Hola Fans/Accidental visitors/Spammers!

If you haven't come across it already, my blog now resides at a certain e-Shoe Box over by wordpress . Feel free to visit. And comment.

Found 'm

His name is Christopher Tahum Hunt. I fall in love with him the day he called from the States to tell me a joke!

It was funny!

Dear All..

Kindly be informed that ethionet.et, the only internet service provider in Ethiopia, has blocked out all blogs and personal websites from being seen by it's customers in the country. Apparently because our "histan" (means "infant--ile" in amharic--native tongue) government has decided to piss off the guys at "Semnawerq.blogspot.com", one of the websites which it accused of for publishing materials that egnite "hate politics". The case maybe true, especially for the idiots over at Nazareth.com. However, I do not think barring websites (and jamming VOA) from reaching us would help the matter much. It would only make the government look like the blooming fool (and dictator) it has always been; and the last election - a total embarassing-for-all-africans disaster (that we know it to be)!! I wish somebody would tell Meles to grow up! I mean, i really thought the guy actually had brains. I'm not so sure now.

So, anyway, I won't be able to read your comments (and my post for that matter). However, you can still write me at mailto:abesheet@yahoo.com and I'll try to get back to you ASAP. Assuming, ofcourse, that they won't block that out any time soon.

Best wishes to all.

The GodBadUgly

Mad about Depp

I love Johnny Depp because..

• He's a great actor, director and humanitarian
• He's the most beautiful person to have walked this earth
• Been named "Sexiest Man Alive" more than once
• He's known for taking risks with his movies (Corpse Bride, Charlie And The Chocolate Factory, The Libertine, Finding Neverland , Secret Window, Once Upon a Time in Mexico, Pirates of the Caribbean (The Curse of the Black Pearl), Lost in La Mancha, From Hell, Blow, Chocolat, Before Night Falls, The Man Who Cried, Sleepy Hollow, The Ninth Gate, The Astronaut's Wife, Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas, The Brave, Donnie Brasco, Dead Man, Nick of Time, Don Juan de Marco, Ed Wood, What's Eating Gilbert Grape, Benny & Joon, Arizona Dream, Edward Scissorhands, Cry-Baby, Platoon, Private Resort, A Nightmare on Elm Street, Ils se marièrent et eurent beaucoup d'enfants, The Source, L.A. Without A Map, Cannes Man, Freddy's Dead: The Final Nightmare, Shantaram, Pirates of the Caribbean 3, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest, The Rum Diary)
• He's one of the very few actors who told Bush to go screw himself (calling him a "liar") when he bombed Iraq, and actually got away with it
• He's so comfortable in his own skin that he doesn't seem to have a problem with dressing like a pimp
• He's told some magazine he'd rather bring up his kids in France than the USA (and have actually relocated to France to bring up his two kids with his French singer wife)
• He's been rated Best at signing fan autographs for two years in a row ("Many stars become bad signers once fame and fortune hits, but not (Johnny) Depp. He's even signed autographs for crowds at the airport while carrying luggage," said Steve Cyrkin, editor and publisher of Autograph Collector magazine)
• He made "Pirates of the Caribbean" the best Pirate movie ever
  Unlike many actors, he actually hides himself in hats and scarves when he goes to public places
• He is a "ferenj" (white man) & hotter, version of my favorite uncle http://www.geocities.com/abesheet/endu.html
• He ain't gay (looks like a family man)
• He's one of those people that grace our planet once every 50 years and about whom you'd feel lucky to have been born in the time of!

Oh puhleese!

To read my views on Ethio Politics, go to:

http://www.geocities.com/abesheet/ginbot7.html

(It's in amharic)

One of my poems

my e-mail to a friend

Hi there,

Thank you for your message.

It might interest you to know that I do not believe there is such a thing as "unconditional love", even with God. Having been a "born-again Christian" for 8 years hasn't turned me into a pretty girl everybody wanted to date either, however much I felt "wondrous to behold" inside. And that's what it all boils down to, if you think of it. You might stay at home feeling "grand" about yourself but the reality out there preaches you otherwise and you tend to listen [to it] after some time.

If there is anything to be grateful about, it's my having grown out of those "sentiments". That "beautiful on the inside", "unconditional love", "twin souls", "soul mate", "happily ever after", "bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh" etc crap. Both religious and otherwise!. And when you think about it, it's not like there is much difference between the meaning the born again and the unregenerate attaches to life [and the things in it]. From the beginning of time, men have been trying to "find God", meaning in life, harmony in the world [what St. Augustine called "the desire of a God"] in their own ways. And they have created their own gods, have felt pretty special about it, have claimed to be pretty special [because of it], have said their god was better than all other gods, that he/she/it only listens to them when they do certain things, that there is a lake of fire [and or some sort of misery] they'd be thrown into if they erred from "the right path" or the reward of happiness [in the land that flows with honey and milk] [in a garden of 70 virgins] [etc] when they play by the rules.

I was reading the "Epic of Gilgamesh" only the other day and you won't believe the stuff it has in common with stuffs in the bible, and it's like the oldest book in the world, right? [I've been told that Moses actually copied part of that book when talking about creation].

