If only...

.... life were a little bit more like rugby, everything would be easier. You'd know at a glance who your enemies are and you'd fight to the end knowing that your friends will always support you. To the end. You'd be able to smash your enemies bad and not feel guilty about it, because that's what you are meant to do. And they will expect it. You'd know that none of your friends will ever turn against you and that even if they might shout at you, it's only for the ultimate common good. And you'd be sure that none of your enemies will ever wear your same colours, they will not mingle with your friends, not for a moment think to mix up with your lot. And you'd know, only too well, that even if you make a mistake everybody else does: it's the team effort that counts.

Oh the beauty of the game!

Why isn't life like rugby?

Remember Remember...

Good evening, Italy,

Allow me first to apologize for this interruption. I do, like many of you, appreciate the comforts of every day routine- the security of the familiar, the tranquility of repetition. I enjoy them as much as any bloke. But in the spirit of commemoration, thereby those important events of the past usually associated with someone's death or the end of some awful bloody struggle, a celebration of a nice holiday, I thought we could mark this November the 5th, a day that is sadly no longer remembered, by taking some time out of our daily lives to sit down and have a little chat. There are of course those who do not want us to speak. I suspect even now, orders are being shouted into telephones, and men with guns will soon be on their way. Why? Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth. And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there? Cruelty and injustice, intolerance and oppression. And where once you had the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission. How did this happen? Who's to blame? Well certainly there are those more responsible than others, and they will be held accountable, but again truth be told, if you're looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror. I know why you did it. I know you were afraid. Who wouldn't be? War, terror, disease. There were a myriad of problems which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your common sense. Fear got the best of you, and in your panic you turned to the now prime minister, SB. He promised you order, he promised you peace, and all he demanded in return was your silent, obedient consent. Last night I sought to end that silence. Last night I destroyed the Old Bailey, to remind this country of what it has forgotten. More than four hundred years ago a great citizen wished to embed the fifth of November forever in our memory. His hope was to remind the world that fairness, justice, and freedom are more than words, they are perspectives. So if you've seen nothing, if the crimes of this government remain unknown to you then I would suggest you allow the fifth of November to pass unmarked.

Not my words, as you can tell, but oddly fitting with the mood of the day. I only changed a few words..

Heads

It seems to have become very fashionable to show to the world the head of the person you have just killed. The bloodier, the better. I am not entirely sure I support this new trend. Actually, I am entirely sure I don't. I suppose since the time of David and Goliath, Salome and John the Baptist, or Judith and Holofernes, warriors have always made a point of cutting heads off and use them as a sign of their strength. But I get the feeling it was seen more as a way of clearly showing to your enemy how strong you were. Especially if, like in the case of Judith, a single woman managed to cut off the head of the enemy general.

That sense has now been lost. Correction, maybe it still survives but now the images of dead, shattered bodies are shown to everybody around the globe, whether you like or not. Colonel Gaddafy, or Osama Bin Laden were not my personal enemies, nor of the various news papers and tv stations that showed their bloody dead heads for days. Well, I suppose they were enemies of the West and Democracy, for whatever that means, and therefore everybody's enemy. But seeing their dead heads over and over again doesn't make me feel more powerful against my enemy. It just makes me feel sorry. For people who probably never deserved my pity in life.

Maybe it's the opposite, maybe all this is staged to make us feel sorry, to make monsters appear more human at least in death. But that surely clashes with the victorious headlines that accompany the pictures..

Then of course there is the third option, a lot less poetic and acceptable, that this is just an epidemic of lack of taste and tact that is affecting the world. If this is the case I beg to differ, and will shut my eyes in front of death. In the hope that if enough people do the same we could defeat the disease and go back to knowing what is appropriate from what is not.

I believe..

...I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye...

Mark Knoplfer and Savage Garden are rocking in the background of my mind. Setting the mood for a bunch of disconnected thoughts. Yet another big change in my life has happened. And yet another evening spent crying is to follow. I have to admit, haven't been here in a while. I don't even know if I can still manage this. Who knows. Who cares. At the moment I just wanna melt my sadness into tears and let it go. Go river of sorrow, run towards your sea. He is waiting.....

Architects

I should be writing my dissertation or go to bed.. instead I feel strangely inspired.

Thing is, I've been thinking about this for a while now and finally I got hit by the right words.. as always, from a song.

"Are there no fighters left here anymore? Are we the generation we have been waiting for? Or are we patiently burning waiting to be saved? Our heroes our idols have mellowed with age, following rules that they once disobeyed, they're now being led when they used to lead the way.."

It's a fact. I, we, grew up with a number of icons in front of me, whether actors or athletes or poets. I was a kid, they, in their twenties, young and inspirational. Now all of them are about 30 or older and somehow not as much interesting. They have mellowed. And I have grown up to be almost an adult. No longer they are icons or heroes. But there seems to be none else to replace them. Actors, athletes and writers in their twenties now are just people my age who chose a different path from mine. I guess maybe, it's a matter of having roughly the same age. Or of being mature enough not to need icons. Or, maybe, the world is mellowing in its own silly days of struggle and laziness. Or maybe, this is part of growing up. I do feel the empty space they have left tho. We, I, desperately need new icons and heroes. Maybe it's a call for me, and my generation, to take the lead and shine. Inspire younger people. And make a difference in this stupid lethargic little planet.

"do you care to be the layer of the bricks that seal you fate? Or would you rather be the architect of what we might create?"

The edge

sometimes the rage comes back when you least expect and just hits you in the guts with all its - forgotten - strength. It happened today. To this point I don't know exactly why.. but it did oxygenate by blood like nothing else can.

The thing is: I'm getting tired, edgy, bitchy and nervous. I despise people around me.. so much that it takes all the power of my rationality to bring me back to thinking they are actually lovely people. Which, in fact, they are.

Anyway, the rage triggered some highly philosophical thoughts.. as usual. Here it is.

I am more of a feminist that I would like to admit. I shiver with indignation in front of gender inequality and patronising attitudes. You know what I am talking about. I do agree with Dylan Moran on that any woman who spends hours getting ready just to walk the dog or whatever is doing it just to please men. I retch when I hear people saying the of course they will get married, because that is what is expected from women. I disapprove of traditional gender roles. I could go on. And yet, sometimes girls are so stupid, weak and annoying that I do think we might have called discrimination upon ourselves. I don't wanna generalize. But man the rage waves I get when I see those typically girly attitudes. I don't know.. maybe this general weakness that some girls display is a reaction to centuries of inequality. Maybe discrimination does weaken you. Either way. Whatever the reason. I get furious around stereotypical girls. To tears.

End of the angry rant of the day.

John Barleycorn must die

Sons and Lovers

I started reading D.H. Lawrence masterpiece after what it felt like years that I hadn't read a novel. Obviously it has been less than that, but somehow I had forgotten that magic, relaxing feeling that only novels can give you. The infinite pleasure of lying down with a good book and let time disappear altogether. Joy. Pure Joy.

Here are two quotes that today struck me like lightening. Like only good quotes do.

He had denied the God in him.

Sleep is most perfect, in spite of hygienists, when it is share with a beloved. The warmth, the security and peace of soul, the utter comfort from the touch of the other, knits the sleep, so that it takes the body and soul completely in its healing.