What have you done with The Ex?

Sunday Afternoon

Hours of digitally composing instrumental music with The Ex went surprisingly well. After a number of false starts, we made progress on her love song, especially when she eventually consented to unplug MY headphones and involve me in her labors. We entirely forgot about lunch in the subsequent hours that crawled or flew by - it didn't occur to us at all. Just like before, I thought, in the good old days, when fruitful times like these were commonplace enough to be taken for granted.

Alas, I had sighed nostalgically too soon.

The tipping point: her phone rang. Her metal rock ringtone (overabundant with dissonance) cured the epidemic of harmony prevalent in the room. She ran all the way outside to receive her phone call out of my earshot. Must be her man calling, I figured.

But when she returned, gone was the congeniality that characterized our initial hours together. Her temperament had suddenly and irreversibly deteriorated. Cranky, spoiling for a fight, distracted, in a decidedly belligerent mood - I had never seen her like that before in all my life.

Heat-seeking ballistic rage tantrums suddenly flew at me in quick succession for the least significant non-reasons. She had always been sarcastic, but now she was plain nasty, bent on giving me hell and picking a fight in the process.

I'm practically harmless; I don't thrive in confrontation.

The Ex had lost her old sweet self. It was depressing to see. But she seemed to exult in sinking my capsized spirits into an even deeper trench of the Ocean of Despond. Clearly frustrated about something else, she was taking it out on me by pretending to be railing about the music. But I was watching her, trying to understand why her outburst against scattered minor fixable peeves and volume levels seemed to be gaining momentum without really getting to any point.

She eventually came round to attacking my person and character venomously and directly. Luckily, a few minutes into it, her sister arrived unannounced and saved me from total annihilation. As she came in, I left to go swimming, excusing myself with a heavy sigh of relief straight from the bottom of my heart. 

 

***

Besides gaining weight, the Ex had become a fragile, neurotic mess, and I blamed her boyfriend Bryophyta; I always had a sneaking feeling he was the type who systematically undermine a girl's self-esteem in order to cover their own insecurities.

It's a cruel world, and I'd found myself on the receiving end of bad karma. You can bet I was tempted to pass it on.

I really showed that swimming pool who's boss.

End Time Economics

FACT: The New World Order becomes more of a reality each day.

In the Bible, this was prophesied long ago. The spectre of an end time persecution of GOD's people is consistently foretold. Revelation puts it bluntly:

{12:17} And the dragon was wroth with the woman, and went to make war with the remnant of her seed, which keep the commandments of God, and have the testimony of Jesus Christ.

Emphatic calls for God's people to "come out of Babylon" feature prominently. This coincides with a period in which anyone who will not have the mark of the beast will not able to buy or sell, besides being automatically prone to persecution and martyrdom for rejection of said mark.

How are the people of GOD to survive? Being unable to buy or sell is a major handicap, and coming out of Babylon is another major sacrifice. But I have found a clue in the Biblical record of how the early church managed.

They willingly sold their property and gave it to the church to divide amongst its members.

Sounds crazy? Certainly, doctrinaire capitalists would cry wolf, calling out the Socialism bogeyman. Organized religion would call them a cult if they pulled that stunt today. But that's exactly what members of the early church did.

Here’s a practical look at how economics among GOD's people "outside Babylon" in the end times will look like (I think), based on how the early church did it in the face of persecution. Take it from Acts of the Apostles (King James Version):

{4:32} And the multitude of them that believed were of one heart and of one soul: neither said any of them that ought of the things which he possessed was his own; but they had all things common.
{4:33} And with great power gave the apostles witness of the resurrection of the Lord Jesus: and great grace was upon them all.
{4:34} Neither was there any among them that lacked: for as many as were possessors of lands or houses sold them, and brought the prices of the things that were sold,
{4:35} And laid them down at the apostles’ feet: and distribution was made unto every man according as he had need.
{4:36} And Joses, who by the apostles was surnamed Barnabas, (which is, being interpreted, The son of consolation,) a Levite, and of the country of Cyprus,
{4:37} Having land, sold it, and brought the money, and laid it at the apostles’ feet.

