Home Is Where The Heart Is

Monday, October 30, 2006

Candidate for The Speech Of All Time:

V: Good evening, London. Allow me first to apologize for this interruption. I do, like many of you, appreciate the comforts of everyday routine- the security of the familiar, the tranquility of repetition. I enjoy them as much as any bloke.

But in the spirit of commemoration, whereby those important events of the past usually associated with someone's death or the end of some awful bloody struggle, are celebrated with 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 high chancellor, Adam Sutler. 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. But if you see what I see, if you feel as I feel, and if you would seek as I seek, then I ask you to stand beside me one year from tonight, outside the gates of Parliament, and together we shall give them a fifth of November that shall never, ever be forgot.

And I urge my countrymen to step back, take a long hard look at our political system and ask ourselves: is this the future we want for our children, and their children?

Adieu.

Runnin' away, you can't pretend...
11:51 AM

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Thursday, October 19, 2006

"What are they doing?"

"Breaking into his mind - it's like hacking a computer, all it takes is time."

"How much time?"

"Depends on the mind, but eventually it'll crack... and then he'll do anything they wants him to do."

"What do they want?"

"Each man has been given a key - the key to unlocking all that we hold sacred. If they ever got hold of that key, they could destroy us... we can't let that happen."

"Safeguarding the sanctity of that key is more important than you, me... or even him."

"There has to be something we can do."

"There is - we pull the plug."

"You're talking about killing his dreams. Killing him."

"There isn't any other way."

"I can't believe this is happening."

"Our safety, indeed the safety of those around us; it's more important than any of his dreams."

"Stop. Wait. Don't do anything."

"This has to be done; you know it."

"It can't be coincidence, it can't be."

"What are you talking about?"

"She told me that this would happen, that I would have to make a choice."

"What kind of choice?"

"But now I understand what she meant, now I know what I have to do. Because I believe in something."

"In what?"

"I believe I can save his dreams."

Runnin' away, you can't pretend...
2:42 PM

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Monday, October 09, 2006

Some more interesting observations:

The sun sets really early here, and conversely, rises just as early. It's light by 6:30am, and dusk gives way to darkness about 12 hours later. I'm still not used to it being real dark before 7, but there you go.

Tuk-tuk drivers have the gear shift between their legs. Maybe it's just me, but from a distance, when they shift gears it looks uncannily like they're jerking off. And these mofos REALLY don't give a rat's ass about pedestrians and blind corners, they look like they're hell-bent on a meeting with the Horned Dude.

Walking to the office, there is this section of... pathway, shall we say, that makes me feel as if I'm on the set of Saving Private Ryan. Not, not because there are fanatical Nazis shouting broken German and attempting to outshoot imperialistic GIs, but because the... pathway is little more than a dirt track dotted liberally with craters. Not puddles, not potholes, craters - when a hole filled to the brim with murky water dominates the entire width of the road, I think it's safe to classify it as a crater. Navigating this... pathway feels like some sort of impromptu playground skipping obstacle.

I think the auntie at the food stall likes me. That's cause she not only gives me big helpings of food, but also even changes the rice to to the hot stuff straight from the pot. Me and my colleagues even got some free veggies last week - now they're jokingly saying we should buy from there every day. Haha I'm uncomfortable, but hey, whatever makes the auntie happy, man.

Stay tuned!

Runnin' away, you can't pretend...
7:37 PM

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Monday, October 02, 2006

I am a wordsmith.

I have been called many other things - melodramatic, emotional, narcissitic, idealistic, narrow-minded, self-serving, among a plethora of other titles. But at the most base level, my craft is simply that with words - of words, in words, through words.

Some of these descriptions have been justified, some of them have not.

But as a certain monsieur V once so aptly termed, 'words are the means to meaning'.

There is so much you can convey through words that mere imagery cannot. Yes, in what must surely be the antithesis of communication, words can indeed exceed the medium of pictures.

A picture can mean a thousand words. But conversely, a thousand pictures would not suffice to fully describe all the possible meanings, implications and other emotional responses that a single word can evoke.

Just by its sound, a word can describe hatred, love, passion, sympathy, longing, sorrow and a multitude of other adjectives.

But surely there must be a meaning to all this, no?

I used to think that dreams were an end in themselves. Surely, everyone with a valid dream would want to fulfill their heart's desire - and that due to the vicariousness of the universe, most dreams would inevitably die a violent death, or otherwise they would spin out of consciousness in an uncontrollable lassitude.

No. No, dreams are merely the means to an end - what end, we must choose for ourselves.

A dream no longer dies - it merely matures, growing beyond the cramped confines that my mind had initially set out for them. A dream is but the mere embodiment of an innate desire - for example, the dream to fly isn't the literal wish to ascend the heavens, but instead a longing for freedom, whether it be physical freedom or the freedom of expression.

And like a dream, the vicariousness of human nature will never cease to exist, instead hidden beneath a mere veneer of pettiness and superficiality.

It is because man dreamed of a better life that he climbed down from trees and made fire.

May I, may we all, never lose sight of what is arguably homo sapien's most valuable trait:

The will to adapt and survive against all odds.

Runnin' away, you can't pretend...
5:26 PM

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