Monday, December 31, 2007

Of life and other vegetables.


Having recently taken the time to read my own tripe, which considering the levels of egotism that I have long believed I possessed, is not something I do as much as I should (because I am brilliant and good looking), it struck me, with a blunt and rather weighty piece of scrap metal, that I have been progressively more mediocre and maudlin in what I project into the infinity of cyberspace.

While what I contribute in bytes may never be of any real significance to the world at large, or event to a particularly small and blithe township in Hicksville, it doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t be making the effort to entertain the masses and offend the select few who have proved themselves worthy of my disdain.

I have found myself becoming increasingly wary of the dramatic, insofar that my tolerance to people taking what is essentially a grain of life, placing it on a stark white tiled surface, pointing at it frantically and screaming for all to contest, ‘it’s a mountain!’. The ongoing upheavals that existence buffets us with, while seemingly pressing and palpable, are merely the price tag on an intricate, though normally unprepossessing, Persian rug. To lose your head looking down off the rope bridges that ferry us from one mountain range of life to another means that you really aren’t looking ahead of you, which, if I may be permitted to sound condescending, is what you should be doing.

Please bear with me as take you trough the following misty landscape (these posts are fed into a social networking site, which is accessible by everyone I have ever said good morning to, hence the need for discretion). Imagine, if you will, a man who has been classically trained in the ancient arts of panic, brooding and self imposed stoicism. Now imagine, again if it so pleases you, that said protagonist in his amblings kicks open a crate filled with shiny new situations (retail value nil, durability between 3 microseconds and the rest of your life). There are really only a pair of deployable courses of action, being; either to attempt to juggle them all and walk along fretting about when on will drop on his foot and result in tarsal tunnel, or to calmly pull his life binder out, place each one of the situations under the appropriate divider and deal with them in a rational (if boring), project managed way. There are pros and cons to each.

Needless to say that the manner in which one decides to deal with the misnomers of the earthly plane define a person. Those who deem it wise to learn, develop and ultimately build from the mortar of experience, will (theoretically), lead a life worth leading. The other contingent, who prefer to lose their heads over the minutiae and focus on the irrelevant, will as a result, step into a steaming pile of fido’s best work.

God Speed.

May the New Year bring no falling anvils upon your hallowed head.

Malice

Monday, December 10, 2007

Light hearted and heavy handed

For all those of you out there who have become bogged down in the minutiae of day to day survival and as a result have resolutely taken the view that life does not move very fast and offers only enough in the way of variety to ensure that you continue paying attention, I have come to deliver tidings of hope. This does effectively mean that I get to prove you wrong, so everyone’s happy.

In the course of my sage musings on the fragrant fruit of life, the depth of the oceans of thought and the way lint accumulates in belly buttons I have been bombarded by revelations, epiphanies and the occasional consignment of pigeon poo, to the extent that I lost sight of where my closely held beliefs began and where possibility ended… but come, what does that mean to you apart from the fact that I have just wasted a minute and a half of your time on a preamble?

The problem with mankind in general and opinionated Middle Eastern males in particular is that they were never taught that they could be wrong. So the individuals comprising the world bumble along, shouldering through the myriad of obstacles that they encounter in absolute conviction that this is the only way. And why? Simply because they never stopped to consider that there could be an alternative as simple as stepping around the offending igneous formations.

I believe that everyone has a day, a moment, be it brief or prolonged, in time where something or someone happens to cause, not only a existential shift, but a desire for said shift in the being of an individual. The trick to harnessing the potential of this altering force, and this is crucial, is to be awake.

116 after that ‘that’ day, I find myself trying to reconcile what I have long held fast to and what I want to put my faith in, and just getting this far has been arduous. I want to believe that things will turn out for the best, but my ragged intestines tell me that is romantic hogwash, I need to be good to people, even those who are fleeting on the stage of my life, but my insides scream, ‘what for?’

A paradox to be sure, but one that I endure and embrace with the brightest of eyes and bushiest of tails, there is change to be had, and I want to feast upon it.

This one’s dedicated to my life catalyst, you know who you are.


May your toenails pierce not your socks.
Malice

Monday, September 03, 2007

Kiss from a prose

I have, and not putting too fine a point on this, been happier than normal (the adjective to be read as ‘catatonic’) for the past couple of weeks (since the evening of the 16th of August if you must know). This is annoying me.

I am having difficulty intimidating people and being angry at the world; and my coach is pretty ticked off too, I may not make the Olympic cut in those two events. I find myself spontaneously smiling and singing at the slightest provocation. If there was a god, I would have harsh words with him/her!

During this most befuddling of times, there has been a bilateral exchange of rhyme, which I am posting for your amusement (and not your inane critiques, opinions and / or bodily fluids).

He Said;

There was once a girl called Karen,
Whose house was frightfully barren,
She plotted and planned
She dug up some land
And now she lives in a warren


She Said;

A grassy knoll, we did lie,
Looking for diamonds in the sky

A shooting star, he did miss
Caught by Aurora and shared with a kiss

The cold sparkling fountain, she did play
Warmed by Pharaoh, keeping the chill away

The night draws to a close and
The beer takes it toll
Yet I won’t be forgetting the grassy knoll



You see where I am coming from, I just don’t know whether I am strumming or bowing.

May your suppositories be well lubricated.
Malice

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

A ray of bitter sunshine

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls.

Step right up and prepare to be amazed. See the dancing ferrets as they trip the light fantastic, witness the marvel of human peanut butter sandwich as he devours himself aided only by a tall glass of milk and gasp in awe at that rarest of beasts, The Happy Cynic.

