The past six week have been utterly sublime madness. Much of my work has headed to the corporate realm, e.g.  there was a recalcitrant Toyota brochure in Bahrain, and stenographing and summarizing sessions at the Celebration of Entrepreneurship 2010. Then there were creative misdemeanors such as acting and co-writing bits of the script for an experimental play at DUCTAC – t’was brilliant but also exhausting.

In the meanwhile, I have managed to author a few pieces hither and tither, but thanks to the tithes that editors demand, they haven’t been published yet. I’ve resolved this blog only host my published and/or creative work, not general ramblings in the corporate realm. Hence the prolonged silence. When updates do occur, they will be a deluge because much work is floating in the eternal purgatory between approval and print. But cest la vie. In the meantime, I’m reproducing- for all you lot who couldn’t make it – the bit I penned, and delivered, for the play Musecal Chairs at the Dubomedy Festival of Art. Musecal Chairs was directed by Jamal Iqbal, and was a pastiche about life, and change, in Dubai.  A shout out to this man – he helped me with method acting to the point that it was an out of body experience occasionally. Here’s looking at you, J.

The soliloquy may venture into an inchoate rant, but it’s an existentialist metaphyical rant. And doesn’t that make all the difference? Forgive the multitudinous CAPS, for they are there for emphasis. T’was a script, after all.

So here we go:

Within each of us is a little man with a little drum.

He tootles, he beats. He wants you to move to his rhythm. He wants you to move to YOUR rhythm.

But you, stuck in the safety of repetition, trepidation, competition, social comprehension…ignore the little voice in your head. You push it to one side. You call it many names – madness. Mid-life crisis. Uncertainty. IMMATURITY.

You, after all, are mature. With the cares of the world on your shoulders.

Well, perhaps not the ENTIRE world. But certainly your children, partner, parents, lovers, what have you.

When it all becomes a bit much, you head to the local bar, or check in at the spa. A few hot stones thrust onto your fifth vertebra, and the little drummer is silenced for a while. All is in stasis, status quo and semblance of balance.

Now I…I listen to the drummer. I have no choice. That drummer is ME, and he is MINE. He, much like me, is often vacuous. He played determined tunes, but never keeps tempo. He starts well, and gets bored before the crescendo. But sometimes, he nails the beat. And that…that is when I know change is good.

The last time I marched to the beat of that little tin drum, I quit everything conventional. And became a writer. That’s a grand term. Really, it’s only a legitimate excuse to consume fermented inspiration.

It’s not poetic.  I mangle words. I torture them till they scream. I kill them, and then make love to them like a necrophiliac. And sometimes, from the utter pit of mediocrity, I find a beautiful, lucid moment.

In that brief second, the absurd joke that is life finds a punch line, and it all makes sense. Then, I go back to clumsy butchery, faffing and insecurity.


Well, what of it? In essence, it’s a binary. It’ll either work, or it will not. Yes, yes, I know Goethe said when you make change, the universe conspires with you to ensure success. But that is…

BULLSHIT.  The utmost crock of BULL.

For let’s face it…the universe is like a two-year-old toddler – it dribbles over your plans, for better or worse, is sometimes sweet but other times make no sense at all. Sometimes it burps all over you, and the bittersweet trickle of the universe’s regurgitation trickles over your shirt and into your waistband. So carry a bib. And keep at it. The universe’s indigestion can only last so long.

But what if you still crash? Regardless. My philosophy? When I’ve done everything to sort a bloody problem, stop. And CHILL.

Chances are, it goes away. Even if it doesn’t, you’ve done all you could. And that should be good enough by anyone’s definition.

Try it. It’ll work. Even if it doesn’t, you’ll have tried.