By using the word Giant, I mean someone you can rely on and trust, and a mentor type figure whose shoulders you can stand on to see the world a bit better. Today I got told on a meeting that my current manager is leaving. I haven’t been this sad in a long time, he’ll always be in my thoughts, that BFG (Big Friendly Giant) that saw me grow from a nervous little kid, to a polished and confident sales person.

While a take time to look at him leaving, I also start to realize that perhaps it’s time I took a few notes out of his book. One day when I leave I want to bee seen like that. A Giant, a powerful force that can change people for the better, and sculpt an organization (and it’s people) into something of a legend.

Saying goodbye is a tough thing. In the meeting today, I actually felt my eyes trickle a few tears. It’s been a while since I cared and respected someone as much. Perhaps this will lead to greater things in the future? There is some disappointment, but also a lot of opportunity and excitement kicking in for what can still be gained.

I once remember sitting in a therapy-type session with my father. My father is a naturalist at heart, and he spotted a cycad outside in the garden. Most of it’s leaves were in blossom and sparkling in the sunlight, except for one which was tucked into itself (a bit like a centipede does when you touch unexpectedly). He simply remarked, “You may look like that small leaf now, but one day you’ll unravel and turn into that massive leaf soaking in the sunlight.”

PhilosopherPoet

Picture depression (in the emotion sense, at least) as having your head immersed in water. Sounds are dull, if you try open your eyes to see, your vision is blurry. This is what’s it’s seemed like looking back at it. It’s still there, I can still slip into that dark isolation if I don’t monitor myself, just like two beer glasses may tip a man over the edge and end his marriage. What I’m trying to say is this year I’ve done away with having my head thrust in the water.

As the year comes to an end, we naturally look back at the progress and mishaps that have shaped us in it. For me it’s been a year of firsts. One year and oodles of changes that has been exhilarating.

This year I’ve had my first:
Well paid full-time job,
- Apartment (the rent I can pay because of my job).
- Deck of Tarot cards.
- Tattoo.
- Laptop (which has benefitted me hugely at work).
- Motorbike (and naturally my first few accidents along with it.)

When I put my legs between the engine of that motorbike, it’s almost magical. It’s something about having that raw, unharnessed energy pulling you with the wind. I also realize that we’re not that far away from the medieval era. We still wear helmets and gloves but only to protect us from crashing, and not an enemy’s pike.

If you’ve owned a car before, the first few weeks you get it you’re excited and drive it everywhere. After a while though, you just become used to it. Driving a car is practically like riding around in a smaller version of your house. A small little bubble, where you’ll hoard more cigarette boxes and CDs you’ll only ever listen to twice. I don’t think the thrill of owning this iron horse will wear thin.

At the end of everyday, I put on my heavy jacket then the helmet, and finally my knobbed gloves. It takes a bit of extra time to do all that, yet I can feel myself smiling on the inside whenever I do it. I’m preparing for the ride of my life. You can’t compare that feeling to anything.

Sometime back while I was in the process of getting a bike. I spoke to people, read magazines, and tried to get an idea of a good bike to get and what to look out for. Since it was going to be a substantial purchase on my part, I felt I at least needed to do the research. Anyway, the only thing that bothered me during my initial quest was the general negativity of non-bikers. When I told friends, colleagues and acquaintances of my desire to ride the road on two wheels, I was under the impression I was signing a death warrant.

Naturally bike accidents will be more gory, since you’ve got little protecting you from a far larger piece of steel. This wasn’t a great deal of encouragement, being told the amount of times I’m going to crash, before I got in the driver’s seat. The funny thing is I’m still alive writing this. Ok…I recently hit some gravel coming around a bend, and so I’m sitting at home with my foot up for a week, but I can live with that.

I remember speaking to an experienced biker (who worked at a Ducati shop). He said to me, “A general rule of thumb is every biker will have three accidents in their life.”

Considering this is the second time I’ve embraced the tarmac (with no broken bones) I’d say I’m damn careful.

