Confessions Of A...

You know what? I'm tired!

Yeah that's right! I'm tired... Fed up... Past caring... Done!

I have had enough of milling around with sleepwalkers, people that just drift through life in a dream state. Those people that float around of the floor, dipping their feet into any pool that looks briefly interesting and then flittering off like a flirtatious hummingbird. You look into their lifeless eyes and see a failure of a perfectly good human specimen. You listen to their inane droll about any pointless subject and wonder why you're there, letting this fleshy android take up your time; a possession which is perpetually leaving its owner. You wonder what will become of them but don't let the thought linger too long. Otherwise you'll turn into that mess that drifts between this world and their own with painful obliviousness.

I'm tired of those people who wasted their lives in pursuit of the wrong thing. The guy that you knew in school that took his image too far and ended up in jail for murder; quick witted and acid tongued, now doomed to fall into the trap. What about that girl you knew; the one that thought she was too nice, let herself slip a couple of times and ended up with a bundle of kids, no job and no support from those around her. Where will her looks get her now? They're not gonna raise the kids, i'll tell you that much. The boy that went and got himself killed over silly squabbles, leaving a devastated mother with a broken pot that is now her life. Or the friend you once had that was so talented, but just did nothing with their lives, just sat around all day smoking weed, playing games and letting time tick away. Aren't you tired?

I'm past caring about the people who are so ordinary, yet think they are above all the others. Certain people act a little too pompous, walking all over the place like they got rainbows pouring out of their backside, thinking they smell like roses and acting like the sneeze golden nuggets out of their nose. No matter how great someone is, what makes them any greater than any other. Who says because someone has been blessed with a melodic singing voice that they are better than the nurses that slave away at their prison-like workplaces. Why because someone is pretty are they elevated into a position of ultimate influence, when the ugly baboon is made to sit at home in the dark, trying to devise a plot to make themselves into the people they despise so much.

I'm done with the stereotypes that mar us all our lives. Because he is an Arab man on a plane, he's not about to blow you up, you cretin! Sit back down and shut up. Because that guy in the hood is young and Black he must have a gun, knife, crossbow, mace, powder strapped to his leg... something, anything to attack with, right?? Wrong!! Ever ask yourselves why stereotypes have stayed around the way they are? Look at who the stereotypes damage the most. And gossip is no better. You know nothing about it, but yet you feel its your duty to delve head first, into a topic that could potentially destroy someone! You fool! Assumptions are even worse! Do me a favour and work out the first three letters in the word... Sit on it please, don't think with it. Thanks

Oh, and don't ever ask stupid questions, it insults us both... What's that? Are there Black people in England? Piss off with your idiocy before u hurt yourself trying to remember how to breathe! Go and lick your elbow you goon! Oh, you don't care that you have minimal knowledge besides what is fed to you through the glossy cover of a magazine? Well, what more can i do than let out a big sigh, shake my head and pray you don't get trapped in thin air. Moron. Oh wait another question, good stuff, what is it now? You thought that Africa was a small country next to Spain? Good effort, give yourself a clap and then throw yourself off a bridge, thanks, much love.

There's a million ways to die, but then you read something else about some poor young soul ripped from here by another young one. Bullets fly around the streets, splitting bones and breaking homes, but so little is done to stop it. Knives are rife in the streets of strife, and rage is never ceasing. People want to throw the blame around like a hot potato. When will they realise that many hands can help build something so much faster; a solution to the disease plaguing many youth's street lives. One hand cannot mend a thousand broken pieces, no one is Superman. Prophecies from the youngsters hint that were heading towards doom, unless someone pulls their finger out and attacks the problem with savage blows that will cause it to surrender its vile grip on society. They have given us the warning that without help, what we know now, will turn into a future battlefield. The war isn't in Iraq, Afghanistan or any other land. It's here, on our streets, in our homes, running through the blood of hot headed youths so devoid of emotion they would rather take another life than take out the garbage.

All the leaves are brown, skies are grey. Go around for a walk on a winters' day, stop, look around you and breathe it in. All of it. Turn your head to the clouds that whirl above your head. Feel them weightless above you. Peer down the glitzy snow covered street, its elegance becomes you. Walk some more and plod your feet along the golden roads of sobriety. Feel the pinch of the wind against your newly cleansed skin. Write a letter to heaven and ask for guidance. Guide yourself. Teach yourself. Have a rest, have a cuppa, take some time out.

This is you... This is me... This is us, altogether, all as one.

Time ebbs and flows like the beating of a human heart, rhythmic, never straying from its eternal metronome. Look at time now. Take a minute, an hour, a week. Take some time... Fix It.

The New World?

So i have been here for the best part of five months now, on the lovely west coast of this behemoth country, and can i still say that i consider America to be the Utopian image that i, as someone living in England, is presented with through film and music?

