Discombobulatingly Yours ...

Interesting, huh?

I emerge not to report facts or sheild the candles in the wind. In fact, I come up for air not to structure arguments but to add to a world of being; just being. This is now my new world of strange emotions and very strong feelings of procrastination. And of course, the issue at hand, discombobulation.

There is so much going on - and right now, as we sit in this well lit and well aired New England based Spring Library - there is no doubt that the work will be completed before the close of business either today or tomorrow. And whether this work is impeccable or not is another story. Experience with this particular client and scholarly colleague shows that one is not encouraged to strive to reach the required heights of intellectual pristinity.

And yet these are the things we aspire for. Yet these are the things that throw us into the jazz, the exciting volumes and journals all over us and this coffee so lackadaisical. Yet in reality, our mind in not seeking to compare and contrast or collaborate in the shaping of questions of human rights and women and children in Darfur and Uganda and Rwanda and the Middle East! It just prefers to wander down its own road following paths trodden with arrogance and dark hindsight.

A sad tale, I tell you; one that will probably be redeemed in a day or so - with extra work and consultations. Meanwhile, there are sleepy females about me; in the throes of caffeinated diets and final exams before they break off for the Summer and those internships in either Afghanistan or Kenya. And again, right in the middle of an awning, I emerge to be the discombobulated of the rest of us.

The Kennedy School of Government,
Harvard, Cambridge, MA,
May 19, 2009 - 2:42 pm

A Place Called Fear

I hear incomplete footsteps. One foot touches the ground in that silent way only a padded shoe can touch; and then the other does not come. I strain and wait and strain and still, it does not come. In the distance, the bells tend to knell in ways that do not tend to tell a tolled tale. Incomplete. But still, the sounds reach us and make sense. We see doom and then wait to die.

The steps and feet retreat - at least for a year and a day. And just when we rest on our laurels, the distant bells start to warm their knells; and then, we know that the hunger has started again. It wants us. It wants to eat. It needs to feed and it has to be fed. From its hibernation while it fed on others, it has returned for us; our year and a day is up.

The footsteps; incomplete and otherwise have started to take their toll in our heads; eating and feeding and fearing. And in the middle of the awning, just when we think its safe to come out and play, we are struck - with a thought - and just like that, we are back into a place called fear.

Part 15 of a Long Journey

By Dennis Matanda


Life is hard; already. And God knows that you did not need any more philosophy or philandering minds! I am both of these, I admit. I know not what has happened these five months now - but I woke up on the wrong side of fresh air and decided that I wanted to start all over again. And then I went dark. It was nice.

Then the awning begun to claw at me. And again, I needed to be back to work - to write and so, just like that, I am back to the discipline.

Life sucks, does it not?

No it doesn't.

But Master of the Sagging Cheeks does. He is in the back of the burner - put on hold by library stops, cups of lousy coffee and a certain obsession with the unbearable lightness of just being lackadaisical.

And again - just like that - I am back to spewing phlegm and hiding right in the middle of an awning, rumbling, full of rubbish and of course, a certain indignity.

Same time, next time?

OK.

Adieu