PhilosopherPoet

this morning i leave the house
my modest motorcycle carries me
towards the gate
i brake softly
still wrapped in plastic feelings
a cloudy face jumps up and watches
like a brazen rodent who
stumbles towards stale morsels
and parched containers

the man in the hat
hopes to find enough
charred doorknobs
soft match boxes
tender cardboard
chipped picture frames
to build his rusted thoughts
and carve copper dreams
into the moldy fingerprint
of today’s wreckage

next week he will
come with another
stubborn trolley of
tainted trinkets and the
same furtive glance
that steals the
liquid pathos
painting my face

today he jogs like a piston
down the road
into the sun
into the wind
that chuckles between
the folds in his face

sweat stick to his spine
like the crease of a fresh book
and he hurtles on through
the crinkle of leaves
beneath his shoes

he saw two girls
stranded stressed straddled
on a scooter the driver gazed
at the speedometer as if peering
through the portal of a sinking ship
the one at the back
with a precisely stamped uniform
looked around with a scared expression

he wishes for feelings of anxiety
a tight electric snap
the firing-on of neurons
collecting handbags of fear
in the gaps in your head

watching plain sketched events
ripple and collide at dusk
changes your old self
that lay behind the dusty books
and dreamt only of the trickle of words

PhilosopherPoet

A few weeks back I was dealing with a lady of 77 years of age, let’s call her Margret. Her family was intent on getting her an iPad. The reason being she lives in a small old age home and needs to contact her family via Skype. Obviously a few people in the family are tech-savvy, and managed to gather together enough money to buy her one. I thought it was a great token of kindness, because now not only can she Skype (i.e. call her family abroad) but also she has access to tons of applications and data at her fingertips (on the internet).

So I activated her iPad and showed her how it all worked, and while I was setting up her Apple ID, the first thing that I asked her was, “What is your email address?” She gave me a blank look. I explained that her for an account of any kind we’d need an email address to get her account going. I told her that she would be able to write letters to her family instantly, that’s the best explanation I could give without overwhelming her further.

I felt sorry for her, and the way technology frightened her. It’s really a marvelous thing once you get your head around the basics of the iPad. Due to various circumstances, she was probably given the opportunity to learn (how to operate a computer) but felt too scared and inferior, and shied away from the opportunity. Now her family had dosed her with a bucket of water by thrusting an iPad in her hands.

This leads me to two topics :

• Why are we so afraid to learn?
• Technology is the key liberator of our time.

the weight of rings
tells potent opinions to
mark off your silver skull
as ‘the mark of evil’

he displays our dark veneer
with an unbridled ease
the others can’t see how
a gypsified pagan like him could be
happy and content with his
inner dissonance

the weight of rings
is the mark of cartilage
something only years of
matured angst can conjure
together

maybe it’s that time where
he can fold his fluid fingers
over the stout shoulders of the
pentagram and
feel peace
breathe back
the holes in his head

PhilosopherPoet

Most people battle to understand the genre at all, and simply label it as evil. The reason I’m drawn to it, is it attracts that seemingly small group of people living on the fringe of society. I love that. I’m fascinated by extremes that are around us and the “freaks” it gives birth to. I’m the type of person that lives in my head, I can sit for hours on end sometimes watching a couple or a group of kids interact. The novelist in me, will then try and build up a storyline based solely on their appearance.

So my history with heavy metal is a fairly short and succinct one. I once remarked to a friend, “The only reason I like this music, is I wanted to piss off my parents as a teenager. A started listening to this music, and then it started growing on me.” Despite my wry comment, there’s more to it than just projecting your anger on to others.

In my short time with the genre. Metalheads:

• feel the need to be different.
• love the arts.
• are highly creative.
• have the tendency to be heavy drinkers and/or drug users.
• are misunderstood.
• are highly talented musicians, or close friends with them.
• piss off the general public (although once you get to know them they’re probably more loyal to you than your own dog.)

All the above is true for a number of reasons. I’ll leave you to do the thinking, instead let me debunk a few misguided opinions.

Why all the screaming? What’s the point of listening to music if you can’t hear all the words?