In all honesty, NO! On my first visual inspection of the country around me; the luxurious rolling hills, the thickly woven forest tapestry and the tranquil sparkling blue abyss of ocean, i could be forgiven for possessing the misconception that this country had it all. But as i have said before, i was still a tourist waiting to properly immerse myself into the melting pot that i thought was contemporary American society. Basing first impressions of aesthetic appearance alone, with only a hint of American societal experience, were the actions of a fool. I was so caught up in the hype and excitement of being in a new place that there were subtle aspects of interaction that often slipped through my perceptive net. For such a forward thinking country, and the biggest superpower in the world in recent times, there are many ideas still prevalent in this society that haul the country back to the mindset of old and hinder its progress further into the real 'New World'.

The World as we know it is becoming smaller as time progresses, and America in particular is one of the nations that embodies this idea. In San Francisco, LA, New York, Washington and Philadelphia (all cities where i have recently visited) the streets are littered by people of all different races, colours, creeds and sexualities. Again the aesthetic appearance of these places lead one to maintain the idea that America could actually be the worlds saviour, the way forward into a planet that is truly equal. Alas, this is part of the dream projected onto people who do not live in this place. One of the major problems that i have noticed in this society is the issue of colour. By that i mean the awareness of ones race and ones colour. To elaborate on my point, i mean the colour dynamic in terms of being black in America. In contrast to England, Spain and the Caribbean (all places where i have been able to observe the colour dynamic), colour becomes much more than simply colour, it is a definition of someone out here. Granted, in England, black people (as this is where my experience lies in terms of being a minority) are very aware of their colour, but not in the same way. It seems that in America, people are hyper-sensitive of the colour, that they let colour rule the way they act, think, move; basically have ultimate control over their existence.

I feel that in England, society has come to a point where we have almost transcended the idea of colour. Yes, there are still people around who see either one side of the spectrum of the other, but all in all i think England is much less colour conscious than out here. People are definately aware of their race and their roots in England, and to a certain extent it helps define their personalities, but it is not something that governs their lives. Unfortunately thats the way it seems to be for so many people here. The racial composition has, in my opinion, too much influence on people's actions, beliefs and attitudes out here. I feel that people are just too aware and hyper-sensitive about who they are racially. Perhaps this is one of the reasons that i have begun to notice more and more the racial tensions between people and communities. Being as i live in a largely chinese community, i have become more aware of how people look at me and react towards my presence. But i won't go into that too much because i'll seem like a paranoid mess.

This is the main problem with the society that i have noticed and obviously there are many more, as with all countries. But i won't delve into that now, i haven't updated my blog for a while so i will keep this one short. The other day i was reading Martin Luther King Jnr's infamous speech (to anyone who is too dumb to know what i'm talking about its the i have a dream speech) and i thought about how far away America was from his dream being realised. True, they do have a black president, but at the moment his legacy and potential to be a good president is being marred by groups of people springing up in opposition to him, calling him New Hitler and other unfair names.

Do i still think America is a nirvana like place that i thought of before i came to 'live here'. Simple answer...NOPE. It's another place with its own fresh supply of issues.

'Frisco Living

I have been here a little over two months now and i think that i can safely say that i am managing to settle into the swing of things. I have now moved away from the feeling of Euphoria about being in a new place, that tourist feeling where one still harbours thoughts in their minds that they will be returning to the land that they came from. Instead i have now fully realised that i won't be home for the best part of 7 months. In my last post i mentioned that it was starting to dawn on me that i was actually living here, but i feel now, in retrospect, making this claim was not completely accurate at the time.

About a month and a half in to my stay here was when i begun to feel that i was actually living here; when everything about being a tourist began to wear-off, when i began to feel like part of the American furniture and no longer felt as if i stuck out like a shadow in a flock of angels. Granted, people still stop me in the middle of conversations with a wild-eyed look of an excited child like when i first arrived here, but this occurrence has simply become part of everyday life for me; actually i can proudly say that i'm using this accent to my advantage, i'm sure you can all guess what i mean by that, i'm not going to spell it out for you. There is also the odd time when i get a similar bewildered feeling of anticipation when going to do something that i haven't yet done, but it is not the same as when i first got here. At this point, it feels like i have been here for much longer than 2 months; in-fact it feels like i have been here at least half a year. I am able to get around the city with ease and am getting to the point where i am beginning to recognise people in the streets all over the city (for those that don't know, San Francisco is only 7 by 7 miles, so running into people you know isn't that hard). The thing that i'm still finding it hard to get accustomed to is the manner in which people act toward one another here, they are so startlingly friendly that it almost seems like a gigantic facade. They are so open and bubbly in conversation that i have found myself many times thinking that i am acting withdrawn and coming across as rude by not being as joyful as they appear to be; as qualities go however, this isn't the worst thing to be trying to get used to.

