Homophobia

When I was a child I acknowledge that homosexuality was a thing and I knew homosexual friends of my parents and I completely acccepted the whole thing. It never even crossed my mind that it was wrong in any way. Nowadays I still don't understand why the hell it's such a bad thing.

I'm ashamed to know that Malta, my home country, can be so ignorant and far behind as to view homosexuality as anything other than just another person who happens to like the same sex. What's the big deal? Drawing on a few clichéd phrases, some say it's a choice but remind me again when you chose to be straight?

I could never understand people's preoccupation with criticising everything and everyone with malicious intent. It's the same thing with tattoos, piercings, different religions, clothes, hair colour, dietary choices, etc ... At which point does someone's life become so boring and empty that the only enjoyment they can get from it is by drowning other people's happiness and calling it wrong?

One of the stupidest things I've ever heard in terms of homophobia and whatnot is that it can be "cured". Like it's some sort of disease. Worst of all however is that it can be cured with prayer. What the fuck? Now I am in no way a religious person but even when I used to try praying to what I thought was a real entity, I still hated the idea that bigotry was a leading protagonist of belief.

As a final note I'd like to add that I'm not homosexual myself but I do have homosexual friends and, to be honest, I couldn't give a crap if they were homosexual, heterosexual, bisexual, transsexual or whatever. They're people. If anything I respect homosexual people more because they had the courage to come out and look for happiness in a world that is sadly not as ready to accept them as it should be.

It's just sickening that homophobia is a thing. It reminds me that the world has a long fucking way to go. Live and let live.

Good morning, the interwebz.

Writing

As I read novels by the likes of Jeffery Deaver and Dean Koontz I always find myself wondering how the hell they do it and why the hell can’t I? It could be down to some inherent capability which I lack entirely. It’s a pity that I will never accept that they are better than me because I am arrogant and unwilling to admit lack of excellence on my part and so, my futile attempts at novel-writing will continue endlessly.

The last time I tried to write a ground-breaking, mind-numbingly amazing novel, I found myself incapable of remembering very minor details like the streets or the main character’s name. What happens to all of my attempts in general is that, after the initial click on the floppy disk icon – Microsoft really must update its iconography – I tend to forget all about the story, let alone have any remaining drive to continue it. After a few months of sporadic feelings of guilt at never finishing, I end up either deleting it entirely or else writing a brief ending and then insist on calling my budding genius novel a ‘short story’.

My only real semi-successful venture into writing is this blog – which is really my attempt at pretending to be even mildly technologically competent – though I haven’t published anything in months. The way this blog is  going though, I tend to have a burst of literary energy comparable only to Dickens’ and then I fall into utter lethargy equally comparable to that of a centipede trying to climb out of a bath tub after it’s fallen in before finally admitting to itself, after much wailing and gnashing of teeth, that it’s better off giving up and dying.

I had this idea for an avant garde novel written about myself and my musings but under the guise of a biography of an invisible man. After a few minutes of relishing in how brilliant the idea was, I realised that I actually am invisible – not literally of course, that would be silly – meaning that the possibility of people seeing a book with my name on it and picking it up is slim, at best. I mean there are a couple of pictures of me on the internet but nobody really knows who I am. Kind of like Joseph Kony. Remember him? The buzz sort of died down now that people have realised that 70% of all the money donated to the Invisible Children group were actually spent on the organisation itself whereas only the remaining 30% were given to the actual cause. Also the founder getting arrested for masturbating naked on the side of the road and then proceeding to beat the floor while screaming expletives didn’t help.

I like to think that my lacklustre thoughts and Alzheimer’s patient memory are a sign of some hidden genius or superpower, even. If that is the case, however, why is it that the hidden attributes never transcend the initial stage of bad memory? I’ve thought about the possibility of having ADD, but I’m sure my therapist would have picked up on that by now. All he does is tell me that I’m making everything up. Some therapist. 

Childhood Fables

Remember all those little tales we're told that all turn out to be pretty lies in the end? The Tooth Fairy? The Easter Bunny? Santa Claus? Democracy? I joke; but still the point stands.

Why do parents purposely 'lie' to their children? I like to think of it as the same reason why anyone is told to believe in anything: hope and entertainment. Let's face it, it is quite traumatic for a child to have to lose his teeth without believing in this mystical fairy that will exchange them for moolah. Even when a child is old enough to deduce that the whole magical thing is nonsense, he will still hang on to the vague hope until his parents either tell him that it's bollocks or he finds his teeth lying around somewhere. In my case it was the latter when I got bored one day and opened a few little boxes in my parents room. Lo and behold, there was a nearly full set of baby teeth and, considering I'm an only child and my parents aren't stealing teeth from unsuspecting children in the street, I safely debunked the sweet little flying woman with a strange obsession and a copious amount of small change. Once confronted, my parents instantly broke down and admitted everything. They wouldn't last a day with the FBI on their case.

