One day, I awoke from uneasy dreams

to find that I had been transformed into a monstrous insect.

Kafka's words these. Except he didn't use I, he used Gregor Samsa.
But I think it much applies to what I feel like this morning. Like I have found myself transformed into some monstrous vermin.
I feel icky.

I don't really know why. I just really do feel this way. Like extremely unpleasant.

Perhaps Wretched is back.

Hmm.
Good Morrow.

I'm still alive yo.

Well, yes, after being incompetent at getting off my arse to write for little less than a week I am finally here again, blogging.

And, surprise surprise, I am still stumped on what to write about. So I'm just gonna let the conversation flow, yo! (STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS FTW INTERWEBBZ!)

Well. Erm. Yes.
Yes.

AH YES!

I have a new laptop. It is mucho kinky. Lenovo Touch Netbook. Turns into a tablet u can play with.

Well. Erm. Yes.

I have no qualms with society. Srsly, nothing happened this week interwebz. It's as if everyone is being careful and humouring me.

I might actually be kind of happy.
Brrr.

Good Morrow.

Self-pity, hyperbolate. Repeat.

Why do people have to hyperbolate when it comes to self-pity?

It is so annoying.

Embellishment is OK when it's for effect, I'm the first one to hyperbolate when it comes to making a point.

But when you're hyperbolating some form of self pity it makes you seem so...pathetic.

Ah well.
Good Morrow.

Hmmm.

I got into a car accident not an hour ago. Nothing too serious, just some idiot ran into the car from behind while I was on a stop sign.

But it made me think (surprise surprise).

The thought process went somewhat like this:

{Due to space constraints and dramatic effect, I am forced to use shorthand}
-OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG
-WTF??? WHAT JUST HAPPENED?
-omg was it my fault?
-FUCK THAT FUCKING IDIOT FUCK FUCK I COULD HAVE DIED FUCK HIM FUCK
-I could have died {No I couldn't have but bear with me here}
-Wow. I doubt it would have taken 3 seconds to put me out.
-Life is like a flickering flame.
-Oy, God, any advice?
-Oh wait you don't care

Or something along those lines.

I guess what I want to say is life is so fragile.
One slight swerve and the glass shatters into a million, irrecoverable pieces.

What is the human plight worth then?

Good Morrow

ETA: I'll go into the God stuff in a later post.

Beware, beneath the God stuff there's just more God stuff

Feelings. Ick.

There are days when one feels wretched. And in these days, one simply wishes to do nothing but wallow in his/her self pity. It is the worst feeling in the world. After a while you get used to it. Let me tell you a little story:

One day, I decide to personify this feeling. It is Wretched (note the capitilisation; it is being personified.) Wretched walks by my side and hugs me every so often.

When I feel Wretched, I recoil at its touch. But Wretched grips tighter, and I cannot help but feel Wretched. After a while, Wretched becomes a normality in my life. I begin to mistake myself with Wretched. I am Wretched. I am Me. I am not Me. I am not Wretched.

This conflict throws me into more tumult then ever. But Wretched still hugs me every day. Wretched becomes the only constant thing in my life. In a while, I am used to this feeling.

One day, I wake up and I do not feel Wretched. I am confused and thrown into more tumult then ever.

I need to feel Wretched. I cannot be me without feeling Wretched. I am in love with feeling Wretched. I realise this and allow Wretched to embrace me every day. I do not fight Wretched. I need Wretched.

If I am not Wretched, I am not me.

Definition:
The Power of Literature: phrase. The ability to make beautiful things out of nothing.

Example: Turning the worst possible feeling in the world into a love story.

Good Morrow.

A Collective Madness (or in more conventional terms: Sanity)

I once read a book (go figure) by Paulo Coelho: "Veronika Decides to Die".

Paulo Coelho is a spiritual writer. He believes inherently in a God, not necessarily the catholic one, describing Him/Her (referring to God more often as Her or The Lady) as a cosmic force that one cannot comprehend but is benevolent.

I do not usually agree with these sort of spiritual writers (like Young in "The Shack") but Coelho has a way of being very...convincing.

His spirituality is not bound by religion. That is what is amazing about him. That is what I love about him. It is a universal force, shows us signs everywhere and leads us in our lives. That's what I don't agree with.

But this post is not about God. Otherwise I would have titled it "A Post About God"

No, this post is about sanity.
Yesterday I saw "Girl, Interrupted"

I wanted to know why Jolie got the Oscar that's the main reason I watched it.
It was as such a mediocre movie, OK direction, OK Script. Nothing special.
Jolie's performance on the other hand was PHENOMENAL.

