Absolutely Fabulous

Fabulous

I’m a lucky man.  The neighbor envies me.  I see it in his eyes.  He wants her.  He wants my wife.  Because she’s absolutely fabulous.

My best friend is not my wife.  My best friend is the dictionary.  So, come here pal, I need you!  Open up.  Please show me.  I want to see the word Fabulous.  I need to know who I’m married to.

Fabulous:

  1. Of or relating to fable, myth or legend.
  2. Characteristic of fables; marvelous, extraordinary, incredible.
  3. Fictional or not believable; made up.
  4. Known for telling fables or falsehoods; unreliable.
  5. Very good; outstanding, wonderful.
  6. Gay or pertaining to gay people.
  7. Camp, effeminate.
  8. Fashionable, glamorous

Yep, she’s all of these things, except number 6.  She keeps saying that she’s not gay, that she loves men.  But then she’s always hanging out with her fabulous female friends.  And she treats me like crap.

Number 5 contradicts numbers 3 and 4.  How can an unbelievable, fake and unreliable person be good?  She appears wonderful, that’s for sure.

Everyone loves her.  Well that’s what she tells me.  So it must be true.  *wink*

I wonder how long she can keep up this show?

Speaking of which…  there used to be a television sitcom by this title.  I think this is where the photo comes from.  I don’t know, I just used Google Images and typed the word fabulous and this one came up.  I thought it looked a lot like my wife.

Being absolutely fabulous is not such a bad thing.  It’s better than being an asshole who posts degrading comments about his wife on WordPress.

But I use my blog to make myself feel better.  And for some reason, I feel better now that I have expressed myself.  Isn’t blogging absolutely fabulous?

Filthy Box

Daemon!

Shit man, you scared me!

Where were you?  What are you doing?

I’m in the Thought World. I’m inside this weird place again. This… box! The writer/blogger/artificial box into which I place myself each time I sit down to write something.

Take my hand and step out of that box. I want to see you naked.

Naked? Ok, Maestro. Thank you.

Are you cold? Take this blanket.

Where did you get that blanket?

It’s an authenticity blanket especially made just for you.

Really? Wow!

You should wear it every day, when you enter the Thought World. You will feel light when wearing it.

Yes, I feel light already. Like I can be myself. No need to pretend. You know this WordPress platform is not a place where I want to lose my authenticity.

It’s a public place. No wonder you feel vulnerable.

I always wondered how it would feel like to be 100% authentic in public.

You can experiment with that.

Thank you for the blanket, man! If you can, please remind me to put it on every morning after I get up. You know how easily I forget these invisible things.

Why don’t you create a blogpost on this subject. Then the idea will root itself more firmly into your awareness.

Good idea.

And one more thing. Don’t go back into that filthy box.

Nebulous Intimacy

Gud02

I don’t want to post, I want to talk. My mind needs stimulation. I need to interact with someone. I want an exchange of information to happen. Now. But I’m alone…

The Internet is the only connection I have so let’s see what I can do with it. I know there are people at the other end. I know that there is someone reading this at this moment.

I’m excited already. Crazy isn’t it? Two minutes ago I felt totally alone and separated from everyone, and now I feel a connection with a reader.

Hi, reader. How are you today? I’m good, probably because I’m doing what I love doing right now: writing and communicating intimately. But do not let the idea of intimacy frighten you away, please. I’m not going to have sex with you. Well not today anyway.

A one-on-one connection is an intimate connection. Something is going on right now between you and me. Admit it. When a writer writes and a reader reads, there is a transfer of information going on. Like the transfer of fluids between two lovers.

Maybe you are turned off by what I’m saying. I have no idea. I’m just typing words, you’re the one who fabricates images in your own mind. Do you like these images?

It’s interesting when I think that I have to power to provoque images in another person’s mind. It’s not mind control, it’s more like an intellectual influence.

It’s funny how the body reacts to thoughts. While I was typing the above paragraphs, there was a unexpected reaction in my body. I thought of telling you but I won’t.

I never expected our connection to be so explicit. It’s still quite early in the morning. But I enjoyed connecting with you. Now we have a relationship.

No Pusher

Pusher1

Have you noticed?  There is no pusher this morning.

I needed a push, so I checked the Daily Prompts and to my surprise, there are none today as of 8:30 a.m., North America Eastern Standard Time.

What happened to the person responsible for posting the daily prompts?  Is he/she dead, sick, absent-minded, sleeping, fed up with the job, rebelling?  Or maybe it’s a technical glitch, a programming error.

