The Haves, The Halves and The Have-Nots.

Despite lack of a standard sobriety, (or due to it, who knows?) I have managed to answer questions that buffle idealists and pragmatists alike. The question of why the poor have so little yet the rich have in preponderance is quite the enigma. However, if you are still uncertain about the creative genius that is yours truly, then this article is definitely for you.

I actually realized that a good lot of you mediocre brains categorize yourself in the "rich" or "poor" category quite forgetting that the infamous middle class tag awaits you. It is flattering really for most of us who quite frankly are transitioning to dire destitution. Let me not burst your bubbles in this one.

It is quite ironical that 10% of the world's population own 90% of the resources and wealth. That quite clearly illustrates the man-hole of a gap it is between the haves and the have-nots. Halve that gap and give it to the rich and you will see what is left with the poor. I hope you get the picture.

While the rich drink in opulence and clothe themselves in "denim currency", the poor swim in muddy puddles of debt and can only dream about restitution, Hearsay! In a world where the status quo means so much to the rich that Carlos Slim cannot be philanthropic because his alter ego Bill gates is breathing down his neck, there will never be contentment.

Well, there is a reason God ordained a part of His creation with milk and honey, others half a loaf and the majority of people just its (bread) wrapping paper.

If you want to know what God thinks about money, just look at the people He gave it to. The rich are generally pompous prom Kings and Queens who look down on the less privilleged with disfavour. Even the smily, philanthropic ones are sneering deep down with every donation they make. Before you cast the first stone on my stereotypical approach, note that I am of the opinion that whoever has an overflowing cup is bound by decency to pour some of its contents to those whose cups are empty. There is a difference between being judgemental and skeptical, I choose to think I am the latter.

As for the poor, they might have no money, but what they lack in material wealth they possess in health, love and simplicity. The simpleton is not concerned about what he/she will desire but rather what they can afford. They starve, shiver from the cold threading apart the rags off their backs or beg for aid, but at the day, what hurts most is the little hope they have.

It takes two to tangle, and a rich man and his money tangle themselves in a web so intricate that all else is alienated from this addictive bond. In their world of self preservation, they conform with standard set by their peers and thus they cannot quite be happy. Only when your hapiness is not dependent on external factors are you really happy.

Our poverty stricken lot however possess their own slice of paradise. Naturally, when you have nothing external to give, you seek internally and as sure as the sun rises and sets, you find love. Thus the poor man's family have a stronger bond because to be honest, what else can they give?

The rich also cry, for the same reason that the poor have tranquility in their souls. The poor know that money is the only thing they need to be happy. The rich however, have the money and it baffles even the richest of them as to why they cannot be totally happy. It furthermore cripples your heart when, because of your societal status, the world (through its high expwctations) expects you to feign a smile through the most troublesomes of marriages, childhoods and addictions.

At the end of the day, what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his identity?

The key to hapiness as I have come to realise, is contentment but God is not a fool. Were He to give anyone contentment, his/her life would be a journeyless vessel filled to the brim. What is the point? Therefore, show me a content man and I will show you the greatest liar.

At the end of the day, we were all blessed with a certain struggle. In sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, to have and to struggle, till death do you part.

Vanity! All is vanity.....A chasing of the wind.... And to think that you (for even one second) doubted the creative genius that is I. I sneer, and still deep down, I sneer. Ooh yee of little faith...

The Parable Of The Fool And The Wise Man

There are those unique moments when you wake up and a song is already playing in your head. I thought I'd share one with my faithfuls today and hope they can sing along to..."You gotta know when to hold em' , know when to fold em', know when to walk away, know when to run....." It is a song I felt tackled gambling in its entirety, not anymore though, otherwise my article would be pointless.

The gambling known as business looks with austere disfavor upon the business known as gambling. This is because I have come to the realization that almost everything in life is a gamble.....heck! Even life itself is a gamble.

I have discovered that in every business, bet or game of chance, there is always a fool and a thief.

The fool is ironically characterized by wise intuitions that gambling is but buying hope on credit. Life is about hope and without it, we might as well be sitting on a rocking chair in our youth waiting to die. For a hundred shillings you pick on the floor is more enthralling than the thousand you have had to toil for. In his justification, why not gamble whereas he/she might be walking around lucky everyday and never know it.

Some of these stiff necked fools are actually intrinsically analytical and have learned the art of preparation. As Kenny Rodgers wisely put it, "....made a life outta readin' peoples' faces, knowing what their cards read by the way they held their eyes." The thing is, until you learn how your adversaries think as well as when and how they are vulnerable are you really better equiped to beat them.

