The church of Modernity.

Here I am. It's Sunday morning. Monday is a bank holiday and the carnival is in town. I spent last night at a friend's place in West London. As I'd agreed to meet my friend later in the evening and since I had arrived in the area a little early, I had plenty of time to kill. So what does one do when one has time a-plenty in Shepherds Bush? Visit the brand new church ofcourse!

I know what you are thinking. What is this church to which I refer? Well It is no ordinary 'church'. Like all churches it has high vaulted ceilings. Like most churches it has a dome roof of clear glass through which heavenly light showers through lighting the top of the heads of the congregation and worshippers. But this is no ordinary congregation and this no ordinary church either.

The church I am referring to is called 'The Westfield Shopping Centre' and people flock to it in their thousands in search of answers! They visit the house of Gucci and the house of Armani. They prostrate themselves at the Emporium of Adidas and seek wisdom from the oracle of Apple. They walk around for hours and hours like benumb zombies circling the two floors of the church like they do in Muslim Mecca. And then, having ostensibly found what they are looking for, they return home satisfied and content.

Until that is the next morning when they wake up and realise nothing has changed. Their lives are still as meaningless and empty as before. They are still none the wiser. Life continues to show them a mysterious face. They look at yesterday's shopping bags and wonder why they brought what they did. At the time, in the church of Westfield, that Prada handbag and the new Iphone4 was answering all their prayers. But today in the cold and honest and harsh light of the morning, in the light of their room and amongst the ordinary furniture of their home, that bag looks different. It seems they were duped. They were lied to. Salvation does not live in the church of Westfield.

I spent five hours in the church of Westfield yesterday and I didn't feel a thing.

Actually wait I lie. I did feel something.

I felt profound relief when I got out. At times it felt like being in a circus. A nightmare. A fairground ride.  A merry-go-round but without the merriment.

What I can see today

I can see a blonde mother with her teenage daughter and younger son. Mother and daughter want to go into T. K. Maxx for more shopping but the son is standing outside refusing to go in. The poor lad has had enough shopping with these never-satisfied women! He wants out. Who can blame him?

I can see a couple holding hands. Now he has put his arms on her shoulder - weakly. He feels uncomfortable. Are they meeting in central London illicitly? Perhaps her parents don't approve of him? She is pretty and there is an air of royalty about her. She has a certain grace and walks as if she is comfortable in her own skin. Comfortable in who she is. Confident. They say confidence is sexy and it can't be faked.

What is confidence and why are some people more sure then others? Do they know or understand something that lesser mortals don't? Do they have access to the secret of life or some other esoteric knowledge?! Is confidence steeped in the real world or is it more about how you feel inside? The world is full of people who have something to be confident about but aren't confident at all. And the world is full of even more people who have less to be confident about but are very confident indeed.

I look at the couple again. I know what it is. As a writer you must get into and under the skins of people, and I think I have understood those weak gestures. That luke-warm hand draped on the shoulder. That wet kiss like a fish. That weak fire of passion that burns not like a roaring tiger but a mouse. He is not sure if he deserves her. That's what it is. He thinks she might be too good for him. Yet it is this same feeling of inadequacy that he has, that will fuel his jealousy and eventually drive her away from him. I can see their future in a weak kiss!

I feel like I can see everything today. Nothing escapes me. Perched as I am on this lofty peak why don't I cast this gaze, this all seeing eye, inwards. What will I find in me? Perhaps I am afraid?

Yes I am afraid. Better to keep the demons locked up!

And throw away the key.

Mobile blogging from my new 'Samsung Galaxy S2' smartphone

The future just got better. The future is bright. The future is Orange. The future is mobile blogging.

This blog entry is being written, composed and posted from the balcony of a friends flat. I am not in front of a computer. I am standing outside with the rain lashing at my feet - and i am writing this from my brand new smartphone.

I am trying to think of words to express my proudness. Erm...is proudness the right word? Or maybe better to say to express my feeling of utter drunken amazement at being able to do this. To be able to post a blog entry from anywhere on this fucking planet! I feel like Superman. Not Nietzches Uber man, but Clark Kent`s alter ego. I cannot believe and can barely comprehend the possibilities mobile `on the go` blogging have suddenly opened up. You have no idea! The floodgates have suddenly opened up for me. I can now post 'instantly' what i think the very moment i think it. I am so happy i think i am about to cry. I am er...no not drunk...just a little sozzled n inebriated. No! I should not write in textology. Shame on me! Full sentences only. I am still getting used to typing on this wonderful touch screen. Yes it is smaller then the typing surface of a laptop - but it has predictive text and it can learn my typing behaviour. It knows what words I mean. It knows me very well....and we only just met!

