Interrupting my long post (below)

To announce my love for Carla Bruni Music.

Carla Bruni. Italian. Current First lady of France.

I love her Music.

end

ooooooH!

I used to be a cat—in my next life (insert:dec 3rd)

black pussy cats are angelic

oooooooooooooooooooooooHHHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

stayed up all night to have lunch with him.

My first snow is falling!

and I am sixteen again. Just until I get walk out of here

………………………………………………………………

How tasty is yogurt on whole wheat bread?! ooooooooh.

The Italians would be offended!

…………………………………………………………………

I need 150 euros now. coz i need seriously must get a jacket, or fall down and die. i could just stand frozen

……now i dont want a jacket, i want flirt with that prospect. Freezing to the bone.

…………………I will keep adding to this.

I love this story. 

………………. I am really sleepy. I cant go 24 +12 hours. 

……………..

My keys fell through the lift. I felt them leave my hands, i saw them go. and i just stood there

and waited. What for. no idea. Cling. cling. clingggggggg.  

It was saturday afternoon. Evening actually. it was about 7.30pm. I had been away all night and all day. 

I needed my house; sweet, warm and cosy. I had a hangover, from so many things. Friday night saturday morning. some one played that song, and i was like; yep. my life is big lilly allen like song. (its not Lilly Allen’s song that one).

My head was spinning from the chocolate festival that i had walked through earlier in the day. I was a little neausatious from that annoying guy who was singing really. really badly. That i forgot about Geremia being an amazing drummer. Crazy and animated. With two of his electronic guitar playing friends, one of whom knowlesy said he looked like he was mustarbating. Was like no…and then he (knowlsey) reneacted ( not because i disagreed, put to visually supliment his story) and it was hard not to laugh. He did look like he was mustarbating. by the bathroom window, looking out at the bell tower of the church. The one guitar boy.

I wished i had seen this earlier, maybe i would have enjoyed this gig more. But that singing guy was annoying. I am annoying, when i sing (among other melodious activity). So i know when some one is an annoying singer. I went out. Stood in the cold with my jacket off. 

…………………………

okay that was wierd. my boss. Higher than my like seven other bosses, just had like 40 second meeting with me; which started—–well——, and ended with if am happy. work. love. time difference ……

……….just been interrupted again. 

………Tunadamu.

still sleepy

……………………..New. new. new. new. (I need neon lighting for that)

Bruce Sterling is giving a workshop. here. I am not going to attend it. none of the writers is. We are busy with work. i just had him speak for about 30 minutes. answering the final first questions.  I say fuck it. I am going to finish all of my work today. Another 24hrs. I must try and attend some of it.

………………………….

Am reading Anthony Burgess. A clockwork Orange. We bought it a few months ago. I figured i should be done with it by christmas. Second owner will need it then. 

I think this is the kind of book and Author am going to study. deeply.

He’s become my official number three on the list:

1. Michelangelo Antonioni

2.Marlon Brando

3. Anthony Burgess

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::I need to attend Bruce Sterling’s workshop. He said something this morning about Damien Hirst’s skull. Something that came to my mind the very first time i saw the skull. Am sure some one else would say/think the same. yeah. I would try and attend their workshop.

Enough sentiments. Back to work. 

Happy tuesday.

- i will add to that

………………….

I don’t have Allen Ginsberg on that list, because. Because Allen Ginsberg is not to be studied. He is not to be taken seriously. He is the virtual love of my life right now. The man i turn to  when (Pete & I) are wasted out of our heads, in the middle of dawn. The voice i switch on, in my head, when my work, purpose, and all Overwhelm me. He is my voice. my words. Oh, how i would sell my non-tormented soul for that to be true.

I will forever love Pete for introducing me to him. I knew him before Pete, yes I did. But not like I do now. Not this intimately.

Scott gave me Howl in one of his very many sweet goodbye gift hampers. We had searched for the book everywhere. and couldn’t find it. not in english. And he just printed it out for me. Lottie had done this before. for our trip to Trieste. I didnt expect Scott to do this coz I never discussed Ginsberg with him. not at length, not like I did about Antonioni.   well. it was a sweet. and I will keep the print outs until I find the book. And after I find the book. Howl and Other Poems

later

26th nov.

Listening to Bob Dylan and Joan Baez

Listening to Ben Harper

great music….sending me into a hole too small i have to coil around myself to fit in. Head first. no lighting.

