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American Brains: A Reflection on Society

๐—›๐—ข๐—ช ๐—ช๐—˜๐—œ๐—ฅ๐—— ๐—–๐—”๐—ก ๐—ง๐—›๐—˜๐—ฌ ๐—•๐—˜?

American brains
Denied knowledge
Books burnt away
From

American brains
Herded back to
Stone Age
In the name of God
No
Redeem them
Father
For they know not
What they do
Sound
From Jesus
Uhhh, it ainโ€™t Easter yet, dude
Whatever

Silence of the lambs
Strangled on
The highway to hell
American brains
Burning on
Broken infrastructure
We are The World sense
Canโ€™t breathe
Under the rubble
Evil is born
Fear kneed-on-neck
Of the free world
Inside and
Outside of America
Felon re-given power
Highway to hell strangulations
Empowered
I canโ€™t breathe
Utterance
Emasculated
Rock yokes
On peopleโ€™s necks
Chained

American brains
Mental health issues
Case study
May be true
Maybe not the case
It is what it is
Bring back
The Twin Towers
Heal the land

American brains
Galloping
On
Horse medicine
Bodies hit with ultra-light
Running tummies
In one minute on
Felonโ€™s
Bleach-disinfectant cure
Spewing blood
In
Pandemic times
Thousands plus thousands
Died
20/20 vision gone
2024, felonโ€™s back
Scot-free

American brains
Lost the plot
Art of the deal
Defiled Lady Liberty
To no life
Suicide pack just signed

American Dreamโ€™ll
Never be the same
American Nightmare
Just got darker
A thing for horror movies

Hollywood cringes
Sugar glass crumbles
Golden glitter fades
Studious fall
Skies open
Heavenly stars beckon

Angels wonโ€™t fly
Waxen wings
Melted away
Black brains
Long for
The Dark Continent
They donโ€™t know
Roots go deep

Black blood
Coagulated in grief
Black brains
Blood-clotted in slow death
See redemption in
American brains
Venomous
Given white a bad name

Colour blindness a
Black curse
Hope is gone
Perished in the Atlantic
Walking on water
On the
Back to Africa trail

American brains
Black
Resilient
Sing
We shall overcome someday
Though
Thrill is on
Want to say it in
Latin
Donโ€™t work
Solidarietas
In White
Beyond Black bodies
American brains
Divide and rule
The real deal
England
Has never
Left this place

Hate
A thing skin-deep
Brains crusher
Immigrants beware
The dogs
Have come to America
Theyโ€™re coming for you
Whatโ€™re yโ€™all gonโ€™ eat today

Beneath skin
Blood knows no race
Knows no faith
Splash blood on
God
Sheโ€™ll be red
Amen
The Budha
Was human
Goes without saying
OM
Heartbeat stops
All decease
CPR
Same for
Ayatollah or The Pope
The rich and the poor
Flamboyant or hermit

Russian brains
Strewn over the steppes of
The fallen USSR
Katyushad to manure
In Ukraine grain soils
Become killing fields
In the name of
The Great Russian Empire
Resurrection

The past
Glorious
Recreated on stage only
Death in
Swan Lake
Stuff for fairytales
No brains dead
For real
On stage

The Bolshoi is open
Tchaikowsky is calling
The brain-dead
Canโ€™t hear
Have forgotten grace
Have forgotten how to love
Russian brains
Lost the plot

Middle Eastern brains
Blown up
Burning in midday oil
Expression
Burning the midnight oil
Turned around

Middle Eastern brains
Burning the midnight oil
Devise illusive conquest
Linear
One way
Another way
Generation after generations
Perpetual
Life-death cycle
Clockwise
Anti-clockwise
Donโ€™t know
Where to go

Middle East long turned
Into chessboard
Human massacre games
Played by infants
Obstreperous
Care not about
Pawns
Knights
Queens
Distinctions
Rules for fools

No brains
No cool
Midday oil burns
Sun donโ€™t set
Middle East brains
Infernos canโ€™t cease
A place called hell

The plagues
Never ceased
In
The Middle East
Hate
Burned clay
Buried in
Desert dunes hearts
Defied
American brains
Bush desert storms operation
On lies
Doomed to lose
From the word go
Bush fires
Unsustainable
In sand storms

Anointing oils
No longer godly
But for the
King of England
Sitting in Buckingham Palace
Watching BBC World News
Showing
Middle Eastern brains
Perish
In real life Armageddon
Could be Brexshit

Goodness gracious
When will this ever end
The King wonders
He should know
English brains
Have a hand in this
Age-old
Brain-spillage
Preceding the written word
On papyrus

Moses carved on stone
Godโ€™s
Ten Commandments
Love thy neighbour
Fell on
Brain-dead ears
From day one
Middle-East brains
Lost the plot
As it was in the beginning

Remains to be seen
Which brains
It shall be
That God shall will
To re-part
The Red Sea
For the
Middle-East brains
Omega
At last

It wonโ€™t end
There is no God
The Dead Sea is dying
The Red Sea is drying
Soon
Climate change for you
Mon ami

Far-Eastern brains
Build bridges
Connect China
With itself
Beyond the seas
Connect with Africa

African brains see
God in Mao Zedong
Turn a blind eye to
The Cultural Revolution
African brain pain
Chronic
Rivers run dry
No rains

Far-Eastern brains
Dragons
Burn no books
The brain-dead
Comprehend not
How
China is the future
Chinaโ€™s got the plot
Makes everything possible

We visit Tiananmen Square
Another place
Another time
Uyghursโ€™ voices are heard
The tiger roars
Gouge the eye out
No Rocky
On the movies in Beijing
Cry freedom brains
To see not
The future
We respond
For humanityโ€™s sake
God can wait
For brainsโ€™ sake

Pyongyang
Far-Eastern brains
Rejoice
Stone Age
American brains
Returned to power
Fest

Ginger Head
Rocket Man
Love letters
To resume
Second time around
Reckless
Nukes heads agitated
In the name of
World hegemony ambitions
World says to freeze
These brains back
To Ice Age
Ginger Head
Mr President 2.0
Wonโ€™t go to jail
American brains
Deranged
God save America
Anyhow
If youโ€™re there
๐—˜๐—ก๐——
ยฉSimon Chilembo 07.11.2024

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
November 16, 2024

๐—ช๐—”๐—ฅ ๐—™๐—ข๐—ฅ ๐—ฃ๐—˜๐—”๐—–๐—˜?

๐—” ๐—Ÿ๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ด ๐—ง๐—ถ๐—บ๐—ฒ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—บ๐—ถ๐—ป๐—ด

WAR FOR PEACE?
When humanity makes
War for peace
Devoid of love
Hate
The human nuclear fusion powerhouse
Holds humanity survival
Hostage
In wait for one
Hot-nutted manโ€™s
Testicular explosion
To start
The 3rd World War
Blowing humanity
Into annihilation
No historian will write about

Thereโ€™ll be
No victors
To tell no story of
Humanity burnt to ashes
Blowing in
Nuclear fall-out clouds
Blanketing emaciated
Planet Earth
Across the universe lost meaning
Humanity done trampling the soil
To barrenness
For life
Climate change could never do
A better job

No more ambition
No more brains
No more curiosity
No more dreams
No more exploration
No more fantasy
No more games
No more idols
No more jubilations
Independence a thing
Of once upon a time
No audience
No storytelling
No more memories
No more sex
No more God
No more hallelujah
Jesus just a small boy
Crucified by his own
On track to
Humanityโ€™s self-annihilation pursuits

No more scriptures
Unholy
In shadows of fear

No more cathedrals
Acoustics for
Angelic song voices
Blown up
Into mushroom clouds

Nuclear bombs wars
For you
Baby

No more lies
No more fortunes
No more gold
No more diamonds and pearls
No more black gold
Or is it liquid gold
From beneath arid lands
From ocean floors
Beneath heavy waters
Running wild
Caught up in the money trap

Call it
The greenback
The Euro
The Kroner

The Rand and
The Ruble
Archaic
Imperial Russia revivalists
Untenable Marxism alliance
Workersโ€™ Revolution
Corruption-soiled pipedream
Might as well keep smoking opium
Afghan poppy, needless to say
Vodka-drunk
Drown in
Castle Lager pools
For the Indian Ocean
Mahatma Gandhi
Could have taught them
A lesson or two about
The way of peace
In social transformation