Whatever the reason, it will leave many bloggers without their drug this morning.  I’m already starting to feel the effect.  With no one around to push me, how do I know in which direction to go?  What if I take the wrong step?

Help!

The Inciter

Highest4

He is the half of me who pushes me to keep going.  As I get depressed easily, his job seems to be to electrocute me with his probe every once in a while, to keep me from dozing off into nothingness.

Some would call him the Higher Self, Kundalini, or the Holy Spirit.  I call him different names because I can’t seem to be able to settle for one in particular.

To me, Higher Self sounds like a meditative state of quietness where not much is happening.  As for Kundalini, it looks like a snake that rises inside my vertebral column.  I don’t feel comfortable knowing that a reptile dwells in my body.  As for Holy Spirit, it appears to be a dove or a halo that makes me feel guilty for not going to church.

I like to think of him as a living person, not a thing.  So why not call him Jesus?  Here is my answer to that question:  To me, the name Jesus has become the property of the christian churches and of christians in general.  I don’t feel comfortable using that name because it already belongs to an exclusive group of people.  If the man is still alive today, as they claim, no institution has the right to take possession of him or of his name.  So I avoid using that name.  (Sorry Jesus, I’m sure you understand and won’t use it against me.)

So today I came up with a new name for him:  The Inciter.  I like it and here is why:

First of all, the Inciter is a person.  He is conscious and alive, awake and aware.  He watches me and cares.  He’s on the alert when I am not.  He incites, which means that he stirs up, he rouses, he excites something within me.  He probes constantly.  I always imagine him as an angel or an alien.  This way I get some great visuals when he moves, acts and reacts around and through me.

The Inciter has become such an intimate part of my life, I now feel that he’s the other half of me.  My better-half, which is an interesting term, as it also means a very close friend or companion, a spouse, or even better:  a lover!

What exactly does the Inciter do?

Today, he incites me to write.  And writing keeps me breathing, keeps me alive and kicking.

My Secret

secret

I have a secret.  I’m not going to tell you what it is because…  it’s a secret.  But if you have been reading my blog, you probably have figured it out already.

I’m in love.  But I’m not going to tell you who the person is because…  it’s a secret.  But if you have been reading my blog, you probably know already.

I’m ashamed.  But I’m not going to tell you why because…  it’s a secret.  But if you have been reading my blog, you probably have an idea.

I’m not suggesting that you should read my blog.  I don’t want anyone to read my blog because…  it’s private.  But if you have been reading it, no damage was done.

No reader really knows who I am.  I have not given anyone I know access to my blog.  I could be your neighbor.  I could be a family member.  I could be your spouse.

I have a few secrets.  This blog is one of them.  It’s my private world, where I come to play with my thoughts, my emotions and my desires.  I play with people and I play with gods.  I play with mortals and I play with immortals.  I play with you.

I’m in love.  But I’m not going to tell you who he is because…  you don’t know her.  Unless you know yourself.  Then you know already.

I’m ashamed, because of my…  exposure.

I don’t know if I shall ever be willing to give up this fear within.  This fear of what would happen if they’d ever find out my secret.

Are secrets meant to remain hidden?  Apparently not.  Is this fear a friend, or is it an enemy?  Does fear come to haunt me or is it there to protect me?  I can’t tell you because I don’t know.

Meanwhile I will probably keep on writing, to relieve myself of this burden I carry.  A secret burden which is, paradoxically, light.  A load that opens up freedom within me.

Back to Blogging

After many months of non-blogging, I decided to start blogging again today. Is it because I have something useful to tell the world? No.

The few people who will actually take the time to read this will probably get nothing out of it. Then why make it public?

Because I don’t go out much and I have a need to get myself “out there.” I have a need for exposure. Blogging makes me feel that I am an active member of society. Ha! ha!

Why am I laughing?

The phrase “I am an active member of society” makes me laugh. Active. As if.

Does society want to witness my act? I know it wants my submission. It also wants my money. And yes, it probably wants me to act appropriately. But is this what I want to give out to society? No.

What I want to give to society is a piece of my mind. I don’t think society wants to hear it. Thus the reason why blogging exists. Whether or not anyone reads it, the act of blogging is a public act. The perfect medium for an introvert.

I’m not interested in acting. I just want to BE. And it seems that in this world, the only way to be accepted is to act well. How about being real?

If being true has become offensive, then today I declare myself an offensive person. Does that make me a terrorist? Probably.

