[F] is for Feeling (insert emotion)

This is how I see it. Signing up to the A to Z challenge was one of the best decisions I have ever made. Having to write a post a day was a daunting prospect however as soon as the calendars changed to 1st April and I was ‘forced’ to produce an entry blog, my perspective has shifted. I have been very busy at work recently and coming home staring at yet another computer screen was the last thing on my mind. I felt unhappy, tired, demotivated.

However this challenge (that felt more like a chore before it even started) has turned out to be a rather pleasant experience. And ‘rather pleasant’ is a textbook example of an absolute understatement. I feel happy, inspired, creative – still tired though as somehow my social life has been derailed and taken bit of a crazy path. I love writing. I am always happy when I write. Even if the things and emotions I write about are not particularly positive. I love words and that you can play with them as if they were Lego bricks; building towers that are sometimes strong and tall and sometimes they tumble down and you have to start connecting the bricks again raising a more solid structure.

Yes, it is challenging to find the time every day and come up with a post that you are not ashamed to share. But truth to be told, I am more worried what I will do when I wake up and the clocks will say 1st May.

F in the A to Z Challenge.

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[E] is for Excel Spreadsheet

I have written a short story about hell. I apologize, but it was a funny kind of story. There was quite a positive response to it so I  have decided to continue and I have written couple more drafts and I am harbouring few more ideas and maybe one day when I try really hard and dedicate my time to hitting the letters on my keyboard I might even finish writing them and give birth to a collection of short stories.

What has writing short stories to do with Excel spreadsheet? Not much. Though it would be quite interesting to write a story in excel format, numbers are words too after all. Excel in this case, has more to do with hell. According to my friend with whom I have discussed my story. His job is to prepare models, statistics, charts etc and he lives and breathes excel spreadsheets. He gave me one of the best descriptions of (his) hell ever. And I can’t use it. Not because he copyrighted the line but because it deserves its own story. And it is not a story about hell and charts. It is a story about perceptions, attitudes and observations. It is also about how fast we need to learn new things these days. I am a child of the 80s and a teen of the 90s – I remember rewinding  music tapes with a pencil. I remember when computers were a rarity – even more so as I am also a child of a post-communistic country struggling with democracy and ‘free’ economy. But I also remember how easy it was to learn and embrace new technology.

I am deeply settled in my PC ways. I love my keyboard commands, left clicks and right clicks and creating folders and subfolders on my multiple drives has become a slight obsession. I own a smartphone, a tablet, a mp3 music player and an e-reader and I don’t think I would be able to survive in a world without internet. I am tech-happy.

Then something unimaginable happened – my laptop refused to start up. I pressed the power button and the machine just sadly hissed its last breath. First, I panicked (as you do when your world is at the end) but I managed to scramble bits of common sense and got it repaired. The new graphic chip survived less than two months. I panicked again. And bought a Mac.  The ‘ctrl’ key doesn’t do what you expect of it. I couldn’t  function for good two weeks without freaking out. But I have learned new keyboard tricks (the ‘cmd’ key is pretty much the PC’s ‘ctrl’) and I’m fluently skipping from Mac to PC without any hiccups. However I am still grieving over the loss of ‘Del’ key.

‘Hell is an excel spreadsheet’. 

E in the A to Z challenge.

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[D] is for Domestic Goddess

 

I stumble on mismatched pairs of shoes and hit

the coat hanger dressed in eight layers.

The army of handbags sulks in the corner

as I throw my rucksack on top of them.

I call a salad cooking

and boil water strictly for coffee.

The fridge shelters butter and ketchup.

Sometimes I buy bread.

I make the bed just to find my socks

or the notes I made the night before.

For some reason pens and papers like to play

hide and seek under the covers.

I will never be your perfect wife.

Though dust has no chance

as I can’t stand my sneezing.

I’m just saying,

don’t leave your undies around.

I hate mess.

 

D in the A to Z challenge 

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[C] is for Contrafibularity

or it isn’t. Though the word is just magnificent.

C is for see.

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C is for sea.

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and also for Hugh Laurie’s Tweet Fest

 

Introduction

My name is Hugh and I am a terrible driver.

Never mind the arrogance. It’s the savagely impertinent implication that your petty mind cannot fathom the speed and agility of mine.

I’d do it myself, only there are two puppies chasing each other in the garden opposite that need watching.

 

Hugh Laurie in the Morning

It says in the paper today that people who tweet are narcissists. I’m not sure what the word ‘people’ means.

Are people those things that move around in the street, covered in clothes?

There’s one person who retweets anything I say automatically. I must be able to abuse this trust somehow.

I’ve decided ‘I get it’ is my phrase of the day. It even surpasses ‘whatever’ which takes some doing.

 

Hugh Laurie and the Dangers of Exercise

Going to try running now. This will take 30 mins and may prolong my life by 2mins. Or shorten it be 25 years. It’s a terrible deal.

I saw a cloud in the sky today that looked amazingly like Benedict Cumberbatch.

I just got back from a run in broad daylight. My pectorals will be home in a couple of minutes.

 

Hugh Laurie vs. Hygiene

Do Mail Online writers go home and scrub themselves with wire wool howling for absolution as the shower scalds their bleeding skin?

Last night I was so moisturized I couldn’t open the door of my hotel room.

Today, I’m slithering. I could get through your letter box. I won’t, but I could.

 

Hugh Laurie on Nations 

I dream of a day when every person on earth will have their own language. Also national anthem, currency, and electrical sockets.

I’m not one to damn a nation and its culture on the basis of their winter sportswear – but really, some of these anoraks are diabolical.

Saudis ban atheism by defining it as terrorism. No point in words any more. Let’s just bounce on the bed. And by bed, I mean trout.

