Martial is back

 

"Patterns in the Palouse" by Gary Hamburgh

I logged on late yesterday - it must have been after 11:30 pm my time - to catch a bit of DJ Butch Diavolo´s set at Club Erotes/The Den, before going on to listen to my brother-in-law DJ Andrey at the Week-End Club in Boystown.

When I had arrived at Erotes and had said my hello´s I took a look at my friendslist just to check who was online. And then I got a big shock that brought tears of both joy, surprise and anger to my eyes. I am not really sure what I would have done if I weren't talking to Andrey at the time, most probably I would have lost it and logged off...

With my heart beating hard I told Andrey, "Guess who is online, my brother Martial..." or something to that effect. My emotions were in a total uproar, I was happy, sad, angry and nervous all at the same time. I couldn´t think straight.

The thing is you see, my darling, beloved and crazy brother Martial suddenly dropped out of Second Life late in the summer of 2009 (if I remember correctly). I was at a total loss to what had happened to him and was imagining all sorts of awful fates that could have befallen him, like being hit by a bus or murdered by a crazy one-night stand or something equally horrendous.

Ars was as usual good to me then, he calmed me down and told me there were loads of other alternatives for something like this to happen, things that were perfectly reasonable and that did not entail Martial being dead or lying helpless in a coma. After a long while I decided to believe Ars, still hoping that Martial was going to show up again someday. And indeed, now the day had come.

The next thing I told Andrey was, "Well, I am not going to talk to him...". I don´t know what made me say that, but as always Andrey knows me extremely well. He contacted Martial anyway, and told him to talk to me. I will always be grateful to Andrey for that, because of course I did want to talk to Martial, and I also needed to talk with him.

So when I got Martials first IM I felt like my heart would burst with the love I had always had for him, and all the things I wanted to ask him, all the things I needed to tell him about all the awful things that had happened while he was away and how happy, so very happy, I was that he was back again.

We talked tentatively for awhile but I told him from the start that I was too tired to go into details this first time. We must do that at a later time. I just wanted to know if he was doing OK and if he was going to be back in SL again after tonight. He told me yes on both questions, and I felt the relief flushing over me. I told him I was happy he was well and so very happy he was back and that we would talk it through at another time, because the shock and joy of seeing him online and talking with him was quite enough for the.moment.

Before we ended the conversation he thanked me for talking to him, and I told him he was one lucky s-o-b because I really wanted to strangle him. To which he of course answered, "I know". Smartass! He knew I didn´t mean it and that his comment would make me laugh. That was so good, because with the laughter I felt some of my anguish and anger go away. Martial always could make me laugh.

I am so happy you are back in SL with me Martial!

Dreaming Gujurati

We have a "Cultural Night" going on in my hometown tonight, so here is some culture for you heathens.

I first heard Shailja Patel just the other day, when she read her poem "Dreaming Gujurati" in a Swedish television program from the "Göteborg Book Fair" in Gothenburg, Sweden.

Unfortunately I could not find a video of Shailja reading this poem, so you have to read it yourselves - you lazy buggers.

Dreaming Gujurati
The children in my dreams speak in Gujurati
turn their trusting faces to the sun
say to me
care for us nurture us
in my dreams I shudder and I run.

I am six
in a playground of white children
Darkie, sing us an Indian song!

Eight
in a roomful of elders
all mock my broken Gujurati
English girl!
Twelve, I tunnel into books
forge an armor of English words.

Eighteen, shaved head
combat boots -
shamed by masis
in white saris
neon judgments
singe my western head.

Mother tongue.
Matrubhasha
tongue of the mother
I murder in myself.

Through the years I watch Gujurati
swell the swaggering egos of men
mirror them over and over
at twice their natural size.

Through the years
I watch Gujurati dissolve
bones and teeth of women, break them
on anvils of duty and service, burn them
to skeletal ash.

Words that don’t exist in Gujurati:
Self-expression.
Individual.
Lesbian.

English rises in my throat
rapier flashed at yuppie boys
who claim their people “civilized” mine.
Thunderbolt hurled
at cab drivers yelling
Dirty black bastard!
Force-field against teenage hoods
hissing
Fucking Paki bitch!
Their tongue - or mine?
Have I become the enemy?

