Thought Picnic: Confidences, Not Secrets

Confidences, Not Secrets

In the broad scheme of things, we have no secrets; what we have are confidences that too often get betrayed in unguarded yet frank moments to others. 

Much as I hear and listen to a great deal, I am guarded about how I use what I have learnt. I could form opinions about people, but I am very flexible and, hopefully, tenderhearted, making allowances until indifference or unkindness breaks the bond.

Indifference is, for me, the most wicked form of expression in any communication, because it means there is no care, concern, consideration, or confidence. Whatever confidences you might have thought you had in that setting are then ready for the careless abandon of reason and a carefree dissemination to anyone.

An AI-generated infographic on the blog content. (Click to enlarge.)

Words have an effect, a great effect, when what should have been kept in mind finds an outlet to others. I am also a believer in the biblical saying, “From the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaketh.” Even discretion and moderation can scarcely stand in for self-control once you have resolved all inner contention and convincingly arrived at the conclusion you have uttered.

Being Spoken About

From people I trust, I have heard the most hurtful things, sometimes directly, though usually relayed to me through other channels. I bat them away most of the time; yet, in other situations, the covenant is broken beyond redemption, and the relationship sours or is terminated for my own peace of mind.

What we cannot avoid is that we will always be spoken about by someone else: in praise, in jest, in commendation, in spite, in jealousy, in rancour, or much worse. That is a given.

I have the outlet of my blog to reflect on these many things, and perhaps to limit the impact of malevolence whilst maximising that of benevolence.

Words That Wound

Perhaps decades ago, it was a guardian relating to someone else that I had been picked up off the street. I am grateful that my story, which has had many failures, has been greeted with amazing successes.

Another, whilst I was in the throes of personal angst and the loss of confidence to project myself, grew fed up with the process I took towards rebuilding character and purpose. Out of nowhere came words to the effect that my inability to produce results was inimical to their social standing; I was the illuminant of a bastard.

To them, that was a kind of radical intervention to jar my senses, but it did the opposite. It fell into that rubric of dripping criticism, the kind that strips you of your dignity to force a reaction and their view of the right result. It is about them, rather than you.

Shedding Old Skin

For me, there was no second instinct; I ceased initiating communication from that point. It is the kind of talk the speaker believes is necessary, but which the listener, with an appreciation of nuance and the use of language, would find, basically, unforgivable.

Yet these examples might tempt a recipient to deem such incidents forgettable, until you are broadsided by the notion that you are living a fake life. I do wish a whole lot of things were fake: the losses, the cancers, some experiences, a few tragedies. But what kind of a life would that be?

Perhaps, for once, I am not remotely my own harshest critic when I allow myself the pleasure of living, of loving, of existing, and of doing my own thing, unbothered by what others think, because that is their problem and not mine. Yes, the words do hurt, but they must not dampen the spirit of the joy of living. Like moulting, or the shedding of skin, some old bonds need breaking for the renewal of self.

A Gemini Notebook AI Podcast on this blog

Thought Picnic: The Many Mirrors of Criticism

The Mirror and Its Drip

Criticism is a mirror, but not all mirrors are polished the same way. The polishing might bring clarity, or the mode of polishing might scratch the surface and distort what we see. When we look in the mirror, we hope to see the best reflection of ourselves rather than a caricature that makes us recoil.

Dripping criticism is subtle and persistent. It is the raised eyebrow, the “interesting choice” comment, the slow leak of disapproval that erodes confidence over time. A manager who says, every week, “We'll need to tighten this up eventually,” without clarity or support, creates doubt rather than direction.

I dare say this almost always comes from familiar settings: the parent who has constantly said something that becomes ingrained in memory, a habit formed with the intent to change yet one that does the opposite, creating tension, resistance, and resentment.

Left unchecked, those early and well-meant words settle into the inner critic we carry into adulthood, a voice that goes on speaking in a parent's cadence long after the parent has fallen silent.

Burning on Contact

Caustic criticism burns on contact. It is sharp, often clever, and sometimes public. “Did you even read the brief?” may get a laugh from bystanders, but it scars the recipient. Its power lies in humiliation, not improvement.

Its purpose is to reduce a person to insignificance; it highlights inadequacy in order to expose weakness. The person on the receiving end is likely to shrink, wishing the ground would open so they might fall into the crevasse. It is wholly unkind, the bailiwick of the sociopath.

