hurricane occuring in my soul... How else do I explain my sombre mood?
Have you ever wondered if animals and plants go through a complex of emotions the way human beings do?
Have you ever sat down and asked yourself if cockroaches fall in love, or have their little hearts broken?
I know this is beyond insanity, but I have an extremely insatiable curiosity. There is so much I want to know, but life only gives me limited access. I want to get inside a frog's mind and feel how it really feels like to have that rough skin...:)
*Ok, enough of the weed-influenced talk*
Well, my intention was to whine seriously about adult education, but just like me, I kind of wandered off the topic. Forgive me!
Yeah, adult schooling...that's one torture I swore on my great grandmother's grave that I was never going to put myself through. But I'm afraid I broke the oath. And I'm sure my great nana is fuming underneath earth..
After a lot of soul-tickling compliments from a lot of people on my writing, I finally made a move to do something about it. To give it a bit of polish..
Big error!!!
I'm doing a degree in English Literature and loathing every ticking minute of it!
Frankly, when I enrolled, I thought it was going to be a smooth cruise in the snow. I thought all I would be required to do to get a distinction was to read a couple of yummy novels...
Little did I know I would come face to face with the ilks of Viktor Shklovsky, Roman jakobson and Boris Eichenbaum who made it their duty
to complicate every thing about Literature. What was the whole point of putting science into an unscientific subject? Was it to make education and life more miserable for us who suck at science? The reason why God created Literature in the first place was because he thought it would be easier for us souls who have no chance with science and its test tubes... But the Shklovskys challenged God and changed all that. Now Literature is more sick than science. More difficult. More challenging...
Ok, I'm disgressing again.
The truth is, I am choking on literary critism, all that formalism, realism, modernism and stuff... I'm so losing my mind! And if you add laundry, a sex-mad husband, a bunch of rascals and a hungry dog to all my literary misery, I'm left with nothing but insanity.
The reason I lose a million sleeps trying to figure out if animals and plants go through the hell human beings go through is because I strongly feel that human beings complicate so much that does not need to be complicated. A human brain is his downfall.
Think of the creation of a bullet..,
Well, I don't know...
But one thing for sure, adult education is not easy. Nor is it necessary when you have a bunch of brats to raise.
So do I quit?
Hell no!
I'm on a mission to prove Shklovsky wrong. I'm on a mission to put back the word "enjoyment" into Literature. Even at the risk of my last shred of sanity.
*Ok guys, I'm just letting you know in advance, the time I finish this degree is also the time I'm gonna get into a mental asylum. Feeding my mind with all those gigantic pages is very detrimental to my mental health*
AMEN !
There must be a serious hurricane occuring in my soul... How else do I explain my sombre mood?
Have you ever wondered if animals and plants go through a complex of emotions the way human beings do?
Have you ever sat down and asked yourself if cockroaches fall in love, or have their little hearts broken?
I know this is beyond insanity, but I have an extremely insatiable curiosity. There is so much I want to know, but life only gives me limited access. I want to get inside a frog's mind and feel how it really feels like to have that rough skin...:)
*Ok, enough of the weed-influenced talk*
Well, my intention was to whine seriously about adult education, but just like me, I kind of wandered off the topic. Forgive me!
Yeah, adult schooling...that's one torture I swore on my great grandmother's grave that I was never going to put myself through. But I'm afraid I broke the oath. And I'm sure my great nana is fuming underneath earth..
After a lot of soul-tickling compliments from a lot of people on my writing, I finally made a move to do something about it. To give it a bit of polish..
Big error!!!
I'm doing a degree in English Literature and loathing every ticking minute of it!
Frankly, when I enrolled, I thought it was going to be a smooth cruise in the snow. I thought all I would be required to do to get a distinction was to read a couple of yummy novels...
Little did I know I would come face to face with the ilks of Viktor Shklovsky, Roman jakobson and Boris Eichenbaum who made it their duty
to complicate every thing about Literature. What was the whole point of putting science into an unscientific subject? Was it to make education and life more miserable for us who suck at science? The reason why God created Literature in the first place was because he thought it would be easier for us souls who have no chance with science and its test tubes... But the Shklovskys challenged God and changed all that. Now Literature is more sick than science. More difficult. More challenging...
Ok, I'm disgressing again.
The truth is, I am choking on literary critism, all that formalism, realism, modernism and stuff... I'm so losing my mind! And if you add laundry, a sex-mad husband, a bunch of rascals and a hungry dog to all my literary misery, I'm left with nothing but insanity.
The reason I lose a million sleeps trying to figure out if animals and plants go through the hell human beings go through is because I strongly feel that human beings complicate so much that does not need to be complicated. A human brain is his downfall.
Think of the creation of a bullet..,
Well, I don't know...
But one thing for sure, adult education is not easy. Nor is it necessary when you have a bunch of brats to raise.
So do I quit?
Hell no!
I'm on a mission to prove Shklovsky wrong. I'm on a mission to put back the word "enjoyment" into Literature. Even at the risk of my last shred of sanity.
*Ok guys, I'm just letting you know in advance, the time I finish this degree is also the time I'm gonna get into a mental asylum. Feeding my mind with all those gigantic pages is very detrimental to my mental health*
AMEN !
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
