Spying On My Mind

Mood: Frantic
[Toot!] Index: 0.1
Communism Bit: Off
Location: Nakulabye

Some thoughts from your dear friends in my cranium. See, this one time, Jude and Ange were not screaming at each other. And I noticed the calm silence between me ears, so I tuned in and chanced on their discussion from which the ideas and quotes below originated. Sometimes I wish they were like so all the time, that they got along this peacefully always.
If the quotes seem a bit disjointed, it is because I'm not going to bother giving background. Just dumping what I remember. Mostly, I'm not even crediting who said what.

1. Yeah, so in making humans the masters of the Earth, God gave them the implicit ability to speak to the Earth. So you can, if it's your kind of thing, talk to animals and hear them talk. And nature loves a chance to talk to the masters. It's snobbery for the animals. Servitude and snobbery. And informational, sometimes. It's how we know for sure that the Earth is crying over our administrative brutality. [...]


2. Maybe you're just in denial about the fact that Space, with her litter bickering at her bossom, is a clear picture of the Matriarch. The way she has evolved from the purring, pampered, playful kitty, to the defensive small tigress who assumes the War Stance at the slightest, most-distant surprise. In many ways, she's like your Ma with her twins and how she's suicidal in her dedication to her many children's welfare.


3. Ange: Brooks was here.
   Jude: So was Red.
   Ange: Hehe. It was true Stephen King, you know. The little, beautiful details.
   Jude: Yeah, and I've heard Shawshank Redemption had a Christian undertone. You know, this Jesus guy, innocent, goes into jail and then gets out and also gives Red redemption and makes him a fisherman in the end.
   Ange: Huh? 1408 had no such "beautiful details". We didn't go past the middle, even. Whatevs. Why do they call you Red?
   Jude: Maybe 'cause I'm Irish?
   Ange: Hehe. The Irish are the African Europeans. White Niggers, they call 'em.
   Jude: As in, Mobadingwe Murphy, the Irish Ethiope?


4. I think Coldplay is not a rock band. I mean, you know, there is no real genre they fit in, so we just throw them into "Rock" and "Pop" because they are White and loud. But they, like Staind (for example) are not really rockers. Fix You, was that rock? Viva La Vida, is this rock? Their lead singer was playing on Kanye West's Homecoming, which part was originaly John Legend's. If John Legend were White and 1.5982 decibels louder, he'd be a rocker. I mean ... Ormus Carma was the last true rocker, as this guy says. Or we're just in denial about having liked rock music?


5. Well, none of those who fear death has ever died. And, by convention, we know that death doesn't hurt. So why does "Your money or your life!" always yield the money? Thing is, death is getting a bad rap. Death is blissful and all. Maybe they just fear the finality of it (but they should, then, also fear the finality in going to the toilet—no "Undo" button). Me, far as I'm concerned, heartbreak is death. Heartbreak is the real death. In fact, all the things we fear about death (and haven't even proven), are true of heartbreak, and tangibly, provably so.


6. Well, yeah, but did you see the look she had on her face? Like she had mistakenly used dried cat poo from her snuff box.


7. Yes, so uselessness is part of beauty. Utilitarian things are not beautiful, see. The sensual curves on the soda bottle are useless, but they are why it is pretty. Would you drink out of a cuboid bottle with no colours on it? That's ugly. [...] Yes, kitties too. Like, you know, because their structures—legs eyes, claws, whiskers, stuff—are useless at that age, they are cute. Once they get a use, they cease to be cute. The soft, delicate uselessness is the beauty of baby animals. And some things about girls. Calloused hands are ugly because of their evident utilitarian adaptations. Hehe.

That's it. Jude and Ange, by the way, greet all y'all. Much love from this end.
I want a camera! Too many cat pictures to take. Beautiful cats. See ya. I wrote this away from the Internet, and I don't know how things are over there. How is tout le monde ?

Rantdom

Mood: Random
[Toot!] Index: 7.2
Communism Bit: Off
Location: Job, of course

First, two observations brought to you by your friends in my head.

1. At about three weeks, kittens start to toddle. And there never was a more-touching sight than how determined they are to have Feline Grace on those unsteady paws.
2. I'm probably late to this one, but Funk This, Chaka Khan's recent one, is good. Okay, I only done seen a couple of songs off it, but ma! One For All Time is a-playin' right now. Me lordy! La diva est en retour, and we gon' round up all non-believers. Who knows, maybe great music can be kick-started again. Insha'llah, I'll even go to a Chaka Khan concert 'fore me days are thru'. There is this other Castles Made of Sand, the one she got from Jimi Hendrix. It's rich with her voice, and especially since the Hendrix Guitar was preserved pretty well. It's horribly-beautiful.

"Horribly-beautiful". I'll explain. I like those adverbs that are the opposite of the adjective I append them to. "Disgusting" is disgusting. "Sweet" is sweet. So, I say "The gummy bears were disgustingly-sweet." I think it rocks, though not everybody agrees with me. I learnt it (or a form of it, or the possibility of expressing adverbs like that) from Ernest Bazanye, back then, although I bet he wouldn't ever know. He's a depressingly-good writer.
And what is the dash doing there, between the words? Well, I figure if I leave it off, then those are two words. "He is badly dressed" and "He is badly-dressed", which would you prefer? Think it through. I see the former more-often, but I think it is wrong. See, that last sentence "see it more-often" means the "more" is a modifier on "often". "See it more often" would be crying for a comma before it's wrong the right way: "see it more, often". Oh, well. Sorry for becoming Mr. Kabuye without warning. At least I didn't cane you over this? Maybe working with automated grammars has made me a grammar Nazi, but fuck it all. lets all right fucked up gramma [1]

By the way, I'm rare on the interwebs, these days, for reasons too ... technical, I shall say. Too technical to be explained here.
So now ... bye, I guess. :o)
Let me run over and see this picture of a disgustingly-beautiful girl dripping huge, sticky dollops of shimmering beauty all over my monitor.