Tearing Down

Destructive criticism tears down without offering a path forward. “This whole plan is a mess” ends the conversation instead of advancing it. It may be emotionally satisfying to the critic, but it leaves both the work and the worker diminished.

This goes beyond cynicism; it is the need to complain without helping or offering solutions. It sees the problem clearly yet fails to realise that identification is not resolution. There is a close cousin here in withering criticism, the scornful, contemptuous remark designed to make a person wilt on the spot.

It borrows the sting of the caustic and the finality of the destructive, which is perhaps why it is so hard to place: it wounds like the one and forecloses like the other.

Care and Clarity

Constructive criticism, by contrast, is anchored in care and clarity. It names the issue and points towards growth. “The introduction is strong. The argument would be clearer if you added evidence in paragraph two” respects both the person and the goal. It assumes capability.

This brings the best of helpfulness to the fore: empathy, guidance, and emotional intelligence, which engender growth and productivity. It takes a wholly different mindset. Yet every sort of criticism, given with the right intentions, can become constructive; it depends on motivation, desire, and drive.

Gentler Forms and Love

There are gentler forms too. Reflective criticism asks questions rather than making declarations. “What outcome were you hoping for here?” invites ownership.

Self-criticism, when healthy, refines craft and character; when excessive, it becomes an internalised drip. Cultural criticism challenges norms and systems rather than individuals, asking whether the rules themselves deserve revision.

Ultimately, criticism reveals as much about the giver as the receiver. The best criticism carries three traits: specificity, proportionality, and goodwill. Without goodwill, it corrodes. With goodwill, even hard truths can build something stronger than what existed before.

Its reach is wider than the work in hand, for over time criticism shapes confidence and character, bolsters or erodes self-esteem, tips us towards obstinacy or leaves us open to persuasion, and quietly colours the way we see the world; but that is a thread for another day.

Beyond goodwill, perhaps the real driver of the best kind of criticism is love: a deep love, concerned to bring about the kind of change in others that we wish for ourselves. The root of that is self-love, from whence springs the ability to love and to be loved in return.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

Tubing Down the Gullet

The Weight of Anticipation

Anxiety is a weight. It sits on your chest and bears down regardless of whether you are lying down, sitting, or standing. Anxiety also signals that the issues of life, though measurable in the brain, are situated in the chest cavity where your heart and lungs reside.

For instance, when you feel confident, you are likely to beat your chest rather than slap your head. Slapping your head, it turns out, is an act of self-deprecation in recognition of one's silliness or foolishness. Anticipation can create anxiety, and nothing quite causes that feeling of foreboding like the hours just before a long-scheduled medical procedure.

Lessons from a Previous Encounter

With hindsight, two years ago, after a multiparametric MRI scan, the consultant sprang a biopsy of my prostate gland on me without first reviewing the results or explaining the reasons. Even so, I was quite well prepared for the encounter.

I asked questions, demanded answers, and only acquiesced to the procedure once I was convinced of the need. The importance of reading up on your medical situation is paramount.

A Portmanteau of Procedures

Tomorrow, I am going for an Oesophagogastroduodenoscopy. I could have sworn that is not a word, but welcome to the world of medical terms that suggest a portmanteau of activities. The word reminds me of German, where portmanteau words are joined up with the letter "S". I would suppose, with medical terms, it is the letter "O", much like when I had that inguinoscrotal abscess last month.

In summary: I am having an endoscopy that will reach down through my oesophagus, past the gastrointestinal junction, to the first and shortest section of my small intestine. I have not deigned to measure that in miles, but it feels like a long way down to places never before visited, rather like the first landing on the moon.

Why This Procedure Is Necessary

This is pursuant to an investigation that presaged my visit to A&E after a choking incident which impacted my ability to swallow anything, including fluids, for hours. I was eventually discharged about five hours into my hospital attendance, after managing a sandwich and a drink. Taken alongside a history of choking events going back decades, and three such incidents since that discharge, this procedure is necessary.

Herewith, the cause of my anxiety: without a chaperone, I can only elect for the most basic palliative, which would be a numbing spray to the back of the throat, rather than a sedative.

Finding Peace

I believe I shall be fine. I suppose it is just part of human nature to be slightly concerned at that kind of invasive activity, and it is not helped by a mind full of others recounting their own endoscopic odyssey.

