Tag Archives: writing

Been Thinking ’bout

1. Monogamy and it’s associated boredom

2. Female vocalists that sound as good live as on an mp3 file

3. Drake being a good rapper

4. Mitch Hedberg and other original souls that have gone too soon

5. Trust and two-facedness

6. Grammar nazis

7. Promiscuity being parallel to musical eclecticism

8. Accrobatic strippers and overweight ones

9. Titillation  and it’s accompanied release

10. Lameness

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What I’ve been up to lately…

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Since my last post (haven’t bothered to check when) some good and bad things have happened to me. And there they are, in no particular order of importance.

1. I got a new haircut ( Didn’t take pictures of my last haircut) and trimmed my beard

I hate being bored or be left doing the same over and over again. So every so often I like to change things up in my life and includes growing a beard after getting tired of my babby-bottom-smooth look or shaving it all off and going for a quazi Buddhist monk look.

Off topic: Some studies have shown that growing a beard shields your face, at least some part of it, from UV rays (I’m assuming these UV rays are bad for men alone).

And the reason I don’t take many photos of me looking scruffy is because most of the time I know I don’t look good but I do it all the same just for the fun of it. It’s different from what I’m used to and that’s all that matters. But by limiting the amount of photographic evidence of my grooming misfires, I also limit the number of  what-the-fuck-where-you-thinking moments when I’m going through my photos as an old man.

2. Got a new crush…Well not exactly a crush but read on

First of I don’t know if calling my feelings for her a crush is appropriate. I’m too old for one , I think. At 28 I know what I want and what I don’t want. Yes, I do 🙂

Crushes are for pre-pubescent and pubescent kids (with their accompanying scent) who don’t know what to call what they’re feeling for this girl or boy in particular. Why her, why does she make my stomach grumble even though I just ate? Why does my heartbeat go funny anytime I see him?

Some people say that at thirty you’re decided on which course to take in life. You become set in your ways, until you make a cozy bed for yourself with the earthworms and bugs in your casket. I feel this at 28 so I know exactly what I’m feeling for her.

I told her that I liked her when I should have told her I am in love. But I think I made the right decision of revealing dial number six on the scale of feelings since I told her this over the phone.

I hate talking about weighty issues that should be talked about in person, on the phone. And my friends it doesn’t get any weightier than this believe me.

But the good thing is the ice is broken. Part of the chill of starting up conversations has dissipated. And this I like a lot so we’ll see how things progress.

3. Tackling my stutter head on

I have spent so much of my life shackled and paralyzed by my stutter. And so for the past couple of weeks I have decided to finally face it head on like a fearless bull fighter or a drunk Liverpudlian facing this same bull.

Stuttering has shaped my life for better or worse.

For better because, it’s  shaped and molded me into one hell of a tough bastard. At least inside. Outside I’m still a wimp. But don’t test me 😉

For worse because it’s retarded, or more accurately I’ve allowed it to retard my growth from boyhood to manhood. Proper manhood.

So what I’ve been doing is paying closer attention to my speech and not neglect it like I’ve always done and only kick myself for failing to work on my fluency when I start stuttering badly in some tense situation or other.

 

PS: I apologize if you were expecting me to have climbed Everest, gotten married, had a son , speed-read my way through 300 books, cycled around Ghana or learned tap dancing or Alkayida or accomplished some other great feat.

I live a boring life.

But it’s mine 😉

 

– Steve.

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Brother Triple K – A poem

When I look at you I don’t see white
When I look at me I don’t see black
Not because I’m colour blind…Well sort of
I see another human being that I share my fears
Frustrations, anger and excitement with
I see you

Whereas you want to bash in my head
With the nearest biggest rock you can find
Or watch me hang
Whereas you want to see the inside of my head
The whites of my brain, red of my blood,
Veins intertwined with skull bone and scalp hair
Or watch me wriggling then turn limp with eyes
Bulging, and my tongue sticking out as my last “Fuck You”

I just want to hug you
My brother
My Triple K brother.

-Stephen Nelson.