The obstacles against such collective action today are obvious. First, the need to overcome the urge to accumulate wealth, justified by capitalist doctrine. Second, the unfortunate past record of religious misleaders who defrauded their followers of their wealth (and in one famous case, conned them into suicide). Third - let's just say there are many obstacles.

But consider it from the perspective of purpose. The early church recorded a signal success in spreading the gospel and winning converts to the Gospel of Jesus Christ, which mission remains to this day its divine Great Commission - its overarching purpose. The Holy Spirit blessed the early church's efforts with success, a fact recorded in Acts of the Apostles.

{5:14} And believers were the more added to the Lord, multitudes both of men and women.
{5:15} Insomuch that they brought forth the sick into the streets, and laid them on beds and couches, that at the least the shadow of Peter passing by might overshadow some of them.
{5:16} There came also a multitude out of the cities round about unto Jerusalem, bringing sick folks, and them which were vexed with unclean spirits: and they were healed every one.

Prophecy does not sugarcoat it: the tribulation era will be a hard time for believers; what, with persecution and inability to buy or sell. Yet they'll certainly have each other, and the promised latter rain (abundance) of the Holy Spirit, with the promise of eternal life. Eternal life. The "economic viability" of GOD's projects balances out eventually.

{12:11} And they overcame him (the dragon, the devil, Satan) by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testimony; and they loved not their lives unto the death.

Running from the Laptop

Random memories.

Last year my bro and I were on vigilantcitizen.com reading more about the satanic mind-controlling entertainment industry. Briefly we came across a video interview in which the interviewee, a top rockstar of ages past, was asked the secret of his success.

He said he sold his soul to the "chief commander," "the ruler of this world."

We ran away from the laptop! while he was still talking!

Friends Again

Sunday midmorning.

There was instrumental music to be digitally composed, but Sister of The Ex, who is in charge of melodies, was running late. So I jumped the gun and embarked on a cross-breed of classical and hip hop music while waiting for her. (No comment at this moment.)

Her text came through though.

"I'm busy. But my assistant will be there to help out with the music. Good luck."

My worst fears were confirmed when the "assistant" of Sister of The Ex turned out to be The Ex.

Shortly, she stood in the doorway, fixing me a formal poker-face.
"Hi." 

"Hi."
I was lost for words. The Ex had gained weight.
***

We hardly talked at first.

"Get me a du-du du-dudu- beat!" she ordered.

When it was done to her specifications, she plugged in and wrapped MY headphones around her ears, effectively shutting me out as she continued composing.

"We're supposed to do this together!" but she obviously wasn't listening or couldn't hear or both. So I found space opposite her on the table to draw, write and text her sister while exchanging the occasional glance.

Me: This is not working.
Sister of the Ex: How's it going?
Me: She's hogging my headphones!
Sister of The Ex: Learn to share! You can thank me later :)

There was a brief silence hereafter, and only mouse clicks and giggles from The Ex' side interfered with world peace and quiet. Suddenly, almost an hour later, she started singing.

"A-a!" I exclaimed. "No love songs here!"

She grinned defiantly. "Says you! My song my lyrics." And kept right on singing songs of heartbreak. When the diabolical scowl eventually dissolved from my face, and I started paying actual attention, it sunk into my skull that the tune she was singing was actually quite melodious, touchy-feelings be damned.

So I grab the headphones off her head and place them on my ears… and watch her smile as her instrumental arrangements wow me off my socks.

Whether she liked it or not, The Ex and I were definitely friends again.

On Atheism

I was on Twitter one day when I happened to clash beliefs with an Atheist. Among my stated arguments against atheism were the following tweets.

I was atheist too, until its inbuilt purposelessness overwhelmed me.

My atheist phase was a dark place, a deep pit, a place of no hope; I was empty, the grave loomed large.

As an atheist I was without purpose, there was no point to anything! I hedged my bets on accidents and random events, I cared least.

If life has a purpose, what is it to an atheist?

And then we moved the dialogue to the blogs, so here we go. Here is the good blogger's opening salvo. I opt out of a point-by-point rebuttal in favor of attempting to address the role played by atheism in historical context. (I stand by my tweets, quoted above.)