Shalom! Peace to my mind, peace to my soul, peace to my thoughts, peace through it all.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

In Wine, In Play, In Anger, and In Indifference

Wisdom From the Mother Tongue

Yoruba provides a rich seam of wisdom that, even as a second language, I have mined to find gems that sparkle and light my path. “Ibi eré ni à ńmọ òótọ́ ọ̀rọ̀” is a saying that has meant so much to me; it has made friends and broken relationships. “It is at play that the truth spills out.” That would be a liberal translation, and I'll stick with it.

The Romans arrived at much the same conclusion by a different route. “In vino veritas,” they said, “in wine, there is truth.” Where the Yoruba sage observed the loosened tongue at play, the Latin observer found it at the bottom of a cup. Two cultures, two settings, one shared recognition: the heart, given any opening, will speak its mind.

What reinforces that viewpoint comes from the words of Jesus Christ in the Bible: “A good man out of the good treasure of his heart brings forth good; and an evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart brings forth evil. For out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks.” (Luke 6:45)

A Watch Over the Lips

The unguarded expression, spoken without thought or consideration, regardless of disposition, is one reason why we need a watch on our lips. So says the Psalmist, in a prayer asking for divine assistance in controlling one's speech, preventing hasty, sinful, or hurtful words, and acting as a guard over what is spoken. (Psalms 141:3)

It takes only a moment of lacking restraint, and everything comes crumbling down: the dismissing of issues consequential to others, simply because there is no background to their stories beyond what surfaces at the point of interaction.

Yet everyone has both the prerogative and the right to be unburdened and unbothered by external issues. In some cases, silence trumps expression, but that requires a modicum of discipline.

The Many Faces of Unguarded Speech

Wine and play are only two of the settings where the heart slips its leash. Anger is another: the row that begins over a small grievance and ends with a cruelty no apology can quite retrieve. Tiredness is a quieter cousin, where exhaustion strips away the patience that ordinarily holds the tongue in check. Grief, too, can sharpen words into instruments that wound bystanders who happened only to be nearby.

There is also the casual cruelty of group settings, where a joke at someone's expense earns laughter, and the laughter encourages the next, sharper jibe. Social media has industrialised this dynamic; the keyboard is a kind of wine in itself, lowering inhibitions whilst removing the face that might otherwise have stayed our hand.

Then there are moments of fear, jealousy, or wounded pride, when the words we reach for are not the ones we believe but the ones that will hurt fastest. And let us not forget the seemingly innocent slip during gossip, where a confidence shared in trust becomes currency in another conversation entirely.

Seven Words, One Covenant

"I don't have the energy for this." Those are seven words that broke a covenant, though one can be certain they would be used to castigate me as truculent, impossible, and recalcitrant. My relevance is transactional rather than in recognition of my own journey or story. I have my own issues, but everyone needs to see themselves in the mirror, too.

Going back to the verse I quoted earlier, an interpretation would suggest that a person's words reflect their inner character, thoughts, motivations, beliefs, and emotions. The "heart" represents the core of one's being, and what is stored inside inevitably spills out through speech.

The Fool in the Play

As a student of myself, and sometimes of others, I have learnt a lesson about the heart once again. It does not take drink alone to loosen the tongue; play, anger, fatigue, grief, indifference, or just plain spite are enough.

You had better be attentive to what is being said before you become the fool in the play where you are also the lead.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

It's bad speech winning over free speech

It’s a bad speech issue

There are so many facets to the free speech debate but one thing I am convinced about is there is no limitation to the freedom of speech. What has really happened from viewing the quality of speech of many people with platforms especially in the political arena is expression had given up finesse for crudeness.

One could attribute this to lassitude in many areas, especially in reading, the reading of the classics, of philosophy, poetry, ideas, stories, and the forms of debate that mine the seams of the richness of language that challenge our thinking or excite our humour.

Weak forms from lazy

For instance, the kind of language and expression that the American president uses might appeal to the broad masses and make him an adept communicator, however, apart from the cachet of his powerful office that attracts all sorts of patronage, there is little to inspire from his speeches that elevates the quality of conversation.