The Yen or
The Yuan
Oriental mystic
Incense stickโ€™
Smoke
Dazes Africa to
Sleep
In sweet-sour
Bloodless neo-imperialism yokes
Subtle
In Shaolin Kung Fu
Mastersโ€™ dances
No murderous visions
In Tai Chi meditation trances
Peaceful conquest
In the landmass of the wretched
Yogaโ€™s bhujangasana
Broke Africaโ€™s back
Chant: OM
Namaste

Land of the Rising Sun
Got a rude awakening
In World War 2
Yet, fools of the world
Donโ€™t wanna learn

America-induced blood baths
Flow in rivers of the world
In charred after-World War 3 world
Planet Earth shanโ€™t recall
What a river once was
Blood not even a concept

Yet, America wants to make
A mad man rule the world
Four more years
May be the last
The longest
The permanent
As in
Stillness state
The other side of
I canโ€™t breathe
Last breath

Nothingness lasts
When thereโ€™s
Nothing to breathe

See you
On the mythical other side
We meet as atomic particles
In nuclear fallout
Feeding on itself

Mankind finally equal
In a state of nothingness
Humanity obliterated
From planet earth
For nothing
When air to breathe
Is free for
All
Living creatures
Freedom is
All
About that

In wars for peace
It doesnโ€™t work
Like that
America
Ought to know better
Today

In the Middle East
We could still be
Living in Biblical times
Quick sanded in
The Old Testament
Fighting vicious battles
As old as
A thousand Methuselahs
In
Who wants to live forever mayhems
For life
To the last man
The Tigris didnโ€™t save
Saddam
Weapons of mass destruction
Are here for real
Today

World War 3 knocking
On heavensโ€™ doors
For the chosen ones
And they say
Heavenly God
Loves us all
Discrimination from
The source
When all are born sinners
According to
The Scriptures
Satanic hell is a place
Packed in nuclear warheads
Once they all strike
Weโ€™re all gonna roast
Right here on earth
No escape
NASA crumbled
Space-X grounded
Space travel
Gone with the inferno
Branson last said
Would star with virgins
In Battle Star Galactica
Bezos last seen in the Amazons
Blue in the face

Heaven can wait
Humanity come to an end
Closed chapter of
Creationโ€™s darkest story
No one to read
Creationโ€™s wasted expression
Of itself through man

No more power

Elon Musk: spaXced out
Gangsters: garroted
Trumpsters: magnetized
Fascists: suicidal
All burnt-up excrement
Like everyone else
Reduced to
Carbon dust particles
Polluting the universe

Lonesome planet earth
Rotating on its axis
Ever since creation
Indifferent to
Love or hate
Humanityโ€™s creation

They could have chosen
Love
Weโ€™d live happily
Forever and ever
In peace
Writing human history
Infinite
In all forms
Through the epochs

Letโ€™s
Make love
Not war
Futile cry of
Language impotentized
Falling on imploded eardrums
We write it down
In love letters
Immortalize it in books
Catalogue them in libraries
Of the world
Anyway
Might survive
The apocalypse

Make history
Be not
Beast of war
Grotesque
Be apex-dog of letters
Read history now
You just might
Save Humanity
๐—˜๐—ก๐——
ยฉSimon Chilembo 2024

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
September 15, 2024

๐—ง๐—›๐—˜ ๐—ฅ๐—จ๐—ง๐—›๐—Ÿ๐—˜๐—ฆ๐—ฆ ๐—ฅ๐—จ๐—Ÿ๐—˜, ๐—ฃ๐—ฎ๐—ฟ๐˜ ๐Ÿฎ

๐— ๐—”๐—š๐—” ๐—”๐— ๐—˜๐—ฅ๐—œ๐—–๐—” ๐—ฆ๐—”๐— ๐—˜ ๐—”๐—ฆ ๐——๐—”๐—ฅ๐—ž ๐—”๐—™๐—ฅ๐—œ๐—–๐—”: ๐—ง๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—•๐—น๐—ฎ๐—ฐ๐—ธ ๐—ฆ๐—ผ๐˜‚๐˜๐—ต ๐—”๐—ณ๐—ฟ๐—ถ๐—ฐ๐—ฎ ๐—–๐—ฎ๐˜€๐—ฒ

Iโ€™m ever so fascinated by the USA. At first, it was the illusion of the Dream of America. This Dream of America still lures poor, mostly involuntary wretched souls of the earth hoping to taste heaven on earth before they die. Some get to believe that they have secured a better future for their offspring, just from the first step on the soil of the land of dreamers. Going down on their knees, they kiss the Dream of Americaโ€™s Mother Earth in deep felt gratitude.

The poor souls will have survived atrocities-extreme and/ or natural calamities in their original homelands in various parts of the world – elimination hole countries, as one elimination munching American mouth has called them. The stench of America emanating from the mouth nauseating the world. Like theyโ€™d be anywhere else in the world for they are human too, vile fortune hunters whoโ€™d eat their own mothers are also in the Dream of America rat race, abusing the poor hopefuls in all sorts of abhorrent ways.

The vile hustlers get to the land of Lady Liberty. They ride on the American Nightmare blood train, amassing the Green Back by any means. With the Dollar might, they burn and turn the land and the world red with their relentless destructive ways of relating to and managing society, to say the least of Mother Earth. Just hear them crap-talk Global Warming as a concept and reality. Sometimes I wonder if these cognitively inadequate people have their filthy elimination holes as the abodes for their brains. Scum of humanity.

My continuing fascination with the USA is about the elimination holes brains personalities fronting the American Nightmare discourse and social engineering efforts. I throw their supporters in the same boat of inherent or wilful ignorance and bigotry: dim-witted charlatans.  

Between 1960 and 1975, I was born and raised in a systemically racist, self-encaged, media-repressive, stifled African peopleโ€™s education, international relations pariah then-Apartheid South Africa. Elimination holes brains personalities fronting the American Nightmare want to establish a 21st Century Apartheid Dream of America state. A messy, costly, bloody lost cause.

From my childhood days in the 1960s to the mid-teens in the 1970s, the American Dream of heaven on earth was fed into my eyes through beautiful pictures of American life in carefully state-selected and censored magazines and movies. There were, of course, glimpses of pictures of violence on Black people here and there; also, those of gruesome assassinations of politicians and entertainers. Pictures of homeless people languishing on city street pavements, if not under bridges appeared here and there too.

But, the pictures of the glamorous Dream of America were overwhelming; from Miss World-type girls to style, automobiles, and New York City night neon lights, amongst others. The visual impact was accentuated by the sound of music. Some of them aware or not, Mega Stars across the musical genres sold the Dream of America more effectively than any other propaganda agents. In the South Africa of my childhood days, all the adult Jazz and Soul music lovers that I knew dreamt of going to America to see their favourite stars. Many believed that, given the apparent success of big names like Duke Ellington, John Coltrane, Louis Armstrong, Sam Cooke, James Brown, Ella Fitzgerald, and Aretha Franklin, to name but a few, America sure was Black peopleโ€™s The Promised Land. Little did my music-loving South African aunts and uncles know about the history of Black African peopleโ€™s slavery in the making of the American Dream economic might.

On the radio, jingles accompanying adverts of consumer items from cornflakes to tobacco always left me giddy in the head in their sweetness of melodies and painting of America as the epitome of high living. I couldnโ€™t wait to get to America to enjoy all these amazing products from the source. Man, imagine me drinking Coca-Cola sitting in the Waldorf Astoria New York in the company of an American Miss World! That used to be a truly compelling dream.  

And there was sport. Muhammad Aliโ€™s boxing prowess notwithstanding, his political outspokenness in the Civil Rights sphere painted the path for my journey to The Promised Land someday. Post-the-Apollo 11 moon landing of 1969, I would for many years in wonder gaze long at the full moon. I never had ambitions of flying to the moon, but I used to think that if America could send men to the moon and back, then, in America, I could be all the great things I dreamt of being when I grew up.

In reality, though, I only wanted to be a medical doctor so that I could operate on peopleโ€™s hearts like Dr Chris Barnard had done in Grooteschuur Hospital, Cape Town, on the 3rd December 1967. And I wanted to be rich and famous like the flashy heart surgeon. I was seven-and-half years old, then, and was already beginning to read newspaper headlines. Living in a highly politically charged environment whilst going to school in Lesotho at that time, I had already become an aspiring avid radio news listener. Therefore, I understood early that since I was not White, I could but with difficulty, perhaps, be a heart doctor in then-Apartheid South Africa. Instead, America would make me a great doctor, I earnestly believed.