I don't know much about being a "realist" but I think I have turned into one unawares. I respect my parents not because God ordained it but only if they are found to be worthy of my respect. I don't think children are a gift from God, lovely as they are, because I live in Ethiopia and children are a curse here, to both their parents and themselves. And I certainly do not believe God created a man just for me, or would drag one by the neck so that I'd marry him. I can't believe I believed those things when I did. They are big fucking jokes! I know you'd have ample words in the bible as a response to this. Responses, if I may add, written by confused-by-God folks who refused to let go of the idea [that was Him]. That I can only "see" after I believed. Hebrew 11, etc. But that won't amount to anything more than what it is to me. A bunch of excuses we cooked up to replace the truth. Because facing the reality out there [the truth] would mean letting go of that sense of a "loving, accepting God" who would adore us and forgive us do what we might [something even our most loving parents aren't capable of doing]. It would also mean we aren't "chosen, loved until death" anymore. Without the bible and it's idea of an Agape-love, we would be our unloved-rejected-by-all selves. That's why most of us would cling to the idea that it's the world that's screwed up and not the bible, and that even Christ has said "you would have tribulation in this world", but "be of good cheer, for I have overcome the world". If not, there is always "heaven" to fall back on. The reward in the world to come to those who didn't make it in the world to go. Hmm... that DOES sound like the kind of thing a child would come up with, doesn't it? But then again the bible has said we can not go into heaven unless we were like "these little ones", right?!. So go figure!!

Lol. Sorry about that. But don't you find it odd that the most religious people are the most rejected people in this world?! Doesn't that tell you something more about your bible and it's real significance than just God choosing the "foolish of this world" to shame "the wise", etc?!.

You know, Hollywood seems to agree with this sentiment too. It's always the now-cool, desirable, successful, hunky guy beating up, making fun of, outwitting, or getting back at his old high school bully. Can't we, the rejects of this world, be doing the same when clinging unto our bibles and it's obviously unreal preachings when we show our leather bound black books to our "bullies", [the super models, the rich and successful, all those we envy] and say to them "Jesus loves me, oh yes he does, because the bible tells me so?!", I am accepted by God-not you, He loves me too, He's created me "marvelous and wonderful" -same as you, your happiness is like a dew in the morning that disappears when the sun rises - but not mine, I am going to heaven-and, honey, you ain't! And aren't they probably saying "dude, get a life"?!.

Please do not bother to get back to me using words from the bible. If I haven't made that clear already, I'd make it now. I do NOT believe the bible is "God's" word. Because, I simply don't believe in "the God of Abraham" thing [anymore]. That is a book written by a couple of Jews in Diaspora who needed "the idea of a God" [who CHOSE them over all nations of the world, hello!] to feel better about their position as foreigners in strange lands and never-really-liked-by anybody [never really liked by anybody.. hmm... interesting!] in very much the same way we [those who don't look "too pretty" to the real world outside] need the idea of a God to walk with our head held high. Even at the cost of the truth!! Unless, ofcourse, we decide to grow up some time. Like I did. Decided, I mean to say, not necessarily ;).

Have a nice day,

Corn/Corny/Corn[y]ish

1. This guy asked me if his company can publish my would-be-first-Ethiopian-Pultizer-Prize-winner-book after which I'd take leave [of my senses, thought I] to travel with him so that he can show me what a woman like me deserves from a["real", i believe, had accompanied the word] man.
2. This other guy told me he's told his momma about me and would grab the next plane to Ethiopia to change my name to Mrs. Richard Jones if only I gave him the yes.
   This third guy told me when he comes to Ethiopia in September; he'd give me one night in which he'd do all that I asked him to do. ["it's my body you want" he typed boldly "and I'd give it to you". Mmmm!].
3. This fourth guy told me he'd move back to Addis if I wear my "green dress" when he comes in November for his brother's wedding.
4. This final guy complained since his father home has told him Ethiopia is a country where you can't buy a pair of good boots unless you saved for them for 6 months, I'd have to wait for two more years to see him.
   
   And I wrote all of them, except the final guy who had the decency of sending me bars of chocolate - twice, begging them to send me Zadie Smith's latest book (The Autograph Man). Whose purchase and expense i promised to cover and take whoever comes to take the money out for lunch or dinner, depending on his/her gender.
   And none of them wrote back.
   
   Now, am I supposed to judge all men through these five from Tasmania-Aussie; Newark-USA; Seattle-USA; Somewhere-in the USA and Kipfieng-Germany [shake my fist or raise my eyes mutely up to heaven] or am I to describe my past, and the affections zereen, in three verbs: waste, wasted, wasted!
   
   *Sighs*. Maybe I should just give my exboyfriend a call. He's always said he misses what we had [what we had, he meant, in bed]. Hopefully, his wife doesn't pick his state of the art, USD 280+tax+income tax Nokia mobile.