The problem with this style of gambling is that luck never gives, it only lends and as sure as the sun rises and sets so too is your luck poised to run out. Gambling is a matter of probabilities, which is a word which even the dictionary is not sure of its meaning (pun intended).

To the fool, gambling lies in the bet.....the game itself where until one wins or looses, he/she is momentarily trapped in a thrilling state of expectation. Gambling to them is like a prostitute who screws you out of your moneůy and sends you home with an idiotic smile on your face. In my opinion, they do not gamble to win, they gamble so that they can gamble the next day. The harsh reality is that the fool knows not the difference between having fun and being smart.

The thief, however is like a shrewd businessman. The con-artist is a confident person who believes so much in his abilities that it intimidates your average Joe at the table. The "con (fidence) -man" is that who unusually wins when all the odds are stacked against him/her. Oddly, he who has the least expectations (not to be confused with confidence) wins all the time while the one blinded by hope and sentiments loses. Coincidence, I think not.

It is said that a great liar is a better magician. How can you expect to gamble and win whereas you have no edge over your competitors? Until you discover how to cheat or manipulate others will you also learn to manipulate your own luck. Personally, I am inherently unlucky and jinxed but my sophisticated art of deception has managed to contort some lucky charm and voila!

By now, you have probably branded me a chronic gambler, but it is never a gamble if you never lose, is it?

Forget the analysis of the game, the magnitude of the bet or even the size of the odds. To consistently prevail, you must learn how not to fail. You must find a way around it and cheat without being discovered. And if the bet has no way around it, you are better off leaving the table for the loser who brings with him his lucky stars. You cannot expect odds to be unlucky and whoever tells you otherwise is less of a fool than you are if you are so gullible as to believe it.

For even the Bible's most philosophical book of Ecclesiastes in Chapter 9 verse 11 recognizes the propounding that, "I have seen something else under the sun: The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong, nor does food cometh to the wise or wealth to the brilliant or favour to the learned; but time and chance happeneth to them all." C'est la vie.

Hiding in Plain Sight

The best way to hide is to do so in plain sight. I cannot over-emphasize the relevance of this phrase in our interaction with people everyday.

Recently, I had the honour of chit-chatting a sweet little angel of a hypocrite. The disparaging conversation quickly turned to her, because as you all know...I am a selfless darling.

It was actually a self analysis of her that I was secretly conducting but my subject matter (I say this very affectionately) quickly exhibited the orthodox defensive mechanism - perhaps as a conditioned reflex to ward off critics and those of ill motives.

For instance, she was devoid of self-consciousness in the fashion scene. Apparently, toning down conspicousness and flamboyance is evidence enough of "no f**** given" in glamour. As a simpleton (I write this with a smile, but deep down, I sneer), she subtly dresses unlike the barbie girls because she is oblivious to the hype around it.

Bollocks, when you have the looks to negate all other visual attributes, the sun smiles at you while it drops coal on the rest of us. Touchè. However, I insist that no matter how good you look, you must have the desire to complement the looks with a keen sense of style. Infact, what drives people to go easy on dressing is either to win the universal virtual dressing contest or subtly exhibit the very "sincere" modesty. "Blessed are the meek for they will inherit the earth." Well, doesn't the end justify the means?

Luckily, I got the hint and avoided an eternity of arguments on the very intrinsic subject.

You see, my subject matter is not your mediocre being in heels and a cheap weave. Therefore, imagine my surprise when after complimenting her beauty, she played it down and completely alienated herself from the echoleon of unbelievable damsels (I was not surprised really, but I acted surprised to help her drive her point home).

Sometimes, the modesty is overrated and makes you archaic in your principles. Out with the outdated norms of turning down felicitations (which should be distinguished from flattery) and in with the confident aura which should distinguish you from the posy-undeserving members of the fairer sex.

Yes, as a lady moderation in self-gratification oozes class but then again the recission of the same is frustrating to the generous lot of us. There should be neither shame nor apologies for the masterpiece ardoned inherently. Or have you ever seen a laureate rescind an award? Scratch that, would I play down comparisons with the best writers?

In retrospect, I can say that she was in actuality gloating by being humble. It is the age old strategy of letting others praise you as you soak in its glory, beaming with pleasure heartily but weilding a facial expression that implies that you are not fit for the throne.

Frankly, it is an approach I admire because whereas pride comes before a fall, modesty is timeless.

Righting Perfection

For a perfectionist is a person who strives for flawlessness and sets excessively high performance standards, accompanied by overly critical self-evaluations and concerns regarding others' evaluations.

