Seduce and Destroy

Money is a commodity many people cannot afford to be frivolous with; therefore, it is extraordinarily perplexing that so many people voluntarily allow themselves to be ripped off. ‘Eternal love’ is a concept inspired by Twentieth Century Fox. Valentine’s Day is a capitalistic scam. How many times do some of you have to write this on the blackboard of your minds before realization finally dawns? It hurts me deep within my soul to witness so many people bereft of any logic. However, as I am not one to judge, I shall assist you pitiless rejects of human evolution in understanding the errors of your character.

Valentine’s Day is a clinical episode that showcases the stupidity of the human mind. Did you get that? Go back and read it three times. Say it out loud. Cut it out and put a copy of it on your bedroom wall and in your wallet. For those of you who have been short changed in the comprehension department, perhaps the musing of Faeem Ali (a very knowledgeable friend) will be of assistance: “Valentine’s Day is all about a morbidly nude baby shooting people, it is down right pedophilic is what it is! And how come people in South Africa haven’t noticed that cupid is white? Where’s the affirmative action cupid? And if the affirmative action cupid shoots a white guy is it a racial hate crime?” So you see, Valentine’s Day is simply too embroiled in idiocy to ever be a significant day of celebration. Perhaps what has so many people trapped by the annual “I-love-you” syndrome is the fact that you are all essentially emotional creatures, with an IQ somewhere between zero and Paris Hilton. This fact compels the urge within me to smoke cigarettes and look morosely at you oh so sad insentient beings. When will you ever learn?

The truth of the matter is that just like how playing the National Lottery is aimed at swindling people who can’t do math, Valentine’s Day is aimed at people who have cheese for souls. In any event, how can any self-respecting human say: “Happy VD” it sounds like an STI! Moreover, if you are in a ghastly relationship that has descended from euphoria into mere tolerance, before you begin a mindless purchasing spree of stuffed animals and mugs that say: You light up my life, you ought to realize that burning a hole in your wallet is not going to magically convert your dying relationship into a torrid affair. Because, in the immoral words of Celine Dion: “when you fall in love it will be forever, or you will never fall in love in a restless world like this is, love has ended before it has begun.” So once again, Valentine’s Day has been uncovered and revealed for the scheming fraud that it really is, a day that is at odds with the puritanical legend of true love. And if you are finally left wondering, does Valentine’s Day have any point at all other than to provide a clinical and cold glimpse into excessive stupidity, then, my work here is done. But if you have already fallen into the Valentine’s Day trap this year, you cannot be helped! Before you scar my existence with a repetition of romantic masochism next year, I would like to say: Fools! I Beseech thee, Die now!

Fish Food – Where the force of life became the power of death.

In less than five seconds it could all be over. Of course the back wall would be plastered with various crimson stains and there would be no hiding the cavernous hole etched in Lady X’s head by her own hand; but, the deed would be done. The world would be alleviated from the burden of her existence. The metal felt lifeless and cold yet warm and inviting as it touched her creamy skin. Conflicted between life and death she demurely picked up an onion and fish sandwich and examined it pensively. ‘To live is to eat fish,” is what she seemed to conclude rather concretely. It was then that she realized that the question she had been searching for, throughout her thirty three year existence, was whether she liked fish or not. Now that the question had finally elucidated itself in the dusty vestiges of sanity in her mind, all that was left for her to do was rationally decide on a suitable answer.

Lady X had lived a pleasant life, one not without its share of embarrassing moments and painful pregnancies. She had married and divorced and remarried. She had created a career empire and watched it fall. She had even been the proud owner of a vegetable patch in her 12cm town house garden. She had lived an eventful life. The rational progression of her life would then point succinctly toward death, which she hoped to strategically squeeze into her schedule before her lunchtime meeting. “To be premature is to be perfect said Oscar Wilde, why should I be so impertinent as to postpone the inevitable,” she spoke out to no one in particular and it seemed as if she had made up her mind.