I was never too taken in by the Easter Bunny because, let's face it, a rabbit laying eggs? Honestly? Whoever came up with that was the biological knowledge equivalent of an acne-ridden late-teenage virgin who gives sex advice to his younger brother. Father Christmas, however, was a different story. I ate that shit up like a hungry infant let loose in a topless bar. Mind you, I used to be afraid of his poorly choreographed representations in the form of ageing men beckoning me to sit on their laps. I was never an easy target to sex offenders. I remember once plucking up the courage to ask one of these glorified paedophiles how he manages to get down my chimney since it isn't even wide enough to fit two fists side by side (I am indeed aware of how inherently wrong this last sentence looks, just go with it). His response was that he could change size because he was overflowing with magic. I later found out that he was actually my cousin. This confused me to no end but I let my imagination transcend that barrier and, in my reluctance to face the truth, I concluded that Mr Claus was indeed still real, and that all the men in the street dressed as him were just there because of convention. OK maybe in not so many words but I was five for fuck's sake, give me a break.

On a related note, some of the fairy tales that we all know and love have some really sinister origins. One I remember is Little Red Riding Hood. There are many versions and I managed to procure a brief summary of the most gory version. I'll spare you all the details but the main thing you must keep in mind is that the magical talking wolf was actually a werewolf. Think evil werewolf. A very evil werewolf. So he eats the grandmother yet leaves just enough of her to feed to the seemingly oblivious Ms Riding as she visits. In the end he also murders and eats the stunningly intelligent Ms Red Hood. There is no lumberjack to save the day. The end. Wow. Mind you, some of the stories are still sinister in the versions that they are told to innocent children. I mean, Hansel and Gretel? Really? They killed their captor by pushing her into her own oven. What?

Anyway, we will continue to exploit children's innocence for as long as they will have it because it's just so goddamn cute to think that one day they could end up being the scum of the Earth, or the leaders of the future. For those first few years however, they are just a sponge there to absorb every little detail of anything that they are told by those they look up to and love unconditionally. Precious, really.

Inspiration

What is this "Inspiration"? Where does one acquire it? Why do some people spend their lives searching for it? And why do artists claim to have it all the time? Better yet, why do artists claim to need it so much?

It's a word that is often used by all people creative or innovative, but ask anyone what it is and you will get as many different answers as there were people to ask the question to. The most poetic interpretations can go so far as to say that inspiration is the rain drop that falls perfectly spherical from the heavens and lands in our mortal plain as though a sweet and welcomed interruption. For some it is as simple as waking up every morning to find out that they are still alive.

It's a fickle bitch, this inspiration. In my years as an aspiring musician and hopeful writer, all I can say is that it's not there nearly as often as I'd like it to be. Whether when trying to figure out a piece of music to fill in a blank spot in a new song, or whether to just log into Blogger and start writing a new post. That's the main reason why I even started the suggestion thing. I usually get my inspiration from just sitting around and seeing people walking around. Sounds a little creepy, but I'll try to explain it in a simple and non-creepy manner.

I spent years trying to step out of my life and immerse myself in stories. After a few years of self-indulgence and wasting time, I noticed that the best stories are the real life ones. I have one hell of a personal one, but instead of dwelling in mine, I began to realise that I'm not the only one. By watching other people go about their daily lives -in a non-stalkery way- I was able to think about and piece together their stories. What better inspiration can there be other than real life? Or rather, that's the way I can find mine.

In fact, I often find myself writing in the canteen at my University in the morning after spending half an hour or so in random people's company. Listening to snippets of conversation here and there which leads me to think about the speakers' upbringing, background, home, history, etc. Whether they are genuine or just a mask to hide reality, I can't begin to judge. It is however always inspiring to try.

I love stories and I always have loved them. The most interesting stories I think are the taboo ones that show the true nature of humanity, even if they are fiction. The thing is that, even all the horrible serial murder and psychopathy stories have a foundation in real life. If a human can imagine such things, then, by extension, the human mind is capable of comprehending them. An extreme interpretation would be saying that the story-teller is indeed capable of such acts.

Who could come up with a story of a sociopath if they can't conceive of the notion of the sociopathic mind? Scary isn't it? Therein lies my inspiration - the human mind and all its capabilities for story-telling.

Gender (Back to suggestions)

At some point during this post people might expect me to make some sort of sandwich joke or an insulting sweeping statement bordering on the misogynistic. I will resist temptation because I like having a girlfriend.

So somewhere along the 1900s, the world realised that women deserved some equality. When I say "the world", I mean women and I don't really blame them at all. It is quite sickening when you consider that the only times women were treated well was only when they were considered sex objects or mistresses. By 'well' I mean they were beaten less than the glorified housekeepers that the men referred to as their wives.

Does gender equality really exist though? The whole women-stay-home-and-take-care-of-children spirit is still rampant, in my humble and overly honest opinion. Out of all the countries in the supposedly 'civilised' world, I'd say maybe about 30% of them, at best, really even begin to grasp the notion of equal rights across gender and I don't get it.