From South Africa, via Zambia, I would end up in Norway 21 years later. I became a jack of many trades, but not a doctor. It is what it is. No worries. I have become an author; I write books. I am happy. I look at the USA with mixed emotions: feeling lied to, but not crushed. I am disappointed and appalled by the inhumane, parochial, and degenerative side of America that nearly half of the countryโ€™s population not only exhibits with impunity but strives to expand and perpetuate. All spearheaded by the insular, living-in-the-past racist White Supremacist MAGA America movement bent on establishing an Apartheid Dream of America state in the 21st Century.  

ยฉSimon Chilembo 2021

As I write and think, and think and write, I find that the sociology of the American Nightmare half of America is not in any way divergent from that which I left behind in my Black South African township, Thabong, Welkom. This is transferable to urban South Africa across the board from Apartheid days to the present.

South Africa is a perfect USA microcosm match in more ways than one. In that sense, itโ€™s just as well that Iโ€™ve ended up in Norway; a country by far better run than both South Africa and the USA. If the then-Apartheid South Africa came close to crushing my soul, the USA would have killed me already, I suspect. By the numbers, and by the guns, vicious MAGA America is more lethal than the pre-1994 South African township at any time, like-minded as they may be.

The regressive nature of American MAGA power relations dynamics is not different from that prevalent in Black South African townships. Iโ€™ll shortly demonstrate this in an exposรฉ of the Township Nightmare power relations personality traits. In the same vein, Iโ€™ll implicitly demonstrate that human personality traits are driven by inherent internal biological structures and processes that supersede race and ethnicity theories.

For example, a human heart as an organ is a human heart whether itโ€™s in the body of a male or female White, Black, or whatever colour of the spectrum person. Similarly, adrenaline is adrenaline; the nervous system is the nervous system. A certain neuro-hormonal imbalance will cause universally predictable behavioural outcomes cutting across race and ethnicity. That is how MAGA America can be understood in the context of the dark side of South African Black township culture. After all, South Africans and Americans are all human. Any human disease will similarly kill them if no necessary and recommended conventional medical preventive measures or curative treatments are given and adhered to. Needless to say, the recent COVID-19 pandemic caused havoc in much the same it did in South Africa as in the USA, including the rest of the world, of course.    

The underlying guiding idea in my exposรฉ is the consideration of psychopathy as an observable antisocial behavioural tendency amongst many MAGA America and South African Township Nightmare types.

Reacting to the strange, destructive behavioural tendencies exhibited by prominent American MAGA proponents, I, on October 13th, 2020, posted a comment on my Facebook feed. I have edited and expanded on the original text for this talk. And it goes as follows: 

HASSLE ABOUT PSYCHOPATHS  

The hassle about psychopaths is that they cannot listen to reason; itโ€™s beyond their cognitive capacities. For a psychopath, itโ€™s their worldview or nothing. Conventional Ethics (right v/s wrong) and Morals (good v/s bad) are irrelevant concepts to psychopaths.

Depending on where in the world you live, are you on the โ€˜nothingโ€™ side of a psychopath, they are likely to eliminate you in various ways. Youโ€™ll hear threatening expressions like, โ€œWe are coming for you!โ€. So, โ€œโ€ฆ if you fuck around with us, if you do something bad to us, we are going to do things to you that have never been done before,โ€ Guess Who.

As history documents over and over again, a dead opponent to a psychopath is the preference. Nevertheless, history is full of examples of how psychopaths in leadership roles across the board tend to have tragic demises. Google โ€˜world despotsโ€™, please! Itโ€™s free.

Despite its imperfections, where democracy works comparatively kind of okay, people shall seek to talk issues over through various established governance platforms, no matter how challenging or futile the exercise may be. In the end, votes are taken. Assuming a perfect world, outcomes are acknowledged. And the winner takes it all. Life goes on.

Democracy allows for election outcomes to be challenged when irregularities have been observed at any point during the process. Or even when the losing side just wants to be a nuisance. Democracy in practice can stand a lot of crap. Psychopaths thrive on the latter fact.

As current history unfolding shows somewhere in the world, when psychopaths win, humanity gets ever closer to thresholds of self-annihilation. Therefore, be ever so careful about who you elect to power in your land. Donโ€™t allow yourself to be charmed by the cheap-feelgood-chronic-diarrhoea-like buffoonery antics of psychopaths.

If you donโ€™t know how to identify a psychopath, call my number. For Iโ€™m not a medical doctor, Iโ€™ll guide you through an illuminating philosophical discourse that works all the time. Itโ€™s all about, amongst others, a solid academic and professional training background. Go to school. Acquire knowledge for human progress. Take your children to school. Read much and well. Pass exams clean; donโ€™t cheat. Donโ€™t burn books.

Ultimately, the reality is, though, there is a psychopath in all of us. Summarizing my philosophical discourse on what attributes to look out for in deciding, after analyzing a personโ€™s socio-behavioural incongruencies, whether they exhibit psychopathic tendencies or not, a close brother-confidant of mine once said, โ€œSo, a psychopath need not be a raving mad personality in our midst?โ€

Yours truly, โ€œYepp, thatโ€™s right!โ€

Brother-confidant, โ€œIt means, then, that a psychopath may be the everyday smart-looking person sitting next to, or in front of you right now at any place?โ€

Yours truly, โ€œSure thing! But itโ€™s all about relativism, see? Know thyself!

ยฉSimon Chilembo 2019

Whether or not I have a personal or some other human aspects relationship with the concerned, my labelling of a person as a psychopath is my pre-emptive self-preservation measure. This also helps me to put into perspective events in my immediate and distant worlds given who the dominant actors are in the different parts of the world, them sharing or not sharing common interests.

In my private survival instincts world, I donโ€™t need to have a medical doctor to declare for me whether I am dealing with or am observing a psychopath in my immediate spaces or far out in the wide, wide world. Descriptively, I know a psychopath when I see one. I then behave accordingly to protect myself and my own in the face of actual or potential psychopathic onslaughts upon us. Itโ€™s a doctorโ€™s job to diagnose and treat the patient accordingly. They can take all the time they need.

And, talking about personal survival instincts, I had on an earlier Facebook post declared that โ€œUncivility is an effective manner of attaining some degree of civilized talks with psychopaths. Communication leads to mutually desired outcomes to the extent that involved parties apply the same language and familiar terms of references.

โ€œFailure to break through psychopathsโ€™ noise and deficient knowledge barriers should lead to withdrawal from talks, if feasible.

โ€œOtherwise, the fools must be isolated, if not excluded from civilized social interactions. In the worst-case scenario, it may be necessary to eliminate them. Diplomacy has to have limits even in the free world.

โ€œDemocracy is designed to neutralize our passions in common human relations interaction spaces and circumstances. Wars and societal collapse are direct outcomes of lunatics being allowed too generous opportunities to play out their antics for far too long.โ€   

Any reasonably intelligent person whoโ€™s gone to school and can read, think, see knowledge linkages, and can thus synthesize functional, universally applicable explanatory models towards understanding how life works on earth, can read many a professional text and make sense of it. If they donโ€™t understand, they ask as a matter of course; they actively seek more information from relevantly knowledgeable human sources or books and other information storage and distribution facilities to debunk or confirm initial conclusions made. This is called research.

Through my various learning pursuits in my time, my private operational definition of what constitutes psychopathy or not is based on readings of publicly available subject literature that is written and wilfully published by qualified medical personnel of various specializations and levels of academic and professional standing across the globe. This includes literature publicized by a plethora of international human behavioural sciences professionals. Google this shit!

Donโ€™t let yourself be intimidated by the arrogance of power from doctors, psychologists, and others whose professional literary works we all, with much admiration, flock to in our efforts to study and better understand the overall complexities of human nature. If they donโ€™t want us free spirits to speak about human wellbeing issues, then, they must withdraw their publications. They must cease making their expertise publicly available reference materials in libraries and social media.    

Simon Chilembo
Oslo
12.10.2020

I wrote the exposรฉ essay of the South African Black Township Nightmare power relations personality traits on May 29th, 2021. Posted in my blog on the same date, the exposรฉ bears the title:

THE RUTHLESS RULE

Kassie Jungle Law: Only the Strong Survive

In my never-ending attempt at seeking to make sense of events in the world today, I, as a reflex, regularly look back at the first fourteen-and-half years of my life in South Africa, 1960 June โ€“ 1975 January. Growing up in the then-racist apartheid state has profoundly impacted my life. Day-to-day living was ever so dramatically charged. Such that, on the one hand, one could but choose to numb oneself to the volatility of emotions, if not traumas arising, and live on disenchanted and detached from the gruesome, disenfranchised reality.