It has become a human cliché to philosophize that the only certainty of life is death. However does that certainty justify the premature termination of life? Or is it simply a rather frightful manner of keeping people like Lady X in check? Lady X seemed to think that she had had the misfortune of being brought into existence as the wrong species entirely. A fruit fly has a life span of three days, within which times, it is born, married, procreates and dies. There is very little preoccupation with the nonsensical business of old age and wills and testaments. Perhaps if Lady X was a simple fruit fly, her confliction between life and death would itself be non-existent. She would have the luxury of planning her exist; replete with yellow daises and cherry blossoms. Now, all she has control over is whether she gives a flying fig about staining the back wall with liquidized cranium juice.

Another indistinct feature of Lady X’s life was Murphy, the grey haired dentist. Murphy’s only pleasure in life was, his bottle green Ford Prefect, a decidedly rickety car with a colossal bumper sticker that read: please save the world, don’t let it die. Murphy had married Lady X merely out of curiosity and thus remained nothing more than her very own autonomous plaything. Murphy was an appendage, convenient dental assistance at arbitrary times. He wasn’t the maestro of her heartstrings; he wasn’t a hero set to rescue her from her inner mêlée; and, Murphy was certainly not Lady X’s reason for living. It was therefore of little consequence that Murphy’s entrance collided with the exact moment that Lady X decided that her head would improve greatly if it smarted a firearm-induced fissure.

An unthinking Murphy sauntered into the study, smiling giddily he said: “Darling, it’s obvious you’re embroiled in a rather important venture, but I can’t seem to remember where I last saw my green socks. Could you perhaps assist me… when you’re done holding a gun to your head of course.”
“murphy, your one true purpose in my life has been … hmm.” There was a threatening pause as Lady X picked her words warily.
“What was that dear? I don’t seem to recall anything about being purposeful. Jamie came in for a root canal today, poor old fellow, having a dastardly time with his motor vehicle…” prattled Murphy in reply.

“I am constantly reminded that the magnanimity of life is often born from the mundane pursuits of people like you murphy!” She glanced at Murphy who was ensconced in preoccupation.
“I said to him: ‘Jamie old chap, its time to lay her to rest. Let her go’. But you know Jamie and his eternal optimism. He refuses; he said he’ll have none of that scrap yard talk and that there is beauty yet. It’s a bloody shame if you ask me. Oh look! I seem to have located the left leg!”

Muffled alarms began humming loudly in Lady X’s head as she mechanically declared the following admonition. “There will come a time when you too will tire of this life murphy. A time when you will understand that optimism is only a synonym from stupidity. When you witness great men fall, when you retread the footsteps of supreme ruins, when all you see is darkness, discord and dissolution… you will comprehend my mad search for purpose. A search that has left me disenchanted and inches from death. And as you so rightly recommended my dear: There comes a time when one must be laid to rest.” She looked intently at the distance with melancholy laden eyes, blind to everything that enclosed her.
“It doesn’t fit half as snuggly as I remember, oh well, what is the use of having just one sock? But my green socks make me happy; perhaps I should wear the left sock anyway. Although, the equality of my feet would be completely undermined. Maybe I could give them both turns to wear the happy green sock. What do you advise my Dearest Lady X?”

“My advice is simple murphy. An answer is only worth anything if its’ question is comprehensive. All comprehensive questions must, as a matter of urgency, be answered. We have before us a dilemma. To answer the question is to unequivocally choose a path… only you, my dear murphy, can decide whether you want your question answered!”

His smile faded a little, “Life is all about volition is it not? I wish my feet were congenial enough to choose their individual path. I think I’ll call Jamie for a round of Golf later.”
“No. Death is all about volition.” Lady X muttered.

Murphy had been momentarily taken aback. All his energies up till now had been concentrated on finding his happy green socks. “What? Is that your conclusion? Is there nothing that can be done?” he barked in lucid realization.
“I don’t know. I don’t know much about anything, I know even less about nothing and just a smidgeon about everything. I don’t know murphy… I don’t know… do I like fish?”