The people in general here are all very approachable, i can't even count the number of times i've been queuing up for something or other, and someone has just struck up a conversation with me. Actually, a few days ago i was in line waiting to order some chai tea (thanks Slumdog Millionaire, i owe you for that one!) when the person in-front of me turned around and said 'Lets make this a bit more fun huh? I'm Jessica, what's your name?'. To this i replied 'I'm Archie' and without saying anything else got that same excited look before hearing her say 'Wow, i just love your accent, can you just talk to me some more?'. It really is as easy as that to make friends with people (in my case, particularly girls). But, as with anywhere, not all people are the same, and in San Francisco's case, there is an abundance of what the locals call 'crazies'. Partly down to the acid trips of the 60s and 70s, San Francisco is teaming with people one egg short of an omlette. It seems like the best place to find them, as with most nut-jobs, is on public transport. My stories of the amount of crazy people on the buses, trams and munis (a sort of underground, overground bus-like train system) are seemingly endless, but i'll give you my two favorites. I was on the bus on the way back home from downtown when one traveler decided to give everyone his rendition of Poison by Bel Biv Divoe that he was listening to on his ipod. To my surprise, another passenger behind me thought it would be a good idea to join in with the singing stranger, and before i knew it three others had decided to sing the melody, making for a very entertaining bus journey. Another time, again on a bus, a Chinese lady appeared to be suffering from a common cough. After about five minutes of listening to this lady pathetically trying to clear her chest, a man at the back of the bus got up and shouted 'Hey Lady! Get off the damn bus! I don't wanna die, you hear me? I don't want this swine flu thing everyone's yammering on about!! You gotta get off the bus right now!'. The Chinese lady just ignored the man, who then stood up, shot a stern look towards the woman before proclaiming 'I'm outta this rat trap, ya'll are crazy!' and jumping of the bus at the next stop, only to wait for another bus i presume, where he would probably have exactly the same problem. If i could say anything to people thinking about coming here, it would be that they would not be short of entertainment on their travels, thats for sure.

Learning here is very different to learning back home. For a start there is much more work here, something i have been both happy about and dismayed by. I actually feel like i am getting an education worth the money that i am paying for it, not something that i could have just done at home if i had really wanted to, as was the case with UEA. The way that essays are structured is quite different as well. It seems that they are made so that you are able to show that you have been doing work and doing what one would assume university life to be about, that you have been THINKING. Essays don't have to include any outside influences from renowned scholars, instead they are based purely on your reaction to the text, what you have managed to coign from it, and your personal analysis of it. I feel that this way students with creative juices are able to shine above so many of the drones that just copy out of books the ideas that others have created, effectively it gives people room to express themselves in their work. In my eyes, the way that people are tested here is also an improvement on the English system. Instead of having one big test at the end of the semester, there are many little tests and midterms, not counting for very much individually, spread out over the term. This takes off some of the pressure, meaning that if someone were to have a bad day, they can always make up for it a few lessons later when the next test arrives. In that respect, i feel that the UK could benefit from adopting a more spread out form of testing, taking the pressure off whilst somewhat increasing the workload. The lessons themselves are quite different as well. On first impression, one would think that many of the lessons aren't as structured as what students from England are used to, with teachers almost always digressing grossly off topic. Soon i realised however, that the professors were trying to get us to think about the wider ramifications of the topics they were teaching us, they were wandering off the issue to give us a wider insight into the way that the texts we were reading about had influenced our world. Often in my class i have thought 'what the hell are they on about now' and then, when thinking about it, realised that they were teaching me without me being aware of it. When the teachers are on topic and discussing what is on the syllabus, i have never seen such passion for anything in my life. These are people that clearly live and breathe for their jobs, they are not doing it because they could think of nothing better, they are doing it because there was nothing in life that they would ever or could ever want to do. To be taught by someone who exudes fresh excitement and bewildering energy about their expertise is amazing; it really changes the way that you learn about things. It makes you want to learn about what they are teaching even more, almost like they are on some kind of radical high that you should be experiencing as well. Most importantly, it makes you feel privileged, something i think every student serious about learning should feel if they are to achieve there goals, not the feeling of boredom and depression i see so many associate with their course.

"Education, as is taught today, is being safe in the knowledge that you know nothing; it is learning about how ignorant you are".