I think it is a crack in logic to put faith and logic on two different planes, as though they were parallel and opposite. Even faith is established on the basis of truth, which is drawn from reality. Religion and science are not rivals - unless you are talking about dogma. But there is dogma on both sides of the artificially created religion-science divide. Dogma is typified by refusal to countenance that the opponent could be right. Dogma is a weapon of repression, an efficient tool to rule the world. Just as the Catholic Church used dogma to persecute "heresy," today's global elite uses dogma in mass media to program the masses into conformity with its agenda. The difference is that today, the dogma is not "religious."

Elsewhere, I have argued against Faith being taken to be a theoretical set of beliefs or merely intellectually accepted ideas taken to be true. Rather, "Faith without action is dead." And that is the big problem with religion today - the idea that faith can be practiced by fanatically urging convoluted doctrines upon the masses. This type of ideological faith is an easy target for Atheists, who come armed with facts and thus become successful in spreading doubt. But there is no challenge against faith made whole by good actions.

The origin of modern atheism can be traced back to the French Revolution era. And the French Revolution sits squat in the middle of  the so-called Enlightenment Era - the spread of ideas inimical to the established order, in the vicinity of the Agrarian and Industrial Revolutions. Now, real history tells me that this era corresponds with the rampant growth of Secret Societies in the Old World. And these secret societies have historically promoted the same three-pronged agenda: destruction of the church, destruction of the state and enslavement of the mob (destruction of organic societies).

Their enlightenment ideas (authored by Secret Societies) birthed a range of revolutionary 'isms'. Starting with the bloodshed and atheist horror of godless society during and immediately after the French Revolution (which horrors are a repressed historical fact), it leaks a bloody corpse-riddled trail through history into the spread of communism, nihilism and deism and their attendant horrors in societies which took up their teachings. Today we see variants of socioeconomic liberalism tearing into society, church and state, and the social results speak for themselves. "By their fruits you will know them."

But the authors of the enlightenment - the secret societies themselves - were not atheist. Not at all. To this day they (secretly) worship Satan as their god. Atheism is reserved for the ignorant masses ( known in their lingo as " unwashed" or "profane") to embrace and thus unwittingly enact the allegedly All-Seeing Eye's three-pronged New World Order centuries-spanning agenda, bent on overthrowing the foundations of society and church and state. Real history is the battle between good and evil throughout time, the struggle between secret societies (Freemasonry et al) and the truth, between injustice and Justice, between Satan and GOD. A finale is on the cards real soon, but Atheists are incapable of conceptualizing this reality due to their dogma, which precludes a controversy between good and evil.

There is only one truth. Deception is the one that comes in variant breeds. All deceptions call themselves truth, and are seductive, so that they can deceive. "The Devil comes but to steal, kill and destroy."

Find your own truth, as faith is first and foremost deeply personal - not programmatic or collective. You have one lifetime. Seek only the truth diligently, and I put it to you, you will find GOD.

Insider Information

For a hobby, I make my own instrumental music. It's like getting a full live-band's worth from a laptop and some software. 

Since I'm not a musician, help from of Sister of The Ex comes in handy. Her deep knowledge of octaves and bars lends fluency to instrumentals and harmonies. My role is mostly to navigate the software's sophisticated graphical interface. So we end up spending a lot of time together on joint projects. I am inclined to hold a modest opinion towards our synthetic music, but it is really fulfilling anyway.

My co-virtual-musician is a beautiful personality; both the quality and content of her interactions are good, but she has concealed her true colors beneath outward tomboy airs. It's confusing. Also, she often plucks controversial confrontations straight out of thin air. 

Her latest piece of patronizing advice was "You two should grow up." To her, 'us two (her sister and I) growing up' means we should kiss and make up. No amount of rolling my eyes or prolonged counter-ranting on my part could stop Sister of The Ex when she started herself going on about her sister and I. 

"You were good for each other," she often said. "But look at you two now." 

The upside to her outbursts of unsolicited advice is that I got detailed data into what The Ex and Bryophyta would have the rest of us believe was a working relationship. Cracks in that one were seismic nightmares all by themselves.

