21st Century Soul Soldier

Another glass of whiskey
With a hint of Cola to break the
Bold taste
You sit with that stripped golfer’s hat and
A black notebook, wearing a navy Polo shirt
Etching at the white pages with your
Hurt
Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just a voyeur
Observing your splendid brown eyes and pout lips
Muttering the words with every flick of your wrist
Your cigarette burns with the memories of the girl
Who you let capture and devour your Beautiful soul
Entering the lion’s cage
She must have lost you somewhere between a broken heart and worn out dream
That fickle blond vixen- destroyed a man with
A blunt tip dagger, slowly carving a hole
In the middle of his broad chest.
You look up for seven seconds in my direction-
Signal me for another drink
But you don’t see me- you don’t feel me
Undressing your layered soul –
You have big ambitions and bigger worries
But you have a business dinner at eight, or perhaps a date with fate-
I carry it over- your third or is it fourth order?
Place it in front of you, but you’re already
Re-immersed in your literature
Looks like a poem, or some unfinished lyrics
Are you a Neil Young or just a young Neil?
“The check please” you say but don’t flinch
“It’s on the house”
You peel your eyes away and look at me-
But this time you see me with reflected light in your eyes
The soft glow emanating a yearning for a magical unfolding
You gaze at me like you’ve met me in a dream- and suddenly I’m real
“Thank you, but there is no need”
You push your hands into the pockets of your Diesel jeans
You’re stubborn- in your words, in your actions
Such a resilient soul, soldier
You were raised to be righteous, to be honest and polite
To carry on your family name with honor and pride
You only turn your written and lyrical words into a minefield of emotions
But keep your composure, your alpha demeanor
That’s your right, and you are right to
March strong, with planned out strides and trail-less tracks
Chose a path that leads to closure- to fulfillment of a grandeur picture
“I insist, it’s the least I can give to a man sitting in this bar all alone”
You pick yourself up; take a final drag of the cigarette, you vowed to lay-off
Leaving your notebook behind
“Sir, your notebook…”
“It’s on the house- read it when your shift is over.”

A Letter to an Old Friend

Dear Loneliness,

It has been quite a while…

Remember those many nights we spent together, discovering each other’s boundaries? Remember how incredulous I was in thinking you were any good for me? How often I spited you and wished you away? Remember how you wanted to embrace me, cradle me to sleep and hum those soft lullabies in utter silence? How harrowing it was for me to fall asleep without the sweet whisper of an angel that used to tuck me away for 18 years. I would cast a pull over your attempts, and play those movies filmed across town or croon myself to sleep muffling the silence with John Mayer, or his likes.

Remember those days when all I saw were the blue and gold colors, walking up and down Gayley Avenue? I memorized every crack along the way and every step retraced the day before. I remember looking over my shoulder hoping you would leave me alone, but you were there just like a shadow, blending every now and again with the shadows cast by the trees from the Pacific sun- but never too far out of sight. Even when I had company, sometimes you would brazenly appear, unannounced and uninvited. “Can’t you see I have company, how about you just take off and take this crippling feeling you give me with you.” I would whisper that to you- in between me listening to my friend’s complaints- but you were staunch and I had meek attempts at shooing you away.

I miss you though- you don’t come around as often any more. My mind has no time to wonder off like it used to- and when it does it often creates more of a mess than a resolve, and so I have learnt to switch off. I realize now that I was harsh in calling you loneliness- you are Solitude, masked in layers of loneliness, but when peeled, you are actually not so bitter. You surprisingly have a comforting feeling – I just needed to understand you rather than try to run away from you.

I don’t think I could relive those 90024 days, nor that I could have you as a lifelong companion- but don’t be so afraid to stop by every once in a while.

Love,

Celine

P.S. Take care of him.

Resurrecting "Fight Club"

Except for everyday that ends with "Y"- I question the human motive- actually more like the ulterior human motive, since that seems to be what actually drives us to turn a motive into an action.

I was skimming through my archived blogs, and I knew at one point or another I must have written something pertaining to this topic, and lo and behold I have. I decided to resurrect this previous blog, not because I am running out of ideas or topics to discuss, but because I feel like I have slightly augmented my stance.