Wow! Today i am proud to be human. Proud at our - the human races's achievements. Proud to be able to blog mobilingly...is that even a word?!

Over and out.

This message was sent by a slightly drunk Me from the Samsung Galaxy S2. Gosh! I think i am in love. I have found my soul-mate. I have found 'her'. The 'one' i have been searching for all of my miserable life (i wonder if she allows me to type in italics?)

Please visit my alter-ego at my new blog (click on link below)

http://duluxdreams.wordpress.com/

Currently reading: Open City (By Teju Cole)

Along the streets of Manhattan, a young Nigerian doctor doing his residency training wanders aimlessly. The walks meet a need for Julius: they are a release from the tightly regulated mental environment of work, and they give him the opportunity to process his relationships,  his present, his past - his recent breakup. Though he is navigating the busy parts of town, the impression of countless faces does nothing to reduce his feelings of isolation. But it is not only a physical landscape he covers; Julius crisscrosses social territory as well, encountering people from different cultures and classes who will provide insight on his journey - which takes him to Brussels, to the Nigeria of his youth, and into the most unrecognisable facets of his own soul. 

Extraordinary stuff.

The Best Gringo's Guide to South America ever!

http://www.amazon.co.uk/South-American-Handbook-Footprint-Handbooks/dp/1907263438/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1314135324&sr=8-1

This is required reading material for any Gringo of quality...


The above is a link to the best guide to South America. It quite simply tramples the 'Lonely Planet' guide and all other guides into the Peruvian mud! Why is it better then other guide books? Well let me tell you:


a) It is updated every year - so has the latest information (unlike the Lonely Planet Guides which are updated every 4-5 years!)
b) It tells you the time-tables for bus services in even the most remotest of mountain regions - places you wouldn't even dream of going. Places that civilisation hasn't touched and where the locals look like inbred mutants. But it is nice to have that information in your fingertips - just in case!
c) It has a hard cover and is small and light.

Caught by the Travel Bug...in South America

In around and abouts mid-December 2011, I will be heading off to Latin America for a much needed spiritual awakening. My inspiration meter is low - in fact, the tank is almost empty!


So to recharge, and re-boot, I will be donning those rugged trainers, the jeans, and the ruck-sack + camera + little laptop (for mobile blogging) + kindle (loaded with a lifetimes worth of reading material) + 2 t-shirts + 1 shirts + a healthy dose of wanderlust + passport + money + contact lenses + plane tickets + Latin translator (they speak Latin in Latin America silly billy!) + Christian cross (In case I need to prove I am a Christian) so that I am not burnt at the stake by some Conquistadores or followers of Pizzaro.

The idea being to wonder about this part of the world a little bit. It is a big part of the world and I intend to see as much of it as possible before I die. No! You have misunderstood me! I have no intention of actually DYING on the trip! Oh no. I hope to stay alive if possible. I hope to keep the ghost for a while yet - the ghost of my life force.


And wonder I will, wherever the heart will take me, wherever I feel like it, in my own style and my own pace and on my own legs. I will not hurry. I will not rush. I will not aim to see as much as possible so that I can tick those "I have been there" boxes. I will not be a tourist. I will not take stupid photos of myself in front of Machu Picchu to tell people that 'I WAS HERE!' - How degrading! LOOK AT ME! LOOK WHERE I AM! LOOK WHERE I HAVE BEEN! - Idiotos...


No! No! No!

I have better style then those idiot tourists with 2 brain cells. Oh yes! I will be a wanderer. An adventurer! An explorer of the mind. I will seek out and discover new life. And new things. And if I am lucky - really really lucky - I might even...find ...myself.