On the other hand, one could look at, hop onto the intricate traumatic feelings and thoughts bandwagon, learn survival ropes, and hope for the best; longevity being a remote idea. Wishful thinking. Although the OPEC oil crunch of the early 1970s had already begun to make its mark globally, this period could easily be seen as the golden years of the apartheid regimeโ€™s economic might. The oppressed Black population segment was subjected to extremes of state security agenciesโ€™ violence.

Oppression is some costly business. It curtails human resources’ productive potential growth and manifestation. Atrocious. Oppression will last to the extent that the oppressorsโ€™ financial base remains sufficiently robust to sustain the oiling of the oppressive state machinery at all levels. Money talks. Money rules.

As it is with South Africa, a countryโ€™s endowment with a variety of natural resources that the world is willing to pay generously for is of crucial importance. Oppressors maximize their hold by capturing the wealth of their nations, therefore. They personalize their wealth, becoming super-rich individually and along with their family members, as well as their power clique hounds: oligarchsโ€™ fangs drooling kleptocracy and nepotism poison in everything they touch. At the same time, their nations get caught in quagmires of long-term poverty and international indebtedness

The Soweto Studentsโ€™ Uprising of June 16, 1976, would not only change the liberation struggle course. It changed the political landscape of South Africa as well; further weakening the oppressive stateโ€™s capital base. Apartheid had to ultimately collapse. Not because somebody woke up one morning and suddenly discovered that the system was diabolic. The fact is that it simply was no longer economically viable. And prospects of any meaningful bounce back were bleak. Added pressure from the international trade sanctions had brought the country down to its knees.  

The effective brutality of the apartheid regime reproduced itself across the entire Black populace by default โ€“ in the home; at absolutely all levels of social interaction. That is visible to such an extent that the nature of fundamental survival power relations dynamics cultivated then amongst Black people themselves have endured. It is manifest at even more sophisticated, grander scale, and more destructive levels in keeping with societal management complexities and technological advancements of the times in the 21st Century.

During the apartheid domination years, many a Black South African exile carried along with them these survival power relations dynamics into the Diaspora. Not that it helped the concerned exiles much from the point of view of applying the same survival strategies as generally functional in the township, or kassie culture in Black South Africa. Kassie is a corruption of the Afrikaans language word, lokasie; which means location. Observing, establishing, and maintaining links with fellow South African exiles has kept my fascination with the Black peopleโ€™s fundamental survival power relations dynamics alive during all these years.

Post-1994 South Africa has also been accessible to me. Itโ€™s the land of my birth, the land of my familyโ€™s maternal-side ancestry, after all. Thirty-eight-and-half years since living abroad, I returned to stay in the country for five years, 2013-18. As such, I have been in touch with the trends in the land all along. Much had changed drastically at about all levels. However, characteristic personal survival attitudinal attributes have remained constant. I shall dwell on these later on in this essay as I unravel prerequisites for the workings of the ruthlessness of kassie jungle law rule.     

Kassie is a funky catchphrase these days. But originally, it essentially implied a slum; not much unlike Brazilian favelas, for example. In practice, the meaning hasnโ€™t changed in any big way. From the colonial era, peaking during the apartheid years, and stretching into contemporary times, tens of thousands-upon-thousands-to-millions of Black South Africans were dumped here. It initially was predominantly male labourers working in the mines and the agro-industrial complex.

There would be a few state functionaries and even fewer professionals in various vocational categories here and there. Much as there would be numerous fortune hunters engaged in all kinds of illicit endeavours; from petty crimes to large-scale organized crime activities involving alcohol, drugs, precious stones and metals smuggling, human trafficking, prostitution, and more. Family units would eventually emerge as a natural human development process, of course. Children would be born, raised, become adults, lead miserable lives, and subsequently die; the indignity of poverty accompanying them to the grave. Causes of death varying, from murder to illness, if not natural causes.

Prevalent land conditions are far from prime in the townships. This makes the construction of decent domiciles a daunting challenge for impoverished people. Sustainable subsistence food production from the land is near impossible. Minimal to total lack of functional social amenities comes with the package here. If there was anything prime about the original townships, it was the potential to induce and generationally perpetuate poverty with all its attendant maladies: disease, moral decay, ignorance. All that to facilitate self-annihilation amongst Black peoplekill them; let them kill themselves; create space for more European trash to come to work, settle, and add to the growth of the white population in the country.

Conditions are even worse these days, taking into consideration, since 1994, the influx of millions of refugees and fortune hunters from war-torn, dysfunctional African states to the north. Others come from other parts of the world, especially Asia. Competition for limited resources and liveable spaces in the townships has spiked exponentially, apparently in favour of the new immigrants.

Many of the new immigrants come into South Africa with more by far international hustling experience: higher academic qualifications and vocational experience in both the social and natural sciences, military or guerilla warfare experience, and all that it entails โ€“ daring nature, PTSD, and other related outcomes. They also have investment capital for entrepreneurial ventures in various fields, often starting with small-scale grocery stores called spaza shops.

The latter attributes above are often accompanied by extreme manifestations of arrogance of power towards the locals, who are considered to be intellectually lacking, lazy, and fearful of White people, who still own the land, anyway. Itโ€™s hardly surprising, therefore, that strong anti-immigrant sentiments have mushroomed across the country, culminating in several outbursts of brutal xenophobia-inspired violence in recent years.Afro-xenophobia expression is ascribed to South African Black-on-African Black violence. In keeping with characteristic basal kassie culture, violence is the first instinctual option to eradicating conflict. Tragedy is ever the outcome that never brings forth solutions for a peaceful co-existence for all in the country.

The reality of the matter is that, much like the Ununited States of America, South Africa owes much of its economic might to the historical inflow of migrants from all corners of the world. As Iโ€™ve already implied above, these people bring into the country a wide diversity of creative/ intellectual/ academic, productive, and entrepreneurial skills that contribute to the robustness of the countryโ€™s vibrant economic and social advancement in the long run.

Thereโ€™ll always be a few bad apples here and there. But assuming a functional justice system prevailing in the land, relevant policing and legal institutions are there to deal with lawbreakers. South Africa is truly a multi-cultural melting pot. Bishop Desmond Tutuโ€™s broadly embraced Rainbow Nation nickname for the country supersedes discrimination neither based on race nor origin of the people that call South Africa their home, either by birth or immigration.   

From an epistemological perspective, it is clear that the concept of township/ location/ kassie in South Africa was never meant to create ideal, conducive conditions for Black people to thrive and propagate themselves; neither to attain ever higher standards of living in time, in pace with national economic growth prospects.

The rise of apartheid economic might was at the expense of the lives of Black people, both at the hands of the apartheid state security machinery, and intra-Black violence across mainly urban South Africa. Many other Black lives were also lost through fatal accidents and occupational diseases in the agro-industrial-mining complex. Functionally concerning apartheid intentions, townships were supposed to provide temporary shelter for lives destined to be โ€œโ€ฆ solitary, poore, nasty, brutish, and short.โ€

But then again, survival instincts abode in all humanity. People can remain wretched only for so long. If they are not wiped off from the face of the earth, they shall engage in all sorts of means to prolong their existence. Perhaps fate can change for someone, someday: break the bonds of subjugation, rise and liberate the people, and, ideally, live happily ever after in boundless abundance.

In the meantime, at the individual level in the South African kassie context, survival was and still is about ruthless โ€œsemphete ke o feteโ€ (Sesotho: donโ€™t overtake me, I overtake you โ€“ the rat race) tendencies. Here, the strong survive. The ruthless rule; applying cruelty as their claim to prosperity and longevity.    