Fight Club Blog:
I think we all have a Tyler in us; we just keep him or her tamed, caged and locked up most of the time. I loved it when Edward Norton’s character said just as the condo blew up, "there goes a house with all the condiments and no food" and when Tyler (Brad Pitt) says "only when you have lost everything are you really set free" and also when says, “Only after disaster can we be resurrected”. I think I can go on and on about how many “ah ha” moments this movie has. Even though this movie sought out male audience members, as a girl I can relate to the inner tension every human has with his/her own self. I might be over analyzing here but I think the crazy state Edward Norton was in and his pseudo imaginary friend, Tyler, being so sadistic is not as Hollywood as you would like to think. Matter of fact it is real, just not in the blood goring, let’s join an underground Fight Club, kind of way.
We suppress agony, frustration, sexual desires, animalistic outrages; we question faith, religion, the existence of God and ultimately the truth about our state of mind (or lack thereof). We inadvertently deny such bottled up tension, and dismiss acts of violence as being cannibalistic. Beating a man to death for the pleasure it gives yourself is vicious, because what separates man from beast is the brain God gave us in order to use reason, have judgment, and believe that bad people end up playing poker with Satan for all eternity (I am sure hell is a lot worse than gambling with a man with red horns, a tail and a pitchfork).
Action has a birthplace: the mind. Every thought that emanates from your mind has the power to transform into an action (even speech is an action), but it is motivation and consequences that either push you or dissuade you from carrying through. From the most explosive to the most benign and flagrant of thoughts, we all have them, but don’t always act upon them.
Even impulse is not impulse, it has gone from being something that the mind created to something that the body communicated. Yet the basic inklings of those thoughts permeate through your action. For example, if you are angry at someone you may want to go sleep it off, light up a cigarette, write them an angry letter, avoid them, call them and try to communicate with them, pound a punching bag or a concrete wall, but really deep down inside you want to ring their throats, you want to jolt out the nastiest words and bite off their ears Mike Tyson style. But these are just hermits in your mind, instead you act in the manner expected of you (yes psycho paths and people who have wrong wirings in their brain, like sex predators, rapists, kleptomaniacs, etc are exceptions).
If everyone acted on impulse and instinct and listened to their Tyler’s, the golden rule of Fight Club would be broken: everyone would be talking about Fight Club, because everyone would be in it.
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I still agree with what I previously wrote, we are still caged up in many ways. But I think it is ultimately for our own benefit.

The contagion of bad thoughts spreads like lava in the mind, slowly burning down the principles and the values you uphold, provoking you to act like an unleashed caged beast. But generally speaking those thoughts are reserved in the subliminal attic of the human mind, because society (law enforcement), faith and belief in Heaven and Hell deter you from turning into a maniac. We all want to be knocking on Heaven’s door when the sand of our time has run out, and so we keep the fissures in our morality in check, not conceding to any fiend outburst.
It’s really hard work, if you think about it, being righteous, virtuous and generally good- but this topic has been dealt with since the ancient Greeks (when they weren’t busy having group orgies and drowning themselves in wine) who devoted a good deal of their time to the understanding of Humans in their nature and in their nurture. So I am not going to list what they believed and said, nor list what school of thought each bona fide philosopher subscribes to, because that would turn this into a regurgitation of information and not experience.

Simply, I am a believer that Humans are inherently good, not evil- we live in a world where we are fully capable of choosing good or evil, and most of the time we chose to be good.

Unfinished Autobiography

Wouldn't it be grand to know where life will take you next? So you can write your autobiography, on every gleeful, tearful, indulgent or regretful moment?

Actually it wouldn't be. It would eliminate excitement- the drive that keeps my motor running. So tomorrow might bring a smile or a heartbreak, it might bear good news or bring ill news- whichever way the pendulum of the future may swing, it will serve to add pages to my unfinished autobiography.

Secrets of the Body

In my weekly dose of whisking through PostSecrets (the ultimate blog currently on the web) I came across the post shown above.

Perhaps it was coincidental? synchronicity? Or it is one of those ways where the universe always reveals to you the very thing that has been occupying your mind- things that were once in the shadows (in life and in your mind) but you are now forced to face again.

This whole week, actually in the last month, I have been hearing case after case of the dreaded "C" disease- some have recently discovered it, others are ailing because it and others have died fighting it.

To all those who have recently discovered it, keep strong in your faith and in your will and know when you fight this battle you will win and be someone else's Hero, and give someone else the courage to fight it too.

To all those who are ailing because of it, don't let a weak thought penetrate your mind and sap your body, fight for YOU and fight for all those who are holding your hand and know that even the silent killer can be silenced.

To all those who are resting in their death beds, I have faith that you fought hard, but God's will for you to return to His light was far greater. R.I.P

But in this post, there is something interesting to take, and that is even in our drunken state of mind, or in our moments of weakened sobriety, we still have fear of the double D's (Death and Disease) and we want to start listening to our body- because if we listen hard enough it will tell us when something is wrong.

You know your body best, so don't discard any sudden changes; start listening to your body- it could be signs that are as soft as the pitter patter of light rain, or it could be as loud as a herd of buffalos stampeding.