"Did you two forgive each other or what?" asked Sister of The Ex. Inconveniently. I often forget how much sisters confide in each other. She feels no qualms letting me in on their most intimate details, too much information, like I belong or something.

Sister of The Ex whips up a mad-crazy-good melody every time. I focus on that, nodding to our inspired rhythms, instead of allowing misadvised pity for The Ex and Superman delusions to take root within my head. But Sister of The Ex is persistent, romantically idealistic and disarmingly honest, therefore convincing. But I can't, CAN'T, C.A.N.N.O.T! show too much interest in her suggested advice, nor even dare to ask a clarifying question. That would be falling for the bait.

But Sister of The Ex is aggressive. When the sales pitch fails, she likes to take initiative.

More Field Notes

Western Kenya; The scenery is beautiful. Picture hills green with lush grass and plains carpeted with lime-green sugarcane and tea farms. Incidentally, the spiky look of sugarcane plantations reminded me of one girl in my university days who colored her spiky hair electric-green. Maybe she's from Western and she got homesick.

The people here are so polite that it is amazing. Ask someone for directions and in a jiffy, every passer-by who heard your question will engage in a noisy chorus of instructions. They argue heatedly between themselves at the slightest difference of distance or bearing. All the while I'm smiling and wondering how there are still some helpful people alive for free.

In related news, I've spent the first week in the field on motorbikes for the most part. now I know travel writers who go the whole powerbike way and tear along highways for adrenal floods, but in my case, for the most part, the pace was, let us say "civilised". And my view was obstructed by the riders' big round helmet. Spending the whole day in the back of a Chinese motorbike does things to your lower back that a weightlifter would shiver to contemplate. But I'm not complaining, coz in Western Kenya, Chinese motorbikes mean access. And they're not so sophisticated that repair takes much more than pliers. Often I passed masses of youths with their Chinese motorbikes waiting for passengers under trees. Those machines could be the main economic activity quite soon.

Nothing beats travelling the countryside on an open bike. Another plus about Western Province, the roads are smooth and they roll and swerve over hills and turns, so the element of surprise is sure to keep the traveller awake as each bend unfurls a new vista. There are many odd rock formations that engage the brain, for example, "How did that giant rock manage to get atop and balance above that tiny rock?" You can try to figure such a thing out for hours.

Mad props to the Constituency Development Fund people in Butula, Nambale and Hamisi. Good work is happening especially in education, roads and electrification. That CDF stuff is changing lives and you can quote me.

Still, there's an all-pervasive rural feel to Western Kenya that often gets funny. Like seeing a ten-year old boy playing barefoot soccer in a pink fluffed-up ill-fitting "Barbie and Friends" shirt. One Riley would have said "That's gay!" but the kid probably wouldn't understand, or care. And I only thought it strange unti I saw the school uniforms! HAHAAAAAH! Clowns. Generally, people dress to conceal nakedness. The fashionable ones are the exception rather than the norm. Patches cover tears. Life continues.

The only let-down was in the meals. All over this here Kenya of ours, vegetarians uniformly attract a raised eyebrow from waiters and waitresses. You'd think we are third-class citizens.

Hungry Me: *ignoring menu if any* "What do you have? I don't eat meat."
Comely Waitress: "We have fish and we have chicken."
Hungry Me: "That's meat."
Comely Waitress: *sneers* We have matumbo. (Direct translation = stomachs)
Hungry Me: "That's meat."
Comely Waitress (exasperated): "We don't have chips!"

Seriously?

More good news, I managed to play some soccer. :) In Butula. :)

More field notes to come.

Frustrated Parents

I know; sometimes, parents can be a real turn-off to think about. But think about it: parental frustration is a widespread disease that threatens to tear apart the social fabric at the family level.

As a generation, Our values are not our parent's values; in fact, our generation rejects their morality as "utiaji." They grew up in a less favorable era and many who have made it had to strive from harsh background against stacked odds to get to where they are today. They look at us, we who are spoon-fed since childhood and have learned to expect everything easy - and they just weep inside. They look at our fashion, music videos and choice of friends and wonder "where we are headed in life" - (they like that phrase). Parallel value sets cannot sustain relationships. Thing is, our parents see this mismatch between their generation and ours - and a frustrated and panicked parent attempts to resolve the impasse by throwing the rulebook at the deviant kid. And the kid rebels the more. Here comes more frustration both sides.