Brought forth, elaborated in my Black South African context, and set in alphabetical order below are personal dispositions Iโ€™ve identified as being cardinal for relative individual survival and ruling potential in the South African kassie culture of violence. That as a tool for understanding the nature of human relations power dynamics, and consequences thereof, at all levels of contemporary society, both locally and globally (In the latter, i.e., globally, the USA fits in like a glove). The respective attributes may be understood regarding the identification of the individual as to who they are, and what their social standing is concerning behavioural phenomena observed of them. In essence, this is the making of despots ekassie, a microcosm of the Dream of America nightmare:

  • Bodomo (street parlance โ€“ Setsotsi) is derived from the Afrikaans word dom. Alternatively bokwala (Sesotho), it means stupidity; downright idiocy. Amidst events, act like you donโ€™t know whatโ€™s going on. Go about your daily business indifferent as to whether or not you cause others harm in your endeavours; you lack empathy. You are not interested in reason; you are obstinate like hell. You are a denialist. You are a revisionist. 
  • Bokhopo (Sesothois crueltyWhen it is deep-seated, merciless, non-benevolent, and non-repentant it is called khohlahalo in the same language. Rule by absolute iron-fisted fearsomeness. Without exception, anybody transgressing you in any way shall suffer the full ruthlessness of your wrath in line with the nature of the offence and the choice of punishment you dim fit. The line between life and death is often very thin here. This tends to elicit baffling loyalty from your cohorts. Much to the bewilderment of your detractors.
  • Ho tella (Sesotho)/ ukudelela (isiZulu) is an uninhibited show of lack of respect. Total disdain. You are brazen. You bulldoze your way through towards the attainment of your power or material acquisitions, and other egocentric ambitions. In your interpersonal and other relations in the community, itโ€™s your rules or no rules at all. 
  •  Lenyatso (Sesotho) is the root of ho tella and leqhoko, immediately above and below respectively. It means to undermine, to belittle other people. Tools applied include patronization, ridicule, insults, unjust criticism, passive aggression, isolation or exclusion, subjugation; all propelled by jealousy and/ or feelings of threat irrationally perceived or real because the victim may, indeed, be the better person in many respects. The idea is to crush the victim, cut them to size, and put them in their place of insignificance. This is pure mental and emotional abuse that often easily degenerates to physical abuse.
  • Leqhoko (Sesotho) is provocativeness. Be agitative even out of nothingness just so your presence is noticed, is not forgotten. Be relentlessly disruptive. Cause havocbe an ass. Instigate and sustain fear. Use all means at your disposal: bully, defame, riot, vandalize, pillage, depose, fight, maim, kill. Ultimately, emerge as the leader of the pack; level-headed and solution-oriented, if only to cow and manipulate the terrorized towards aiding to secure attained dominant safe position.
  • Mamello (Sesotho)/ Qinisela (isiXhosa/ isiZulu) refers to tolerance capacity; endurance in both hard and good times, depending. Good times are generally no big deal. But in hard times, practice self-preservation by keeping to yourself and your own. Hang in there. Stay away from trouble. Be invisible. Make no noise. Cultivate hope. Keep the faith because everything is going to be alright someday. Persevere.

    For the mighty, though, mamelloukuqinisela means staying the course no matter what: keep on pushing; stand tall, donโ€™t fall. Never, never, never give up! Never change the course of action once commitment to act in a certain manner is made. Here, mamelloukuqinisela becomes an interplay of bodomo, bokhopo, ho tella, leqhoko, and manganga in variable doses and combinations according to the circumstances prevailing at any one time and space.
  • Manganga (Sesotho)/ Inkani (isiZulu) is absolute stubbornness. Take a stand, be resolute to the very end, whatever the cost. Whether or not original intended goals are attained is not the essence. You are defiant to the extreme. Stay rock-steady as a matter of principle because you cannot be wrong, or you cannot be denied your demands. You are the truth. You are the light. If you are not the son of God, then you ARE God! Your opponents shall declare you as deranged, delusional; but that doesnโ€™t bother you at all. You are mmampodi (Sesotho)/ champion; you rule. You live above the law. You own your followers through and through. Each one of them understands that you are their life saviour.

    A street parlance (Setsotsi) adage goes like this, โ€œMaziwaziwe, mazโ€™bidlikazโ€™bidlike! (isiZulu)/ If they (e.g. towers) fall, they fall; if they collapse, they collapse!โ€
    It is what it is.

    Tyrants, hard-core conspiracy theorists, and charlatans fall under this category. So, in the USA, Coronavirus is just the common flu; โ€œโ€ฆ itโ€™ll disappear just like a miracle!โ€
    Not forgetting The Big Lie that Joe Biden and the Democrats stole the presidential elections of November, 2020. And then supporters of The Big Lie insurrect The Capitol peacefully like tourists, leaving destruction and carnage behind. Very special people that The Big Lie spinner loves.
    You can also do an egotistical, parochial, typically false premises pushed brexshit and pull your country out of a body of international solidarity in the Western world.
     
    Neither does State Capture exist in South Africa. You know none in your family that has contracted AIDS in South Africa. Therefore, it doesnโ€™t exist. Step aside rule in the ANC? Whatโ€™s that? If you are indeed going to fall, you donโ€™t go alone. You are vindictive. 
  • Sebete is a Sesotho word for liver.The liver is considered to be an organ of courage in my part of Black South African culture. A courageous person is said to โ€œhave a liverโ€/ O sebete. Courage is a common thread linking all survival, or power attributes in kassie.

Ho sa (Sesotho, noun), lumps together the attributes above into one virulent trait: petulance as gross as only an extremely spoiled brat can display. The descriptive form of ho sa is โ€œO sele!โ€, meaning โ€œHe/ she is petulant!โ€   
People of all ages manifesting ho sa as a characteristic social interaction trait are some of the most dangerous a community can have. Makings of despots emerge here.  

Underpinning the relative kassie individual survival and ruling potential laid out above is the question: O tshepile mang (Sesotho)? Which directly translates as, โ€œWho is it you trust?โ€
Whoโ€™s covering your back?

Simple as the question might seem, it is not necessarily a daily conversation question posed in my original part of Black South Africa. The question is profound to the extent that it is asked a person directly, or others are asked about a particular individual when the latterโ€™s negative behaviour defies not only mainstream social protocols across the board, but sheer common sense as well. It is believed that there must be some extra-ordinary qualities, some mystic about these kinds of people. For example:

  • What gives them the guts? What makes them tick?
  • Whose progeny are they? What are their lineages?
  • Do they have some guardian angels, perhaps? In that case, who are the latter? Where are they?
  • What do they have that ordinary people do not have?
  • Are they working for somebody even more powerful than themselves? Who are these people?
  • Are they protected by God? Ancestral spirits? Wizards and witches?
  • Or are they just raving mad, sick in their heads? Are they bewitched?
  • Do they have magical powers themselves? If so, from where do the powers derive?
  • Are they members of some organized crime gangs? Or some secret societies? The Illuminati?
  • Is it just because they are too rich? But where does their wealth come from? 

Itโ€™s only if and when sufficient knowledge about these treacherous people is gathered that concerned individuals or the community can effectively react to get rid of them in one way or another. Itโ€™s not unusual that the former fall from glory in the most dramatic and humiliating fashions; those who lived by the sword dying exactly as they lived. Such is kassie life. The ruthless rule but momentarily.

The strong are often the smart with senses of moral and ethical awareness. They tend to survive, break out of the mould of kassie misery and ignorance, and live longer. Some in this category will in time even travel wide and see the world, permanently breaking the spell of kassie anti-life attributes. Expressing themselves through diverse media and creative and performance forms, they may also become proponents of liberty, justice, and equality as fundamental Human Rights tenets all of humanity on earth is entitled to.  

Meanwhile, South Africa has yet to cleanse itself of the kassie anti-life attributes spell, to the extent that itโ€™s possible. However, given the current display of elite kassie mentality antics in various judicial and organizational platforms in the country, it is clear that much more work remains to be done at this rate. Well, cumulatively from the onset of contemporary European colonialism in the 17th Century up to the apartheid era in the 20th Century, the mechanizations that facilitated their imposition had at least four hundred years to dehumanize my people and screw up our psyche. The Rainbow Nation is only twenty-seven years old.

Khotso is a common Sesotho name for South African males. It means peace. The female version is Mma-Khotso both as a formal name and may denote that the woman is a mother of a boychild called Khotso. The name has significant connotations. In practice and conceptually, peace is a universal prerequisite for progressive human co-existence. That making for harnessing humanityโ€™s creative potential towards a sustainable, infinitely fulfilling life for all. The South African national anthem, Nkosi Sikelelโ€™ iAfrika! (Nkosi Sikelela) is essentially a cry for peace, captured in the Sesotho text:

Morena boloka sechaba sa heso/ Lord Almighty, save my nation
O fedisa dintwa le matshwenyeho/ Bring an end to strife and suffering  

Were the ruthless and the smart kassie people of South Africa and beyond to realign their attitudes and heed the message of Nkosi Sikelela, the future would be bright for all. I want to be here in four hundred years to gloss in the glory of the heaven on earth that South Africa and the rest of the world will have become. I sit here in a space of relative peace. I breathe. I dream. I write. I make YouTube videos. Ever conscious of the lasting impact that my kassie life background has had on me, I have every reason to want to choose to be hopeful.

