This is supposed to be the title, but I just can’t think of one. And I’m not being cocky.

I’ve been back in the ‘real world’ for a few days now. I returned home from a private psychiatric hospital in Cape Town on Friday last week (31/07/09). This is the second time that I’ve been in a psychiatric ward.

Yesterday, in the midst of a gruelling therapy session which provided the most true, authentic and honest mindset for me in a very long time, the last of which was when – once upon a time – I was a beautiful little boy. Unperverted by the world and her smut. Her cruel nature upon which we thrive. Not that one need be protected from the very life which provides us insight and understanding, but more that we do not take a stance that is intollerant of our true beliefs. Our beliefs as the beautiful inner souls we all posses as real people.

When I checked into the clinic for the second time, the world and I were most definately not on speaking terms. And that’s putting it fucking politely to be somewhat frank. And I ended up by going through a long, depressing, sad and – I suppose – beautiful patch of growth, in which the world was constantly trying to win me over again, and – somehow – I suppose I just was’t the forgiving type. I fought the world and its prophets on every single bit of smut it threw at me {in other words life was fucking me up the arse but I insisted that it was me fucking it up the arse, if you know what I mean} with a fierce, unforgiving,reckless kind of vengence in which I refused to understand. To truly accept. To simply live. Why is it that simplicity is so fucking ludicrously, intricately complex?

Who the fuck knows. That is a statement – it’s not rhetorical. But whatever. I suppose that a man’s relationship to his greed is a deeply personal thing. Something that – albeit far too fucking difficult – is quite simply just our own indictement of what is and is not seemingly real.

This article – albeit several fucking hundred words – dear friends, is quite simply a script. A script that entails an actor, a crowd and bundle of joy.

The mind is a strong tool. Use it well my son. And never forget that I’m watching.

Enjoy your sleep, beautiful people. Good night.

This is where we’re headed

This is where we’re headed, people. Not in a sense that is contrived and unavoidable, but in the sense that this -  dear folk – is reality.

I don’t know how to describe MGMT’s ‘Time to Pretend’. I know that in the States and in Europe, this song has already been played loads – if not to death – but, quite simply I love it. It embodies what ‘Rock ‘n Roll’ is, in such a deep, unpretenscious and unexpecting manner – you simply cannot not just love it. Apart from the beautiful, melodic, melodramatic and well-weighted pure music value, the lyrics make me want to come, but in a deep, scared, emotional kind of way. They’re fucking beautiful. Listen to these guys – I fucking love them.

Michael Jackson is Dead.

The King of Pop is dead. Today, will forever be the day that Michael Jackson died. I have found it very interesting to view the facebook statuses and tweets that have spoken and referred to the legendary MJ. Mostly, from what I have seen, comments have been supportive and respectful. There have however been some ruder comments made. They include, and I have directly copied this from ‘the book’:

-    Micheal Jackson…. Dead!? Was a good man, Saw the light, became White, Touched little boys and then said Just Beat It. Will be forever rememberd for his staring role in SouthPark.

-    I love Michael Jacksons music but he was an idiot! You cant just change your skin colour and expect your body to be okay with it, did he really think all those surgeries were not gna effect his         health..silly     silly man, what a waste of good talent!

-    and those poor boys too… who’s gonna molest them now?

-    so much for Michael Jackson’s comeback. He could still make a comeback on Days of our Lives?

-    unnaturally sad about michael jackson…

-    haha

-    Calling all young boys, You are safe, Yes safe!, At last.

-    Michael Jackson goes to either wax museum or recycling plant… I say the latter

-    stoked for Michael Jackson, they dont even need to preserve him, he can go straight to Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum.

-    Wow… With all the money and fame in the world, death levels it all. We should value what have, even if its little, even though we go through recessions and cold winters. Rest in Peace Michael. From         a long standing fan.

-    he is still the best their ever was and will be. RIP MJ.

-    I cant believe it. It feels funny. Peace out michael.

I have left out the many “R.I.P. MJ” statuses that were promulgated.