The Art of "How not to do it"

The Addis Ababa University [hereinafter referred to as "the AAU"] is (as everybody knows without being told) the most important Department under Government in Ethiopia. No public figures of any kind could possibly hope to be accepted by the public at any time without the acquiescence of the AAU "Intellectuals" [hereinafter referred to as "Intellects"]. Its finger is in the largest public pie, and in the smallest public tart. It is equally impossible to do the plainest right and to undo the plainest wrong without the express authority of the AAU "Intellects". If a nuclear bomb had been discovered half an hour before the lighting of the match, nobody would have been justified in saving the country until there had been half a score of boards, half a bushel of minutes, several sacks of official memoranda, and a family–vault full of ungrammatical correspondence, on the part of the AAU.

This glorious establishment had been early in the field, when the one sublime principle involving the difficult art of governing a country, was first distinctly revealed to Haileselassie I. It had been foremost to study that bright revelation and to carry its shining influence through the whole of the "intellectual". Whatever was required to be done, the AAU was beforehand with all the public departments in the art of perceiving—HOW NOT TO DO IT.

Through this delicate perception, through the tact with which it invariably seized it, and through the genius with which it always acted on it, the AAU has risen to overtop all the public departments; and the public condition had risen to be—what it is.

It is true that How not to do it is the great study and object of all public departments and professional politicians all round the country. But AAU's ability on how every new lecturer and every advisor, coming in because they had upheld a certain thing as necessary to be done or are Core Members of the rulling party [in Moges' case], applied their utmost faculties to discovering How not to do it is a mystery. The moment an election is over, every returned man who had been raving on hustings because it hadn’t been done, and who had been asking the friends of the honourable gentleman in the opposite interest on pain of impeachment to tell him why it hadn’t been done, and who had been asserting that it must be done, and who had been pledging himself that it should be done, began to devise, How it was not to be done.

It is true that the debates of every member of the AAU the whole session through, uniformly tended to the protracted deliberation, How not to do it. It is true that the royal speech at the opening of such session virtually said, My colleagues and invited guests, you have a considerable stroke of work to do, and you will please to retire to your respective chambers, and discuss, How not to do it. It is true that the royal speech, at the close of such session, virtually said, My colleagues and invited guests, you have through several laborious months been considering with great loyalty and patriotism, How not to do it, and you have found out; and with the blessing of Providence upon the harvest (natural, not political), I now dismiss you. All this is true, but the AAU went beyond it.

Because the AAU went on mechanically, every day, keeping this wonderful, all–sufficient wheel of intellectuality, How not to do it, in motion. Because the AAU was down upon any ill–advised public servant who was going to do it, or who appeared to be by any surprising accident in remote danger of doing it, with a minute, and a memorandum, and a letter of instructions that extinguished him. It was this spirit of national efficiency in the AAU that had gradually led to its having something to do with everything. Writers, natural philosophers, teachers, people with grievances, people who wanted to prevent grievances, people who wanted to redress grievances, jobbing people, jobbed people, people who couldn’t get rewarded for merit, and people who couldn’t get punished for demerit, were all indiscriminately tucked up under the foolscap paper of the AAU.

Numbers of people were lost in the AAU. Unfortunates with wrongs, or with projects for the general welfare (and they had better have had wrongs at first, than have taken that bitter abesha recipe for certainly getting them), who in slow lapse of time and agony had passed safely through other public departments; who, according to rule, had been bullied in this, over–reached by that, and evaded by the other; got referred at last to the AAU, and never reappeared in the light of day. Boards sat upon them, secretaries minuted upon them, commissioners gabbled about them, clerks registered, entered, checked, and ticked them off, and they melted away. In short, all the business of the country went through the AAU, except the business that never came out of it; and its name was Legion.

Sometimes, angry spirits attacked the AAU. Sometimes, parliamentary questions were asked about it, and even parliamentary motions made or threatened about it by demagogues so low and ignorant as to hold that the real recipe of government was, How to do it. Then would the Doctor, or right honourable Professor, in whose department it was to defend the AAU, put an orange in his pocket, and make a regular field–day of the occasion. Then would he come down to that house with a slap upon the table, and meet the honourable gentleman [Prime Minister/Minister of Capacity Building] foot to foot. Then would he be there to tell that honourable gentleman [Premier/Minister of Capacity Building] that the AAU not only was blameless in this matter, but was commendable in this matter, was extollable to the skies in this matter. Then would he be there to tell that honourable gentleman [P/M.C.B] that, although the AAU was invariably right and wholly right, it never was so right as in this matter. Then would he be there to tell that honourable gentleman [etc etc] that it would have been more to his honour, more to his credit, more to his good taste, more to his good sense, more to half the dictionary of commonplaces, if he had left the AAU alone, and never approached this matter. Then would he keep one eye upon a coach or crammer from the AAU sitting below the bar, and smash the honourable gentleman with the AAU account of this matter. And although one of two things always happened; namely, either that the AAU had nothing to say and said it, or that it had something to say of which the honourable gentleman, or P.M/Ministr of Capacity Building, blundered one half and forgot the other; the AAU was always voted immaculate by an accommodating majority.

oh.. well.. you get the idea...

Adopted from "Little Dorrit" by Charles Dickens
CHAPTER 10. Containing the whole Science of Government
Read more: http://etext.library.adelaide.edu.au/d/dickens/charles/d54ld/chap10.html

A [Teddy Afro] tale of betrayal...?