I can be hopeful about the future because I am happy all the time. Watch this video here to see how you can be happy all the time, and make somebodyโ€™s day every day into the future.    


SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
May 29, 2021

๐—Ÿ๐—ข๐—ฉ๐—˜ ๐—Ÿ๐—˜๐—ง๐—ง๐—˜๐—ฅ๐—ฆ ๐—ฃ๐—ข๐—˜๐—ง๐—ฅ๐—ฌ

๐—ช๐—›๐—˜๐—ก ๐—ช๐—ข๐—ฅ๐—ž ๐—ฆ๐—ฃ๐—”๐—ฅ๐—ž๐—ฆ ๐—–๐—ฅ๐—˜๐—”๐—ง๐—œ๐—ฉ๐—œ๐—ง๐—ฌ, ๐—ช๐—›๐—”๐—ง ๐——๐—ข ๐—ฌ๐—ข๐—จ ๐——๐—ข?

DISCLAIMER

I am not an employee of NAM (Nasjonalmuseet/ the National Museum of Art, Architecture, and Design). I work at NAM on behalf of an outsourced service provider, in which I have full-time employment. This presentation today is one of several literary creative inspirations that I have so far gotten whilst performing my formal duties at NAM. The presentation is unsolicited, and it is done with no inherent ulterior motives. It is done and delivered with but the best of intentions, without fear or favour. 

Neither NAM nor my employer can or must be directly nor indirectly associated with the thoughts, opinions, and sentiments I am going to express in this presentation. I alone am responsible for the contents herein. I hope, though, that the output shall be of a quality and standard that shall cause neither embarrassment nor disrepute for both NAM and my employer.

The inspirational moment, and its subsequent outcomes, i.e. poem, publication in a book, and the social media video recital here would have happened regardless of whether or not I worked at NAM. All that needed to happen was for my eyes to fall on the particular inspirational object. It could have been anywhere, at any time. It just happened to be at NAM, Oslo, on October 28th, 2022 this time around.

As I walk through, back and forth, round and around in my professional errands in the various public exhibition spaces in the museum, the vast variety of objects on display works my emotions and thoughts in phenomenal ways. Many a time I feel like I see myself floating in this boundaryless enclosure that is an intermingled environment of what Iโ€™ve gathered of ideas of heaven and hell. In this environment, the material and the conceptual are all merged into one new reality that defies human speech for description. The opposites as we know them on the earthly plane cancel out one another in this strange new reality. And it doesnโ€™t matter.

For example, in this temporary but recurring new reality, I donโ€™t see the environment as I do with my eyes distinguishing between normal light and darkness. The sensory organs donโ€™t work in the conventional way here. When I expect to hear a sound in my head, as from observing a painting depicting fire, somehow silence claims its space. Itโ€™s in conflicting but harmonic moments like these that I get lost in time and space.

And, in silent thunderous flashes of light, clouds of inspiration engulf my thoughts with darkness. Through this haze, I get to sense words in either written or spoken forms. In this state of mind, I lack a background upon which to base my experience of these words that I hear in what I perceive as silent sound in stationary motion. This is how my writings come to be. Preserving my sanity, thereby. I appreciate art for what its charming beauty and its irresistible goriness do to ever kindle my creativity. A work of art has not moved me if my response to it does not inspire an expressive textual idea in my head.

Immersed in the writing process, I do not create writing ideas from nothing. My writing ideas are stimulated through my responses and reactions to my actual interactions with events and attributes of my environments at any one time. It is not always that the writing idea shall be manifest at all. It is one thing to have an inspiration, and it is another to bring the inspiration to life โ€“ the mood, time, and space have to be right. That means that my literary output so far is only the tip of the iceberg concerning how much more I shall potentially produce. Every day I canโ€™t help but get several concrete inspirational moments stored in my creative database in my brain. Therefore, I work at the right place at the right time. I shall live to see my 1000th book published before Iโ€™m a hundred years old.     

Every piece of poetry, essay, or novel that I write helps me to hold my feet on the ground. The writing process cleanses my soul; it elevates my passion for living. This is so because, when I write, I get lost in a realm of being in which asking existential questions and finding functional answers are the imperatives for survival. This is the realm in which, with text, I get to materialize for life my dreams, my hopes, and fears. I am eternally grateful for the privilege of working at NAM for what immense value the workspaces add to my creativity.

Currently, and until January 14th, 2024, NAM has a major exhibition of some of the works of Harriet Backer. The exhibition is called Every Atom is Colour. Whenever Iโ€™m in the magnificent exhibition hall, I get a sense of a warm, safe, homely feeling. This is reminiscent of the better part of my formative years whilst attending school in Lesotho, 1965-69. I feel and see so much of my late maternal grandmotherโ€™s aura throughout the space.

Harriet Backer gives me a reassuring, here-and-now sensation in my entire being. I see myself walking into a bright future standing still with time in Harriet Backerโ€™s presence. This is much like seeing the visions of the kingdom of God that my grandmother used to tell me about. She used to say that I was a chosen child of God; when Iโ€™m grown up, Iโ€™d be king of my people. And, when I die, Iโ€™ll be headed to heaven, where Iโ€™ll sit on the right side of God, and live happily ever after. Amen!

Iโ€™m not quite ready to die yet. Heaven can wait.

I first met Harriet Backer in the northern spring of 2022, a few months before the official opening of NAM. Upon entering the room through its main entrance, I saw a portrait of a letter-reading girl hung up on the wall facing the entrance squarely from across the room. This was one of those love-at-first-sight moments that often make my heart sing throughout my body. The girlโ€™s enthralling beauty reminded me of a girl that I once knew as a growing-up boy-to-man in South Africa in the early 1970s.

Each time I entered the room Iโ€™d daydream about the many, many love letters Iโ€™ve written in my time. The girl in the portrait is there but not there at the same time. I could bring her to life in my fantasies, but I could never have her in the flesh, yet I love her all the same. Hopeless love.

In the same manner, the girls I used to write letters to in many parts of the world were there in my fantasies as I sat down and wrote. The fantasies would get wilder tortuous during the replies waiting phases, which could be weeks to months in those pre-internet days. Upon receiving even only one reply after the long wait, I used to curse my fantasies for failing to bring in the flesh these girls home to me. But I kept hoping that one day, it would happen. Iโ€™m keeping the dream of love alive in memories of some of the girls now dead.

Iโ€™ve met numerous other new girls since. We donโ€™t write letters these days. Social media and other modern communication platforms do the trick. But itโ€™s not the same. I guess thatโ€™s how it took about six months before the poem inspired by the letter-reading girl came forth.

One day, as I stepped into, the Harriet Backer room, I marvelled at the especially silently exuberant nonchalance of my beloved letter girl on that particular day. Thinking that I saw the painting moving like it was being pushed towards the door, I feared she was shutting me out for once. At the same time, I felt welcome as I confirmed that the painting was attached fast to its regular spot.

I realized, then, that I hadnโ€™t before thought about what the message in the letter could have been and from whom it may have come. I also realized that I had never gotten to look into her eyes since they were so fixed on the letter in her hands. Perhaps I should write her a letter, I thought. At that moment, then, I suddenly heard poetic words singing in my head; the poem Love Letter became the real-world outcome.

Before I read the poem, I have to make another disclaimer as I, in my words, describe what art is:

DISCLAIMER 2

I do not have any academic or professional training in art. My articulation of what art is a function of my laymanโ€™s instinctual appreciation of things beautiful against the ugly; both in the figurative and abstract manifestations as my senses perceive it in any given situation and space, at any given time. All I know is how to think and write, and write and think. Art is what I feel. If I feel it, I can think it. If I think it, I can write it. Writing is my art, my artistic expression. Writing is what I do; all attributable to my academic training 

I put it forward here that for creatives in regular employment, other than the pecuniary side of matters, the job will be worth it if it allows for the creative to thrive in their particular creative domains. 

That as implicit in the work nature, or, as is my current situation, the job characteristics, its location, and its operational spaces design facilitating my seeing things. The latter inspiring my literary creativity as an author and poet in my private capacity.

WORKPLACE OF BEAUTIFUL THINGS

People do from time to time visit museums of all kinds for all kinds of recreational, educational, and research reasons. I work at Norwayโ€™s Nasjonalmuseet. The institution has proved to be an awesome literary creativeโ€™s wet dream for me as an author and poet. I get at least one goosebumps moment each day I am at work. Tens of thousands of works of art are on display throughout the eighty-nine exhibition spaces at the museum. In all their widely variable expressive forms, these artworks move me in a way that ever fills me with love and joy like I have never experienced before. Working here is a privilege I am much grateful for.