If you listen to music only for the words then you don’t really understand music. I think the reason most people point out the fact that the words aren’t recognizable, is because it’s one the first thing that jars a first-time listener. When your favorite song comes on the radio, you sing along to the chorus (i.e. the most catchy part of the song). The actual meaning behind the words, or the storyline isn’t apparent to you (unless you’ve really done your homework).

What makes metalheads unique is the fact that most of us study the lyrics. We spend hours reading them, and often when we go to gigs we’ll be singing along to the lyrics while they are performed. If you fail to believe me…go ask any seasoned metalhead about songs like Iron Maiden – Number of the Beast, Slayer – Raining Blood, Metallica – Master of Puppets. They might not know the entire song, but they’ll belch out a damn fine chorus.

That music is Satanic. Anyone that uses a pentagram worships the Devil.

Let’s face it, most of us metalheads listen to it for an outward reaction, initially. If you were to do some research, and pool all us headbangers together…only about 3% of us (if that) are “worshipping Lucifer” in our free time. Those who are really serious about it, won’t let you know either. My father spent some time counseling hardcore Satanists as a school teacher…and his remark was that the plain clothes people are the serious concerns to society.

If you’ve ever worn your favorite soccer shirt on the eve of a big game, that same feeling is what metalheads promote. I was in a queue in MacDonald’s the other day (dressed in work uniform), and the metalhead who was served after me saw my pentagram ring and said to me “I see we’re part of the same tribe.”

If I start listening to metal, I’ll end up dirty, badly-dressed, an alcoholic and a drug user.

The media is never a great guide when following popular culture. Journalists thrive on bad news, simply because fear sells papers better than warm feelings. It’s a sad truth. There are those who choose to ‘loose themselves’ in chemicals, but perhaps they need to start journeying into themselves, and learning the patterns in their own psyche?

Calling all metalheads alcoholics, is the same as saying that every guitarist will end up like Kurt Cobain. It’s that fair? I highly doubt it.

Metalheads are angry and pissed off with life. What’s the matter with being happy?

Pissed off and angry is one way of looking at it. We’re honest about the dark side. Most people are afraid to journey there. If I didn’t have metal with me, while I was a depressed teenager perhaps I would’ve committed suicide. If anything a large part of the culture has a never-say-die attitude about it. There’s a freedom to persevere and continue on.

Musicians who have committed suicide, want the easy way out. Living life and surviving, is far more difficult than ending it all. If you’re taking the easy road, you’re not learning anything. Like I mentioned earlier, the image and anger is just an exterior…once you know us we’re your friend for life!

Image List:

http://Trellia.deviantart.com/art/Goth-Type-15-The-Metalhead-50905521

http://khos-prinz.deviantart.com/art/metalhead-62727039

http://TheWolfess.deviantart.com/art/Metalhead-201277266

 http://LorjanaLucic.deviantart.com/art/Metalhead-I-186581337

 http://katedeannn.deviantart.com/art/Metalhead-207301467

PhilosopherPoet

Since my involvement with Apple and my iPhone 3GS (whom I love dearly), my insatiable lust for a good game to bury my mind in, was reborn. Up until now I’ve just been playing cheap and easy little shoot-em-up games things like Angry Birds, Tiny Wings, World of Goo, Kungu Fu Warroir, Continuity 2 and NinJump Deluxe. Some of these are puzzle-based games while others are still tons of fun. Although I wanted something more.

So I went about researching a decent iPhone RPG for me to get my hands into, and I came across the Inotia series. Since I jailbroke (hacking your phone to enable you to get games and apps for free) my phone, sometimes I’ll download a game that doesn’t quite install properly. This was the case when I loaded Inotia 2.

However once I fired up Inotia 3: Children of Carnia…wow, what an awesome game. What also impressed me (apart from the depth in the storyline and the fluidity of the characters) is how beautifully it is illustrated. It’s like diving straight into a piece of Manga (japanese style graphic novel).

For those who may be interested, have a look at the screenshots I’ve included in my post

PhilosopherPoet