“Oh joy. Happy day, I’ve found the right leg.” Murphy bounded in excitement, then, suddenly embarrassed, silently left the study.

Lady X did much soul searching in the next few minutes and was able to conclude with certainty that she required an epiphany. Fermenting in her musty study was not doing anything for her complexion; and, time was viciously sticking its tongue out at her in various suggestive proportions. Life to lady X was always nothing more than a phase; therefore, why should it not end in death immediately? Flickering on the edge of her table was an answer; it hovered over a piece of paper and disappeared. Enchanted and equally side tracked, lady X put down the gun and turned the piece of paper over. Scratched on the piece of paper she found a URL, without thinking her reptile brain punched in the address http://www.livingvalues.com and read the following: Life in its most elemental and universal sense is the most important value for the Ninja. Life is worth defending. There are no modifiers, no qualifiers. Live, just live. – Jack Hoban.
Lady X settled into a permanent vegetative state and mumbled: “I do indeed love fish”. With the ultimate question answered she consumed her onion and fish sandwich which had unwittingly been poisoned. Lady X was found deceased, but smiling, approximately before lunchtime. Fantastic and threatening is life.

I Don’t Need No Education

The day began with such promise: fair winds, smooth seas, buttercups, and daises. However in the age old tradition of acquiring happiness once there is a glimmer of hope it must, as a matter of universal necessity, be taken away. Thus I was rudely thumped from my blissful reverie and accordingly served a major-league ass whipping. With the last vestiges of contained sanity I will record the tragedy of the existence of a student, such that the world may uncover the sordid under-belly of commercial education.

I am a diligent student. I toil and type and read and write. I take your devastating tests, burn the candle at all possible orifices and sleep less. I patiently bear your skin searing glares, I allow you to stir my mind with theoretical jargon and rouse my nightmares. I subject myself to the horror of your bile producing voice and ridiculous presence for hours at a time. I remain loyal even in the face of your eminent transgressions without so much as a whine. In spite of my labour, in the grand scheme of things, my hard work and diligence is as significant as a dead toad.

After enduring the simplistic and outlandish sham known as examinations, the likes of which seek to access my self worth in the space of three precious hours, I enthusiastically skipped when I received word that the results of my toil would finally be made available today. Valiantly walking towards my fate, I stood as a courageous and noble knight in the face of pure evil. The next ten minutes were a blur of confusion and scorching white pain. I was blinded as an odd whimper of misery escaped my dry lips. And then it arrived, a cry so majestic that it shattered the silver lining, a cry that moved from sorrow to almost a temporary sort of permanent morbidity. I Gagged. Retched and collapsed in a boneless heap on the ground. The candle snuffing miserable fiend gave me a B.

Wet and shrieking with anger I attempted to assess the carnage; but, try as I might, my reptile brain could not understand her impertinence. I have slaved for her and she has insulted me. Why me?

My quest to acquire true knowledge, as opposed to mere memorizing has culminated in a blunt realization: University education is a fallacy. It has been created to suppress the youth into believing that the rancid conjectural pursuits encouraged by the so-called “educators” are for our own good. When the truth is that the worth of our degrees is inextricably bound to lecturers’ disposition towards us.

I certainly don’t need a bespectacled tyrant, who could very well be on schedule five prescription of Novocain, to tell me how intelligent she thinks I am. It is not possible, even by the furtherest stretch of the imagination, to accept that a three hour exam marked by a human being is sufficient authority upon which to base a ruling on my competence. What gives one fallible human being the power to measure another human for better or worse? Moreover where is my bloody assurance that the method of assessment is procedurally standard and fair? I feel duped and it makes me ill.

The bitter truth is that we are all kept in a place of subservience and compelled to travel the university drains until we are churned out into the world – naked and unprepared. It seems like these capitalist schemers will not stop until they grind our bones and pickle our spleen. Only once every ounce of blood is drained from our body will they set us free. Why we continually allow them to rip us off is beyond me.