At different points in all the exhibition spaces in the museum, there are rest stations comprising benches upon extensions of which are placed, amongst other items, wooden playing cards. The cards have various quizzes and games for the guests to have a go at as they sit and rest. I, together with Ole, a fine but ever condescending colleague young enough to be my grandson, happened to have been engaged in a discussion about various aspects of the museum when we approached one such station. Ole then unexpectedly reached out and randomly pulled out a card from the bench extension. It turned out to be a quiz card with the question: โ€˜What is Art?โ€™; creating a gotcha moment that I saw Ole revelling in.

Talking about Oleโ€™s gotcha moment, this was yet another one of those moments in which a person of European extraction comes to me with the pre-conditioned notion that Black people are not cultivated enough to appreciate the finer aspects of European culture. Anyhow, my immediate response in this case was, โ€œArt is the capturing of an experiential moment in time and space in order to, perhaps, tell a story about that experience in the future. This capture can be in any form or medium according to the proclivities and talents of the artist.โ€

Ole, โ€œI hear you. But you will have to elaborate more on all that you have just said!โ€ 

Seeing as we had to attend to each our respective duties at work then, I replied, โ€œI shall write an essay for you, then. Deal?โ€

            โ€œDeal!โ€

My definition of art shall be both conceptual and functional. Conceptually, I know art when I perceive it. I do not have to be told. I do not have to be instructed. I know art when my senses register it. Regardless of the representational form, the sentimental response that I get from experiencing any manifestation of art that I consider as beautiful is a constant. Conversely, an unattractive, unpleasant artistic form as I experience it emotionally affects me in the same way relevant to it irrespective of the form or the representational style.

Whenever I read a storybook (or even write one) that I enjoy, my breathing rate slows down, the total bodily relaxation I get gives me a wonderful warm feeling all over; I get goosebumps, and my palms get warmer and moist. This kind of feeling brings me immense joy. The dreamy state it gets me into sends me into a fantasy world of all things possible. If I had been, for one reason or another, going through hard times, this state brings hope home; it fills me with a sweet sense of freedom. In this state, I am invincible. This is my subjective domain for defining what beautiful art is for me as my perceptive senses โ€“ eyes, ears, skin, tongue, nose, intuition โ€“ register it, feed my hormonal system (feel-good hormones), and the latter instruct my nervous system to induce my being to act accordingly. Pure joy.

Whilst recognizing it for what it is, art that is repugnant to me is exactly that. If it makes me cringe, if it casts a shadow of pessimism over me, if it fills me with negative thoughts and associations, if it gives me a cold sweat, then it is bad art for me. There are times when I can see beauty in bad, ugly art, though. I think about the hands, or some other body parts, that created the work. Every hand shall tell its story according to its ownerโ€™s neuro-hormonal wiring and physical capabilities. One manโ€™s apparent gory art may be anotherโ€™s depiction of heaven. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Functionally, art is a conveyor of messages, a storyteller; a courier of generational narratives in humanityโ€™s dances with nature and itself over time. Art can be an instrument of change. Art can repair the once broken. Art can inspire hope, faith, trust, and love. To the extent that art is a personal expression, art may speak for its creator. Art creators have the potential to make or break society. Ask God, manโ€™s most divisive, master-of-carnage creation. God may have created man instead, her most complex work of art. The outcome is not any better.

Art is identity. Identity may be deception obscured in art. From the outset, art may be true by intent and purpose. But when human perception and interpretation of reality are as polychotomous as there are so many people on earth, art shall be true or fallacious as to the perceptive state

and cognitive capacity of the observer. Therein lies the mystique, the intrigue of art. Who am I? I am a man in love with art.

Art is some powerful stuff. Art is a human creative potential deserving to be handled with tender, loving care. At its best, art is an instrument of peace; art has the potential to stimulate reflection on the human condition. We rise, we fall; art captures all that. Art is beauty. Without beauty, life is not worth living.

Beauty moves humanity forward and higher on the scale of qualitative and quantitative improvements in life. It is not for nothing that nations of the world, interest organizations of all sorts and sizes, wealthy individuals, and many others invest heavily in the promotion, conservation, preservation, and storage of some of our most impactful of artworks over the epochs into the future. Art immortalizes human experience.

WHAT IS ART WORTH?

Your eyes see what they see. Your brains process your perceptions as to their inherent OS programming, i.e. the brain in concert with the hormonal system, which affects behaviour, ultimately influencing our decision or choice-making processes. Your expressive potential is manifest through your creative skills and particular materials and work tools preferences.

The expression of your observed reality or conjured fantasy isolated in your creative expression of choice shall, then, manifest the outcome we see as a work of art in its unique presentation that only you can tell it like it is. Itโ€™s up to the eye of the beholder to see or not to see the beauty, the function, and/or the worth of the work. 
Simon Chilembo, December 29, 2023

LOVE LETTER: A Poem

Iโ€™ll write you a letter
Etch my words on paper
If itโ€™s a crime to love you
Here is the evidence

My love for you
Is not
A judicial affair
For courtroom theatricals
For juriesโ€™ deliberations
For judgesโ€™ adjudications

Iโ€™ll etch portraits
Of my love for you
On canvas
Lock them in frames

Weโ€™ll want to meet again
The other side of
A thousand years ahead

Hanging on walls
In art museums
Of the world
For a billion eyes to see
I couldnโ€™t hide
My love for you
For your eyes
That could never see
My love for you
In plain sight
END
ยฉSimon Chilembo 28/10-2022

SIMON CHILEMBO
Oslo
Norway
January 07, 2024

๐—›๐—ข๐—ช ๐—œ ๐—”๐—  ๐—›๐—”๐—ฃ๐—ฃ๐—ฌ ๐—”๐—Ÿ๐—Ÿ ๐—ง๐—›๐—˜ ๐—ง๐—œ๐— ๐—˜

๐—›๐—”๐—ฃ๐—ฃ๐—œ๐—ก๐—˜๐—ฆ๐—ฆ ๐—ฆ๐—”๐—ฉ๐—˜๐—ฆ ๐—Ÿ๐—œ๐—ฉ๐—˜๐—ฆ. ๐—ง๐—ฅ๐—ฌ ๐—œ๐—ง!

CHANGE VERSUS SELF-LOVE

I love me just the way I am. Thatโ€™s a given. If I could go changing, I donโ€™t know if Iโ€™d be pleased with the outcome. For as sophisticated an organism as a human being is, change as an objective and subjective process is a complex, multi-faceted phenomenon. If planned and executed with specific, predetermined elements within specific parameters, change outcomes of the changeable could be predicted.

Randomly occurring change can lead to any previously known or unknown outcomes in any direction.  A human being cannot be one thing or another, and thatโ€™s it. From the outset, human beings become the way that they are out of chance, instantaneous combinations of fixed familial heritage (i.e. genetics) and time-progressive, ever-variable socio-environmental factors (nurture).

INNER PEACE

The day I understood that I could only be what I am and that I could only do what I do at any one time because thatโ€™s whatโ€™s accessible to, doable, and fun here and now, I found inner peace; I loved myself more. I internalized the idea that I could, indeed, do anything towards the attainment of my dreams only to the extent that what is available and doable is compatible with my values. Compatibility with my physical and mental strengths, and my philosophical and spiritual equilibria, is an important determinant factor too.

THE IMPOSSIBLES

Iโ€™ll never venture to do the impossible beyond what my mind and body are not keen to pursue for lack of interest, curiosity, relevant competence, or application tools and other resources. For example, a Mt Everest Mountain climb expedition is out of the question for me. Neither do I even dream of traversing the Antarctic to reach the South Pole. I walk on the moon in my poetry only. Iโ€™m simply not cut out for these. No love lost.

Nonetheless, I do profoundly admire those people who partake and succeed in these and other related extreme effort endeavours. Attitudinally, these people inspire my will to win when I know that I do have what it takes to overcome obstacles to triumph in given contexts.

Thatโ€™s how I could, in the comfort of my creative work studio on a tropical island somewhere, exclusively sit, think and write, and write and think every day of my life until the end of time. Thatโ€™s me. My extreme sport is my far-reaching, deep-tranced, time-unbound literary creative exploits mind-games.