I have come to the unsurprising conclusion that I belong to this unlucky peripheral affiliation. I say unlucky because in the quest for perfection, detailing and intrication are the bread and butter of my livelihood, and that is tenaciously out of sorts.

Whether it is in terms of physical appearances, educational expertise, financial enterprises or even romantic extertions, I have always added gloss to whatever I mould. You guessed it, I am a righter of wrongs (pun intended).

As likely as not, by now you have already shut your mind to everything but my perfect love life. Usually, I would concort a Romeo and Julliet fallacy and hopelessly entice all my "hopeful-romantic" readers but as you all have come to learn, that is not yours truly. Now take a seat...

My love life is the equivalent of a piñata. My brain contorts all sorts of utopian epiphanies. It is a party in my mind where the woman of my dreams is picturesqued as the most gracious creature of them all. It is always lights, camera and the action does not have to be cued because it never stops. Owing to my sexuality, I fantasize not about my wedding(s) but maybe a little about the proposal leading up to it -but that is a story for another day-.

There is only one problem though, the actual damsel. There have been many women of my dreams, but they always fall short of the standard of a perfectionist. Be it her beauty, her acumen (pardon my gender insensitivity), her personality, her availability or her ability to reciprocate love....something is always amiss.

Scratch that, there is more than one problem. Whenever I find a perfect woman, the onus shifts to me to be the perfect man. I could sit here and purport to be divine but the truth is, I am nothing of the sort because if I was, I would not be writing about idyllic love, I would be living it.

Lamentably, (being the pragmatist that I am) I have given up on the idea of finding a perfect life-partner, perhaps partly because I have tainted the consummate image with my flawed ego. Moreover, what would you call a perfect girl who fell in love with an imperfect guy? Exactly...

Eureka! I have concluded that all the components that make someone perfect are circumstancial, superficial and temporary situations that do not necessarily last longer than modern relationships. And the quest for perfection is a life-long pursuit of hapiness that knows not contentment. The truth is, there will always be better than what you already have but once you decide that you deserve better than that which gives you satisfaction, the universe can only give you what you want.....better......over and over again. And that my darling readers is not hapiness but vain attempts to grab the infinite as opposed to the finite.

The single lot of us are cancerous plotters of our own downfall by creating a figment of an impeccable imagination.The problem with finding the woman of your dreams is that after you dream, you ought to wake up. And it is that which we want when wide awake that we ultimately desire, that which we desire for no valid reason.

It is because unconditional love knows not beauty, brains, personalities and other volatile nitty gritties. The day I find my soul-mate, it will be because of nothing sane or justifiable. My common senses will be void to my acrimonious scrutiny and that.....that readers, will be perfection. Instead of looking into her glinting eyes and bombarding her with clichès of "You are beautiful,"..... I shall simply say "You are.....you....and I love you."

A pensive state I am in, and in this imperfect world, we must learn to influence a new perfection order where the imperfect systems have set up the benchmark for perfection. If we allow the hypocritic conformity to misguide our perceptions, then we are no better than our hypocritic predecessors....

For when all is said and done, the incarnate perfectionist knows that perfection is but an illusion.

A Piece Of Your Minds

My astronomically intriguing friend recently told me that sugarcoating my thoughts does not help anyone, least of all my faithful readers. He was vaguely recalling my earlier post on thenewoldestprofession  and how i toed the line like a collosal coward in awe of facing the wrath of our shameless prostitutes.

The friend further illustrated that I am part of the system I strive so hard to attack. According to him, sure, I write articles agitating for the rights of the oppresed like the Palestines but what I am really doing is of no greater significance than one #Pray4Gaza banner. I just state the obvious, res ispa loquitur, but fail to evoke a thought, an awakening even if it is to that one individual that will shake his understanding of reality. Touchè.

The rational response would be to admit  that my friend has a valid point and perhaps put some of his brilliant ideas in action but as you can guess by now (my faithful readers) that is not yours truly.

Actually, I have chosen to give the critic one thing. The main reason we write is to sway minds to think the way we will them to. It is the sort of mind-blogging (pun intended), black and white magic spells (no pun intended) that makes us have sort of a cult following among the fickle minded readers, such as yourself. Psychologically speaking, once you learn how human minds work, you can own anyone by instilling ideas only you deem fit for them. It alienates the idea of free will but then again, (in the words of Hitler -not all words though) what good fortune it is for leaders that their readers do not think. By now you are probably cursing the day I was born but I implore you to give me a chance to explain.