I mean, let's look at as close to any semblance of fact as you'll ever see on this blog. How many men still within working age stay home to do the housework leaving the woman as the sole bread-winner? Considering the number of families, I'd say very very few. It could be argued that many women were raised by old-fashioned mothers and so their 'caring' instinct is much stronger than most men.

Considering the same vein of thought, men, themselves raised by old-fashioned parents, were probably conditioned into thinking that they should work hard, get a good job, put away some solid finances and then at a point settle down with a lovely little lady and make his parents very happy with a large number of grandchildren for them to coo over.

On a local note, I am disgusted by the propaganda on one particular TV station about women in the working environment. One specific campaign really gets on my tits. The whole premise is a woman bored and alone at home while her husband is at work and her children at school. A disembodied voice then points out to her that, wonder of wonders, she too can contribute to the working society! The end of this glorified shit-storm shows the woman picking up children from school in a standard red Ford van while wearing decisively masculine clothes; namely a shirt, tie, waist-coat and jacket.

Why the hell in 2012 does a supposedly progressive country need to resort to such pre-Vietnam war bullshit just to instil into the general public that it is OK for a bored housewife to take on a menial task as a subsidiary living to her husband's main income. The very implications of this national fucking treasure have me seething.

On that note, of course we should all be bloody equals. I can't stand the whole old-fashioned nuclear family and I can't wait to actually be proud to live in some form of 'enlightened' society.

Good evening, the interwebz.

[Also you can now feel free to add any further suggestions. I still have a pending list but the more the merrier.]

"Who's Franco Debono?"

That is a question I just answered on a whim on Facebook which got me thinking I might as well go mainstream on this blog for once and jump on the topic bandwagon, as you will.

I believe that this is precisely the question that a particularly attention-starved MP is tired of hearing. I can't profess any particular political proficiency whatsoever, but I can however conclude, after watching his drawn out interview on television, that he is a massive twat.

Within the first five minutes of a two hour long programme, he was reduced to a wailing bag of random nonsense. He also used the presenter's apology at the very beginning for an issue raised in last week's programme as a reference point to substantiate most, if not all, of the arguments that he was very untidily presenting.

It really seems to me that all Dr Debono needs is a hug. He seems to be very proud of himself as edited clips from his recent various press releases show. He mentioned that he is a hard-working man; one of the best criminal lawyers in Malta; a humble servant to the public; he possesses a solid love for politics and justice; and he was also a bright student in secondary school. These are just the few which my memory chose to retain.

The Prime Minister is being pressured by Dr Debono to resign as, in his eyes, the country is no longer a democracy, but an oligarchy. Bearing in mind that the first time he effectively said so was when the very recent reshuffling of the cabinet did not go as well as he had hoped. He wants attention and he wants to be a minister and he didn't get what he wanted so now he has finally threatened to sabotage his political obligation to stand by his party as well as the people who have voted for him in the party's name by voting against, thus causing a parliamentary implosion of sorts that will end up with a call for an early election. Something that we, as a nation, cannot afford right now.

My personal and final note and conclusion is that he brought personal grudges into a parliament that just has no place for them. He is bitter because his old classmate and educational rival is the leader of the main party in the opposition, while Dr Debono is still a back-bencher after roughly 15 years "struggling" and "sacrificing" a lot for his political ideologies. I say suck it up you whining child and stop wreaking more havoc where havoc is already on the agenda what with a new recession and countless other difficulties to be faced.

good night, the interwebz

Still cynical, apparently.

It's always irked me that people seem to only want to do something good either during some nationwide charity drive, Christmas, New Year, etc. Why can't it just be another day when one thinks about doing something good for themselves or for others?

Let's start with Istrina. For those of you who don't know about it or are not from Malta, every year there is a fund-raising marathon called Istrina. Every year it seems that the Maltese public become more and more generous and, in fact, some Spanish index called Malta the most generous country in the world, statistically speaking, based on the number of families who donate money to charity. Do you honestly think that if it wasn't for a public TV marathon, that half of these families would give half a shit about charity? Let alone donate over 2 million collectively.

Now, Christmas. If ever there was a more bullshit holiday. If you want full details of it's conception and materialistic evolution, I suggest you find one of my older blogs about it. In short, it is a pagan holiday that was stolen by Jesus - not to mention that it is also Muhammed and Krishna's birthday and who knows who else. It's bollocks! All we celebrate is the fact that we have some fancy new shiny things hanging everywhere and we feel the need to buy people things that, had they needed, they could've bought themselves. It's all one big material farse.

Finally, the New Year and all it's glory. Why the hell are we compelled to make a change every single time this new calendar is thrust upon us? Everything from diets to no smoking to spending more time studying to spending more time with the kids. If someone knew that he had to do something to make his life better, why wait? What is keeping people from just making a change? Is it because we are creatures of vice and are incapable of actually making something good happen on our own accord without any particular mass awareness? It's just fucking lunatic.

Right. I'm done. I'm glad to see I'm still a cynical bastard who likes ranting.

Good morning, the interwebz