The excessive use of comparatives and superlatives reveals a standard of mental indolence poorly served by lack of reading material that allows a broadening of the discussion, giving some flow to how words interact to persuade, even speechwriters will struggle to give those lips the kind of conviction that matches both personality and position.

Even the art of oratory, which is the skilful and effective public speaking is being lost, there are presently very few leaders of the world that could attend the United Nations and command the world stage with the quality of expression that would yield quotes surviving headlines of the next day. The pulpit shakers with their training in homiletics and hermeneutics barely make the standard of this is worth listening to again.

Do more reading

My argument is if people were well read, they would always find the form of expression to convey whatever thoughts they have elegantly without being misunderstood.

Giving thought to what you have to say before you speak needs a resource of usages and misuses studied before. Then we have the matter of a rich vocabulary, from books, novels, journals, and magazines rather than from cramming a dictionary, because context always matters in the use of words.

Then again, one does not need an elite education, just some curiosity and inquisitiveness, a willingness to learn and explore, because that opens the world of expression that unleashes freedom of expression.

I posit the issue has never really been an attack on freedom speech in the UK, people have just forgotten how to say nicely the bad things they are thinking. In the process, they have been caught out and to that, I’ll say, more fool you, or get smarter.

A fair friar

Hark the hack

It amused me when a notice went out with one of those words that confused homophones with synonyms, ending up in a malapropism. Workmen had sown material that a seamstress might have sewn into fabric, causing safety issues.

That such mistakes seem to jump out of the seam of the misuse of words is something I cannot help; I see words in patterns, and if something does not fit, it is at once obvious. The workmen were not farmers; I should not be looking for seeds, whether they would have heeded this issue clearly enough not to mistake their screwdrivers for needles, is another matter.

However, this thought was sown in mock criticism of my kitchen acumen, where traditional cooking methods honed through observation and application found the ridicule of trendy experiences.

Cooked in preserve

The stove, with its reliability, an old steamer abandoned after it stopped working, a whisking hook lost in the exhaustion of kneading dough, or slow cookers aplenty abroad, the expansion of one's culinary repertoire had barely suffered the onslaught of modernity, and the food was still good to taste after all the striving.

Having pooh-poohed the advent of the air fryer, the needling that followed, compounded over days, led to relent. There was no compliment on offer without having gained another to complement the electrical goods.

Chopped in searing

We trundled round the front of the building, maybe quite a stretch for peace to reign and a box too large to bear even evoked visions of Africa; women with babies on their backs and basins on their heads, bare feet making steps on concrete or macadamised pavements, we found a convenience that could be out of place in Manchester, if you cared that much.

The operator took the flesh and bone and placed them in the apparatus. A few touches on the top, chops, time, and start, were for 15 minutes what sent the trusty oven to Coventry. Though, for roughage, it was the steamer in full regalia, a role no other could play better, we were once damned with praise, an acquisition that might be exercised in culinary achievement yet unrealised.

The fair friar indeed had successfully proselytised and won a convert, that her sacrifice, which felt like a punishment, was soon redeemed in the serving of a meal.

How we live the life or death of our spoken words

Mind what you say

I was recently involved in a conversation that left me quite perturbed as my interlocutor stressed and hammed on about their difficulty with one issue or the other. Their belief in their precarity was such that I found it impossible to intervene and an intervention was dreadfully needed.

Usually, I stop or probably warn people about saying unwholesome and unprofitable things because I believe our speech has a spirit of creative energy and purpose. The words we speak carry weight about who we are, and how we think, and for all, consequently, define the circumstances in which we find ourselves now and into the future.

If you continue to speak about incapacity, inability, difficulty, and hardship, and hold expressions of pessimism that you inadvertently say with conviction, these words create the worlds around you and sadly you become a prisoner of your thoughts that have become your beliefs; what you say in words become your world.

Having the wrong perspective

It is a discipline to hold one’s tongue, choose words carefully, and keep one’s peace if we have nothing good to say about ourselves or others. Practising silence over expressing oneself might help review what we have avoided saying.

Then you ask, what best informs the background of thoughts that become words that show up as lived experience? You need a new perspective, a positive and progressive perspective, one that sees you in a different light, with opportunity, capability, and an unquenchable undefeatable spirit.