Been thinking of writing a blog entitled "Alamn alena libe" - How Teddy Afro let me down but words refused to come. It's true that I have felt a kick in the shin (wherever "the shin" is) when I watched the music video for that song [and "Lambadina"! Why, I wondered, does the girl have to be so pretty?! The guy is supposed to be blind, isn't he?! So all he needed was a woman's body and her loving heart to help him see the light; which is actually - HELLO - what the song was all about].

Because, before I watched it's music video, I have always thought that song, that "Alamn alena libe", belonged to me, that it was my story teddy was telling {and I know what it means to be jealous- trust me- have scored "86-100% Pathological Jealous" on an internet Personality Trait Test ferChristake}. Have also felt "melkwan yizaw wet'ta, tadia endet limenat" and "bel imenat libe chewa new kemisewa" were two lines in a lyrics I have yet to find matches for. But the minute I watched the video, I was like "wot-the-{you know}-SHUT YOUR MOUTH" (P.S. I mean "fuck").

I guess it ain't Teddy's fault that I felt I knew and understood him perfectly. That's no doubt what every satisfied member of the audience feels. Same reason why members of the satisfied audience sometimes try to stalk their idols ass. Because they feel they know and understand their idol better than anybody and they would be able to make him/her happy {better than anybody}. I know that! But somehow I hadn't imagined Teddy's character in "Alamn alena libe" to be wearing a pimp's clothing and his model girlfriend/wife to have "chewa kemis" walking, I'd like to stress, in such an enticing way! JLO, I've felt, would have a thing or two to learn from that woman when it comes to butt shaking; and we all know what a great butt-shaker JLO is.

Which is why I wondered afterwards what the world was coming to! Ethipia-atleast. For "Teddy Afro" would have been the last guy in the music world I supposed would fall into the trap that so many movie and music makers in Ethiopia have/are being victimis of {not with that background, with his spending all that time in those "chaat" bets, with Kuku Sebsibe}. He was the last person on earth, I felt, who needed to prove himself with pimp-like baggy pants and mansion-like houses in his music videos, even if he can afford them. I mean the kid is the picture of success, ain't he?! That look! That smile! That talent!!

"Wey mekari matat" yilal yagere sew - sichegrew!!

I mean, have these people {Teddy included---coz he ain't the teddy afro "I knew" and loved, not anymore!!} not seen Wegayehu Nigatu {my "Wegish" - nefsun yimarewna} play "Enat nesh", a tale of famine and displacement, in such a way that it makes you forget how terrible famine and displacement actually are {for an Ethiopian} some twenty years ago?! Isn't that what it's all about?! Telling it beautifully?! Telling it naturally?! Isn't that what they repeatedly tell us - to be true to ourselves and our characters, our audience?! Or do they expect the audience to take their songs to his/her bosom and feel it was "his/hers" when he/she sees them shooting it's music video in those clothes and in that house even to fit "an international standard"?! Don't they know how disillusioning that is to an audience?! It's like being invited to a party one can't attend because one knows one would stick out like a sore thumb. It's like we don't matter anymore! That our "standard" [our shaky houses, our un-model-like clothes] don't matter anymore! It's like, when it comes to the question of "fitting international standards", we dissolve into the background. We, who made him the first Ethiopian singer to have signed off his album for a million birr! Those mini bus chauffeurs who go on bid to buy his photographs!!

It's just too much! It almost feels like being betrayed by somebody you loved and trusted; almost like a kick in the shin {wherever "the shin" is}!

If I were Teddy, I'd take it real slow {on the fame, on his dressing code, on the "chaat"} lest what happened to Gigi on her last album happens to him. Or is he trying to "masterat" our [collective] names [Ethiopia!] by becoming another Hailegebreselassie? If that's the case, don't we have so many of them already? I mean, only the other day I read Teklemedhin minamin has become the first Ethiopian skier to have made it into the Olympics. And it's not like anybody gave a shit if Teklemedhin minamin became the 87th skier out of 94 {as long as our flag was seen waving somewhere in the stadium}.

Am I the only one who think that's ridiculous?!

P.S. I still haven't understood what purpose the girl in brown, who walked hand in hand with Teddy in "Seleme", served either. Unless she's his girlfriend. Because then we would know he ain't available or with Kuku anymore.
P.S.2. I guess I wrote my blog already ;).

"EratnaMebrat" & "KinfamHilmoch"

Anybody interested in hearing Bewketu Seyoum narrate two of his beautiful short stories, go to:

http://www.addislive.com/content/view/58/60/

and

http://www.addislive.com/content/view/59/60/

P.S. It's in amharic

The Angry Female - Part I

I have always wanted to stab men, in the heart, with a pen (it's thicker than knife!). And I had hoped they'd bleed to death - coughing their guts out! Is that, I wonder, what I'm trying to achieve in dreaming to become a writer?! To hit men, and the society of men, and society - where it hurts, using a pen (metaphorically speaking, atleast)?!