I can't take credit for the above quote, but i can say with some confidence that it is one that has changed my perceptions. It came from my favourite teacher here at SFSU, a man called Oba T'Shaka. To give you some background information, this is a man who has been through the whips and the punches like no other i have ever met. He is in his mid 70s, yet he stands at 6 feet 2, and i have never seen a man radiate as much power as he does. This is a guy that grew up fighting during the civil rights era in the USA, so he knows real bigotry and pain, yet he comes into work with the broadest smile and more passion than i thought possible. He teaches me in my Malcolm X in the context of black nationalism class and has had two assassination attempts on his life, obviously surviving both of them. Without sounding like i have too much of a man-crush on him, i have found every class with him enthralling, to me he is the epitome of what learning in America is. So often he wanders off topic; into the Obama health care debate, or the tax situation and budget crisis in california, but every time he does so, he explains to the class why. He tells us that he wants us to think, that he wants us to know what is going on in the world. So often he booms to the class of about 70 (there should only be 30 people in his class but due to the budget cuts he has let everyone he can into the small lecture room) what he thinks about the way things are going in the world. So often he has told us that 'You are not being educated, you can't be educated by someone else, you are being trained. You are being trained into a certain field of work. You are being trained by an institution designed specifically to keep you ignorant about the outside world so that you can't effect change. The only person that can educate you is yourself'. The first time i heard this i was completely entranced, it made so much sense to me and roused within me a burning desire to better myself. I think that it is this quality that makes him a great teacher. He is due to retire at the end of the academic year, and when the time comes to pick my units for the next, i am going to make sure that he is one of my teachers; thats how much the man has managed to influence me in such a short time.

At this point, i feel that i have managed to gain a good wealth of knowledge about my topics, but even more so about myself, something i am truly grateful for.

Thats all for now, but look out for the next one, thanks for reading, hope your enjoying my experiences as much as me!!

First Impressions

Ok, so i know its been a long time since i last put anything up on here but i've been acting foolish, something which i hope the following year is going to change, all apologies for the waste attitude i have been showing the last twelve months. Now that that little note is out of the way, i can get back to what's important, writing about any and everything that catches my eye or that i feel calls for an opinion.

So i have been in San Francisco for almost a month now and i can safely say that, although this is a by and large (note-able exceptions being the large numbers of Chinese and Mexicans) an English speaking city, it is not like England at all. So, being like most people and living on assumptions, i thought that the transition into American-living would be a seamless one coming from a 'similar' English culture, a place where we speak the same language, listen to similar music, have many transatlantic relations with and apparently aim for the same set of goals in life. I assumed that since England has so much in common with America, the country itself would not seem that different to what i have already experienced, what i have grown up immersed in; an 'Americanized' society. How wrong i was to have assumed such a thing, an Americanized society is little more than a pathetic imitation, a part of the jumping-on-the-bandwagon culture we appear to be growing into. The actual American society is not the same as the way it appears to be depicted in film, TV and print, it is something that only once experienced can be understood.

Granted, i was one of those young people who carried with them an picture of America being a Eutopia, a magical, romanticized image that i had concocted from the many films and TV programs that had engrossed me whilst growing up. That image that i once held about America has been irrevocably altered, but not in a negative way, just changed from what i thought it would be. One of the first things i noticed about this place was the atmosphere. Although welcoming, the overall feeling of this new place left me feeling both overwhelmed and in awe of my new surroundings. It was almost as if things had been created so that they were supposed to a big deal, although the people around me appeared oblivious to it. The airport itself was not anything particularly impressive, but the sheer vastness of the highways, the cars and the landscape conveyed to me that this was where the real world started. No disrespect to England, but on first impressions of San Francisco being made in the knowledge that this was a place i would be living, it seemed to me that the UK was almost like a training ground for people that wanted to make it big and be as successful as possible. The sheer enormity of everything made me think that this is where the serious people in the world come to show what they are made of. Driving down the highway, filled with a mix of child-like excitement and near-crippling apprehension i could view what America looks like to an outsider just entering, the idyllic enriched image that most people create for themselves in thinking that this is indeed the promise land. I had a sense (possibly mostly due to me having just exited a thirteen hour flight) that this was without doubt the fabled-land of opportunity, a place where wishes can be granted and dreams become reality.

I have been to America several times before, but in different circumstances; i had previously a momentary visitor whereas now, i was in-effect a California resident, an idea that probably coaxed me into the euphoric state i arrived in. On exploring the city for the first day i was definitely a tourist, so naturally i did all the things that tourists do; shopping, finding my way around the place (with the help of my friends who had been here a day longer) and sightseeing. Truth be told, San Francisco did not fit the vision that i had created for myself. There were none of the steep rolling hills or trams hurtling around the streets in my part of town; an area ironically named Sunset as it is notorious for having a completely different climate to most of the city and is constantly shrouded in San Fran's iconic fog. There were views of the hills in the distance, and on a clear day the shimmering Golden Gate bridge can be seen; so life in my quiet, mostly Chinese neighborhood wasn't bad, it just wasn't what i had been expecting. I thought i would be living in a flat up a steep hill, a building with a long fire-escape running down the side of it, tram-line right outside my door and lots of activity going on beneath my window; i appeared to have a slightly distorted image of Manhattan in my mind. I was instead on a quiet street, in a building that housed an upstairs and downstairs apartment (i did have a bus-stop literally outside my door however, still not a tram line though!).