I will improvise with the glistening of my tears. For lighting.

later

1st December:

the year is on its way out. am on my bed. with my shoes on. i hate doing this….on bed with my shoes on… but they have shoelaces, and its such a process to get them off and get them on again. Am going out to dinner with one or two of the guys in two hours or so. I cant take my shoes off coz am not in the mood for the process of having them back on….

Seriously, am i blogging about putting my shoes on?! I feel like am in P.3 trying to get my shoes on again (this is how i feel every time i put them on.)

…………………………………………

I am depressed tonight. I have been  depressed the entire day. I know why. but i wont get into because i dont want to acknowledge it yet. Its work related… Oh, shoot. i’ve some work related email to send.

later

————3rd December

   Helma & Laura: Holland

HAPPY HOLIDAYS----(count down

H E L P. Yeeeeeeeel

                 Your snake is strangling your dog.

                                     – caption competition (the New Yorker)

my head is spinning. am taking in way too much information than my brain can process……

aaaaaaaaah!  I want to listen to him go. Out Loud in my head.

[....] I gave you all and now am nothing 

and more and more and more and more.

 

And it is at this point that i should put the much needed Disclaimer:

This blog is my sex, it is my drug, it is my release. I come here (here. not on blogsphere). To chill, to not make sense, to not care about typos and sentence construction and design and what fuck else am not supposed to care about. I come here to, in many ways, unhook my bra, undo my hair (its always undone, who am I kidding), unbuckle my belt and loosen my pants. I come here to walk around, not naked, but comfortably  careless. I come here to not think. to not make nice. I come here to enjoy what is otherwise sinful in my profession. You don’t have to make sense. They don’t have to get it. There is no need to spell check (how your mind spelt it the first time is the way you know it). I come here to find littlejars. The girl with little inhibitions. The nymphet i continue to fall in love with. she who smiles not because she wants to or that she has to, but because she does. Why Not- is her basic answer to everything.

 

okay. And we are Back. 

 

I had an amazing revelation yesterday evening in the words of the woman who i continue to worship as if she were but a god. And she is. Arudhati Roy. 

because i deliberately don’t want to state her words here; for I know soon there will be appearing on a more sensible space (kinda), I will just right into what the revelation was. Well, especially because this is the only way to verbally shut up about it.

POLITICAL CORRECTNESS is shit. horse shit, or whatever other kind of shit that you are even slightly allergic to (wait. how cool would it be to be allergic to shit!)

Moving on;  free speech or any freedom for that matter, is Freedom. Without barriers, with no shackles, With no wait, a minute, ” this is inappropriate- check thesaurus for politically correct word…” When you choose freedom of speech you have given up political correctness, otherwise, it becomes self-censorship.

Yet any sort of self-censorship in the name of political correctness,  i find,  is a deliberate sin. An act of blasphemy and should be Well looked into for appropriate punishments measures. Guillotine- with a chair to stand on for those who cant reach the rope.  (What?! no ropes for Guillotines. Well, lets put one then, and make it a hanging guillotine for which you need a chair to reach. The effort for the sweet pain of death! ) 

The idea that you have no problem with people, any people, doing whatever they please to do as long as it does not offend you, is the stupidest notion I have had to listen to, Over and Over again;

” Do whatever you want to do. You have all the freedom you desire. you are free to choose. The freedom to speak. the freedom to….. as long as you dont offend anybody- as long as dont offend me, hurt my sentiments, step on my beliefs and values….!”

—–Thank you very much sir or madam or alien alias, but Freedom is meant to Offend. Of course it is meant to offend, because If it didn’t, like Ms. Roy says. it wouldn’t be freedom: ” What offends you liberates me”. So give it all and give it up. Or give nothing at all. 

My quest for freedom is to not be stifled, to not look over my shoulder while I dig my ditch, to not be summoned upon and be told that if i continue to dig that ditch i risk my (very elusive) freedom to be whisked away.

my quest for freedom is to be free. And I continue to ask my self, why we have to beg for this.

I found this just about now, and i think i should it here…..

I’d rather let some kids have access to violent and pornographic video games than hinder the art form with regulation. I despise the concept behind sheltering children. It’s like lying to them. The only thing encouraged by pretending kids are mentally insufficient to understand this world is a delayed ability to actually handle it. Contrary to popular belief, kids live in the same world as adults, and in my opinion the very worst video games aren’t really that bad. Exposure to any art with proper parenting can only help them further comprehend their world.