But this post is not about Jolie. Otherwise I would have titled it "A Post About God"

No, this post is about sanity.
"Girl, Interrupted" is about a girl's experience in a mental institution.

She has an affliction called "Normality"
But how can "Normality" be an affliction?

"Normality" drove this girl to "Insanity".

Paulo Coelho described "Normality" as a "Collective Madness"
Veronika, the title character, realises that only those locked up and called insane are truly free.

A man after my own heart.

Sanity is equatable, in some form or other, to convention.

Convention sucks.

Good Morrow

An Introspective Post

Well, yesterday I saw the movie "Changeling". A truly chilling tale of crime, corruption, loss and murder of innocent children. It may not be your cup of tea, but I suggest that you watch it anyway. It is a work of art, in terms of both its direction and Jolie's acting.

And hence, as most great works of art do, they cause me to start being introspective. They make me look at society and question it: its morals, its repercussions on the individual.

True, the movie is set in 1928: nowadays, if you kill a person in the US, if you sneeze within twenty-four hours the CSI will be on you with a hanky and a pair of handcuffs. But still, corruption in the police force is as ubiquitous as ever. Somebody, somewhere, is currently being wronged. He/She is a victim of the intense human desire for power.

The endeavours of one Christine Collins, a wronged citizen, made sure that the police's power on the citizens were limited; they can no longer lock people up in a mental ward, without a very, very valid reason. Her need to find her son was great and through it she cataclysmally affected and changed the American Law.

Here's the most ironic fact of it all: She never did find her son.
All that work, all those years of searching, all that good that came out of her actions, all of it was for her son.
In a fair world, Justice is precise, swift and exact. In a fair world, Walter Collins would have been found. In a fair world, the universe/fate/god/spaghetti noodle, would have taken pity on the poor woman.

But we do not live in a fair world.

Christine Collins got the, what I call, poetically tragic ending. The perfect ending. The most true, most raw, most terrifying ending of all: a realistic ending.

Chills me to the bone, this.
Long live Art!
Good Morrow.

This Is The Time

I just wanted to share with you all this beautiful song. I think it portrays a very relevant message about the times we live in. It's an unfinished video apparently, but the song itself is more than enough to portray what the band has to say:

So what's the world to be
Just a luxury?
A Temporary scene?

This is the Time to decide, to pick our side and to make things right.

Now.
This is the Time.

Peace out, Good Morrow.

The Virulence of Cute

This particular topic brings to memory a particular scene from the mind-meltingly, stupidly hilarious cartoon "Ed, Edd n Eddy": Where the Character named Johnny once said: (I am paraphrasing here since the exact quote escapes me) "I told you plank that bunnies will take over the world - and they HAVE!!"

What, you may ask, has this got to do with anything?

The answer, mine kinsmen, is simple: Cute is taking over the world. We are become enslaved to cuteness. Cute is evil in a cute exterior - it is as venal and as virulent as the worst kind of disease (I have a certain fondness for this metaphor/simile. Comparing things to disease generally is a very easy way of saying something is extremely annoying/dangerous and multiplies faster than Paris Hilton's crabs in the summertime): one which brings the greatest harm in the most unsuspecting manner.

For those of you who think I am saying that cute things hurt people, I will refer you to my previous blog post on the wonders of context. I'm not (exactly) saying that cute is out there being cute on Mondays and encouraging child labour and whistling happy show tunes while committing mass genocide in some obscure African county. What I'm actually saying is this: we are becoming overrun and desensitised by cuteness, in many ways.

We take for example, YouTube. It's the biggest thing since Jesus went to South Park, and the bulk of the most watched videos of all time are definitely something to do with a baby being bitten, a puppy with an existential crisis (to sleep or not to sleep, that is the question) and so on and so forth. I, for one, will be the first to admit that I may have spent hours watching and re-watching these videos completely oblivious of the fact that Charlie bit his brother, but rather oggle and aww the fact that Harry is stating the obvious in an undoubtedly appealing gurgling British Accent.

What is it with cuteness? Why does it appeal to people so much? If Bin Laden was a cutie pie would we all have been more sympathetic to the poor Muslim man who had a tiffle with the bad, bad American people? Had Hitler and Mussolini been like Charlie and Harry would we all be hanging Jew Heads on our front yard? Would we "sugar o'er the devil himself"? I have no idea, but I wouldn't say it's exactly TOO far fetch'd.