My first full day of San Francisco was interesting to say the least, this is when i got to see the main city area or 'downtown'. Here is where my vision of what San Francisco should have looked like became a reality. The streets were incredibly wide and littered with Range Rovers, Cadillacs and the infamous cable cars. What was quite strange about Frisco, in comparison to London and many other major European cities, (as i have often found with big American cities), is that there is a serious poverty divide thus resulting in a big homeless problem. The centre of the city itself actually smelled like 'hot tramp' as strange as it may seem. It was a rather surreal sight to view a group of homeless men gathered outside Abercrombie and Fitch and American Eagle, collecting cans and trying to sell used bus tickets to people. What else is slightly strange is that when exploring the downtown area i wondered into one of San Francisco's worst neighborhoods called the 'Tenderloin'. The good and bad areas are literally divided by one street so it makes getting lost in the wrong place more than easy. I found myself walking in what could only be described as the 'hood'; all the street corners were teaming with mostly black people all wearing their thugged out, oversized clothing. The first thing that came to my mind was that i had wondered into 'The Wire', and justly got a bit overexcited. I was clearly not from around this place and some guys came up to me saying 'Ey Nigga, what you want, you aint from round here'. They actually turned out to be very friendly and asked me questions about England, so despite their reputation they were actually very nice. In comparison to areas like Stonebridge and Brixton, this 'hood' was visibly and atmospherically more ghetto than what people in England would consider rough. I think i can safely safe to people in England, particularly Londoners, ghetto life don't know you!

Being called Nigga (spelt that way because black people call each other the word in this way as a reclamation of the word, meant Never Ignorant of Getting Goals Accomplished) is something that i'm going to have to get used to; even in the teaching environment the black teachers will agree to my points by going 'shit nigga yeah!!'. As a whole, being from a different country in America seems to be a blessing as almost everyone gets a childlike look of excitement across their face once they hear me talk. The amount of times since being here that i have been speaking with other 'Brits' and someone has just initiated a conversation with us purely on the fact that we have a non-American accent is uncountable, it happens almost every time i leave the house. If this were London, or somewhere similar, i would not be happy talking to strangers on the bus, but here the people are so friendly that its just the norm. I have come to realise that this city is famed for how friendly the people are here, and to be honest it makes for a welcome change to the aggression and hostility (myself included) on London Streets.

Another thing that i had to get used to here is that some things are very easy, like setting up a bank account or depositing money into the bank, whereas other things, like buying basic shopping is exceedingly frustrating. Setting up a bank account is literally as simple as going into the bank, with a passport and visa, and saying you want a bank account. They give you the card the same day and you can use it from the moment you set it up. Depositing money into the bank is easier still as you can do it at any bank atm, a principle that i think the UK should really think about adopting. Getting food, in a culture where eating out rules roost over cooking for yourself however, is actually quite difficult. There are very few places to buy things like meat and eggs, the only places near me being a Chinese supermarket and a Safeway, so shopping for ingredients to make your own dinner is more than just a little hastle. It also works out more expensive if you buy your own food so eating out every night is cheaper, a lifestyle easily embraced by any student!

Having been here for exactly 4 weeks now the honeymoon period has vanished and it has sunk in that i'm actually living here, i'm not on holiday anymore, this is my home for the next year. The feeling of knowing that i'm going to be here for the next year of my life is really weird yet exhilarating at the same time; its still unbelievable. But from what i have seen so far, its going to be a good year, a very good year.

Thats The mentality of Kids today

Ok with all the stuff that's been going on recently, i.e. the stabbing and shootings that have been continually reported, I've been thinking a lot about the problems and issues facing kids today. I am gonna be writing a lot of my opinions about the state of things over the coming weeks but i thought i would start with this. Enjoy!!!

I break a bottle over some boys head,

stab a broken piece in to the poor cunts leg,

I leave him in an alley where he's screaming and bleeding to death,

run away laughing my head off, just to leave him for dead.

What do I care? It's not like I'm gonna get caught,

anyways,

killing ain't a crime; it's a fucking blood sport,

and I might have to notch up as many points as possible,

show the kids on my estate that I'm unstoppable.

Cos in my world respect is the only thing that matters,

fight and get enough, 

someone weak enough for me to beat is getting battered, 

your self-esteem is getting shattered,

in to tiny little fragments on the floor its scattered.

What can I say? Life ain't fair but I don't care,

cos I'm untouchable like Elliott Ness.

I tie a bandana round my head like Rambo,

shoot you on your fucking doorstep like Jill Dando.