But also don't live in fear that something will happen to you, because The most destructive element in the human mind is fear.

The Unquestioned Destination of Life is Death

Not the best way to kick start the week, with talk of death and accidents and loss... nevertheless we should not fear the inevitable only pray for the souls of those who have come to pass from light to darkness to the light of God in Heaven.
So here is a prayer from me to all those who have left this ephemeral Earth and are basking in the glory of God in the Kingdom of heaven:

"God our Father,
Your power brings us to birth,
Your providence guides our lives,
and by Your command we return to dust.

Lord, those who die still live in Your presence,
their lives change but do not end.
I pray in hope for my family,
relatives and friends,
and for all the dead known to You alone.

In company with Christ,
Who died and now lives,
may they rejoice in Your kingdom,
where all our tears are wiped away.
Unite us together again in one family,
to sing Your praise forever and ever.

Amen. "

Your faithful servant, Celine.

Summer Kind of Love (2)

A few blogs ago, I decided to write and create a story based on this fictional character called Sarah- a few you who have read it may have figured that Sarah has very similar traits and characteristics to me, and that may be true, but I assure you the events of this story are purely fictional and do not recount a true story (disclaimer), so any predications that this is based on Celine Aswad is false...

Now, and more importantly, I have decided to give you bits and pieces of the story, from various parts, rather than in sequential order, and this may be a marketing strategy so in case one day I do decide to write and publish this into a novel, I would have only revealed snippets of it here and there. So here is another dose of the story- Enjoy!
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Vibrate, vibrate- the BlackBerry was blinking red again. Another email to interrupt the summer stroll, but she had no other choice but to take out the interruptive device from its black leather holster. Sarah placed the Bold in her hand and her eyes were glued onto the screen; her soft smile turned to concern and her brows furrowed. Phil was looking at the series of facial expression changes; the email was clearly not good news. Her hands started to shake, though he couldn’t see what she was reading, he could see her double blink, as if to shrug off what she read the first time, and re-read it to confirm that the words that stared back at her were real, and really loaded. A death, a fire that destroyed her house, an accident, an ex sending her an email? Different spurts of thoughts started popping up in his mind. Why was he concerned all that much? He instinctively took a step forward with the intent to comfort her, but she paid him no attention. She started typing away at her device, pausing then typing, pausing and then there it was a tear (of loss, anger, fear?) escaping a blink. She continued to type away, took a deep breath in, as if she were about to submerge herself underwater, took a final look at her BB and docked it back in the holster, and threw it back in her purse.

The streets of Paris were buzzing with summer tunes, filled with tourists and Parisians frolicking to the beat of the sun rays that penetrated the cloud dotted sky. Even those going to work on this Wednesday morning were in no rush, but all these summer enchantments dissipated as Sarah felt a cold chill swarm her body and heard her heart beat take a nosedive into a bottomless pit- bad news always travels fast. She gazed into nowhere in particular until she caught her reflection in his black tinted glasses. He was inching closer to her, and her eyes swelled up with more tears she had been trying to fight back, her first instinct was to turn and run the opposite direction, as far away from happiness as she could. But happiness embraced her, and she let go.

He stood there, with her face in the clasp of his palms; she was as delicate as the petal of a blossoming rose. As her tears ran down her face like morning dew trickling down he stood helpless, there was nothing more he can do but cradle her in his arms softly rocking her, and soothing her. Her tears turned to sobs, and her breathing became heavier, as she breathed deeply she pulled away from him, slightly shying away, she didn’t want him to see her weak. He smudged away the now smeared black mascara that found its way to the middle of her cheek and onto his white shirt. She still looked beautiful. “You think I’m just a cry baby right now, don’t you?” she asked as the remnants of the last inked black tear dripped onto her sky-blue blouse. “Let’s go to a toy shop and make the cry baby feel better?” She could not help but giggle at his attempt to make her smile, “may be ice cream on the way?” She scrambled in her purse in search of a tissue and mirror to fix the mess she created, but to no avail, “what’s the point of carrying this huge thing when it does not even have what I need” she thought to herself, “waste of money.” “Here you go”, he handed her his sunglasses, “that should temporarily veil you from the outside world till you get yourself cleaned up”. She wore them, thanked him with a smile, he placed his arms around her shoulders and they continued down the streets of Paris together.

A slight summer breeze brushed against them as they walked and she ate her Walls ice-cream, strawberry and vanilla, that ought to set the mood just right. Ice-cream was the best “pick-me up”, the cold burst of flavor was refreshing. Then sun rays reflected off the Seine and his green eyes, as he finally began to ask her, “So the Black Berry isn’t always the bearer of good news now is it? Want to talk about it?”