The US entertainment website TMZ.com was first to report that Jackson had been rushed to hospital. At 2.44pm, TMZ.com broke the news that Jackson had died, sparking an internet meltdown which caused Google to crash. That’s insane, imagine your death causing Google to crash for a bit. I think that’s pretty fucking cool, man. When I die, I want Google to crash too. It’s beautiful.

All in all, what’s the verdict? I reckon MJ was pretty fucked-up, had serious emotional problems in his life, and suffered from many problems that people who have not been dubbed “The King of Pop” could not quite comprehend. He is a legend though.

R.I.P. MJ

Twit. Twat. Tweet. Twitter

Last week, US President Barack Obama and State Department Officials faced a predicament: with the political wildfire spreading in Iran, they wanted a way to influence events on the ground without getting involved in them. Unsurprisingly, they turned to the Internet.

The solution was American online messaging service: Twitter. This social network had swiftly become a central source of information with blow-by-blow updates about the post-election protests.

Headlines in the Observer have commented on Twitter’s growth into a powerful political tool, in addition to its role as a social messaging service.

Twitter is quite frankly, a fucking fantastic phenomena. It allows one to keep up to date with the comments of the people that one is following. Whether it’s friends, enemies or celebrities you dig stalking – whatever it is – it’s accessible, easy and uncomplicated. Today, Ashton Kutcher was asking people to list the worst pick-up lines that they had heard. One of his personal favorites, was: “I love every bone in your body, including mine.” So, brilliant. Thanks Ashton for that.

Twitter has been dubbed a microblogging service. It reminds me of when the aristocratic Art Crits of the 19th century  dubbed Monet and his crew the ‘Impressionists’. It seems to me that, if history repeating itself has anything to do with it, Twitter is going to play a bigger role in all of our lives, than we might think.

Twat. I mean Tweet. Just do it.

George’s Boudoir – The Late Night Show: Episode_01

This is the first entry on the ‘THE LATE NIGHT SHOW’ category. Enjoy and keep the comments coming!

iSnort – you’ve got to love it

I just think that this is brilliant. Fusing technology with smut in a harm-free manner. It reminds me of the contemporary version of those chocolate cigarillos one would eat as a child.

‘Welcome to the Jungle’ – Guns ‘n Roses

Have a look at the ‘Welcome to the Jungle’ article posted recently. This is the song that i refer to therein.

Lifestory – Peer Feedback Form B

As I mentioned in my previous entry, I spent some time in a mental rehabilitation programme in Cape Town. Subsequently, I have been diagnosed with OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder), GAD (General Anxiety Disorder), Depression, IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome) as well as having served ‘several psychotic bouts’. Bipolar is a term that both my psychiatrist and psychologist have independently used to describe me. You dig? So, I suppose you now think that I’m insane and might even feel sorry for me (not sure though). But the simple truth is that I experience life with it’s ups-and-downs, I experience life the way it deserves to be respected – and that is by really living both the good times and the bad; not shying away like some little, disgruntled pussie.

I have a friend who went to a mental rehab treatment centre. I arrived after spending some time in the United Kingdom, as well as travelling around Europe. He suffered an insurmountable phase of seasonal depression, in which time he returned to his family in South Africa. On arrival at the institution, he demanded to know what activites the general program entailed. When the concept of pottery as an expressive, rhemedial art form was put out there, he promptly picked up his bag and proceeded to leave.

(I feel like I should comment on this, but instead, I am going to simply leave it as the telling of an interesting tale.)

So, whilst one is at an institution, similar to those abovementioned, a great deal is made of the infamous ‘Life Story’. The ‘Life Story’ is a detailed account – in my case 20 pages – of the experiences that have moulded you into the person you are. Generally, it is experiences of pain and discomfort that come to mind. (Can I say that?)

So, in this enthralling first “Life Story” entry, I will be giving you a background into the feedback I received from other members in the group. The following are direct comments from particular peers.