That is only possible especially if you are of the Christian faith, if you begin to see yourself as God sees you and then you say what God says about you.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ [that is, grafted in, joined to Him by faith in Him as Savior], he is a new creature [reborn and renewed by the Holy Spirit]; the old things [the previous moral and spiritual condition] have passed away. Behold, new things have come [because spiritual awakening brings a new life]. [Bible Hub: II Corinthians 5:17 (AMP)]

The new creation truth of knowing you have been reborn of God and living a new life is one we rarely grasp in any understanding or fulness, but knowing this change and that it is not one of effort, but of the grace of God is the beginning of renewal.

Know all good things about you

That the communication of thy faith may become effectual by the acknowledging of every good thing which is in you in Christ Jesus. [Bible Hub: Philemon 6 (KJV)]

We need to find out who we are from God’s perspective and acknowledge every good thing that is in us, not out of our own doing, but by and in Christ Jesus. Knowing this and thinking this along with seeing the great promises of God toward us would change our perspective and the words we begin to speak.

This brings me back to the crux of the matter, what we speak can create life or wreak the havoc of death, you would want to give life to ambition, to health, to prospects, to opportunity, to happiness, to the fulfilment of dreams and much else.

The tongue is a master controller

A good deal of this comes from what you have conditioned yourself to believe borne of the limitations of your perspective as a mere hapless human being or a creature of God’s manifest and limitless creativity.

Death and life are in the power of the tongue, And those who love it and indulge it will eat its fruit and bear the consequences of their words. [Bible Hub: Proverbs 18:21 (AMP)]

What fruits and consequences of our words are we living and is it time to start speaking differently by aligning ourselves to what God thinks of us and the value God places on us that he sent His only begotten Son to the world to save us?

“For God so [greatly] loved and dearly prized the world, that He [even] gave His [One and] only begotten Son, so that whoever believes and trusts in Him [as Savior] shall not perish, but have eternal life. [Bible Hub: John 3:16 (AMP)]

Please click on the links shared with the Bible verses to see parallel translations for more understanding and context.

Snippets caught of things said absently

In conversations badly recalled

In the fiery breast of a pigeon,
Burning with a life of Tabasco excess,
You forget to remember what had been,
The Vaselining of the throat for redress.

Suggest a remedy of salting your tea,
Deception wrought with a pocket full of ink,
Would the plumbing at midnight be,
With a pair of legless glasses as you blink?

Drought in bladderland

You’ve seen it all before

I guess when it comes to health and medical issues you must forget to be embarrassed and face things with, well, an injection of humour.

When I was in hospital in late 2009, I needed to have a shower and I was in such dreadful pain being supervised by a nurse. She pulled the curtains to shield me, but in that state of sheer vulnerability, it meant nothing to me.

I simply told her, "In your job, you have seen so much that I do not care for what you see now", as I invited her to scrub my back and hose me down. We can be precious about the common things, when in the hospital, honesty, frankness, openness, and truth matter more than anything to get the right outcomes.

A drought in the bladder

So, this morning I got a call from a nurse at the GP surgery, we know each other, and she wanted a sample that I could not produce on demand. Well, after waking up and everything with the ablutions there is nothing to give.

As the conversation progressed, I asked if this could be medically induced, like cloud seeding the bladder, that sort of thing, you should never give the medical establishment those kinds of thoughts to work on.

For want of a better word, we agreed that I could visit when I am pressed and at the surgery, I’ll be given a container for it. Then, it might just need fear or terror to unwittingly wet yourself, why that surprises me when I once had juvenile enuresis is interesting. All they want to do is take the piss.

Blog - Childhood: Atọ̀ọlé (October 2010)

Homeless, not hopeless

Among us all

There are moments that you observe as you walk around your city that present you with a time to reflect on the many blessings that greet us each passing day.

The grip of adversity can rob you of every kind of agency, the belief in yourself, the appreciation of human kindness, the facility for hope, and even a desire to live.

Hurdled in corners all around my city are the homeless and the destitute whose many stories are seen through just their immediate deprivation. There is more to them than what we see. Yet, there is no magic wand to wave with either determination or the almost limp-wristed suave of a sprite from the other world to change things.

Just a little

The burden of the issue is immense, you want to walk away and pretend certain realities are too great to countenance, but I saw a man in distress, he was crying and that touched me so deeply, that I turned and went to him to ask what the problem was.

