mortmain
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Open Letter to the World
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
New World Order
Thursday, May 20, 2010
My Bleeding Pen
One can only see what one observes, and one observes only things which are
already in the mind.
-ALPHONSE BERTILLON
. . . For Mercy has a human heart,
Pity a human face,
And Love, the human form divine,
And Peace, the human dress.
-WILLIAM BLAKE, Songs of Innocence
( The Divine Image )
Cruelty has a Human Heart,
And Jealousy a Human Face,
Terror the Human Form Divine,
And Secrecy the Human Dress.
The Human Dress is forged Iron,
The Human Form a fiery Forge,
The Human Face a Furnace seal’d,
The Human Heart its hungry Gorge.
-WILLIAM BLAKE, Songs of Experience
In my hands is power. The power to heal or to destroy. To grant life or to cause death.
I revere this gift, have honed it over time to an art as magnificent and awesome as any
painting in the Louvre.
I am art, I am science. In all the ways that matter, I am God.
God must be ruthless and far-sighted. God studies his creations and selects. The best
of these creations must be cherished, protected, sustained. Greatness rewards perfection.
Yet even the flawed have purpose.
A wise God experiments, considers, uses what comes into His hands and forges
wonders. Yes, often without mercy, often with a violence the ordinary condemn.
We who hold power cannot be distracted by the condemnations of the ordinary, by
the petty and pitiful laws of simple men. They are blind, their minds are closed with fear --
fear of pain, fear of death. They are too limited to comprehend that death can be conquered.
I have nearly done so.
If my work was discovered, they, with their foolish laws and attitudes, would damn
me.
When my work is complete, they will worship me.
for some, death isn't the enemy, life was a much less merciful opponent
for the ghosts who wander aimlessly in the Nairobi night, preying on the innocent who, unlike them, had found purpose in the mundane rhythm of life in Nairobi.
Life wasn't too pleasant, wasn't even close, they were forced to scavenge the streets for their daily bread, much like the old uncivilized days. But one thing was different, this was the concrete jungle. This scene hadn't the same food chain, the predator was man. The prey? Why, he was man too. Civilization and technology brought progress, and evolution. New age evolution. Man can mould himself into many different characters on the playing field of life.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
I was watching the movie up in the air recently, awesome movie, one of the best moviesi ever watched, highly recommended , but anyway, before i digress. A theme that was commonly expressed in the movie is the fact that many of us just sit back and watch life go by, surviving, and not living, we live our lives by reacting to events. We are shaped more by single events and moments, than by constantly improving ourselvesby our everyday activities. Now this got me thinking.
What happens then? When a revolution happens, when an idea is watered and nurtured by effort and it grows to shape the lives of many, if not all of us in the world. What happens to these people? These "special " ones? Were they born diffferent? And if not, what happened until then?
What makes these people tick? Is their purpose to inspire other people? Is it to inspire change as a whole? Are those two entirely different people?
If your work is to inspire other people, then you hold unimaginable amounts of power, because if what you say inspires them, then they will most likely do it.
If your purpose is to inspire change as a whole, then the only limitation you haveis that which you set for yourself.
Then there's the third kind of person.
The perfect creature. Defined by stereotypes, and averages, the statistic. The quintessential human. What does he do? Well, he lives, he takes everyday at a time. Dreams? Those are too heavy a burden on the conscience, besides, he heard about the best way to make God laugh, tell him about his plans. He reacts. He's the ant, follows the rules without question, but..
whats wrong with that?
every revolutionary needs his people, a king his: subjects, a leader his followers, an author, his readers. Does it make them less of people? Does it make them less important?
Many of the heroes we have, or had, say that they simply couldn't sit back and watch things happen, and not do anything about it. But what if they did? Would the world really be a worse place if everyone was comfortable with the current state of things, or simply unwillling to do anything about it?
The idea of this message , is to simply concede to the fact that we can't all be revolutionaries, and there's room for everyone in this world, and the thing is, this world will grow bigger, if our dreams do. If a message gets to only one person in the entire world, it has fulfilled its purpose, to inspire. He/she might be the only one who it really needed to reach.