Today, consumerist culture exclusively regards parents in their role as breadwinners first and foremost - the people to aim advertisements at. To hell with life lessons, get me a PS3. In other words, we value them to the extent that they can buy us things, educate us, feed us, house us. And while they feel the obligation to provide for their children, our parents certainly do not feel the appreciation for it, taken for granted as they are. Combine this with all the sacrifices they undertake and you can see why they are not just frustrated but also bitter. Lord knows the rat race ain't no weekend derby. And for what?

Increasingly, our peers and mass media misinformation are stronger influences on our lives and choices than our parents. Think about the growing boarding school enrolment rate. Is it really in the interest of a fine grade or a quiet house? No, really, though our parents love us with that instinctual love that's bound to come with raising a child, but in the face of piling obstacles, how far can unrequited love go?

Let us talk. The rift exists.

SUMMARY

The generation gap today has evolved into a mostly invisible but real phenomenon that is widening fissures in societies today. There has been a generation gap throughout history, but today it is a bigger threat to the family. Culture is dead at the altar of consumerism, and its values are shortly to die of asphyxiation.

To quote Wailing Souls (song: "Shark Attack")

Better stop this cultural diffusion

spreading fear and confusion

Playing cloak and dagger wars

Losing what you fighting for

Back back, coming with a double attack

Step back, here comes the shark attack

From the Field

Professional pursuits dictate that I prepare to travel to Western Province of Kenya for field work.

As I write this I should be packing up and heading out to leave for the field, but I have to take the time to forewarn blog visitors of my potential absence for a while to come. Feel at home, feel free to read old posts! And comment! Still, I pledge regular updates.

Little Sister is giving me those "sad you're leaving" looks. Awwww.

Ah, Western Kenya. My idea of ample preparation is brushing up on my Luhya accent - not the actual language, just the accent will do. The eve of travel is too late to start learning a whole new language in any kind of depth.  I'll just refine the accent, misapply it to Swahili, unfold my map and it should go swimmingly on from there.

Roaming countryside villages in public transport appears in my head to be an idyllic pastime, historically reserved for Western Missionaries given up on their West. But I'm working here. It won't be all fun of course. Some people I know value an internet connection and cable above their own well-being (Good bye Twitter! Adios Facebook! yeah right!). While I'm out there in the boondocks I plan to be plagued by thoughts of my friends and worries of events in the big bad world and self-conscious of my perceived ignorance.

I'll try and get some soccer played. Also, I have to confirm if Western Kenya's famed night-runners-cum-witchdoctors really run naked at midnight. Which might take sleeping with my running shoes on. Yes, I'll try to give chase.

Adios, y'all.

For Passing Time

As the title readily confesses, this post is a way of passing time. I'm waiting to meet a Sister-in-Christ, after which I'll meet an ex-best-friend-in-Christ for her amazing company over late lunch and a music critique. Rather than waiting passively I have seen it fit to foist a frivolous post upon my faithful followers. For which reason all will be forgiven who stop reading this post right now.

One clarification about my blog: I never intend to preach, but it's not my fault if the world we live in easily lends itself to sermons (I admit: I have a lot of "shouldness" and "oughtness"). Shoot me; I'm an idealist, and I also say it how I see it, so there.

Now, the story.

When I was a kid, we played energetic games in the hood with agemates. None of that indoors PlayStation business. Brick Game was the most advanced bit of tech in those days. But Brick Game was the exception: the main feature of child's play was the exertion of sweat and loud exuberant noisemaking. So we chased each other up and down, fought (and fought again to avenge losing the first fight), played soccer even in high noon, protected younger siblings from bullies, ran from the bullies ourselves after a mostly symbolic punch, climbed fences and ripped the seats of our pants, played marbles till the index finger was sore, ran alongside passing trains declaring "CHU-CHU-TRAAAAIN!!!" over and over again. For some reason or other, amidst all the excitement and rough falls on tarmac, a kid would lose a shoe.

(Alright. So the post is really about childhood reminisces.)