They can come and kill me if they want. I don’t care. I care not to suffer but I don’t mind dying. I think I’ve seen pretty much all that this world has to offer anyway. So let us all gladly surrender and move on to something better.

A blank page offers the opportunity to start fresh. There are no limits to how many posts I can publish in one day (is there?). So let’s end this one right here and start again from scratch. Writing is unlimited. Today I shall blog.

Metamorphosis?

When I started this blog last year, I entitled it Metamorphosis. But now, nine months later, I don’t feel that what I’m going through is any kind of metamorphosis. There is no transformation going on. Only discoveries of things that were already there. So maybe this is why I haven’t been blogging lately.

After much introspection, I feel that I have finally reached the core of my being, the centre.

What did I find at the centre of the thing called “me”?

Nothing. It’s a quiet zone full of nothingness where my awareness hovers. It’s a void, but it’s a good void because in there, the possibilities are endless.

The nothingness seems dark but it has a flip side which is everythingness. Between nothingness and everythingness is… me!

Me what?

Me, the… decider.

But what is there to decide at that level? Nothing. All is perfect at the centre. The problem is at the surface.

So I snap out it. I return to the surface and what do I find? Me in the “real world.” So where’s the metamorphosis?

Change happens on the surface, with time, inevitably. The seasons change and my body grows older. Is there anything else that changes within me?

Yes… my knowledge. And my awareness that I am able to travel deep within myself and reach the quiet zone where everything originates.

I cannot say that the journey was easy. Before reaching the centre, I had to go through many layers of thoughts, emotions, inner voices, beliefs, memories, fears, expectations… It was easy to get lost. It was easy to get caught up in the turmoil. It was easy to get discouraged, to turn around and return to the surface where everything seems to move in slow-motion in comparison.

So anyway, to cut this post short, I’m going to say this:

With the change of seasons came a change of decision. I decided to get myself an apartment. So I now have my own place away from the family.

Spontaneity

jackhaas18a

Writing without an agenda.
This is an experiment
With spontaneity.

I chose a picture that I like
Because it’s beautiful
Created by Jack Haas

Is this a poem?
I don’t know.
There are no rhymes.
Or maybe some will pop up.
Spontaneously.

Writing is how my soul breathes.
When I stop, I suffocate.
Sorry if it annoys you.
I’m simply keeping myself alive here.

I can’t go for a walk, it’s raining.
Well I could still go but
I usually do it after lunch.
In the morning I write.

There is too much I could write about.
Sometimes it’s just frustrating to have to choose.
So I said to myself:  “Why choose?”
Why not be spontaneous.

Spontaneity is scary.
What is the next line going to be?
What if something ugly jumps out suddenly?

Heh! heh! heh!  It is a mystery.
Flirting with the unknown.
It’s involuntary.

I might lose control.
Should I look behind?
What if I lose my mind?

Who will take over
If I let go of my own senses?
Chaos, Cosmos or Cyclops?

Is it even possible to go astray
There must be beauty
Even in spontaneity

Should I stop here?
Or should I continue…

Too much of it might get boring.
Yeah, breathing does get boring.
But I have to keep going.

If I hold my breath
My face will turn blue.
I would not want that.
My blue hand is causing me enough trouble.
Do I want a blue face to match it?

I know what I’ll do.
There is a word count
At the bottom right.
It’s at two sixty eight.
When it gets to 1000
I will stop
No matter what.
Even if I’m not finished.
Now THAT is scary.

It’s like approaching death.
The death of this blogpost.
The end of it.

I still have six hundred something words to go.
What will these words be?
Maybe I should write something important.
Which reminds me…

My father used to say:
“Shut up if you have nothing important to say.”
Daddy must be very disappointed in me right now.
Sorry dad, but you are dead now, so I am free.

Can the zombie hear me?
Is it disrespectful to refer to my dead father as a zombie?
Will God punish me?
I just broke commandment number three.
No sorry it’s number five.
I just checked.

I don’t think I’ll make it to 1000 words.
At the word “word” it was only 400.
It’s never too late to say something important.
To make my father proud of his illegitimate son.

Now why did I write the word “illegitimate?”
This was really spontaneous.
What does it actually mean?

Illegal?  Against the law?
Born of unmarried parents?
But my parents were married when they had me.

Illegitimate also means illogical or incorrectly deduced.
Maybe I am not my biological father’s son.
When I was young I sometimes felt like I was adopted.
Because he didn’t like me much.