… I have a theory against television and video games for kids, but this theory has nothing to do with moral issues. (am only stating this for purposes of my future posts on the subject)

Part another one

Gonçalo is from Lisbon, Portugal. He’s in the [product]Design department. He is one of those many people in the world who continue to determine that your uncomfortable bar stool looks so pretty you could lick it or the shape of your breakable china and so on, and so on.

Two days ago, Gonçalo and I were walking from Mensa (eatery) and he pointed out to me, the beautiful trees lined far off from the road  to make an impression of the forest.

And he said; Just look at that! Why are humans such control freaks. We want to control everything. To the extent that we have made nature.  become ” our idea of nature”. Man wants to pretend that a forest is a neat row of his chosen trees. man creates that. and believes it……

Okay: i have found my head again. I now go back to work  

Bacio

Job-seeker for hire.

Al Mamlakah al Arabiyah as Suudiyah:

or The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia

Pre-Islamic Period: By 1000 B.C., southern Arabia had evolved significantly as a result of steady contact with the outside world via the trade routes that spanned the region. Exports in frankincense and myrrh brought wealth and global connections to present-day Bahrain, Yemen, Oman, and southern Saudi Arabia.

# While the Persians and Romans fought to control the Near East, Arab society benefited from the exchange of ideas that came with the camel caravans 

-thanks for the tip

 

México-Tenichtitlan

or Mexico  … is making Synthetic Diamonds from Tequila

Diamonds produced from tequila 

“The amazing discovery was made by physicists from the National Autonomous University of Mexico, and could have many industrial uses. There is one catch however – the synthetic diamond crystals are too small to be turned into jewellery.”

—-thats where I come in

and finally:

It has been a long term dream, ambition and life goal (for me) to marry Osama Bin Laden. Aside from the catch that my last name would be laden, as in heavy laden Phoebe Laden (awesomeness!) -and the possibility that we will make a clan of amazingly beautiful brown-eyed babies, with toned bodies and an all-year-round tan. Who, naturally, will be deeply spiritual and insanely motivational, and poetic,-  I have mainly wanted to marry Osama Bin Laden because he is the most powerful, most influential and most famous man on the face of the earth- as we know it.

Being his wife would give me the opportunity to…kick him to the sofa! Watch him at his most vulnerable, and very likely  call him baby. (“No baby; Our boys wont blow themselves—its practically impossible”-phoebe Laden; The Future.)

But most especially. and importantly; Phoebe M Laden would make JK Rowling curl shut on her Broomstick. Because, Boys and girls I and not Ms. Rowlings, god bless her,  would be the world’s most selling author. Most read. Most reviewed. Most HAVING A bloody JOB!

seeking for jobs. Don’t Hire me. I will contaminate your staff.

Ps.

God help me if I ever meet Obama’s speech writer! I will propose. For pleasure. For those sweet motivational nothings to be whispered into my left ear  ( i sleep on my right side)….Hope is not blind optimism indeed!

 God Bless Littlejars

What have I learnt

black and white, you dont miss the point. no distraction. it is the colour of god. he is black and he is white. without skin, without form. without a voice. but we see him, we toucch him. we feel him and we speak with him. he speaks with us. What did i learn from that woman’s face. what did i not learn. That every day you live is not meaningless. it leaves a mark inside of you outside of  you. on your colourles skin. each fold on that face is the life you have lived. Was it meaningless. if you knew then, what you know now =, would you change it.

Right now, i have no proper job. I have no proper qualification, i have no proper relationships. I dont know. this is where i am. this is what i am doing. I dont know is the one thing i am certain of. Sure of. It is a clean slate. I could marry for money. and live a wlife of luxury and fantasy. the fantasy of i dont know. it could be terrible. it could be not so terrible. I could also marry for love and spend the rest of my life happy with the person i love and content. It is also possible that love is =nt always everything you thought it was, like the news about africa; media and literature have crreated a love of their own. and we never really get to know the truth about it until we get there. even when we get there. we are searching for the hype. trying to find the red roses and carnations. and when we dont find them. we slam the doors. It is not always a life of luxury.

I have learned that what is most important is your life, the choices you make while you live. the people you choose to share it with, to spend it with, to have influence you. That is what that face taught me. That is whaat i learned. It is not a lesson really. it is more like a vision. A realisation, in clarity of what i have always known, thought about but not really.