He had a catalogue of woe to drown fish in its own habitat and I asked him to give me 15 minutes, he had probably heard that too many times to care about the truth of good intentions until I returned just about 20 minutes later having been distracted by an unfortunate situation.

His surprise at seeing me again, yes, I made a promise to a total stranger, but it was not just about him trusting me but a demonstration of knowing that my own words must count for something to myself. It is hence important not to vow rashly, for in not meeting it, your words begin to lose significance to you first and then to others.

More in him

In our exchanges, I found that he was going to be 50 and about to be a grandfather, you just never know if you do not engage, interact with, and deign to see another regardless of stature. One little thing can restore hope, give a sense that there is a tomorrow and help appreciate that no man is or remains an island.

He said he would lie down and say a prayer for me, I cannot remember the number of times we hugged, but that little moment of turning tears into smiles should be the broader story of our shared humanity.

I believe in angels, and many have been sent my way, in the depths of despair there is strength that tells you a better story is just being written.

Autism: Do you see what I see?

Taken at Woolworths in Rosebank, Johannesburg - February 2019.

It was not spelt right

Look at the picture above and have you noticed something? This is a regular conversation I have with Brian when he comments about my ability to see things others do not see. In my own view, I am left quite surprised it is not that obvious.

I cannot tell how it is that I see things in patterns, especially when it comes to words, there is an expected order and when things are seemingly not in that order, I notice. That is not to say I do not commit the same mistakes. What I have written and what I perceive is there could be two different things. It comes with the territory.

However, the number of times I have heard people say, “It’s only you that would see that.”, would suggest there is something, a gift or some irregularity that I possess demonstrated in these observations I cannot seem to keep to myself.

Sensory observations out of pattern

It was only two Sundays ago when in our church Sung Eucharist pamphlet where the credits for the hymns were written, the year of birth and death of one of the credited showed he had lived for 165 years. Who reads that? Well, I do and I noticed before I showed it to the dean after the service.

Yet, it is not just patterns in words, I sometimes hear sounds out of place even if my hearing is not that keen and for someone who has a lazy eye, the keenness of my vision along with the inability to use stereo vision to judge distance and speed is quite interesting. It just seems anything that is out of place jumps out to me.

I sometimes wonder if I should ignore these things, then, these observations can make for interesting documentation or conversation. I love the sight of the unusual, the irregular, the strange, the abnormal, the distinct, or maybe, the invisible to others. Somewhere on that spectrum of autism, the strange is just quite normal. It is the way we see our world.

Did you see it?

If you did not see what was strange about the picture above, Brian swears I saw it within a minute of getting to the restaurant and trying to place an order. My Instagram post about it appears below:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Akin Akintayo (@instaforakin)

Thought Picnic: If only we knew the truth

A runaway train at speed

We can so soon be carried away with the media frenzy and the dimensions of how a situation is portrayed, and this along with the commentariat spawns a world of imponderables and the utterly incredible.

Sadly, this is rarely within the context of the event or representative of the truth, but once sensationalism has grasped a story by the scruff of the neck, it runs away at such speed that the truth probably has no chance of catching up and correcting the impression made.

A moment to regret

Sometimes, the principals in the story in a moment of indiscretion, a lapse in judgment, or a poor choice of words with a microphone jabbing at their lips inform a sceptical audience of their intentions only to have opprobrium heaped upon them. By consequence, their causes and mission sometimes suffer irreparable damage, even as reputational risk is heightened.

There was a news story way back in 1987 that became the hallmark of a rather distinguished career that was quite impactful for another two decades. Between a kind of desperation to achieve for the good of the many and for a renowned public speaker, words that attracted derision over praise became a negative by which the person now deceased is remembered by the wider world.

The benefit of the good

In my own opinion, I strive to believe in the best of people and understand that they have faults and failings that do not necessarily make them nasty and irredeemable people. An old saying I learnt from a preacher over 30 years ago, feeds my inclination to ‘have as much sense as an old cow, eat the hay and leave the baling wire.’

This is what allows me to engage with people I may not totally agree with, yet the same people have gems of wisdom and knowledge that can be quite profitable to me. However, having absorbed the stench of the prevailing news story which had become a controversial and trenchant part of his biography I never researched any further but took it at face value of the reportage.