Fortunately, the French respond to my milky complexion.

Brazilians are so lovely. I passed out drunk last night and woke up with an extra kidney.

I will sit apart from the rest with a pot of tea and a cricket bat, mourning the loss of the colonies.

 

Hugh Laurie and the One Life

Life. Is like your favourite socks. It turns out you only have one.

I say let’s all resolve to feel good. Even as we dip our toes in the lake of fire.

A crow the size of a huge crow just landed on my balcony and stared at me. If I die in the next 40 years, can someone look into this?

If there’s a God….and so on. Can’t we just shelve this until someone levitates, or walk through a wall under laboratory conditions?

 

Hugh Laurie and the Forbidden Things

Good grief will people stop Calling For Things To Be Banned?  Ban banning, I say, in that endearingly confused way I have.

At least is should be one in, one out. To ban smoking, you have to allow cannabis; to ban sugary drinks, allow nudism in libraries, etc.

Why do they still say no smoking on aeroplanes? As a smoker, I accepted defeat years ago. They may as well say no bonfires, or horse-riding.

Once again, I’ve woken up like a bear with a dim memory of having drunk too many unfamiliar cocktails last night.

 

The End

At the risk of stirring up a mad controversy, may I wish you all a happy new year?

 

P.S.

Do you ever get the feeling you’re not being watched?

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NB | I wish I could claim the lines above. I can’t. They are bound in eternal servitude to Hugh Laurie and his Twitter account @hughlaurie.

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C in the A to Z challenge (that somehow predominantly features heaps of silliness)

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[B] is for Being Bonkers

There are people (special breed known as writers) who have reached a stage of randomness that presents itself in a form of a genius. These people make random appear orderly, in their hands nonsense follows logical paths and unrelated words form solid thoughts. Their sight is not clouded by the misconceptions and prejudices of our culture and society, they create their own community. No matter how fantastical, silly or stretched outside the borders of reality their worlds are, they feel real. And we are lucky they keep the doors open for us. I am their happy visitor and I seek permanent residency.

I dream for my weirdness to be elevated to randomness. I dream of mastering the art of the quill. I dream to see words as a flow and not crushing waves. I dream. I try. I fail. I try again. And I share – not brilliancy or wisdom – only humble efforts of the servant of the Language. I love playing with words. They sometimes like to play with me. Sometimes I am the cool kid in the playground. The next day the loser.

B-day begins

Busy brain

Braving blues

Beliefs bloom

Birthing bonkers

I think I ought to play more.

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B in the A to Z challenge

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[A] is for A.R.T.

My first post of the A to Z challenge had a name before it had any substance. I knew I would give it the title ‘A.R.T.’ But I wasn’t sure what A.R.T. would stand for.

The initial idea or A.R.T. take one was rather rude and I have decided it was not my place to expand it any further. Who am I to judge after all. So I have moved onto exploring different angles and ideas.

A.R.T. take two stood for Artificially Ripened Tomatoes. I was very happy with the topic. You could layer it with many interesting issues from what we eat, social justice, morality of our food, deforestation, changing weather patterns and how this affects harvests, global warming etc. However the more I thought about it, the more it started to feel like one of my study assignments (I am battling the environmental studies at university). And although I strongly believe all these topics are important and should be explored, I also want to have some fun. For this reason I have abandoned artificially ripened tomatoes too.

A.R.T. take three took a journey in completely opposite direction into unadulterated silliness and I named it Armed Radical Tigers. I’d like to think it is a rather apt name for a secret feline organisation working in disguise on Earth. I have a cat (or vice versa) and as anyone sharing their living space with a feline knows, they are visitors from a different dimension. However this uber-secret underground society started to take over and I had to acknowledge that it wants to be more than just a post starting with ‘A’. Therefore I have scrapped this idea as well (but only for this particular challenge; I am definitely planning to flood the cyberspace with nonsense about  a secret feline agency).

At this point I was faced with the reality of slowly running out of time for the first post of the challenge and the possibility of missing the deadline. Bad start. So I have unboxed the original idea and although it feels like running blindfolded with scissors, not to mention hypocritical as I try not to be judgmental about things, people and art especially, I have decided to clutch the scissors tighter and run anyway.

A.R.T. – Abominable Retarded Turd

This rather offensive description was a reaction to a piece of art that I have crossed paths with recently and prompted an inner discussion on what does deserve to be called art. The post then was meant to finish with the picture of the aforementioned art piece and an open question inviting further bashing of the poor artist.

But. I also (consciously) make an effort to be objective. Plus I am more than aware of my many shortcomings so I was a bit apprehensive about throwing fire bombs on an artist I know nothing about. So I have researched him. And you know what? He happens to be a one cool dude.  All that vile revolting feelings that poisoned me have started to fade. Now I could understand his point of view. What he was trying to express. And although I am still not very keen on the particular piece that introduced me to his work, I can now appreciate it.

During this process I have realised two things. First, some art cannot survive in the real world. It can only flourish in the safe haven of white walls in art galleries and museums. Second, how we perceive art is only partially the work of the artist. It is very much influenced by the art curators. And in this case, the curator has f-ed it up big time.

So it is not the art that deserves to be called A.R.T., it is the person who ripped the piece from its rightful environment and stuck it inside a glass globe where it is slowly dying because its roots are missing the vital nourishment of its natural habitat.

I was tempted to include the name of the artist and later the name of the curator, but have decided against it. It’s not really relevant or necessary. And I guess there is a third thing that I have realised or actually the thing I was trying to achieve – being objective – that to understand someone you have to step out of your emotions and listen to the other side.

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A in the A to Z challenge

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