Now we come to the point were I reveal why I decided to take up this topic. Yesterday, I watched "How to Train Your Dragon". At first, I was much averse to the idea of fearsome, fire-breathing monstrosities such as dragons being cute-ified. It's 'Twilight' (I will not even deign that much-hyped cult/sect movie with actual double inverted commas (") (Disclaimer: I dislike 'Twilight' vehemently)) all over again. Vampires were blood sucking undead creatures who would scare the shit out of anyone. Now they're sexy/Adonis-like twinks who sparkle in the sunlight. With societies constant pathological need of replacing the old with the new, how long will it be before the images of Dracula are completely erased from our memories and the likes of Edward Cullen (I suggest spitting in disgust when you mention her name. Trust me, it helps.) will be all that's left?

Anyway, in "How to Train Your Dragon", Dragons have gone from being ferocious, merciless, sage and sacred creatures to cute, cuddly, 'Toothless', spunky softies. I swore that I would dislike it. I swore that I will forever be adamantly against it. And as often happens when you swear things (since swearing is a very, very bad thing to do): you tend to be proven wrong. I loved every single minute of "How to Train Your Dragon" and came close to actually feeling a shred of sympathy towards the end. Despite all my previous judgements, all my prejudice against this movie, I succumbed to its inherent and innocuous charm.

Here is my closing statement: I blame it all on the Cute.

Peace out, Good Morrow.

First things First: Art, Artists vs. Conventionality.

Oh, how I do despise convention! Thing is, its a cage and we're all trapped inside of it. Whenever we attempt to 'break' convention, we simply eviscerate all ties with the current cage and move to the snazzier one next door. One can never truly break convention - one can only be unconventional (ie, not in the cage of conventional convention (twisted, I know))

But here we are. Following convention. It dictates one should introduce himself. And here we are. Following convention.

My name is Luke, I'm from a tiny island called Malta (how unconventional is that) and I'm 18 years of age. My motives are purely personal, I shall use this blog as a personal outlet of all my pent up hormonal-teen-angst. With the occasional dollop of a hint of humour (should I succeed at it).

Clear of all charges of attempting unconventionality? Not yet.

Let me tell you a bit about myself: I'm a person in a semi-complete state of apathy, possibly clinically depressed, (Note the clinically: it is used ironically, I have hidden here a subtle "knee-meets-balls" to society; I am not actually clinically depressed, i am only deemed so by the standards which are "clinically" - to myself I am merely unconventional. Lost you? Blame it on your conventionality. Or on my stupidity: whichever helps you sleep at night - we are, after all, living in the age where everything is relative and all philosophy is reduced to mere opinions (imagine i said that with a tone of disgust that is distinctly...Scottish.)) and have nothing better to do one hour before my social (makeshift prom to all you (in all likelihood, non-existent) non-Maltese people.) than to sit down here on my bed in nothing but a pair of shorts and have a nice little chat with you (again, in all likelihood, non-existent. Perhaps I should have used a synonym. Ah fuck it.) my audience.

I enjoy writing and wish to take it up as my profession. Actually I'm lying, but conventionality wishes me to do so. I would rather say I enjoy art and wish to take it up as my profession (artist, for those illiterate). People tell me that wanting to be an artist (again with the Scottish-disgust tone) is not a healthy decision when you can't draw a straight line even with the aid of a ruler but again, their conventionality blinds them to the true meaning of the word "artist". Let us, as convention dictates, ask Wiktionary:

artist (plural artists)

1.A person who creates art.
2.A person who creates art as an occupation.
3.A person who is skilled at some activity

Source: http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/artist

Verily, one is correct in saying an artist is "[a] person who creates art". However, conventionality stipulates people to know that art=drawing/scribbling/messing around/sleeping with many women and/or men for 'inspiration'". Therefore, if one wants to be an artist one must either be a good draw-er, scribbler or womaniser/maneater.

But reality, as opposed to convention, deems it not so. The true sense of the word "art" in any context is the indulging in aesthetic and intellectual pleasures (as defined by myself). Not it is not an 'or' I have placed in that sentence, it is an 'and'. Intellectuality and Aesthetics are not mutually exclusive in Art. I wish to be an artist: I wish to indulge in Aesthetic and Intellectual pleasures.

I could go on to define 'pleasures' so as not to confuse it with the conventional meaning, but i'll give you the benefit of the doubt of thinking you able to think outside the box for yourself. That and I have to go take a shower so as not to stink at tonight's social event. Yay for convention.

Thank you all (Well, to all you naysayers, perhaps "all" also encompasses no one...a debate for another time however) for listening/reading.

Toodles.