If only we knew

In listening to a message today, I caught a portion where the event was related by a witness with insight into the motives, intentions, and rationale of the person in question. You then realise for every story that gets told about you, there is probably little that could be done to arrest the juggernaut careering down the steep incline of gossipy and salacious interest. Some battles like that cannot be won, but you should not for the noise abandon your determination and purpose.

I put it down to a moment of human weakness and an unscripted poor choice of words. If everyone knew, they might have been forgiven. Then again, when a story has grown hairy and swift legs, it is unlikely the truth would be allowed to get in the way of a story about to breast the tape of notoriety, ignominy, and obloquy. Selah!

Inspired by thoughts and things

Disorderly words

Not for a while wrote I an ode,
To wit they ask you call that large?
For the many words to make the code,
Sit back and be entertained in a barge,
For in that we find a lovely abode.

Frequently the letters race about,
Never in the order that you seek to write,
When you do, you’re much in doubt,
Afraid that it won’t read as bright,
Yet all this is not for the clout.

Said him, I’ll show you what large is,
Obviously, it must be about what it means,
Not really with regards to all of this,
In the script that gives more than it leans,
Towards the world that’s sealed with a kiss.

You send me, yes, you do

You send me

I get caught in my thoughts about things I wish and hope for, the dreamy world of thrills and happiness envelops my thinking looking forward to something special and the stuff of wonder, miracles, fortune, and goodness that is love.

I have been consumed by this feeling like no other, even the memory of many loves past all put together does not attain my exhilaration at this, for they all add up to my understanding of what I know and believe I want and need.

The love and companionship that has lit up my world is amazing, and for all my skill with words, I am lost for the ability to express myself as well as I would want to. I know I am in love, and I am loved beyond measure, unconditionally, and so completely. I find myself wondering if I am deserving of all this, then I just go with the flow and feel the glow.

Thank you, Brian, for making all matter, making it make sense, and stealing my heart away to the place where it is nurtured, refreshed, rejuvenated and strengthened. You send me, darling you do, to places where dreams are dreams of realities too few would ever get to live. I’m in clover.

Funny writing blogs

Funny at a stretch

The funny things I write where funny could be interpreted to mean anything from amusing and humorous to utterly disagreeable and disturbing. Funny is quite versatile, and depending on context, you can only wonder what can be read as funny.

If I am being funny, I may not be making you laugh at my funniness even as I would like to entertain everyone with a perspective of things that hopefully would elicit a reaction better than fits of conniption. Indeed, my kind of funny can leave you feeling strange and cold by taking you to places you will rather not be, but some journeys are necessary.

Funny as in funny?

Obviously, what I intend and what is perceived might be worlds apart. If I now propose to make apology for what I express before it is written, I might bind myself in the wrong when there is no offence committed and things are portrayed as they are. I seek not to be misunderstood as much as I desire to be comprehended, I cannot account for the difference in the positions we might find ourselves when my funny is not all that funny.

If I then say in the corruption of a song by Billie Holliday that ‘these funny things remind me of you’, we can agree that it is probably that things that made us laugh, the things that make merry, the things we like to remember that means more about us than the things best forgotten. Let’s keep funny funny and see the humorous side of things that might not entirely be the funny we expect.

The funniest thing about this blog is one observation that Brian made some time ago, he said, “Darling, you can take one word and make a whole blog of it, I have seen you do that.” Funny that. Someone has been reading funny things in my blogs, I wonder if I am writing funny blogs or it is funny writing blogs. 

Words spoken lightly that land heavily

Words always matter

To mind what I say and choose the words I speak very carefully has always been something I have held close to my heart and in my communication. Words so easy spoken and forgotten by a speaker can be indelible markers on the listener and hearer to whom the speech is directed.

The choice of words, the order of the words making sentences, the delivery of words in emphasis and cadence, how that variance conveys meaning and intent whilst governing comprehension or misunderstanding, is an art in itself, of effective communication.

Words can be seared into memory deeper than they can be reached to be erased. In the unguarded use of words can be the seeding to an avalanche of destruction. Yet, with words, you can lift and elevate, encourage and bolster, bless and praise, turning things around in unimaginable and unexpected ways.

I have the surfeit of words and the economy of words, in what I write and what I say, if I have nothing to contribute, give, or say, then the absence of words in maintaining my silence and my peace is good too. Choose your words in the consideration of how it can affect people or situations and be constantly and totally aware of the effect of what you have said or written.