“George, you have a problem with defocusing on other people. You find it incredibly difficult for it to be about you. This was clearly evident in your breakup with Amelia…”

This is a comment from my Personal Counselor whilst I was at the clinic

“George, one thing that has intrigued me about you whilst getting to know you in the clinic, is your blatent minimizing and intellectualising of the effect that many things have had on you in your life”

This is a comment from a fellow group member

I was also listed as having anger and resentment issues towards certain people.

I was told that I often please others and try to be liked, that I am afraid of rejection and that I am a perfectionist and have unrealistic expectations of myself and others.

It is a weird experience having a comment said to me like this one:

“George, I see in you great ability. Yes, you have been injured, however your capacity to love, outweighs that.”

It’s weird – I suppose – that I find that weird.

I don’t know everything, even though I think I do. I don’t have all the answers – as I want to. And I don’t have the energy to be feeling the way I do about this all. My stomach is feeling sore, I’m outta here.

Welcome to the Jungle

I spent a month in a mental rehabilitation establishment over the Christmas / New Year time of 2008/2009. It was during this time that I met a man, a British man suffering of schizophrenia, as well as severe alcohol abuse which had caused him several undesirable anxiety-disorders, that I was truly introduced to the amazing concept of the true-mad-joy that the song ‘Welcome to the Jungle’ by Guns ‘n Roses, provides. Never before had I witnessed such belief, such joy, such benevolent happiness and such minimalist appreciation for that which was raw freedom of expression, as I witnessed in the eyes of this very sick and unlucky man. And the simple reason for this is the execution of: a whiney voice, a couple of old-school rockers, as well as band with an outlook that converts their innate instinct into existence by means of their music.
I’m not saying that Guns n Roses are the future, I’m merely enjoying and expressing my appreciation for these people that are icons in a disrupted day and age. So, brilliant.

My apartment in Claremont overlooks a great deal of Cape Town. Located in the southern suburbs, Claremont is a hustling and bustling district with plenty of activity, always on display. The prominent taxi rank as well as other public transportation methods such as train and bus systems are in place. At the end of a typical workday, I usually walk the vast majority of Claremont’s Main Road, from my apartment to an array of shops which cater to my specific needs for that expedition. On my way out, I immediately pass a prominent German brand’s ‘used-cars’ showroom. I am constantly puzzled by the type of life that a middle-aged man, or woman for that matter, working as a used-car salesman lives. On the one hand, I am sure that the industry is cut-throat, extremely competitive and does not foster a sense of pretentious well-being. I do find it hard however, to overlook the trivialities that make these sales mens’ lives so seemingly worthy within their own inner communities.

BMW.

At this point you may wonder what on earth ‘Welcome to the Jungle’ has to do with my daily meanderings. The reality, kind folk, is that this world that we live in, this urban jungle, has – like it’s natural cousin – the ability to produce something out of nothing. It has an inner ecosystem which is a working testament to the lives that many people lead. Road vendors, loan sharks, hairdressers, taxi workers, staff of retail outlets commuting, construction workers, cranes, brands, advertising, drugs, students, professionals, people who help, people who like to be helped, people who want to love and people who don’t want to love and people who just want to be loved (this is possible in an array of different formats). This whole inner community of constant development and growth, permanently undergoing renovation and refurbishment, in order to operate, serve and entice more efficiently. Clinical and professional, different cities, regions and countries all do this in their own unique and interesting way. This is the fundamental core of why fascination is generated by us, to observe and indulge in a different experience of this highly-oiled, or not so highly-oiled machine. This is the beauty that does remain within humanity. I think it’s fucking grand. And then there’s money, and life and gym and relationships and work and family and happiness and everything which means so much, but yet so little.

My point quite frankly, dearly beloved, is that one ought to truly enjoy your own role that you play within your segment of the jungle. It’s so easy to let, what we generally consider ‘life’ to be, to taint and make unclear that simple innate role that at our own inner-core know we want to fulfill within our chosen sphere. I’m not proclaiming this thought to be some sort of addition to the holy commandments, I’m just saying, that for fuck’s sake, keep the jungle in mind.

Night darlings. Roar.