First of all, I have chosen to write off this friend as a critic. Critics are "know it alls" (sounds ironical coming from me but, oh well) whose glasses are always half empty (my glass is not half full either, it is just half) and think that the betterment of other people means their own detriment. Their choice of lifestyle must be stemmed from their fickle minds justifying their lazyness to get off their butts and do something worthwhile by either mentally placing everyone beneath them or cynical judgements upon the over-achievers like myself.

The aforementioned critics are the vermin of the world of literal arts. Literature is meant to be nurtured, understood and appreciated. You do not read an article to respond, you read it to connect it to your own thoughts and finally synchronize your ideas to your hearty feelings. The critic however reads an article with an engulfed (by his predisposed prejudice to his "rational" theories) mind. I dare say that it is the equivalent of listening to soft music on a radio with your phone's earphones on.

Moving on, there is more to the hullabaloo created earlier on the swaying of your minds. You see, everyone has a normative brain function and whatever one actually reads connects to a particular line of thought and one reciprocates by inclining his or her thoughts towards my particular post. In simpler terms, marvellous writers like yours truly have the ability to teach people how to teach themselves, and that is quite something in the eyes of my other friend - such a consort.

And in the psycho-analysis of my stakeholders, I have come to the conclusion that both the critic and the reader are the same. Both are small-minded, savvy parasites whose under-achievements and sub-conscious personal scrutiny have driven them to seek knowledge from the pragmatic minority lot of us. How ironical that I need them as much as they need me?

For the sake of love, peace and unity perpetuated in our national anthem, I shall magnanimously give you all peace of  mind -again, ironical- and promise to sugarcoat the rest of my sentiments in my next blog.

Tissue, anyone?

Getting Her Vote

I have always learnt better in the company of those who agree with me - yes, probably a narcissistic tendancy. The matters of the heart seem to intrigue even the most brilliant of minds. It is a subject that has seen the world revolve around it from artwork to scientific study.

Save for the exceptional soulmates, finding love is as difficult as finding Waldo. It is said that hospital wards and airport hallways see more geniune hugs than wedding halls for a reason. There is also a reason volatile items like money take precedence to romantic love and affection.

In a chauvinistic world where the men are required to find soulmates, gender equality is really frustrating the noble chase. Let me explain...

"I know you're afraid of heights....and so im here to help you conquer your fears...." That was always my pick up line when approaching shorter girls in high school - frankly, am of aggressively medium height but who cares? It was a self-coined phrase to set me apart from the mediocre, "My name is Hannington but you can call me honey."

Reminiscing my charismatic aura, a lot seems to have changed as I grow older. I know I speak for the largely distraught male species cognitive of the feministic renaissance when I say that the chivalry, cocky approach has been completely annihilated by the neo-classical woman.

Hitherto, I have not mastered my previous confidence because now, my ego is shattered and replaced with tranquility and lack of fortitude. The orthodox shy woman is long gone along with my girly voice. It is universally acknowledged that women mature faster than men (this has nothing to do with IQ levels) and that is probably why I seem to be biting off more than I can chew. A customary lame man would probably fish in different waters where he can keep up, but as you all can guess, that is not yours truly.

And that is why I have studied the art of keeping up with my "age-mates" who are supposedly more mature than I am - well, maturity should be subjective, but that is a fire I know better than to set off. I can confidently assert to my affirmation of constructing the metaphorical maturity bridge. I have done this by using the customary political strategy during elections.

Firstly, I'm bringing my game back. Not my legendary pick up lines but the confidence I so obliviously possessed. Just like politics, you have to talk a big game. The strictly plutonic "maturity" card only gets guys a front row ticket to the "friend-zone" unless you have the face of an angel and the body of a Greek god. I have neither, and I can confidently confirm that (obviously the previous comments are untrue, and I am simply illustrating confidence and a high self esteem). Boys will be boys, hence stereotypically girls will be girls. And generally, people are gullible creatures whose greed and crave for attention gets them vulnerable. Every girl enjoys the casual flirt as much as the boys enjoy the same. Speaking about unicorns and tranpolines will only get us to the "friendzone." Anyway, what do we expect?

Secondly, I have taken to the bold move of aiming completely out of my league, well, not yet but I shall. Our parliaments are filled with lunatical nutbags with pea-sized brains for legislatures. The tragic fear of rejection seems to stand in the way every time I try to take the leap. However, if you're aiming to be the boyfriend then not taking the leap is equivalent to rejection. Not really, as the latter hurts less....but you get my point.