 

Pick up an AK and spray

That's the mentality of kidz today

Fuck a girl and get her pregnant, underage

That's the mentality of kidz today

Even when I got doe I wont pay my way

That's the mentality of kidz today

Stab a yhout in the leg down an alley way

That's the mentality of kidz today

 

Even when I got cash in my pocket I ponce,

have it all for free, everything that I want

Now I smoke all your weed, get right of my bunce,

never repay the favour back not even once,

cos I count like a jack on roll,

I don't need the doe but the greed takes control,

and if I go looking for a fass to harass,

 just to hear him tell me he's brass.

I'm like trust me blood, you don't wanna make this hard,

hand over your money, your phone and your pokemon cards,

rule fast or else,

I'll go on like smoking cigarettes, bad for yo health,

got one hell of a mean streak, causing beef on the street,

I pray on the week for ever looking for fresh meat, I need to eat.

Keep feeding my ego,

I'ma control freak and I'm only 14 years old.

 

Pick up an AK and spray

That's the mentality of kidz today

Fuck a girl and get her pregnant underage

That's the mentality of kidz today

Even when I got doe I wont pay my way

That's the mentality of kidz today

Stab a yhout in the leg down an alley way

That's the mentality of kidz today 

You know the eye to the law, I'm not old enough to have sex,

my balls aint even dropped yet,

and I've had skets,

 lying on their backs flat on the floor,

virgin pussy getting fucked till its raw.

I go out on the chirps looking for birds,

some young dumb bitch to fuck so hard it hurts,

and whats worse is that I do it bareback,

cos when I put a condom on, its bare slack.

Nah my dick aint big enough for that,

so I just stick my dingaling inside her snatch and that's that.

If I see something I want, then I'll take it,

girl wont give it up, then I'll rape it,

break it,

inpenetrate it,

I'm gonna make it happen, impregnate it,

if she has a yhut I act like it aint mine,

make her have an abortion for the 8th time.

 

Pick up an AK and spray

That's the mentality of kidz today

Fuck a girl and get her pregnant underage

That's the mentality of kidz today

Even when I got doe I wont pay my way

That's the mentality of kidz today

Stab a yhout in the leg down an alley way

That's the mentality of kidz today

 

There's a gangsta named Bonehead who runs tings around my area,

the shit he's involved couldn't get any hairier,

if u wanna sit listening,

he'll find you no matter where u are, fucking wid him is worse than catching malaria.

He's the most notorious drug dealer on my estate, so …..

back to heroin and cocaine,

double cross him and you'll feel the pain,

and theres more disappearing acts on the street than David Blaine.

And I wanna be just like him,

riding in a blacked out, pimping with alloy rims,

doing drive-by's,

firing an AK47 out the window and ting.

See that kinda shit impresses me,

cos I got an ignorant mentality,

the way I see is the way to be,

so I haven't got nothing will ever get through to me.

 

Pick up an AK and spray

That's the mentality of kidz today

Fuck a girl and get her pregnant underage

That's the mentality of kidz today

Even when I got doe I wont pay my way

That's the mentality of kidz today

Stab a yhout in the leg down an alley way

 

Boy that's the way it is today! 

N.B. I should add that this is not my work, it's a song by Plan B called Kidz, but i thought it provided an interesting viewpoint about the way life can be for some of todays young people, although it does present a very grim view of life, this is probably the case for some if not many of todays youths.

This is the Life I follow

I stir slowly, knowing all the time that the grey outside is waiting for me. I could choose to stay in my nest, but boredom will eventually overcome me, i know this.

I stretch, admiring the strength nestled in my torso and stand. One glance and i spy some emotion staring back at me in my mirror. I cannot detect it.

My head feels naked so i reach over to my hat and hood to cover it, no one can see my emotion, they will only be able to feel it.

I workman needs his tools and i need mine, so i dig in my drawer for it.

I rummage around around for it, and then, there it is, illuminated and glinting at me, taunting me. It calls for me, and i can't resist, it has to accompany me if i am to cleanse this place properly. 

I take one last look at seductive glow and then conceal it.

Descending stairs i alter my exterior, adopt a limp and make sure my demeanor is one of complete aggression, i must appear in complete control. Each step becomes smaller, closer to my body, i notice my speed has increased.

The door halts my pilgrimage, it shows itself a formidable opponent, but i triumph, i burst through it like a bullet through a barrel.

The cold hits me like an electric shock, my jacket clings closer to me than it had done before, it too felt the jolt of this hostile environment.

With every step i take i can feel my superiority growing, emanating around me an air of brute force.

I scour the road in front of me, empty, ghostlike. My footsteps echo out of the darkness in front of me like sirens, a warning sign for those around. 

I turn the corner in my pursuit of something, anything; anyone.

I begin to get frustrated, maybe they know, maybe they have figured it out and are hiding from my righteous figure. But how could they, they have no idea, they can't have.

I continue to walk but they continue to elude my presence, my emotions take over and i strike out at a car window, shattering it with no effort, something so simple could never quench my thirst.

