Put a plant on my head and call me cool. Please.

Lady Gaga. The name strikes fear into my raging bile duct. Her music is repetitive, her melodies unmelodious and her musicality non-existent. Yet, for some indeterminable reason, she's famous, considered outrageously talented and wears small children as hats. Pa pa pa pokerface papa pokerface. I'd like to, with a large, pointed stick. We are a society of followers, kneeling at the altar of obscurity.

Whatever happened to the music being of the most importance? When Joe Cocker performed at Woodstock, the most exciting thing about his performance, visually, was his t-Rex hand, hovering outrageously next to his left shoulder as he belted out some of the best music this world has heard. (granted that's a biased opinion but this IS my blog so if you don't appreciate my opinion, tell it to my foot.) Jimi Hendrix, granted, had an afro, wore tie -dye and painted daisies onto his guitar, but his performance was about his music. “All along the Watchtower” needed no bells and whistles, it needed no lace and frills, it was devoid of Kermit-the-frog outfits and was not left wanting.

Surely this is simply an expression of the extent to which pop music leaves much to be desired. The music played on radio is prototype after prototype of the first disastrous tastes of Popular music the world was exposed to way back in the medieval times. I speak, of course of the 50's. The unwavering chord progressions that are held dear to the hearts of all pop music writers have been exhausted. I don't care how many electro beats and voice manipulation you add to this music, it still sucks. I implore my readers, do not be fooled by the pretty, shiny outfits. You are not a moth. Listen to the real music and the Cool will come.

Indecent Approval

The desire for approval is a basic human instinct. We listen to the music we should, wear what we're told to, think as we've been programmed to think, even live as we've been instructed to live. There's a fantastic Gary Larson cartoon that depicts a man standing in front of another saying “So, YOU'RE the 'they' in 'that's what they say!'” This ethereal “they” is the entity sending out instructions into the world, telling us how to live our lives. The problem is, we listen to him. We cooperate, and in doing so, are seeking approval from everyone else. To conform, no matter which social group you hold dear, plays a vital part in your quest for acceptance.

I've made decisions in the past based on what I believe would make me more likeable to the general public. Step forward if you've never been there. (Not so fast Mr Malema.) This insatiable desire disconnects you from your pre-programmed person. But why not? Why should we not want to be liked, even respected? Surely to be approved of would allow your life to be easier, allow you to go further? Where is further? Is it the next rung in the social ladder? The corner office you always wanted? Reaching the next spiritual level? Heck, is it hosting the best god-damn Tupperware party your neighbourhood's ever seen? What ever 'further' may mean to you, I'd like you to stop and consider this: Are you content?

For fear of overwhelming my reader with question marks, I'm going to refrain from rhetorical questions and make a few unjustifiable statements; statements I've come up with based on nothing more than what I've seen, what I've done, and my infuriating tendency toward assumption:
We will lead others on simply to satisfy the need to be desired, no matter how we may break them down in doing so.
We seek approval in all aspects of our lives.
We hunger after the appraisal from others, without which, we believe ourselves to be not a 'loser' but simply 'lost'.

I conclude this rant without any meaningful conclusion to speak of, hopefully though, I leave you with a greater understanding into my confused and ever so twisted mind. The onus is on ourselves to stop seeking approval and to ultimately be content with our own choices.

Accepting Adolescence

Uncompromised Inconsideration

Flee the fight
Man the trenches
Buckle down
Contradict, counteract

A fresh supply of hate to the head

Inappropriate pugnacious properties
Propel the peace to non-existence

Worship the uniform
Genuflect to jesus
Lie to yourself, to morals,
To your twisted treacherous cult

Face your brother
Vicarious anger blazing,
Forfeit questioning
Content with chaos

Lose it, find it, keep it, resent it

Your warped and mangled mind, desolate of meaning



The disconnection of the youth is a thing to be feared. Children obsess themselves with worthless information, moulding their minds into broken pieces of ideas whilst prohibiting the further development of growth and worthy stimulation.

'Children' is a term I use loosely, defined as people of all ages with more capacity to develop and gain a greater understanding of the world they live in. You may be a thirty-six year old, living in your stylish apartment, waking up promptly every morning at seven to hit the the gym, following your work-out with a swift breakfast, donning a suit and making your way to your office cubicle where you bludgeon your day with meaningless woes and stresses. Your greatest annoyance in your low-carb life is the cat alleviating himself against your priceless sofa. Your greatest accomplishment is your pending promotion. Your favourite pastime is girl-hunting. You get manicures, use moisturiser and pluck your eyebrows. You are vapid. You belong in the realm of adolescence.

Don't get me wrong, I don't believe that I'm any better than you are. I find myself at a crossroads in life where I could accept that the universe that I belong to is worth more than a haircut or I could accept that vacancies are a part of my coping method in dealing with the outrageous amount of information that I'm forced to swallow daily. I've chosen a comfortable blend between the two. Whenever this world becomes to much to handle, I switch to vapid-mode and Hey Presto! I'm saved from a wandering mind, vicarious pain and suffering, and the need to stimulate my poor, confused brain.

This ability to switch makes for a weak race. As world colonizers, dominatrices and dictators, we have a responsibility to each other. “To each his own” should never apply. Stop avoiding the inevitable. Grow up. (She tells herself, irony rife in her mind.)