Thirdly, confidence can only get you so far. Like a politician, you need a shrewd manifesto to get the job done. In this case, I refer to a couple of well laid promises to the girl of your dreams. The onus is on the man to promise the girl heaven even if he may not deliver everything. This is not lying as it is the concept of the dreamer, and girls like dreamers even if they deny it. The over-ambitious man who would do everything just to see the woman smile. Most girls like to feel like Julliet even without the Romeo. If nothing of the above, it is super sweet.

However, my thesis does not cover such nitty gritties as pleasing her friends, outdoing your competition and extravagance. If by the third step, the girl is not yet smitten my friend, that ship is sailed and honestly, priesthood is a vocation as is marriage.

Last but not least, is the mimicking of the under-performance of politicians. Once politicians get into the political seat, all previous A-game strategies are forgotten and life moves on. Prima-facie, this seems like a phrase coined by the devil but it really is not. Once you get the girl, you alienate yourself from the chasers and become a settler. This is the point you become her boyfriend without the chaser mentality - her friend. The former will make her crave for more and ultimately get bored while the latter will give her security and help you keep her. It gives the illusion that you've found what you have been looking for.

Ultimately however, it is either a girl wants you or she does not. Ofcourse, there are the extremely unique exceptions of plutonic love which becomes romantic after my three step programme, but little expectations, little disappointments. I have been told that my thesis is very pragmatic but then again.....

I have never in my life learned anything new from anyone who agreed with me.

The World War Cycle

The world is a cycle - archaic, I know, but my nondescript mind cannot conjure up a more elaborate saying - and I cannot over estimate the significance of the saying's relevance recently.

Today, we celebrate the centinary of the First World War. Well, not really, because God knows when the malice aforethought was actually initialized. It is technically a hundred years to the day Britain entered the war and that is really what matters. It was the fateful day one Archduke Ferdinand was assasinated in Sarajevo that drove Britain to expedite the mammoth disaster.

And on this day, when all and sundry in the golden era imagined that there would be unequivocal world peace, it is ruefully the reprehensible paradox. Today, the world has wiped the floor with the efforts of our predecessors and obliterated every fruit the end of world wars bore.

After the Israel-Gaza ceasefire was declared a few days ago, hundreds of civillians were confirmed dead as a result of an Israeli shell fired at the entrance of Rafah (a United Nations refugee site) where ironically, Palestinians were supposed to be safe. Hence today, when a century ago (literally) a war officially started, another epoch of annihilation has begun.

It would be extremely myopic to insinuate that the Israeli tyranny started with the #Pray4Gaza movement but just like the first world war, today is its commemoration.

Whereas Israel was represented in the media by political and millitary bigwigs, the Gaza spokesperson was actually a citizen. Actually, scratch that, Gaza has no citizens but refugees...for only citizens can afford to sleep with both their eyes shut and hope to see sunrise. Atef Abu Saif has been a refugee all for more than four decades, all his life really.

While the Zionist representatives spoke in retribute to "terrorists" and shifted the blame to the Hamas for putting its civillians in the line of fire as well as other nitty gritties only they know about, the Gaza representative did not mince words at all. He just wanted it to stop. He neither cared who fired what nor who instigated what, he just wanted the killing of innocent civillians to stop.

And in poetic fashion came the Second World War, the one so woefully remembered for Adolf Hitler, the man who also did not mince words and called it as he so thought it. He categorically exemplified the worst kind of dictatorship by persecuting Blacks and Jews who he thought were inferior to his kind.

Now, Israel is a nation widely populated by Jews who must be dreading the irony of being in the antagonistic camp (the rational ones at least) which now holds all the ammunition against a vulnerable and frail adversary. However, they not only lack the decency to fight like soldiers but also lie about the reasons they are endlessly killing innocents.

The highly audacious Hitler may not have provided reprieve to the Jews he so unflatteringly called the Y-word (which I shan't disclose for purposes of sensitivity) but it did provide a girth for the neutrals. The cowards however prefer to spread lies and confuse the inevitable wrath of the masses.

Israel could perhaps learn a thing or two from Hitler and his experiences. He fondly recalled the most noble of wariors by the name Pte Tandey. Tandey was British soldier in the First World War in 1918. He had tempered justice with mercy, refusing to kill unarmed, injured men in cold blood; one of these men being (you guessed it)... Adolf Hitler. And this was the reason this was a war, unlike the war crimes in Gaza, this was a battle by noble men who deserve to be in the echolon of war heroes. The Israeli millitary though would make excellent hearse drivers (with all due respect to the noble profession ofcourse).

For Pte Tandey was a wise man who knew that Hitler (read Germany) would ultimately shoot himself in the foot. As for Israel doing the same unsavoury acts to themselves, I wouldn't hold my breath. As I stated earlier, the world is a cycle.