But why have I never wanted to stab my male characters?! I've always been in love with my characters and never wanted to harm them in any way. Except that kind of harm that befalls all humans. Except the kind of harm I am unable to spare them. Because my characters are human. They are neither male nor men. They are pure, full-fledged, humans. Pure fictitious humans. Mere embodiments of confusion and frustration. Mere accidents trying to make the best of it ('it' being life).

And those males I see around me... ?!

My female characters (now there's an interesting subject) are, ofcourse, something else. They are so much like me, but better equipped to deal with 'stuff' ('stuff' being the kind of stuff that befalls all us females, through the turmoil and heat of the day, in a man's world). They do not sit around wishing that life was a computer, so they can UNDO the past. They are in control, in charge. They are winners, in one way or another, anyway. And if they don't win, they atleast make points. Glorious points! (which is more than I can say for myself).

Needless to say, the females I know in real life, who I find quite irritating and usually boring, are nowhere near my female characters. And I am the kind of person who prides herself in studying humans for life, in taking an interest in them notwithstanding. But I guess there is only so much a person can take.

Now, where was I? The females I see around me!! The "pretty" "swamps" (would come up with a better word later) who would swallow you if you let them. Which is, ofcourse, true to women all over the world. The fact that they are swamps, I mean. As it was true for their mothers, their grandmothers, and all the generations of them. What's more, they aren't even an exciting kind of swamp. The kind you'd gladly give in to. The kind you'd willingly go down with. (Atleast for me?! A female?! Hmm.. weird!!) They are more docile and "Catholic than the pope" than their mothers. They probably speak better English! If their mothers ever do! And if they themselves do, ofcourse.

Don't get me wrong now!! I have the utmost respect for my sex/gender (and those who have it). I cry for them! I am ready to give my worldly goods (which, I must admit, ain't much) if I can change the lives of a single one of them! I'd even die for them! Technically, atleast. And anyway dying won't change anything, unless it's a man's dying, and unless he's stinking rich, and married, and has only his young wife for an heiress. You can even say I love them! But I am not crazy about them. I guess that makes me like Dostyavski (Dostoyvski, Dostovski) who said he can only love human beings from afar. The minute they show a tendency of coming closer, they revolt him. That is why, I imagine, I'm in no "benevolent", "good will-to-all-womankind" mood when dealing with my sex sakes. They make me mad, not so mad as to want to stab them with a pen, in the heart, but really furious. Really disgusted. Which is why I desperately want to change them. Change them into.. something closer to their true (honorable?) selves. Their true valuable selves. Something like.. me, perhaps? Even an unhappy me?! Because I can't very well.. not want to change them (can I?!). I got to! It's my mission in life! Not a mission I took upon myself gladly, I admit. But here I am! Here is where I found myself! And here is where I want to (MUST) linger ("here" being the "trying to change the world for the better for women" place of mission). Because if I don't, who will?! And more importantly, what would I do with my life?!

(to be continued..)

The Angry Female - Part II

In the case of my "male" characters, it's different. They are the kind of confused messes (unable to survive without some strong female, some strong version of me) that are more human than real life human (males). They are.. I guess.. what I want men to be. What I thought men should be like and found out that men weren't after they discovered (at 28-32) that life is too full of pretty girls to be stuck with one (and I am not even pretty) and that they need hardly do anything to be .. whatever it is they want to be (like their dads, friends - and jerks around the world)!! They are, in short, what I believed men were before life, in the form of a reality shock (not check man, not check!), opened my eyes to the truth (life does that to you when you hit 30).

Wait! I know I sound bitter and angry. And I AM bitter and angry! And, yes, I have been scorned. And, yes, Hell hath no fury like a woman such as me. But it would have been ok to be angry if it [this desire to stab at men and society (of men) with a pen; this urgent need to see (male) blood- lots of it; this irresistible craving to make a point that would make me, let's face it folks, too the scorned spinster] wasn't affecting my "work". Is being a good artist ("derasit" for me), a better artist, more important to me than my anger against men (society)? My desire to see blood? My making some glorious point?! (Some thought for the day!)

Still!, the anger would have been ok if Virginia Woolfe didn't think an artist -especially the female artist - should leave his/her anger outside (when entering the room of "his/her" own) to produce a real work of art. But I wouldn't have been an artist if I weren't angry, you see. I won't have wanted to be an artist (a writer---ess) if I were married at 25 and had 4 children right now. I won't! It's not that I regret not having been married at 25 and not having any children. I ain't interested in children anymore and for that one, I'm even grateful (I mean Woolfe wrote none of the Brontës were married, atleast none of them had children). Because you never ask "why" if you think you know all the answers. If you were cozy in your existence, in your situation! You gotta be some sort of "disabled" chap/chick (?) to know life isn't fair. Or, as in my case, you got to atleast feel like the "disabled" (would feel/are meant to feel/am sure feel). So how do I keep the "anger" out of my angry would-be profession (which I'd set about on 2 years hereafter, with a degree in Amharic Language & Literature and a dread lock - tsegure bifekdina ben'nor)? Coz, that woman was right, there is no pleasure that can match the pleasure of being able to tell a story (and be paid for it?). Or do I go out and seek for pleasure? Be unquestioning, un-wondering (like my dumb or "happy" or "content" sex sakes)?! And is that worth it? I mean, happiness would no doubt be the answer, but is it the right answer? Does right or wrong even matter?!