A trivia of collective nouns

Four and twenty blackbirds

I have always been fascinated by collective nouns, some so interesting you wonder how they come about. On my walks a few days ago, I came across an interesting sight, blackbirds I thought were crows or even rooks had settled upon the poles of a fence, but when I was speaking to the lady with her companion that feeds the birds, the other day, I used the collective noun embarrassment which I knew was wrong and she suggested parliament.

A parliament of rooks or a murder of crows

A parliament of crows, I thought when I next went by, but it was another few days before I saw a sufficient number settle on the poles of the fences to make it necessary to take a picture and tell a story. Then, she might be correct if the blackbirds were rooks rather than crows; the collective nouns are, a murder of crows or a parliament of rooks. Apparently, the collective noun for crows comes from superstition; the belief that they are harbingers of death sent by the devil or are witches in disguise.

An embarrassment of SANs

Rightly, it is an embarrassment of pandas, but I have also applied that collective noun to SANs, SeniorAdvocates of Nigeria, senior lawyers that the influential troop to the courts to intimidate the prosecution and the bench, usually in the tens that the cost of justice is prohibitive even when the defendant is guilty as sin but has more legal firepower than the state can muster.

I will not go into the list of collective nouns, but one that anyone would love to know for trivia is the collective noun for geese, they are a gaggle of geese on land, a skein of geese in flight and a plump of geese in water. Never give the wrong collective noun to the appearance of things or you are set for, should I say, am embarrassment?

References

Country Life: Collective nouns for birds

Merriam-Webster: A Melody of Harpers and a Poverty of Pipers

Wikipedia: List of animal names

Unfinished musings of incomplete thoughts

Missive arrive

On good authority, you will live,
If the wire you touched is not live,
You can be a driver,
Far away from the river,
If you had a fiver,
Please, spend it in Iver,
The surname of Gulliver,
Is definitely not McGiver,
For in English we always do strive,
With sounds and words that don’t forgive.

Not to cling when it has clung

String and strung

There are times we want to sing,
Yet have no idea what is to be sung,
Even if we had voices we could fling,
How far could that really be flung?
Everything that makes a good ring,
Is not what put you in the best rung,
For those who we seek not to cling,
They bother as to whom to be clung,
At that point, you hear a loud ding,
It is not the falling of solid dung,
Then you avoid it all with a swing,
And slap into a wall you have swung,
The pain and the cracking does sting,
Your folly and adventure left you stung,
A nurse with a poultice ready to wring,
On the sores and things that went wrong.

Do you feel the way that I feel?

Words with changing meanings

It is amazing how reading the meaning of a word in the past can have such an impact on your perception of the word as culture and norms shift. The impression you have of the word and its use in language in contemporary times might leave you shocked.

I know how knowing the use of certain words like 'bastard' in Nigeria could almost be a word of endearment in English, not carrying the original meaning of shameful illegitimacy at birth or of not having any acknowledgement of forebears. Derogatory as it might be depending in tone, it can be a synonym for rascal and that is not so bad as it was on a school report half a century ago.

Whether or not

One such word I used today in conversation with my mother about someone else was hypochondriac. She thought it was quite strong a word to use in terms of this other person. “A hypochondriac is someone who lives with the fear that they have a serious, but undiagnosed medical condition, even though diagnostic tests show there is nothing wrong with them.” [The Center for Treatment of Anxiety and Mood Disorders: Hypochondriac]

Yet, the word did clearly describe the situation without equivocation. It is understandable that once having suffered a condition that has been effectively treated, there might be a fear of it recurring. Doubtless, it is important patients are listening to, respected, and treated with courtesy. Essentially, they need to be believed, given not just the benefit of the doubt along with the full complement of medical attention and tests to verifiably prove the presence or absence of ailment.

With a sympathetic view

However, once the absence is proven and the patient takes a second opinion, without new discoveries, the condition might well be an anxiety disorder, to be addressed rather than ignored. Maybe, I am a bit ambivalent about this and I have to suggest all conditions regardless of the medical opinion need some sort of treatment and indifference is not one of them.

I guess the danger in the meaning of words is hypochondriac can be dismissive when it should be immersive, concerning, involved, and engaged, for the sake of the person presumed to be suffering from it and those who have observed that it might be the case.