Listen:
my father speaks Urdu
language of dancing peacocks
rosewater fountains
even its curses are beautiful.
He speaks Hindi
suave and melodic
earthy Punjabi
salty rich as saag paneer
coastal Kiswahili
laced with Arabic,
he speaks Gujurati
solid ancestral pride.

Five languages
five different worlds
yet English
shrinks
him
down
before white men
who think their flat cold spiky words
make the only reality.

Words that don’t exist in English:
Najjar
Garba
Arati.

If we cannot name it
does it exist?
When we lose language
does culture die? What happens
to a tongue of milk-heavy
cows, earthen pots
jingling anklets, temple bells,
when its children
grow up in Silicon Valley
to become
programmers?

Then there’s American:
Kin’uh get some service?
Dontcha have ice?
Not:
May I have please?
Ben, mane madhath karso?
Tafadhali nipe rafiki
Donnez-moi, s’il vous plait
Puedo tener…..

Hello, I said can I get some service?!
Like, where’s the line for Ay-mericans
in this goddamn airport?

Words that atomized two hundred thousand Iraqis:
Didja see how we kicked some major ass in the Gulf?
Lit up Bagdad like the fourth a’ July!
Whupped those sand-niggers into a parking lot!

The children in my dreams speak in Gujurati
bright as butter
succulent cherries
sounds I can paint on the air with my breath
dance through like a Sufi mystic
words I can weep and howl and devour
words I can kiss and taste and dream
this tongue
I take
back.

-----

Shailja Patel is an Asian-African poet and spoken-word theatre artist born and raised in Nairobi, Kenya .Patel has performed on stages all over the United States, Europe and Africa and was a participant in Poetry Africa 2007. She was also one of eight poets selected to perform in the Poetry Africa showcase at the World Social Forum in Nairobi in early 2007.

Waiting for Philip

Wizanna Hax gave me a scare in a comment on my previous post. So this is what I will look like while blogging in the future...

Boxers may be good enough for Borat Sagdijev (the fictional character created by Sacha Baron Cohen) but definitely not for Philip Linden, my favorite interim CEO of Linden Lab.

Welcome anytime Philip, I am now prepared for you, please don´t forget to leave a comment!

Kazakhstan discovers "Bock in SecondLife"

Woooohoooo! The amazing people of Kazakhstan have discovered my blog today. Welcome guys and girls!

Hyvä Janttu

The darling Janttu Winkler is my son in law in Second Life.

Janttu comes from Finland, all Finn´s love tango (well Finnish tango, which is a very special kind of tango), so here is some special music just for Janttu.

The singer is Mauno Hakkila in his rendering of "Täysikuu". He is very sweet and sings with great passion, so I am imagining it is what our darling Janttu will look and sound like in about 50 years...

"Hyvä Janttu, kiitos suuri sydän ja kärsivällisyydestä. Minä ja poikani rakastaa sinua väkivaltaisesti. Halauksia, Bock!"

A Great Photographer

Yesterday when I was looking for a picture to go with my post, I stumbled upon a wonderful photographer that I did not know of earlier.

I totally fell in love with his pictures and his vision, so I highly recommend all of you to take the time and strike up an acquaintance with Gary Hamburgh on his website "The Palouse Guy"

In a strange way Gary Hamburghs photography reminds me of Second Life, with a good viewer and the graphics set to Ultra with the highest draw distance. 

Back in Second Life

 

Photography by Gary Hamburgh

Well after a few days away from Second Life - due to a very bad cold in real life and the Swedish general elections - I headed back to my Second Life yesterday.

While I was away it seems all hell broke loose and hurt feelings are soaring high! It will take me some time to sort out what has happened, especially since it seems there are people I trust, love and respect on both sides of the trenches.

Not even the fact that the people that I know by experience to be deceitful liars and backstabbers are ganging up on one side will force me to jump to conclusions - for as I said there are people I love there also.

I will take my time and talk to my friends and the people I trust and let the dust settle. Hopefully we will all find a resolution to this. I will not allow myself to be manipulated into actions or reactions until I myself feel ready to do so.

No matter what happens though I will always stick with my friends, whatever side they are on, and hopefully they will stick with me too whatever side I end up on - if I feel I must chose sides.