If it does, and if the disabled should come into question (coz they matter, should matter), and if I should bravely face and slay my monsters (most of them in a masculine form) than look for the happy/easy way out, so as to be a better human and a better artist, should I not open my window to let in the fresh air? Should I not go out on a date? Should I not hope for a better day, a better relationship, a better.. self than the sad lonely me?! Should I, in short, sit in my "own room", make my 500 pounds/birr a year and discover what it is to be ... real (person or... artist)?!

*sighs* Never mind!

P.s. And why did Woolfe drown herself?!

Dear Mr. Man

I am not here so that you can see me. I'm not here so that you can hear me. I'm not here to heighten your sense of smell, touch. Your sense of "importance"!! I'm here for a purpose of my own. A purpose very detached from you. A purpose that would serve me my purpose, and not of winning your approval. I'm here to run my own race and to win my own medal. I'm here to continue, to overcome, to say something new in the sphere. I'm here, not to follow a road (a dream, a wish, an order) of another, but to create another path. A new path! To continue in this path of my own. To create my own dream. To be the boss of my destiny, of my self. I am, I admit, not totally prepared for this path. Not totally unattached. Not totally ready. But I WILL that I maybe. I WILL that the world consider me my own person. A person who isn't here so that you can see me, hear me!

I have been told, or heard from a movie, that the world is like Noah's Arc. That you're useless, unless coupled (with someone else). But how can I be useless without you when I can stand without you?! When I can carry a whole burden on my back, without your help?! When I can draw my strength from my weakness, and bury my agony in my tears?! When I can BE, whilst there was/is no "you" around. When I can manage so much (alone)?!. How can I be useless when I can make such a difference in my absence? And if I matter as a person who isn't there, I should matter when standing alone (here)!. I should matter as an individual. As something apart from you. And if they insist upon me being useless and throw me overboard, I'd swim back to the surface. If they tried to push me down, I'd fight back to remain afloat. I won't let the weight of their pressure, or the pain in my arms weight me down. I will survive. I am a survivor. I've survived thus far in your world!

Wailings of the mediocre

I'm considered "well read" in the Ethiopian sense. Deep thinking and intelligent -for a woman, atleast. Which means I know that "Farewell to Arms" isn't a diet book and that Budda [as in Gojjame] and Buddha are two different people.

But when I come online I get the painful realization that I'm not really smart, not like the people around here, not like the owner of "Writing on Air" blog.

And that hurts! It hurts like hell. No excuse of having had not enough exposure and stuff helps at a time like that.

It's all very well for Hixerbear of http://whyshouldilive.blogspot.com/ to say your self esteem should come from being human. Good, if it works for him. But not for me. Here, a woman of 30 amounts to nothing unless she's married or published. Married for her mom and everybody else. Published, for herself, to show everybody that this is what she's been doing when all her friends were busy going out [on dates]. I fancy being/looking smart is my way of trying to raise a hand from the dump I'm in, like a wrestler trying to indicate he hasn't given up the fight yet, or of saying "take it or leave it, fucker!". Pathetic! But you can't really help urself when you are someone like me.

So, anyway, how do I become a sage-a wise person, sagacious, learned, clever?! What book do I need to read or which website do I have to visit?!

Food for thought

I got a huge problem with the following "universally" accepted concepts. That:

a. God is wise

And have you looked around you lately?! Would a wise -wise, people, wise -God create a shit hole for a life like the one we have? Didn't God "regret" doing a few things; first he was sorry he created man, then for destroying the world because of man, then being mad @ somebody, then for making someother unwise decision and destroying somebody else]. The only time the "God is wise" concept make sense is IF we mean "wise" in a very limited un-Almighty level. Like the wise folks in our village who tell you a smart child cries after taking what's given him. Now that's wise, and you don't have to build temples for these people, pay 1/10th of your income monthly, pray to them morning and night so they won't make your life a living hell. I know God is awfully clever and not being wise would not make him any less the-- God. But is He really?!

b. "Love is unconditional"

Which type of love, exactly? A mother's love? But she won't have loved yar ass if the hospital called to apologize they have given her the wrong baby all those years ago. Romantic love?! Oh please! God's love? Lucifer, you got something to say hunnie?!

c. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.

Ever tried being a fat little girl in a skinny worshipping society like mine?!

Ethiopia

Foreigners has often times asked me what Ethiopia is like. And I have told them that it's a country with 13 months of sunshine, a melting pot of ethnic groups [around 79 of them], is mentioned in the bible more than 50 times, is rich in vegetation and wildlife. I've talked about the rock hewn churches of Lalibella - 8th wonder in the world; Harar-the 4th holiest city in Islam with its 99 mosques and the church of Medhanialem Christos in the middle, the stelea at Axum and the Sof Umer cave.

But I have always felt that this may not draw a clearer picture of my country, the "Christian Island" of more than 3,000 years [that would be like BEFORE Christ, right?!]. So here is what Ethiopia is. It's a country where kids are advised on national tv not to trust people [..and the snake answered the man "trust me, for however evil i am, i can't be as evil as humans"]. A place where children are expected to understand their parents and act accordingly ["you know yourrrr dad"]. And a country where ugly girls can still get husbands [backward! very backward!].