Oooh, how exciting to find oneself. But how strange no? To go to the other side of the world looking...for yourself! But isn't that what real travel is really all about? Its not places we seek. It's not little corners of the world. Its not caves or secret beaches or remote deserts or peaceful mountains. We seek ourselves. The truth is, that in modern life in a modern metropolis like London - you never have time for yourself. Its always about yourself in relation to others. You're never on your own. In fact - people are afraid of there own shadows and reflections. That is why whenever they are alone for a minute they take out their Iphones and Blackberries and get connected! Or play games! So they don't have to have an inner dialogue with themselves!


But who are you? Who really am I? Who is anybody? To answer this question you must surround yourself not by others, but by your own voice. And I'll be hearing plenty of 'my own voice' alone on my travels.

The truth is that I am good friends with myself. We (me and me) get on very well! I got to know me very well over the course of many previous travels and discussions. But I have been neglecting me for a while now! I have put me in a closet and I have shut the door. But it is now time. Time to let me out.

I can't wait! - Hahahaha

Tonight I will watch 'The Motorcycle Diaries' as a celebration and a sort of mental preparation for South America.

Over the course of the next weeks and months I will be writing a whole host of travel related articles on this blog. So watch out! Some will be useful. Some a little strange. Many a little mad. And most will no doubt be totally and wholly out of this world. If you want to join me on an adventure - an adventure with no limits - then stay with me. You might not be travelling with me - but through the medium of the printed word - through the use of 26 letters of the English alphabet - I may be able to work some magic with my fingers - and for a while - for an instant - transport you - as if on a magic carpet - to my side...


I will take you with me on my trip, and you will see and taste and feel - as I.

I leave you now with the following words:

We travel not for trafficking alone;
 By hotter winds our fiery hearts are fanned:
For lust of knowing what should not be known
 We take the Golden Road to Samarkand.

Saturday Picnic - Regents Park

Memories

One day all this but memories

Of the times we had

Things we did

Things we said

How we laughed

and shrieked

& got drunk.

How you stole my cigarettes

and begged me

for my lighter!

Memories, all but memories

How we celebrated this crazy thing

called Life

In the sunrise of our youth
In the ascendancy of our powers

Memories

One day all but memories

This Miracle

Of a beautiful life.

How I love you!
Though you sometimes hurt me so.

London's Burning! London's Burning!

It all reminds me of that Clash Song from the 80's:

London's burning!
London's burning!

All across the town,

all across the night

Everybody's driving with full headlights

Black or white turn it on,

face the new religion

Everybody's sitting 'round watching television!

London's burning with boredom now

London's burning dial 99999

I can hear police sirens as I type this. When I switch on the telly I am confronted by images of hooded youths on bikes throwing missiles at police, burning bins, and buildings raging with fire - all not far from where I live. Am I in a warzone in Afghanistan? Is this Iraq? No, this is London. London is under siege my friends. Under siege by jobless hooded youths - who are either, not at school / college because of the summer breaks, or are jobless because the economy is so fucked. Is there a cause or is this just the will-full mindless violence of a generation brought up on violent computer games - starving for some real world excitement?

Who to blame?

The cosy politicians with their austerity cuts? Cuts to education. Cuts to welfare spending. Cuts to the public sector. Cuts to the health service. Cuts to community services. Extra tuition fees. Fewer university places. Fewer jobs. Less of everything - but more things you want to buy. More things to buy! The types of shops that were looted tells you something about what these people want: the latest fucking trainers and big wide screen TV's so they can watch themselves on the telly attacking and looting. Their ugly mugs stapled all over the TV news - in High Definition! Morons.

My mind is awash with thoughts. That is why this blog entry is not coherent. It is rambling, I am rambling, my brain is under siege with conflicting ideas and theories and thoughts all vying for attention. I am angry. I am angry with the mindless opportunistic violence. I am angry with the politicians for creating a whole generation of lost youth. Yes they are lost. With no qualifications and no prospects - what will they do?

But there is something else that is eating at me. It is this: we live in a city and a world (at least in the West) where society functions. Criminals are caught and prosecuted. Violent acts are prevented. But this is only because these criminal activities happen sporadically and are spaced out in time. The police can deal with them because they don't require a concentration of force. But when they happen all at once - in different locations - when there is communication between the no-gooders that allows them to logisticise their activities - when the thugs have numbers on their sides - when the trouble makers use Blackberry Messaging services such as BBM to organise - then we have trouble. Then the police are stretched. And this is what we are seeing in London. A thin blue line of police that can't cope.