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Been Thinking ’bout …

 

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1.  Remorseless guilty pleasures

2.  Thinking less and acting more on previous thoughts

3.  Pleasing oneself for the hell of it

4.  Fooling around 

5.  Sad clowns who make you laugh harder than happy clowns

6.  Dance music

7.  Involuntary spasms created by hearing the bass 

8.  The lucky number 8 … in snooker

9.  All good things coming to an end without warning

10. All bad things beginning without a warning

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On Mortality

tombstone

There are a couple of things I fear in my life. I fear losing a loved one, I fear ridicule for ridicule sake especially one without justification, I fear not being as good as I think I am and I fear growing up a failure and poor. All of these though pale in comparison to my fear of death.

The reaper must be rubbing his hands together with glee if he can read English.

I think I read somewhere that most men think more about sex within the course of the day, than anything else. Thoughts of my mortality come a close second for. Third is how I’m going to die. Would I have any last words and if I did who would hear them and what impact would it make on their lives or on that of my family. Would I say anything worthwhile other than “FUCK!” ? Would I die slowly, alone, or in the company of incompetent surgeons? List goes on and on

The whole notion of leaving this plane of existence, that’s if there is another plane, and having all bodily remains of yourself eviscerated with time bothers me. I matter. Goddammit I matter. I didn’t come into this world after nine months of conception, which was a product of some months of courtship  then marital consummation, to then vanish from it like vapour.  Even if my contributions to the world at age 27 might not be as solid as that of my peers, I do matter.

I suspect my fear of dying is a product of my fear of dying unfulfilled. Dying without accomplishing even half of the things I have planned for myself and the world. I mean I live in a country with a shit movie industry and I have plans to change that. I grew up with some money, big house and a car, then lost it all when dad died. So I want to taste the good life all over again. That’s not too much to ask is it?

I want to see the eyes of my unborn children swimming around in my ball sack. See if they inherit my nasty smoking habit, hair colour, nose, size and shape of head, intelligence without the depression, see if they turn out to be mostly girls or boys, gay or straight or transgender.

This kind of shit matters goddamit and the thought not seeing them because I could have a fatal heart attack, or stroke, or get stabbed or shot dead without warning, really pains me.

Don’t you all wish the universe in its infinite mysterious ways tattooed our foreheads, or somewhere most obscure, with our expiry dates the moment we’re pushed from vagina or cut out from womb? For example, at birth this would be my tag/stamp/tattoo on my butt cheek

Name: Stephen Nelson

Expiry date: so and so

Side Note: Better get a move on son, clock’s ticking

Yeah so what if something like this would take out mystery from life? So what, who cares? Some of us need surety to make us function.

May be the whole idea of mortality should never have been discovered or identified by human beings. It should just have been one of those things that just happen and we let it. Without any lengthy philosophical questions or discourse. We just accept it and move on with our lives.

Animals die all the time. I’ve never seen any kind of them gather round each other to mourn their dead.

Who has ever heard of funeral rites being held for a rat, by fellow rats?

Anyway… In the words of AL Kennedy, Onwards!

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… literary language resists easy, and even complete, comprehension. ”

A quote from the Guardian website, books section

… literary la…

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The Power Of Doubt

What would you do if you suspected a man of being a pedophile? Would you confront him about it or would you go to the police? Or if you happened to be in an establishment like the church or the army perhaps, would you report him to his superiors and let justice take it’s course?

Is doubt enough? Shouldn’t one wait for evidence, strong proof of the deed or misdeed as the case may be? Because after all one could end up being wrong about the said person -not just in relation to pedophilia, but also murder, theft, or some other crimes- but then his/her image would be destroyed for life. A person accused of pedophilia or murder or theft  is tainted forever. Even when this person has been found innocent of this crime. Not only would he have to deal with the suspicions of just one person now he’d have to deal with that of the whole world. Questions that refuse to go away, like a recurrent migraine, then arise in the minds of these people; why suspect him in the first place if he didn’t do anything? I mean of all the men walking the earth why did the accuser accuse this particular man or woman and no one else? What did this person see that we as jurors are failing to see?