I am about to go mad from terrible fatigue, and wish desperately that I could do the frat boy thing and urinate on the candle-snuffing-miserable-fiend’s front lawn. My moronic pursuits have left me gutted and inches from death. Sometimes I ponder the possibility that operating a meth lab in my room; and, getting ridiculously inebriated on fermented pineapples is the only true path to enlightenment. However, in a final attempt to salvage my wounded pride and reclaim my derelict soul from the pits of the library, I shall plunge suicidally into: Module 100 – Interpretation of South African Statutes under the New Constitution.

Never give up! Never surrender…

Sex, drugs and rock n’ roll.

There is such humor in recognizing the academic transgressions of educators.

Lust is one of the oldest sins known to Man, Beast, Martian and now… faux academics. It comes as no surprise then that this enduring sin and its kindred cosmic twin “prostitution” (the oldest economic occupation recorded), reign supreme in the hearts and minds of some university staff members. It doesn’t take a commission to call a spade a spade; accordingly, when you are caught with your skirt around your ankles and R80 000 in your pocket, the correct response is not: Makgoba sexually assaulted me.

In the past few weeks university staff have been too busy, alleging or rebutting accusations of sexual assault, to give a flying fig about the rapidly degenerating state of student welfare. While the pitiable student population is compelled to eek out an academic existence, with only a hope of attaining a semblance of academic nirvana, the horny pratts in the higher academic order play games such as: u-touched-my-ass-I-sue-you *snicker-snicker-drool* – which is evidently more important than the efficient management of the University. When will it be realized that it is not exactly blissful to get a news flash every time people at this university use their bodies as open commerce?

This promiscuous self-destructive trajectory has all the hallmarks of a rock n’ roll lifestyle. Allow me to elucidate by hypothesizing the conversation that led to the errant violation of the law: “Come on My Zulu Juliet, hook me up! There’s a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs and a leather whip in it for you if you pull if off,” cajoled an impassioned and endearing Rajah Romeo. “Oh baby! I’ll turn your pages if you turn mine for R80 000,” bargained the Zulu Juliet. The deed was done! The destruction of economic integrity; everything that Mother Teresa and Gandhi had lived and died for; and, the worth of our toil to obtain a degree, were all obliterated in that one salacious moment – throwing us into the primitive ages where darkness, discord, and disillusion menacingly shadow the broad sunlit path of education. Who knows what other evil lurks in the hearts of those in power at this intuition.

However, my coy disapproval is not motivated by a deep sense of jealousy at the acquisition of carnal aspirations between student & teacher. Quite frankly, I could care less if they were marinated in cocaine and took turns to sniff each other; while lovingly holding hands under a moonlit sky in the Bahamas. What annoys me is that they lacked the presence of mind to avoid getting caught; thus, they have brought our humble and ordinarily reputable academic institute, perfectly in line with the behavior of various wayward American Presidents.

When all is said and done, the enduring but perverse truth that the spectator student population dare not acknowledge is that as much as we outwardly frown on this kind of academic pursuit, we are secretly utterly enthralled by it. But for revealing our weakness for scandal; for inciting a lascivious urge in impressionable youth; and, for making the legend of puritanical love lies, all lies; I will never forgive our modern day Romeo and Juliet – regardless of how orgasmically crossed and monetarily misguided they were. It’s a shame that public floggings are no longer allowed.

A Blog is Born – Oh Joy

Forgive me my weakness … I don’t know why I allow myself to notice imminent evils of society and comment on it. Many would rather have me bite my tongue and remain silent on the small, albeit destructive, annoyances of our time. But I’m not giving in an inch to fear. This natural, ineffable quality is not a matter of disciplined work habits but something that you discover within yourself — or not, depending on God’s disposition toward you. When you have it, you can’t help but evince it in everything you do, thus the content found on this blog pours forth from the fetid flea pit of my mind, so that the human race can feel less vulnerable and gullible. This blog is not motivated by vanity or fixated on originality or phony creativity; rather, it seeks to uncover the various dubious ways society attempts to dupe us – by exposing issues that have at sometime or another annoyed me, and perhaps even the universe at large. So ess