Then, finally i see them. There is more than i thought but no matter, this will not hinder me. I decide to wait to make my approach, i observe until i have figured them out.

She goes into a house and leaves only him on the street.

Perfect!

I creep up him slowly, lurking in the shadows and concealing my footsteps.

Then emotion overcomes me again, i surge towards him and club him over the head. He tumbles and whimpers, how pathetic. He turns to glimpse my canvas but before he can i smite him, truly and powerfully. My body throbs for more and a kick him in the stomach. He is down now. Now is the time...

I delicately reach inside for my instrument, my beautiful instrument.

It shines in the darkness, it shows me what i need to do.

He lies in front of me, mocking me, mocking my tool, i cannot tolerate this display of rudeness.

Then i launch myself at him, a blurry of swinging limbs.

Then i insert my instrument into him, i hear a pop first and then a slow, gurgling squelch.

Silence, only my coarse breathing can be heard now.

A gasp mixes with the passing wind, then his frame remains still.

There it is, that rush, that high that i crave for so much, it overcomes me, it becomes me. 

My heart raps at my ribcage, my lungs silently bellow at me. 

The warm crimson on my hands that brought such nirvana begins to cool. I peer down and gaze at the lifeless marbles directed at my face, something is happening to me. My emotion, it seems so intense, but it's the buzz, it must be. A smile meanders across my canvas.

I see someone coming towards me, i ready my tool.

This is the Life I choose to follow. 

Lost Ones

 

Taken

They came so quickly. So powerfully. My family had just finished feasting and were readying ourselves for sleep. We heard a languid silence before they burst into our domicile. They came like shadows, lying in wait for the sky orb to disappear. My familial unit were all ripped from their beds and thrown into a metal monster. They grasped my father and thrust him into a sack. Then did the same to the rest of my family. It was my turn. I clung to my bed like a paw-paw to a tree. I hoped they could not take me. I could see the whites of their eyes in the darkness as they darted around searching for more to thieve. My grip was cruelly severed. They spared no one.

They threw us in a cage inside the hollow metal cave. They hit my father in front of me and I could do nothing but scream. They screamed back at me. I did not understand their language. Then they took out a dagger. They pointed it at my father, who roared at them with all his power. They took away his finger. There was blood everywhere. Everyone was screaming except my father. He was silent and pulsating with pain. My mother was crying and bawling at them. They just laughed and pointed with that dagger. They made one last grimace at us, then swaggered away to the end of the steel hole, stepped out and slammed the door on us. We were alone now. There was a brief spluttering and everything started to wobble. A creaking noise ensued; it felt like we were moving. It was so bumpy, I felt as if I we had been caught in a river rapid.

After a short time, the tin juggernought climbed a small incline, followed by two metallic slaps and more creaking. The same thing happened again, only worse this time. The van started to move and shake and an unbearable thundering noise began to resonate. It was as if my stomach was getting pulled through my nostrils. I felt my ears ache. I screeched with fear. It felt as if branches were falling upon my shoulders. But there was nothing falling. Had the van slipped down a slope? Or were they outside doing this to us?

Time trudged past. Why had the sun not yet shown its beautiful warming glow? The cold lingered without it. This excruciating blackness was overwhelming. On occasions, there would be a sudden shudder, a side-to-side wobble.  There was a dull hum that seemed to never cease. The screaming had stopped though. My family were hunched over my father. He was so still, so peaceful, but not dead. He was just leaning against the wall, staring at the metal canopy above him. I was worried about my mother, she couldn’t cope without him. He was usually so bold, so powerful. He was the leader and protector of our clan. Everyone looked to him for guidance, to see him in this manner was harrowing for her. His burly profile was less imposing than before, slumped on against the cold wall.

Then that feeling came again, this time more intense. My stomach climbed up my oesophagus, threatening to burst through my mouth into the outside world. My ears began to throb. I was plummeting through branches that were weightless beneath me. It was prolonged this time, it seemed eternal. I heard a cranking, bending sound, proceeded by an incredible thud and whooshing reverberation.

Everything was quaking, then nothing. It stopped, it all stopped. No more pain. No humming. Nothing.

I heard a metallic grinding. We all looked to the end of the cavern fearfully. Then the light lurched upon us. Something wasn’t right, something was different. The sun. It wasn’t my sun, it looked the same but somehow it wasn’t. It was not my sun.

 

My Home and Here

It was so peaceful where I was before. Silence bullied everything into submission, darkness was the mighty ruler over light and everything was tranquil. I could be by myself; free to do whatever I pleased.

Not like now. Now I’m never alone. I’m never alone to feel myself take in the world beauties. I’m never free enough to forget that there is anything else besides myself and my surroundings. My dwelling was so beautiful, so picturesque. There are some that live in villages; they claimed it was an easy life, but not me. I lived in the great forest. Colour was not important to me before, now I long for the diversity it brings.