[Individuality is especially sneered at here, homosexuals and all those sexually .. challenged people would probably be stonned to death upon stepping out of the closet -don't come out of any closet pleasethankyou- and all the weirdos round here are dem whities who get shipped to us with wheat from foreign companies like Circus Ethiopia and Terres des Homes Loussane, Switzerland].

Left with my thoughts..

A woman's eyes glaze over, in one of P.G. Woodhouse's books, giving the impression that she's thinking deep beautiful thoughts. Quite misleading [continues the writer] because the woman wouldn't know a deep beautiful thought if she saw it on the road [or if you hand it to her on a silver salver with a tartar sauce on it].

Never mind!

One of my "deep beautiful" thoughts popped into my head this morning. I even were tempted to try to put it down on paper--how this friend of this.. narrator was "crying, broken hearted and asked him/her if he or she would have married her if he or she was a guy or not married". The friend would naturally say "ofcourse I will" and she'd either badger him/her with "whys" or she'd sniff in her handkerchief, give the friend a hug, go home and kill herself. Deep, won't you say?

Oh well, maybe not!

And there is the other one about modern women in Ethiopia. How a well read, liberated sister would know what to cook to make her hubby stay home, what to eat and not to eat/drink and not to drink to keep herself fit so that her hubby stays at home and where to find books on how to properly bring her children up. That has a bite, doesn't it?!

I thought so.

And there is Aster [Aweke, the singer] who always make me cry over her "Awey Sew Mehone". If I turned that music on in a dark room and put pen to paper [assuming that I can put pen to paper in the dark and manage to write anything discernable], I think I'd come up with a whole book on the inspiration there from. A sort of biographic novel, or a memoir, or half a dozen "Epistles to God" - accusative and blotched with tears. [Hmm.. Epistles to God, nice!]. Anyway, isn't it amazing, the way Aster laments being "human" [not really inspired right now, will finish that sentence some other time]. I've found it conciliatory in times of trouble and a good excuse for acting like a perfect ass. If ever Aster made a good song, a real song with flesh and blood [and bone, or something metaphoric like that], this song would top them all. She's Awesome! Go Aster, Go! I'm 30 [and single, thus no life] and getting the hang of what you been trying to say all along [with getting stoned on stages, with Jemanesh Solomon and whatnot]. So, yeah, Fuck life and Fuck God.

WWJS

"You may have noticed that many religious people are deeply suspicious. They seem--for purely religious purposes, of course-- to know more about iniquity than the Unregenerate. Perhaps they were specially bad before they became converted! At any rate, in the imputation of things evil, and in putting the worst construction on things innocent, a certain type of good people may be trusted to surpass all others."

That was Rudyard Kipling from "Watches of the Night". And I remembered two very religious people I know at work and school. One of them is a Translator by profession but a Disaster Expert by inclination. I have been told she's barren which may explain how she can go into details of what anguish a fetus goes through during abortion [how, when some metal is inserted into the woman's womb aiming to crush it's brain, the fetus tries to defend itself by waving it's hardly formed hands and so on and son]. I dunno, maybe she gets a kick from reading about babies suffering! The guy, who is a member of the great big Mekaneyesus Seminarium down at Mekanisa and married with two kids, was telling me about gays raping some guy in a hotel rest room right here in Addis ["you know it's a spirit right?! Cathing! Cuz he's now scouring the streets for guys to make him take it up the ass"] and how Aboy Sebhat [Sebhat G/Egziabher-the old faggot] is rumored to sleep with his daughter, with a face almost glowing with the joy found only by dipping your nose into Anatole's cooking, as Bertie Wooster [of "The Code of the Woosters"] would say. And I kept wondering why righteous folk love talking about sin and sinners more than ordinary folk like me, for example. Are doctors so obsessed with diseases --and not go home after work, throw themselves in the love seat and doze for hours?!

What Would Jesus say, I wonder [WWJSIW?! grrrr]

Dear Diary,

I met someone. Last Tuesday. Someone who seems ready to talk away with little encouragement from me, someone who laughs a lot, finds weird things in names, rhythms in the way we walk, the way we live. And I sat there, looking out the window, thinking: "it can't be real, he can't be true".

Why do men still have this power on me, dear diary?! After all I have been through!

He said he's known me for more than a year now. Has looked forward to seeing me every morning on his way to the office, wondering what sort of a person I am, at the way I walk, at the way I kept to myself. He's even tried giving me a ride one morning, and has to take two old ladies to the hospital, face burning with shame, when I turned my head away from him, uninterested.

When he dropped me at the door, he asked if I wanted him to wait for me every morning at the same spot so that he can bring me to the office or maybe take me home in the evenings in which I've got classes [Thursday and Friday].

And, dear diary, I told him not to bother, that he can bring me to the office if we come across each other, to be more careful with his eyes and good luck with his writing.

I haven't met him since.

