Not so happy, and not so new

I woke up this morning to the terrible news that there had been an attack in Istanbul in a night club. In fact not just a nightclub; one of the most popular and renowned nightclubs of Istanbul, a nightclub that is about a 10 minute walk from where I live, a nightclub that is at the heart of Istanbul.

It saddens me that I am not so surprised by this grotesque massacre. At 00:00 last night I hoped with all my heart that nothing ‘bad’ would happen. Sadly though, what is the new year but just another day? And what better day to attack than on a day that we are overcome by restored hopes and dreams: the early hours of the 1st of January. One man with a gun reminds you of the prevailing presence of fear and hopelessness humanity has become well acquainted with.

Speculate all you want. Do your politics. Shut down Islam. Whatever. It doesn’t change the reality.

People are dying. And some guy with a gun just shot down your hopes too. 

 

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01.01.2017

The first of January. It’s usually a day spent curing hangovers, maybe doing a little bit of reminiscing, and maaaybe a day to get going with some of those new year’s resolutions. It’s also a day when a lot of media outlets publish a ‘best-of’ for the year that has gone by.
So, I scrolled through my Facebook page and it’s mainly covered in blood with a tad of happiness here and there. Attack, after attack, after attack, after bomb, after bomb, after bomb, after death, after death, after hashtag, after hashtag, after hashtag.
We are the world and the world is bleeding.
We are a planet. We are Earth. And the way I was taught, here on Earth, every life counts for one . Nobody’s life is more important than that of another. Everyone is different and everyone is important. Everyone is a heart. And together we are supposed to be one big fat beating heart. We are supposed to have a mutual understanding that we are all different and that that’s okay. Do you know why? Because we all share this planet, and it is just as much mine as it is yours, and it if just as much mine as it is a panda’s; and because much to NASA’s dismay, there aren’t any other planets that we can live on (yet) so we might as well just quit striving for hegemony, pointing fingers, and nit-picking.
(Because like it or not we’ve all got to fucking share.)
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It’s not getting worse. It’s been there all along.

When people scream “black lives matter” it’s not discrediting the value of your own white life. It’s a furious, panicked reminder to us that they matter, too. We live in a white washed world where it’s easier to picture a black man as a gang banger than it is a pharmacist or doctor or college professor.

Source: It’s not getting worse. It’s been there all along.

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Death was sly, sad, and lonely and I was trying to add colour with my crayolas.

The first time I met death, I must have been around five. My neighbours daughter got us acquainted. She had passed in her sleep.

I couldn’t really grasp the idea of someone being dead. All I really understood was that she was gone, but I resolutely believed that she was gone some place else; not gone absolutely.

I remember my mum telling me the news. I took my crayolas and drew pictures of a blonde girl on paper torn from an old 1998 agenda. The blonde girl was their daughter, though I had no clue whether she was truly blonde because I had never actually seen her. I was trying desperately to say goodbye to a person I’d never met. I presented my ‘art’ to my mum who told me to give it to my dad who would be attending the funeral later on. So I did. I don’t know what happened to the drawings or what I expected to happen to the drawings but I imagined she would receive them one way or another…

Death was sly, sad, and lonely and I was trying to add colour with my crayolas.

I’m 20 years old now. It’s been some 15 years since then, yet here I am trying to deal with another passing. I don’t have crayolas anymore. I have a black biro and I’m scribbling on blank sheets of paper trying to make sense out of what we call ‘life’.

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“Older Together”

 

WHO, WHERE, WHAT
Black Light Dinner Party.Dan, Jack, Zach, Joel. Brooklyn. Synth-pop/electronic pop.

HOW IT ALL STARTED
Jack: We all met in Boston. Originally we were all working on music—different kinds of stuff—individually, and we’d all play the same venues. We were all friends, but then my mom got sick, my mom had breast cancer, so we decided to do a project that was maybe a little less out there, and more accessible for people, like my mom. That’s when we started working on tracks and writing songs. That became “Older Together,” that was the first song we wrote. My mom died. When people really started liking it, it was all bittersweet, it was a little sad, but people really loved it.

HOW IT ALL ENDED
In January 2015 BLDP announced that they had amicably parted ways.

 

 

 

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Kleptocracy

1. A corrupt governmental body made up of thieves, also sullied by nepotism.
“The current government is a perfect example of a kleptocracy.”
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Don’t let the damage control your life.
You do the damage control, and you control your life.

And,

“Even if things don’t unfold the way you expected, don’t be disheartened or give up. One who continues to advance will win in the end.”
Daisaku Ikeda

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To you
A distant memory is all I’ll ever be
Now that I’m gone from you
And you from me.

Gone from you,
Gone for me.

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Tallulah: “lady of abundance, or leaping water”

My go-to song if I’m looking to find peace of mind by candlelight in my room.

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Assess, address, adjust

For the first time in my life, I’m starting to face my problems. I’m admitting them out loud… and proud. Addressing the issue, that’s the beginning of everything, right? It’s difficult. It’s also not exactly relieving at first. On the contrary, initially, you’re like ‘shit, is my mind really this screwed up?’ or like ‘why the fuck do I do the things I do?’ but then you realize it’s not necessarily because something is actually wrong with you. And even if it is, at least you’re realizing it soon enough to do something about it. I swear confronting my issues sometimes makes me want to tear my hair out; it makes me hate the person that I was. But only for a minute. Or maybe for an hour, maybe even two! It passes; eventually. You feel better.

So what? Sometimes we go through things that make us act a certain way later on in life. Or sometimes the way we were brought up has a negative effect on us. But there’s no point in blaming yourself for all the messed up wiring in your brain. There’s not even really any point in blaming your parents or your parent or whatever. It’s not like they were given a tutorial of how to raise you either. Just quit pointing fingers, ‘cause it ain’t gonna solve the problem. I get that it feels better to say “it’s all your fault” but ultimately you can’t go back and change the way they did things. What you can do, is move forward. Assess the damage, address the issues, and look into solving them. Find your inner peace. You don’t need anybody else to account for the damage done to be able to fix it.

Assess, address, adjust and move on.

 

 

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