Get a group of people organised - and you'll get trouble. That is why in the old days of revolutions - gatherings of more then 3 people in town squares were forbidden.

But there is something else also I wish to discuss. Something more morbid and dark. Something that is gnawing away at my brain. Eating away at my skull. It is this: We think we live in a stable world where things work - but that skin of stability is very thin indeed. Tenuous. It doesn't take much to pierce it you know. And when it pierces the seething, malevolent, selfish, bad, violent, greedy side of humanity surfaces. A side that is normally kept in check by social order processes - police, the army, threat of prosecution, courts etc. But when that breaks down - when the police can't cope - civilization crumbles - cities burn - people get hurt.

We are a fucked up race. Humanity! What a joke! We rape and pillage this planet. We cause endless suffering to countless creatures. We are genocidal, suicidal, megalomaniacal, infanticidal, racial, profligate, lecherous, and greedy beyond measure. And outside I can hear police cars. I can hear a police helicopter buzzing above my head and on the news, London burns. London is burning. Black smoke is bellowing and belching. Shops are being raided. Livelihoods are being destroyed. Hackney is burning to the ground. The world is watching as we kill ourselves. This world is fucked. Where all gonna die. Let the cockroaches take-over! - Yeah!

Wasim. Blog Reporter. Live from a Warzone in Hackney. Over and Out.

Sunday despatches from a Man Alive

Leisure-time is the flower, or rather, the fruit of existence, as it puts a man in possession of himself. So those will be happiest in leisure who possess something real in themselves. During the day I don't possess myself - work possesses me - I belong to work. In the evenings it is a different matter altogether. In the evenings I am mine - I belong to me! Hands off!

*****

If you think about it everybody does what is best for himself. The man who pushes to the front of the queue is doing it for himself. The girl who dumps her boyfriend is not acting out of malice - but self interest. The man who robs is doing it for his children. The inquisitors of the Spanish Inquisition with Torquemada as their head burnt heretics on the stake to save their souls from further blasphemy. The Nazis incinerated the Jews because they believed the world would be a better place without them. There is no such thing as pure evil in the world. Only terribly misguided, ignorant, ill-conceived, ill-thought-out, actions warped by wrong ideas. Everyman thinks he is doing right. No man thinks himself to be doing wrong. Only in the minds of others, is evil as a tangible thing, brought to conception. The cure for the troubles of the world I know: "look at every person that lives as if they're your very own child - would you throw bombs at your children? Everybody that lives has a mother - and when that person suffers, a mothers grief is born". If only we all remembered this in our daily lives - would we not then be kinder and gentler to our fellow citizens?

*****

Man is the only creature in the world who kills for reasons other than food, land, sex (access to females) and survival. What are these 'other' reasons? No other animal but man kills because of the Ideas you hold in your brain? No other animal kills another because he poses a future threat. No other animal but man kills because it makes him feel good. No other animal but man kills because he wishes to wipe you out completely. No other animal kills for punishment or for revenge for something you have done in the past. No other animal kills because you do not share the same beliefs. The race of men kill consciously and deliberately. It is a part of the same intellectual heritage that enables us to contemplate the stars. Without one there would be no other. There is no art without pain. There is no love without heart-ache. There is no good without evil. The blade cuts both ways.

*****

There is nothing more pleasurable in life then fresh coffee served with a fresh oven baked baguette that is spread liberally with a dashing of golden full-fat butter. The whole is perfected by a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Aaaahh refreshing! And to crown this glorious achievement is you - sitting in front of your laptop - tapping away at the keys - writing - in the knowledge that you have written something and that it is written well - and that you have expressed something seemingly ineffable. In short: doing what you enjoy and doing it well! - That is what gives me pleasure. Doing what I enjoy doing and doing it well - and trying to improve it as I go along. 

I play with words like dough balls - like small spheres of oven baked bread - I play with them  in my hands - shape them to my liking - apply pressure on one side and you have a flattened disk - you can pull, squeeze, squash, stretch and contort them. They are words and like set-jelly, you can make them into any shape you want. And what if you don't have anything to say?

Rubbish!

You are alive aren't you tonta?! So describe what it feels like. Pause for a moment and describe what it is like at this very moment - to be you.


Why would people want to read such stuff?


Because in you, they may find, a piece of themselves...

Words