But yes one could also end up being right about some suspicions. A series of events could lead one to pass a judgement on somebody because the “evidence” is just too strong to ignore. Things this or that person said about the accused and what he himself does or says within a certain context could give credence to one’s suspicions. But even then the right course of action should be to investigate to get  to the core of the truth. Because in the end that’s all one is interested in; the truth. Suspicions should be the path to arrive at the truth and should not be taken as truths in and of themselves.

Evidence should rule our actions. One’s over-active imagination or lack thereof could play out different possible situations just so our suspicions stick. One’s love or hatred for a person can also play a part so whatever this person does one would still keep one’s convictions regardless of the absence of proof.

This post was inspired by the movie “Doubt”.

 

_Steve ( follow me on twitter @song_1985)

 

 

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Alone But not Lonely

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I don’t have a girlfriend. I don’t have many friends. But do you see me moping around acting like a homesick boarding school teenager? No!

For some strange reason I enjoy being alone and by myself most of the time. Strange because man has evolved into a social being with all the responsibilities and rights that come with such an evolution. This involves among other things making friends, keeping the good ones, cutting off the bad ones etc. Alas this evolution left me behind.

By myself I feel less fidgety and nervous. I don’t get that feeling that a thousand pairs of eyes are on me scrutinizing my every move – from nose picking to sneezing. I get to think better when I’m alone too. I doubt any kind of productive thinking can occur with the whole world watching, and God forbid reading your thoughts as they form in that little coconut of yours.

Most of the things I think about are about efficiency in my day-to-day dealings with the world. When to wake up, what to do right out of bed and more importantly what time I allocate to these things, until I hit the bed late at night. Thinking is one thing, doing is quite another. So then I ask myself why think at all if I don’t get any of these things done, and done right? Well, I can’t help myself. I don’t see myself doing any other important thing in my leisure time other than think. I’m  no Gandhi or Einstein but I’m a thinker, of sorts. Give me an isolated room atop a mountain anywhere in the world, that’s not too cold and I might end up coming up with a solution to the Israel-Palestine conflict, global hunger and poverty, AIDS and understanding those aliens we call women. Hell, I’ll even cool the planet if you throw in twelve dozen chilled six-pack beers.

Back to the girlfriend issue. The last one I had dumped me (I never get to do the dumping) in 2008 because she wants more out of life than I could give her, money-wise. That’s it. She didn’t leave because I was a lousy lover in and out of bed, or because I did really bad things like chewing with my mouth open.

That whole experience left me really fucked up. Should I have just manned up and forget the bitch and move on? If I could I would have. I happen to be the sensitive kind so matters of the heart do matter to me.

But lately I’ve found that I’ve become more interested again. I’ve started looking around but I still haven’t found any suitable mates ( Jezzus I sound like David Attenborough talking about Orangutan breeding habits). So in the mean time it’s just me and my thinking sessions and my lubricants 😉

_Steve (@song_1985)

 

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In The Future We’ll Outsource Sex – Slavoj Žižek

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Creative Commons – Attribution non-Commercial

Romance is maybe not yet totally dead, but its forthcoming death is signalled by object-gadgets which promise to deliver excessive pleasure but which effectively reproduce only the lack itself.

The latest fashion is the Stamina Training Unit, a counterpart to the vibrator: a masturbatory device that resembles a battery-powered light (so we’re not embarrassed when carrying it around). You put the erect penis into the opening at the top, push the button, and the object vibrates till satisfaction … The product is available in different colours, levels of tightness and forms (hairy or without hair, etc) that imitate all three main openings for sexual penetration (mouth, vagina, anus). What one buys here is the partial object (erogenous zone) alone, deprived of the embarrassing additional burden of the entire person.

How are we to cope with this brave new world which undermines the basic premises of our intimate life? The ultimate solution would be, of course, to push a vibrator into the Stamina Training Unit, turn them both on and leave all the fun to this ideal couple, with us, the two real human partners, sitting at a nearby table, drinking tea and calmly enjoying the fact that, without great effort, we have fulfilled our duty to enjoy.

Written by Slavoj Žižek, international director of the Birkbeck Institute for the Humanities

-Taken from Guardian.co.uk

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