[1] I catch the irony. In spelling "write" as the wrong "right", I imply we should right fucked-up grammar. And then I leave the dash out, so it means we are righting the fucked (people?). Up gramma hill, maybe.

My Family and other Animals

Mood: Nominal, heh.
[Toot!] Index: 0.7
Communism Bit: Off
Location: Job, of course

Title of the post stolen from Gerald Durell's hilarious book. :o)

First, you'll learn, from keeping and observing growing animals, that the rule doesn't only apply to humans, but to all species of litter: family is easier to accommodate, even love, when you are not in perpetual contact, because the competitive instinct is directed at the entities we share Space with, family or not.

Now, it's already like totally clear and all that my cat had kids. Introducin' ...
Apprently, names matter a lot in this stuff of christening little ones.
So, I chose to name them after notable military figures. I'm sure Space understands; she wouldn't want her kittens to end up with names as weird as hers, which people would be laughing at whenever I explained the origin. Here is a pic of them on some dirty old towel right under my table! I know, it's not a good place for kittens to be, and they should be cleaner, too, but you know ... Constraints.

Shaka is over there, at the top of the heap. The one with most-contiguous markings of black. He has a white patch about the face, so I know who the father is.
Full name: Shaka Waciuri. The first name comes from Shaka Zulu, and the other is from Dedan Kimathi.

Sun Tzu is the one with that light brown coat. That brown threatens to be a very cute colour when he/she is grown into a big furry tabby. At this point, I don't know their sexes, but what the heck; just deal with the names. Anyway, the owners who end up with them will likely change the names.
The full name is Sun Tzu Miyamoto. :o) The Sun Tzu part is from the ancient Chinese military theorist, mostly to sate my sinophilia, and the other part from Miyamoto Mushashi, the ancient sword-swingin' Japanese ronin fuck who never lost a sword fight in his entire life.

Gingko is the white one. He/she is an albino, it appears. I think I've seen some dark colour in the eyes (after they opened), so that may disqualify the albinism, but I can't be sure. It's nice to have a White kitty.
Gingko biloba Menelik is the full name. The first name is both the first two words, with the second one starting in a small b, not a capital B. I fuss about my kittens' names, yes. Nobody gon' spell them wrong in my lifetime! :o)
Okay, so Gingko biloba Menelik gets the name from the Gingko biloba tree. Menelik is the Ethiopian Emperor who rode out against the Italian army, at the head of a resolute army of barefoot warriors, and routed the colonialists at Adwa. I love Gingko's names, especially the Gingko one. For reasons that are beyond the scope of this book. :o)

Khalid is the lighter one of the two dark ones. Probably the most peaceful of them all, and also the one who sticks against the bosom the longest. Long after the other comrades have fallen off with the sheer exhaustion that suckling brings, he/she is still kneading Space for more milk, and only getting started. Sometimes I worry.
The full name is Khalid Kibuuka. Named after Khalid ibn al-Walid, the Qurayish military general who died undefeated. He was quite principal in the spread of Islam, and Prophet Muhammad (SAW) gave him his nom de guerre, Saifu'llah—The Drawn Sword of Allah. He was nothing short of a military genius. He died of old age, complaining about having missed his chance for martyrdom. (But why do you expect to die, if you fight like you don't want to?) Coolest last words. "I die like an old camel!"
Kibuuka is the god of War in Buganda. For me, he's the most interesting of their gods. His remains are currently in the Uganda Museum, and his people are trying to get them out and take them to his shrine. Back then, the British found the remains somewhere and stole them and took them to Britain, and Uganda reclaimed them. Question: if he is a god, why do we have his dick and balls in the museum? Answer: he wasn't a full god, only a demi-god; I know, I saw him in a previous life.

When they saw what a military genius he was, they said "it's not a man, but a god we fight with/against". I was one of the Luo mercenaries hired by the Bunyoro-Kitara empire to contain this new state of Buganda. When we fell in their ambush, the poisoned darts were raining down on us from everywhere. The myth was that Kibuuka flew into the sky and pelted us from above. In reality, I think he only told his soldiers to shoot skyward so that the arrows would hit us without revealing more than their deadly effect. In running from the divine arrows, we ran towards his hideout, and I saw him before my throat was struck by an arrow. See? Not a real god, but certainly a military genius.

That's all. Now, as we go, here are some pics.
Space bleeding maternal love onto Sun Tzu.

Space, the kits, and a cyborg eye.


And it is all right under my desk. Some things, though, don't change. Like my horrible diet, and the thousand-shilling notes that you could hiss to pieces. And I didn't even have peanut butter, that time, so picture me fighting the buns plain. :o(

All these pics were taken when they were about a week old. They are like two weeks old, at the moment. The eyes done opened.