TWO VISITORS

I want to write. I want to tell a story.

However, I think what I really want is an inspiration, something that tells itself, something knocking the door at the back of my mind, wanting to be let in, and all I have to do is to open that door. Lately I have been thinking about a few men I keep bumping into. Both normally hang out around Oxford Street, though I have seen the first guy somewhere else. He always walks around in trainers, a pair of tennis shorts if it's summer, a navy blue track bottom in winter. He carries with him a megaphone, through which he spouts mixed messages; God's love to all mankind, but at times fulminating profusely about how the rest of the world is going to hell in a handbasket. He never tires of his own voice, and he does not care whether anyone is listening; to him, the sound of his own voice is a comfort, a reassurance of his own mortality, his very existence, an affirmation that this is not a dream. He proclaims proudly that he exists, and to my mind he does so brilliantly, no matter how poor, how ineffective his diatribes can be.

The second man also declares his existence, but in a more subtle and gentle way. I often see him outside John Lewis, where he plays his violin every day, full of passion and energy and at times, sadness. Maybe it is because he is blind that I construe him as a gentle soul. I once wanted to buy him a drink, coffee perhaps, but instead, I sat down on a bench, and listened. In truth, I was afraid. Afraid that I am wrong about him. Maybe what I perceive him to be is merely a construct of my memories, of childhood tales of kindness to those less fortunate. If such is the case, however, I am glad. At least I have yet to lose the capacity to think kindly of others.

Hark! Is that the sound of my muse approaching, gently tapping, ceaselessly tapping on the door?

- `'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door
Only this, and nothing more.' -
Edgar Allan Poe

HAPPINESS IS AN IPOD AWAY

I am currently at the MARA Hostel Lounge waiting for my new mobile phone to arrive. It's a Sony Ericsson K700i, and I got it for free. Well, not technically free. I'm now contractually bound to stay with Vodafone for the next 12 months, I can't change my tariff for the next 6 months, and generally be its bitch till say, oh, December 2005. Oh, and did I mention I've mortgagaged half of my proverbial soul as well?

Oh well. At least Hanim is going to get a new phone. Yes, that is right, my friend. Ahmad, lately known as mayomyth or even Silverfeck, will be giving away his brand new phone to his fiancee. But hey! It'll make her happy, and what's a phone compared to the happiness of the person you love?

I'm too sappy for my own good sometimes.

It got me thinking though. Why do we feel this overwhelming need to get all the new stuff, all supposedly 'cool' gadgets that supposedly make us feel marginally better about our lives? Well, at least up until the next cool thing comes up. I'm not saying I haven't been guilty of the same thing. Far be it from the truth. Heck, if I had the money, you probably won't be reading this, because it'd be likely that I'd be queuing up for an iPod at PCWorld rather than typing this sour-grapey rant reserved only for those either with no money or no super-rich dad capable of supporting a platinum credit-card for his son.

As it is, I have neither. So I'll just pretend to have higher principles and sneer at all those people getting new iPods, new handphones with a built in camera and video recorder with resolutions of up to 9808 million gigapixels, new set of 13.1 speakers with diamond-plated wiring and say:

"Does it all make you really happy? Does it?"

Unfortunately, most of them will emphatically answer "YEAH!!"

Damned wankers.

I HAVE NO MONEY AND I MUST SPEND

It is really, really, really annoying when I have no money. Unfortunately that tends to happen quite, quite, quite often. As a result I am often so, so, so, so bloody annoyed. Which is why most people find me so, so, so weird at times.

As you can probably see I am feeling pretty bored. I have sat in front of this bloody computer thinking abt how the heck am I going to end this bloody essay on the effect of Salomon v Salomon Ltd on the principle of incoporation of public comp yadayadayadayada.. (this actually goes on for about another half an hour... come back later)

(half an hour later)

This weekend I shall be doing something I have never ever ever ever done (my life is repetitive, I get it). I'll be supporting the *Bleep!*-ing Gunners against Chelsea. Well, it IS the lesser of two evils.

Is it just me or does Jose Mourinho look like an older version of Tim Cahill?

Ooh... Apai has got a new flat screen monitor. That'll keep him happy for the next, oh, say 25 seconds or so.

Ciao.

Kicking ass and taking no prisoners,

Mayomyth @ Silverfeck @ Ahmad (what a letdown)