It is not so different from watching the work of Sebastio Salgado. Maybe, one of this century;s most talented, most influencial docu/photo jornalists ever.

he shook my hand. and i waasn;t exactly wowed. I didnt feel the wow. he displayed his work and i swear i saw something, something that wasn’t there. an image he did not take in his photos. but it is was there. he had searched for it. and he had gotten it.

I have seen God. three times, I have seen God. I have seen the almighty, in a child born. A human form, eyes tightly shut afraid of the big bad world, afraid of humanity and the hands that reach out, carefully to hold it, claiming it, owning it, ready to name it ‘a part of this generation’. Any generation.

I have witnessed the power, the touch, the magic, the hand of God in this little thing of human form; slowly yet quickly it becomes human. eyes open, adapting to the new environment. a life pre-determined.

Childhood, teenage, aldult, elderly, and death. and like this always a maybe. One day, there will  be a motor accident. A slippery bath tab. A thief by the gate with a gun. A lover with a wringly hand. The human form will disappear, having lived only  long enough to get that mark of the world, the stain, on God’s skin. 

I have seen God, through my own life, with myself. A dance unlearned, a path not taken; fear grief, truama, joy, fulfilment, happiness…a spirit I can not touch, a soul i never completly embody. And yet it lives in me. I live in it.

I have seen God three times.

 

THIS POST HAS LIVED IN MY DRAFTS FOR VERY MANY MOONS. I took this piece out of it. I believe today is the time, i stop taking from it, and just give it.

Here. i give it to self!

Romantic fascist

 

Rain drops in the yellowish greenish trees of the fall.

Three cups of hot chocolate

Dinner in a pastry shop: or was it lunch

Sparkling wine in the car, and the Cd shops

Store after store after store…

Two pretty boys. One Indian the other Italian

THIS IS NOT a pathetic attempt at cheesy POETRY.

THIS IS A summary OF MY Saturday:

Until ofcourse it became saturday night.

A place different, a different kind.

Same two boys but for addition of yet nother pretty English boy.

It was supposed to be a great night. It was a great night.

Except ofcourse..

Some body had problem with the fact that: he was english,

he was Indian, I was ugandan

And he was only one Italian:

 

Italians Only. The disco plaque should have said. Well, no plaques need to say anything when there is

talking, breathing humans in the 21century doing the talking.

 

He, my beautiful Italian boy was there to work. we had gone along< it was saturday night, we had had an amazing day, so why not?! And plus, we are all fascinated by this project he’s working on. Every weekend night atleast two or three people book in with him to follow him to whichever disco club he is shooting at…

 

Well, we spent the entire winter night between the balcony, and in the cloack room with him. He wouldnt enter the Italians Only. We pleaded with him: you are working, we have no problem staying out here…we will chat these pretty people up, drink and smoke and probably get stoned and piss all over these people’s floor (okay none of it was said like that, but it all should have).

But no, he wouldn’t go.

 

We got a few not good shots, here there (none of which he will ever use, coz they were obviously not he was looking for).

 

We drove back home at 6.40am in the morning….when we stopped for break fast, one of the boys picked up a fight with the singing christmas tree. I will tell you  that was my favourite moment ever.

It is not racism. It is not italian….. it is fascism. It one against two, three, four, twenty, one thousand etc etc

 

 

Boomelets, Nexters, Baby Busters- Generation Y

…Generation WHY NOT:

Obama Hussein Baraka: granny’s skiny brown boy.  Living in a world in which it is sinful to look just the way he did. There is so many things, he could have turned out as. quite a number.

And president of the united states was right up there, in his face.

………………and now, I need to get out of bed, continue with the making of my own history

McSara CaPain

Decoding the code

“All of us have little jars. They stay at home, lined in neat little rows. In fact, these little jars are very important. Because we store something in them everyday. We store stuff like anger, disappointment, happiness, misery and every other feeling that we were told not to have since we were young because it’s wrong to show your emotions in public.”

                                                               -A simple theory

in other news; 

Italy cebrates the Saints and the Dead every 1st and 2nd Nov. respectively. I had no knowledge of this when I lit a candle  for my grandmother in the Basilicca in Ferrara on the 1st. of Nov. 

 photo by Lawrence Blankenbyl (Ferrara, Italy)

 

and finally: 

 

“I had actually suspected it earlier that the 50 Cents and Snoop Doggs of this world devalued the dollar. Take time to watch MTV, watch those videos where they make the ‘dollars’ rain! The poor dollar could not survive.”  NewTimes, Rwanda,