Aphrodisiac?

There are many different things which act as an aphrodisiac. Money would be top on the list, social standing, profession, and the best of them all is power. Some women go actually weak at the knees when it comes to powerful men, even if they abuse of their power. There are those of the lovely species for whom a kind heart is the best aphrodisiac of all, but those are a minority.

Let's talk about power. It is supposed to make men more understanding, seeing that they have enough power to move the course of life. Unfortunately, some of them become sad pompous assholes, more often then not, with a blonde bimbo on their left arm, the kind who flutters her artificial eyelashes in agreement to what the pompous asshole on her right arm is doing, saying, whatever. She could possibly be a brunette, but usually that brunette will have become a blonde, whose colour will be coming straight out of a peroxide bottle costing just 1 Euro. When I was 16 years old, we thought that the best aphrodisiac was a Spanish Fly which would come in an overly priced tiny bottle. It seemed to work on some, but then perhaps it was all in the mind. But the great lengths a woman will go to for a powerful man are astounding. It involves subscribing at a gym, having her hair roots painted every two weeks, having a Brazilian wax every week. Why? Because even the bimbo knows that it's all artificial. To add insult to injury the oh-so-powerful man probably is a step back. He hasn't even realised that it's all fake. There goes the power all down the drain.

To some degree we all have some kind of power in life. We could be parents, teachers, doctors, lawyers. All are caring professions. And as caring professionals we do not automatically assume that we have the right to throw our weight around. In that case, one should try the Atkins diet. Perhaps it'll work on the brain. But we are all some kind of role models for the next generation and we owe it to them to give out a clear message. Nobody should try and bully someone little. To the bully I say, pick someone your own size, to the bullied I'd say, don't you even listen to the bully he's a coward himself. I am not exactly small, but yes someone has tried to show me his grandeur. I have just seen a swollen head with a very tiny ego, and probably also with a very tiny something. He is making it hard for me, but all the more so for someone else. I wish I could turn into a really ugly ghost and give him nightmares ugly enough that he'd wet his pants. Oh the joy of seeing a sight like that! The only sad thing is that he's probably giving nightmare to a someone else. But you hang on in there little one, it'll soon be over.

Fragile, this way up.

I like the finer things in life. I like the finest port, Davidoff cigars, Cavalli shoes, Chanel bags, Tiffany jewellery. I don't care if my plates do not match, or if my crystal tumblers are down to 5 instead of 6. I don't even know how to open a Moet et Chandon, because someone's always done it for me. My culinary skills are nothing out of the range, although somehow I excel in doing laundry. No idea why, that too has always been done for me. But that's where my real talents lie. My house is really a reflection of myself. I sacrificed on the wooden flooring and got a real Bluthner instead. Who needs a designer-something-to-walk-on when you can have a Mercedes piano? Who needs state of the art cutlery when you can have a Cartier bag instead? And that's the way I carry on in real life. Another thing I never scrimp on, of course, is Kleenex. Kleenex is the best, because everybody needs a soothing tissue when they're crying. I never scrimp on my faithful Dove shower gel because it's the only one which makes you feel suddenly well. And there it all is, I never scrimp on things that are important to me. I always pay my Internet subscription religiously, even if it means I have to put the power bill aside.It's all been in the family, my grandma would never scrimp on her beloved Lux. And no matter how hard times were, she'd never scrimp on love. And she never had it easy for every reason under the sun. There are things which become way too important to us, way beyond Cartier and Armani. They never come with a hefty price tag. They come with an invisible tag which says; Fragile, please handle with tender loving care. And the one who can actually see that tag is the blessed among all others.

No one would listen...

I write this with what I call 'the tears about to fall voluptuously'. No I'm not sad.I have everything I need, better still everything I want. I want one other thing. Thing for lack of a better word. I know it's challenging and I'm not sure I know how to do it. But I cannot rest until I complete my mission. I want to teach the world to listen. I want to teach the world to do away with bureaucracy, with all the paperwork and finally start to listen. It's taken me the strength of a lion, the tears of a million people, I'm not so sure I would have been able to do it alone. I just listened. Because it is a skill I learnt 8 years ago when I wanted to be listened to. And there was no one at the time. And no, nobody's voice, how little that may be, should go unlistened to. I saw, I listened, I shared. And God has blessed me with a partner as strong as a million lions. It's partnership, that is probably why we worked through everything and are still here. We survived so much, so much adversity, but we're here, still here and will still be. Adversity in life is not welcome, but it still is there. I could have upped and left, but I didn't, instead I listened. And once again I saw, I listened. The world should learn to listen too, is it possible that I alone could hear? Is it really possible that I alone saw the loneliness, the emptiness? Was it just me who saw it happening; the exasperation, the hope fading away, the shame of solitude, the torment and the tears? Was it just me who saw him with hands in his pockets walking sadly away? Is it just me who thinks that love rocks the mountains? Is it just me who thinks I have a metaphorical mountain of Kleenex to wipe tears away? Why doesn't the world wake up and hear the music? Or is it such a special type of music which only the ones who have had it rough are able to hear? It is indeed a blessing in life if one learns to listen. Souls hear other souls and communicate in the same way that old Indians sent smoke messages. The world should rise up and reach itself, however paradoxical that may seem. Because once the spirit is picked up from the gloom and the doom, then it can only guarantee success, perhaps not an academical one, but one which goes beyond the skin, flesh and bones. So please... listen.