I must confess (although anyone with enough free time on their hands and an hourly nervous synapse would have realised this) that I have used this forum in the past for the sole reason of venting my frustrations and rallying against a world two sizes too small. Not this time, and hopefully not for a long time. It seems that the pitcher of fate has thrown me a knuckle ball that I did not expect, which hit me squarely in the face but turned out to be made of the most ambrosial marshmallow.

Not wanting to bore you (actually I don’t really care, your opinion means as much to me as a burnt matchstick recently dislodged from the rectum of mine enemy), I have been subject to a recent revelation, a full ten days of them actually. These I will dispense to you at no additional, please leave the agreed upon amount under the rug on your way out, charge.

Life is not out to get you, it doesn’t care about you. So you can sulk in the corner or go out there and buy a hamster.
Your soul mate may be out there somewhere, but to the best of my knowledge, even romantic ideals need help once in a while. While you are out, we’re out of soda, please pick up a six pack.
Alcohol can only get you so far, after that you may need to borrow a personality or a nice shirt.
Pretty girls aren’t as scary as they seem. They are actually terrifying. Just remember, being nervous and profuse flop sweat are infinitely sexy (there is something to be said for getting your dating advice from startrekfanatics.com).

All this positivism is giving me a headache. How do optimists survive.

This one’s for K and K.

May your eyebrows never meet.
Malice

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Dude, where's my life

Enough already!

I think a little personal reevaluation is screaming to be called for at this point in time. Let's (and by us I do mean me) take stock shall we (same concept);

I'm a heartbeat away from turning 27 (disgustingly expensive gifts should be shipped now to avoid my dissapointment), in reasonably good shape, have an above (way above) average intelligence and no halitosis. You would think that I should be out there painting the town several shades of magenta, right?

The truth (by malice, apologies kareem) of the matter is, I spend more time in the office than is sane, I will instinctively turn down any given midweek excursion (regardless of how many scantily clad females there are in attendance), I spend half an hour each night going over my deliverables for the next day and I can scarcely remember the last time I took a shower that lasted longer than 8 and half minutes (I can almost shave with my eyes closed).

Speaking of shaving, I have been growing a beard for the past 3 months (I trim it occasionally so the birds don't start nesting there again), and while most people think it's a religious ting or a means of self diversication, I do it because shaving is not a high priority. I have attached a bearded picture taken at the office chrismas party (for the brain dead among you, I am the one with the beard).


And so boys and girls, what have we learnt today?

You're only young once, so fritter your existance away in the persuit of a false sense of self realisation.

God Bless,

Malice

Thursday, February 15, 2007

V for Vex

Dammit all to tarnation and back with a side trip to hell for some sunbathing.

I have just survived (and by just I do mean barely) the most prolificly inane, matrimonial inducing, wallet emptying occassion in the gregorian calender. V DAY!

As is the way of malice, I arrived promptly at the office in my blackest suit, complimented by a delightful pinstiped shirt and ebony cufflinks, topping the ensemble off with a muted black tie; the intent of wrapping myself in this darkest of garb was to be able to send out non-verbal messages to all those within the viewing vicinity that I am definitately not amongst thos celebrating valentines day. Pretty obvious, I thought.

Lo and behold, the armies of red China decended upon the work place like a biblical plague of hormonal locust to spread the messages of desperation and gift reaping. "Happy Valentine's day, what did you bring me, *giggle*". "I have an STD, would you lik to share?"

For those of you out there who aren't comatose or slobbeing idiots, you may have noticed that the imposition of religious and ideological beliefs by fundamentalist / overly voiciferous crackpots has diminished greatly over the last decade or so. Good. I believe that we should start applying this kind of tolerance to celebrations such as this (eid, christmas, national days and celebrations of sporting acheivement could also be thrown in).

We should be able to say, "I am sorry, I don't believe in love, so kindly take that rose and your garishly red garments and tuck them safely in the orfice of your choice. Have a nice day!"

I would like to give a big shout out to Kareem, my regulare readers and Hillary Swank.

Sarcasm is its own reward/
Malice

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

The World is your Hoister

3 Months, 6 countries, 9 cities, a total of 63 flying hours and a distinct dislike for travelling.

This is (or has become) my life of late. Exciting, James Bondish, sophisticated? Not by a long shot. I have never felt quite as fatigued as I did over the past few months and I had all the souvenirs to prove it, the glad bags under my eyes, the constant worrying about where my passport was, the 14 paper back novels purchased beacuse I had seen all that the inflight entertainment system had to offer and so on.

Anyway, now I am settled, for a while, and tackling the exciting tasks associated with post event administration, and loving it!

I went to a seminar last week on professional congress management, and as part of the proceedings, my team and I had to put together a presentation on corporate sponsorship. I know that sound boring, but it was actually quite fun, not to mention that I was selected by the team to present our findings. That's me in the middle looking overly smug.


So now that everything is jim dandy on the corporate front, I will be trying to sort out the remaining aspects of my life, finding a cure for cancer and locating that superintelligent, nymphomaniac model who will devote her every waking moment to my happiness.

Until next time

Bwahahahaha

Malice

Sunday, February 04, 2007

Malice Rising

Okay, I know, I'm sorry

In my own defence, I really don't care what you think.

So, right back into it, thanks to Mr. Kareem from Egypt for his efforts in keeping the flame sputtering, I would assume that he is running out of material by now.

I have had myself quite an interesting run of life which I will be relaying to you in tantelizing installments over the next few posts. It's all here, travel, sex, clowns and sushi.

I have provided, for your viewing pleasure, a picture of my motley crew at the cirque de soliel's performance of Quidam a couple of weeks ago.



I will leave you with the following thought, plagerized from the mind pages of Steven Wright;
'I went out and bought some powdered water and now I don't know what to add to it'

May your toilet bowls be forever warm.
Malice