When a kid lost a shoe, it was trouble. He had to troop all over the estate, crying, bawling, his plenteous tears blurring his search efforts while his bare foot treaded hot tarmac. It was pitiful. His friends (it was always a boy - girls hardly ever lost a shoe, not even the tomboys) would help his search with the incessant reminder that he would be whooped at home if the shoe wasn't found. At the end of a fruitless search, during which some jerk-ass adult invariably told a kid "A dog got your shoe," the tiny tot went home crying shrilly in preparation for a sound beating.

One day the bully lost his shoe. He came along when we were particularly bored, and started messing with the tiniest of us. The bully's weapon of torture was a large brown cockroach he'd tied on the end of a string. Most chillingly, it was still alive, and it seemed to fly when he whirled it around his head. When the psychological reign of terror neared the "pissing in your pants" threshhold, I and others present started giving the bully earnest heartfelt sermons about bad manners. He laughed in scorn and popped the cockroach into his mouth. And then we his victims  ran screaming in all directions. I ran faster than them all and disappeared early, with my lil bro hot on my tail. We lost him.

Next we saw of the bully, he was missing one shoe, minus the cockroach also. Probably he swallowed it. But the shoe factor was oddly gratifying.

"Utachapwa, Utachapwa!!!" We sang victoriously and mercilessly at the now panicked, searching bully. He would be beaten at home by his mother. That's what mothers did to kids who lost a shoe back then. Our band of kids regrouped, following Bully around the neighborhood as he searched high and low, tormenting him with our repetitive and boisterous Utachapwa song. Some of us even danced with unfeigned glee, busting spontaneous moves to the tune of repeated "utacha-pwa!".

Eventually, Bully gave up on the search for the "golden shoe;" his salvation from a sure beating had proved elusive.

So he turned on us. A different idea had entered is head. He couldn't find his shoe, so, he figured, everybody would have to lose their shoes. (I'll skip the part about how he obtained all our shoes without a real fight. It involved a brief chase and a futile scramble in a dead end ally.)

Let's just say that day nearly all of us were beaten by our mothers. There were many tears but I can laugh now, especially recalling that my mother simply flat-out REFUSED to swallow the line that a bully took my shoe and threw it to the dogs to eat. My lies, according to her, were growing more desperate by the day.

Cheap Love is No Love

Emerging artists strike gold when they embark on love songs. But they never declare the "love is patient and kind" line of reasoning. They become famous on the back of thrill-seeking roller-coaster love-is-a-battlefield rationale. They make it by proseletyzing instant gratification.

"Sex sells" is an ambiguity that should be clarified to become "People sell sex to get rich."

For this reason, today's movies place the cart before the horse. Chick flicks (okay, "romantic movies") begin with torrid, no-strings attached sex between the main protagonists, only to throw in emotional fondness just in time for end credits to roll. And musicians sing the aesthetic and hedonistic praises of real and hypothetical targets of their lust. A viewer/listener searches high and low in vain for the place of values and character, but finds everything else but these in overabundance. Even "heroism  of the wine bottle" trumps moral qualities as a desirable trait for romantic partners. Meanwhile, consumerist preoccupation, visual appeal, sexual athleticism and even sarcasm and antisocial tendencies are hyped to the point of oversupply. Don't even get me started on the barely-dressed dancers assaulting the viewer with neurotic crotch-thrusting displays.

These are not the foundations of stable societies. Clearly.

Of course there's an agenda behind all this. The Powers That Be recognize the threat posed to their New World Order designs by true love. (Elsewhere I have discussed all all-out attack being targeted at the church, the state and society at large in the interest of One World Government.) Mass Media 'entertainment' is but one weapon in the enemy's arsenal.

The family's foundations sit squarely in the scope of these revolutionaries, a target for destruction. To destroy the family means to destroy communities and societies eventually, based on the building block theory of Individual > Family > Community > Country > Humanity. their chosen method for destroying the family takes the dilution of real love or its replacement entirely with something else that can be made to pass for real love. 

But take it from 1 Corinthians 13, and live it:

4 [Love] suffereth long, and is kind; [Love] envieth not; [love] vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up,
5 Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil;
6 Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth;
7 Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things