But I look so much like him.
I’m sure he’s my real father.
Even my personality matches his almost perfectly.

So that’s not it, I am his biological son.
Why did I write illegitimate then?

The word also means “not genuine.”
So does that mean that my father is not my genuine father?
What does genuine mean?
Thank God I have a dictionary.

What did I just say, again, spontaneously?
Thank “GOD” I have a dictionary?
God?  Who’s God?

My genuine father perhaps?
Of course, God the Father.
But who would that god be?

Yahweh?  Don’t tell me!
Not that blood thirsty
Son of a b****
The ultimate source of love.
He!  He!  He!

Allah?  I think he’s the same as Yahweh.
Bhagavan Krishna?  Yeah, perhaps…
Since his son Krishna is sometimes painted blue
I foresee a definite possibility.

I already wrote a blogpost entitled “A Real Father”
So why am I still writing about this.
Do I miss my daddy?

How can I miss an unknown person?
Well…  I think that if one wants to know the father
All one has to do is look at the son.

The son would be me.
So the father would be just like me.
This means I have a pretty cool daddy.
LOL!

In a sense I am my own father.
I am my own creator.
I am my own guide.
I am my own authority.
And I am my own god.

This is spitting in the face of Christianity.
My mother would not be proud of me.
Some of my sisters would spit back at me.
In fact they already have.

One told me that I had been seduced by an evil spirit.
Another said that my ideas were satanic.
The third one agreed with the first one.
The fourth one is not sure.
The fifth one is not bothered by the rest and accepts me.
Yes, I have five sisters.

So where am I going with this?
Nowhere.  I’m being spontaneous.
I have just revisited my family.
I visit them virtually and rarely physically.

I am a lonely bastard.
And I think that this is the way I like it.
I enjoy my own company.
I think I am funny.
I don’t need my brother to make me laugh.
Yes, I also have a brother.
He’s a clown.

Why did I use the word “clown” to describe my brother?
Let’s look it up.  A clown can be:
1-  a performance artist often associated with a circus
2- a person who acts in a silly fashion
3- a stupid person
4- a man of coarse nature and manners; an awkward fellow
5- one who works upon the soil; a rustic; a churl.

Yup, that pretty much describes my biological brother.
Not to be confused with my cosmic brother Jahele.
Two very different individuals.

So I had to conclude at one point that I had two separate families.
One down here and another up there, in the clouds or above them.
I’m related to one by blood and to the other one by spirit.

One thousand words.

Are You Bored?

bored

If you are not bored, then don’t read this post because it contains only boring thoughts from a bored person.

What could I do that is worthwhile, fun and useful, on this rainy day?

Don’t bother suggesting anything that requires movement, because I can’t move.

I’m disabled.

Never told you about my disability, did I?

*sigh*

Ok, I’m going to tell you:

One day, I lost something.  One day I had it, and the next day it was gone.  Things have never been the same since that day.  It happened in 1999.  On the 10th of June.  That day, I lost my balance.  I don’t even know what caused it.

Most people don’t even realize that they have balance.  But when you lose it, holy shit…

Without balance, you can’t walk.  I had to re-learn how to walk.  But the worse thing was what followed:  depression.  I mention depression in many of my blogposts but not what caused it.

This disequilibrium makes me feel a little drunk most of the time.  So if you ever wondered why my posts were unbalanced, now you know.  My balance system is broken and it can’t be fixed.  You want the technical details?  Boring!  But this is a boring post so I’m going to tell you.

The sense of balance is in your inner ear.  Ever heard of equilibrioception?  Me neither.  We all think we have only five senses, but we have more.  The sense of balance is one of them and it is definitively being taken for granted.

When the sense of balance breaks down, it causes dizziness, disorientation and nausea.  Motion sickness if you will.  It sucks.  I said earlier that I couldn’t move but it’s not true.  I can move as much as I want, but it makes me feel sick.  The more I move, the worse it gets.  I feel like I’m going to vomit.  Loud sound also affects it for some reason.  When there is too much noise, I feel like barfing.

I learned to live with it.  I had no choice.  I can walk but running is out of the question, unless I want to get hurt.  I feel best when I don’t move and all is quiet.  Boring, isn’t it?  This is my life.  I write because I don’t move much, so I think and dream a lot.  I don’t like watching TV so I have to use my imagination to find satisfactory entertainment.  What else can I do?  Oh, I read also, but I prefer to daydream and write creatively.

So this is my disability.

What is yours?