Lush greens created an ominous backdrop behind a deathly yellow.  Dashes of shocking scarlet and dazzling delphinium paraded through the canopy, the traffic was so intense, the continuing stop start life of the forest inhabitants never stood still. There was so much life there in the day, the sounds were incredible. Gentle cawing floundered from the top of the trees, slowly making its way through the thickly scented air. Whooping and roars exploded from within the heart of the bush, creating an echoing deliverance of supreme dominance to outsiders.

From inside the dense thicket and trees, light almost ceases to penetrate the canopy above. The few beams of golden warmth that did manage to break through carried debris with them, the air there was not clear of anything, it was always bustling with some form of being.

I remember the smells more than the visions of my home. The sumptuous smell of the mangoes wafting down from the trees, the aroma of the sweetly paw-paw lingering, as if teasing those below it into a feeling of ecstasy. But when a paw-paw is ripped from its abode, it rots. It decays from the inside out, agonisingly unhurried, trying fruitlessly to maintain its time on earth. This is me. Trying but failing not to become perturbed by my enforced dwelling. Here there is no beauty, I see colours no more, not in the true sense of the word. All I see now is a monotonous, rolling, grey present. There is no light, but not from the cause of the mighty canopy above. The smog engulfs all sparkling illumination within it, transforming it into a dreary expressionless haze. There are no primal noises here, only a dull drumming. There are strange calls endlessly throughout the day; I am not familiar with them. They are just there, not to impose themselves but just to be there. Its part of here I suppose, how could all this frenzy possibly cope without this incessant pointless sound?

The smells here are putrid, they provide an inoculation from the gloomy every day experience. The smell of burning and bad meat and ‘animals’ fills the air daily. Everything was sour and past its best. There were no trees here; perhaps I miss them more than most. To see those tall green towers impose themselves on such a beautiful surrounding was an exquisite sight, here, they would merely be sacrifices to be slain by the grey curse. I miss my home immensely, each sunrise I wish that I were there, but when my eyes and my ears and my nostrils unanimously begin together, I know that I am still imprisoned.

 

Now

That Night they ripped me from my home was the last night that I ever saw my father and brother.

The wrong sun beat down upon us. The cold air filtered through the hard metallic shell we were encapsulated in. The shadows returned to claim us. All my family were silent and frozen, this inexplicable chill had subdued us. First they came for my father. He fought them. They took away his ear and threw it towards us, mockingly. His screeches still penetrate my dreams. They showed no remorse. Once he was gone, there was no one to protect us. Without him, we were in disarray. They came for my brother, after witnessing my father’s battle he simply clung to my mother, hoping they could not pry him from her. They did. Then the light disappeared.

Why had they not taken me, to this day I cannot come to an answer. I was left with my mother and my sister, I was all they had. They were all I had.

Now, I live no better than a common beast. My mother is the same as I, perhaps worse. When my father left, a part her left. They keep my mother in a cage. The metal grates surround her, it seems to shrink in size every day, like an orange picked from the tree and drying out. She used to claw at the bars in vain. She could see freedom, but she couldn’t touch it. She could smell freedom, but she couldn’t taste it. Now her senses have withered away, she does not seek freedom.

They beat her with poles and she doesn’t even scream anymore. She just looks at me with her glassy tear-filled eyes.  Her warm blood is splattered over her face and drips to the floor. I want to help, but I can’t. I have failed as a protector. My father would have rather died then watch her suffer. He gave his life so that we could live on, but what kind of survival is this?

My sister died long ago. She would rather starve than see the pleasure of her suffering in their faces, and starve she did. Her body lies in the same place it has been since her last sigh. Even her decaying flesh smells sweeter than this vile air.

These things are disgusting. Cockroaches. Anything they say I must obey, they are my ‘masters’. But I will never listen. They plucked me from my paradise. They point a dagger at me threatening death, but they can’t kill me. I’m already dead. They see me as scum. But I’m not lower than they are, I would never commit such a horrifying crime. They call me names all the time, I don’t deserve such humiliation. They call me savage, but they are the beasts.

Now I’m rotting faster than before. My hair is falling out, I’m looking so dishevelled. Great clumps of it are appearing all over the stone yard. I can see my skinny frame in the ever-present puddles. This can’t be what I’ve turned into. My hands are coarse and bleeding from this labour they put me through. The nails I once had have gone. I’m wasting away

 

Me

They call me animal. But I am not. Men are the parasites. They are the scourges of all things great. They destroy homes and kill everything. Mankind is the greatest disease there is. Mankind feeds on the morale fibres of life and eradicates them. They shout at me ‘ooh ohh, ahh ahh’. Man evolved from me only to destroy me, to bite that hand that fed it. I am not an animal, men are the animals. I am not a beast, men are the beasts. I was ripped from my home and placed in this grey prison, I am not lost. They are the lost ones.