And I'm confused. What could be the meaning of all this? Have I done something wrong? Has he found me gross, somehow? Will I never see him again?! Never?!

My friend.

He's dumb. The sort of dumb who adds "s" on "I am". But I like him--no, he likes me! He likes me so much that he's ready to drop everything and rush to my rescue if i sent SOSs [which i do a lot, how else can the multitude have the privilege of stealing a glance at my S200 Color Melody Samsung mobile which never seems to ring--even with the alarm set?!]. He likes me so much that he told somebody he's afraid he'd lose me [yeah, "timotbignalech"] if he took me jogging every morning to shed some of my excessive pounds [yeah yeah]. But romantic, won't you say? And last, but not least [not least at all] he's gorgeous, generous, and gets along with everybody fine [something i can never manage, with possibly dozens of mega bytes more for an IQ]. He also thinks i don't need to put on anything to look good-that I just do, never commented on my universally talked-about sexy body and laughs in quite an indulgent way whenever I'm in one of my [mood] fits. And he's always there, although he can always be somewhere else.

Part of me wants to "bask" in the knowledge that a guy [any guy] wanted me and shows me the pros and cons of choosing him for a boyfriend [and the pros surpass]. Another part of me tells me that is a very selfish and mercenaric attitude and both him and me deserve better [not that I ever believed I did, been always heavy in the hips]. Yet another part of me reminds me that i'm a little too old and a little too heavy and a little too screwed up to be doing much choosing [hello!], and that I may regret feeling all jolly and poetic and responsible about it 5 years hereafter, that I need a guy to walk me home in the evenings, give me a call three times a day over the weekend and assure my mom that she'd probably "medar" a daughter before the 2nd coming, which's seems to worry her more than sulphur and "dign". And it's not like he can't .. undumb himself, you know, the guy has his own values, his individuality, he knows what he believes in and how to fight for it even if he can't put [what he believes in] in colorful phrases and adds an "s" to "we are" [referring to his family]. What is book knowledge, souls and all that shit compared to a good guy, a guy who sticks by your side when all the little girls want to give him a back rub and that sexy thing from that Tekuando club [check the spelling] is shamelessly hunting him with pork and knife. *sighs*. Tell me, why is life so difficult on girls [yeah yeah] and why don't we seem never to outsmart ours heritage?! :-p

Hermela (the movie)

- the first "based on a true story" movie made in Ethiopia, Directed by "Yonee Bree" [yeah- "Yonas Birhane"! hurray!], and produced by EthioVision [or Mission or sommink], would have been quite stomach-able if Yonee Bree hadn't kept interrupting the little "story" there is [with half a dozen voice overs] to stuff us with prolonged preachings of "thou shalt not force love" and something that has to do with women's right--I forgot what. And, ofcourse, if he's given us a reason [a minor one would have done] why "Kassahun" fall in love with "Hermela" in the first place!

It's impossible, I understand, for any one of us to precisely know what kindled passion in the heart of that sick fuck who declared on national tv that if we want the girl alive, we should hand her to him with our blessing. That was ok in real life. But "Hermela" [the one launched at Alem Cinema in March/05] isn't real life. It's a movie! And movies, as books, need good explanations [be]for[e] having an antagonist run around with a "la" shaped sickle-like knife way before the poor chump was told to be "a man".

I mean, things just don't work that way in movies. They don't! Which is why, while watching the very good shot [and probably edited] mini-horror-movie on the silk screen, I kept wondering "why" [bother?!]. I mean.. we know Sophia Shibabaw is diva musician GG's little sister [and I'm afraid she was always Sophia Shibabaw to me--even attired in an "emahoy" look-alike black grab on the wake of her father's death]. I mean, ok, her voice is great when she sings -WHEN SHE SINGS- [but i doubt she's tried singing to "Kassahun"] and she looks kind of cute and innocent [something, I'm afraid, she doesn't have to work much upon] but not as beautiful, say, as the "hooker" for example, to drive a guy with that body and those eyes nuts [some talent Girum Ashenafi--by the way--I'm glad i was born in the same planet with you, man ;)] who seems quite willing to sacrifice his evenings by standing infront of her window drenched to the bones, smoking "Nyala". I felt even the very lame, [yet] very Ethiopian, "enaten meselechin" would have fared if anybody gave the matter a thought.

Katenesa ayker, was filming a reporter lady infront of one of AAU's buildings [or was that "Federal Yemejemeria Dereja Fird Bet"] in a very CCN-ish style and microphone necessary?! Or was that part of the whole short-of-shooting-a-colorful-romantic-scene-at-Langano imitating-holywood deal Ethio movie makers are obsessesing with nowadays [those ridiculous looking caps on those very unsexy "Federals" are good examples]?!

Oh well *sighs* I guess there is always next time.

Whenever I ride in a suffocated minibus..

.. the nauseating aroma of a Woyala's shoe reminds me of the sticky, sweaty, smell of a mattress after sex, with it's wet spot, it's ludicrous sounding joy of only a moment ago, the joy of pushing and pulling at someone pushing and pulling at you, the tv, the light, his butt, her hair..

Does this mean I got the potential and imagination of a would-be author or is my English worse than I feared?!.