EXPLANATORY MODELS IMPERATIVE   

If I cannot synthesize for myself an independent, scientifically sound, humane explanatory model for some material or conceptual endeavour Iโ€™m challenged or tempted to perform or be part of for any purpose, Iโ€™m not likely to do it. This attitude has enhanced my sense of freedom in the free world. It has empowered me with the idea that I do have much greater influence as to the direction and extent of the potential of my destiny; unpredictabilities of nature, human vulnerabilities against the forces of nature, and world socio-politico conditions notwithstanding.

My finding inner peace has enabled me to better know myself, appreciating my strengths in the hustle and bustle of living. Whilst not trivializing my apparent weaknesses in given situations, I never put much thought into the former. If Iโ€™m weak at it, then itโ€™s not important for me. I care but little about it. Iโ€™ll always strive to harness all the strength I need in my efforts to realize the expected objectives of any endeavours that are of significant importance for my survival, or fulfilment of my professional and social obligations.

MY HERITAGE

Thanks to the inner peace that I enjoy, I have come to appreciate my origins more and more. I value more my parents, and I respect my lineages even more. All the glory Iโ€™ve basked in, and the hard times that Iโ€™ve had to endure in my life so far have more meaning now. The continual existential lessons owing to these life experiences form the foundation upon which my emotional-spiritual and mental-philosophical premises stand.

I have a greater sense of confidence in my perennial work to carve spaces of safety and comfort conducive to my creative work growth and consolidation. My hope for and faith in arriving at a future of light and abundance into longevity and immortality are enhanced. I have never been more optimistic about the future.

INCOMPREHENSIBLE WARS    

In my current state of overall well-being, I find myself risen above, if not distanced from all the major primitive, hate-laden man-on-man murderous wars tragedies in the world today. Daily, the world is online fed in real-time surreal images of extremes of cold-hearted human brutality played out by man on fellow man. All this is beyond my comprehension, defeating my capacity for independent, scientifically sound, humane explanatory model formulations in my endeavours to better understand my world. So, I withdraw, look into myself, and revel in my inner peace state of being in my war-free corner of the world.

BEAUTIFUL THINGS FULL OF LOVE

I look out into my immediate world and marvel at how blessed I am to live the life that I live, where I live in Norway. Many a weekday at my place of work is started by the smallest kindergarten children coming over to check out and learn about the wonderful works of art displayed here. When the mood is right, I get to sing for the children the first lines of the song โ€˜The Greatest Love of Allโ€™. Recollections of the joyous moments this unofficial bonus show creates for all Iโ€™ll take with me to my grave, should I die.

Throughout the work days, Tuesday-Sunday, locals and international tourists of all ages and walks of life flock to my workplace of beautiful things. Interacting with all these people is a joyous privilege that invariably contributes to the fortification of my inner-peace state of being. Iโ€™m happy at work.

PERVASIVE HAPPINESS

My happiness permeates all aspects of my life: the visible to the external world, and the invisible that form the core of me, my essence, that only I can experience and fathom. The latter is so profound that I cannot explain it in words. I only know that itโ€™s there; and it plays itself out all the time in my interactions with people at all levels, be it in professional work or social settings. It plays itself out in my solitary moments also. Thatโ€™s how it is that I donโ€™t know what loneliness is as a personal experience. If I have an ever-green, loyal lifelong companion, it is my happy all the time state of being.

My jovial disposition is legendary even to me. Iโ€™ve been happy all the time for as long as I can remember. My happiness lives a life of itself inside of me. Of course, people and things will frustrate and anger me from time to time. Iโ€™m only human. I will express my frustration and anger in one way or another. The intensity or severity of my sentiments and reactions depends on the gravity of the matter as I see it there and then. But the core of my happiness has yet to crumble. Should my happiness ever crumble, then, thatโ€™ll be my demise. Goodbye, world; goodbye, beautiful people!

WHEN IT STARTED

I associate my first conscious encounter with happiness with Boxing Day morning, 1964. I was 4 ยฝ years old, then. Neighbourhood children poured into our home yelling incessantly, โ€œChristmas box, Simonโ€™s father, Christmas box โ€ฆ!!!โ€

In what Iโ€™d later understand to be Father Christmas style, Pappa came out of our house carrying a large box full of various kinds of colourful and noisy toys. There were lots of candies too. I stood there looking in amazement at these children happily pouncing upon the box, each child seeking to get as much as possible of the presents therein. Letting go of the box and stepping aside in some effusive laughter fit, my father showed the happiest moment of him the like of which I would never see again after this.

A short while later, Pappa, together with my mother and grandmother, gave me my boxed present. I never got to find out what the present was exactly because I soon lost it in the melee of happy children all around me in our yard. That Boxing Day 1964 childrenโ€™s party would be a one-time event that made a lasting impression on all the neighbourhood children and their respective families. However, Pappa would continue thrilling us children by every so often buying us ice cream from the ice cream bicycle men doing business up-and-down the streets. This would last until my family left South Africa in January 1975.

By the time we left South Africa, the happiness bug had become chronic in me. Iโ€™ve got the incurable exhilaration jungle fever. Iโ€™m ever happy by default, therefore. Even so, I know how to switch my happiness machine on and off at will according to occurrences around me at any time and space.

DEFIANCE HAPPINESS

Having taken neo-slavery to the next level of sophistication in the 20th Century, the former Apartheid system in the land continued to subject us, Black people, to deliberate, systemic, effective application of extreme violence everywhere every day. This violence was so degenerative of the human spirit that it even reproduced itself in the home. Violence remains endemic in South African society to this day. Despite all that, there were always innumerable remarkable moments of unrestrained joy in various situations every day.

There was always something about anything or anybody to laugh about. My contemporaries and I laughed at each other: friends and foes alike. We could grossly laugh at each other into fights; much as we used to do the same to stop fights and create conditions for a peaceful coexistence in a hard world, short-lived as the peace would be.

Our days on the streets consisted of ever intertwining circles of play, fight, peace, song and dance, mutual or unilateral group mobbing, arguments, fighting, and so on and on and so forth. Repeat. And repeat. All of this was threaded with humour through and through. There was never a dull moment. At the grossest levels, we used to both weep for and laugh at those that got knifed and killed on the streets. Humour as dark as it got. Chilling childhood memories.

ENTER THE MOVIES

The appearance of the bioscope in our midst from about the close of the 1960s onward introduced us to cinematic comedy shows. That took our appreciation of humour and our storytelling capacities to the next level. Unforgettable all-time favourites included The Three Stooges and, of course, the outrageously funny Charlie Chaplin. At the end of the day, we often complained of ribcage pains from profuse laughter all day long. Bodily pains from fighting blows were part of the humour drive. So, they didnโ€™t matter so much to the extent that no one sustained acute injuries.

Looking back, we were a happy lot defying the evils of oppression with humour. We learned to use humour to endure or overcome the most difficult life experiences on the streets, at school, and in the home. To this day, if itโ€™s not worth wasting my breath on, I diffuse potentially harmful human relations tension moments with a smile and laughter. It works all the time. Almost. I have yet to make a stone laugh. But then again, a stone knows nothing about human relations. When a human is as thick as a stone, I canโ€™t help them.

HAPPINESS FOR PEACE

Conditional upon neither the boundaries having been crossed, nor the swords not drawn yet, my ability to manifest my state of happiness through humour has, on many occasions in time, been a powerful diplomacy agent in the face of all kinds of hostilities in all kinds of circumstances. Some people derive and celebrate their happiness states by bombing others. Diplomacy work is explosive here.

If I can laugh about the absurdities of some overtly provocative antagonism towards me, I may be willing to resolve matters peacefully through talk if the talk is mutually tenable. I might also choose to simply walk away to deescalate the potential for violence outbreak; possibly permanently severing any further links with the antagonist. Short of eliminating extreme, unpacifiable antagonists, I opt to isolate and exclude them from my life in spaces and situations that I have control over; as in my feelings. I donโ€™t know how to accommodate detractors of my right and potential to be happy, and to not unduly repress my happiness expressions.   

When Iโ€™m happy Iโ€™m strong, Iโ€™m resilient, Iโ€™m confident, Iโ€™m dominant, Iโ€™m optimistic, Iโ€™m logical, Iโ€™m a charmer, Iโ€™m sensitive; I see beauty in all things, I am an open book; Iโ€™m discerning, Iโ€™m patient, Iโ€™m tolerant, Iโ€™m free, Iโ€™m fearless, I can be brutal; Iโ€™m invincible, gregarious like hell, I win my fights clean โ€“ no broken bones, no blood spilt, no death.

On the one hand, happiness is my weapon of mass destruction in hostile times. On the other hand, happiness is my ballistic missile shield against personal evil forces. Therefore, happiness is my magic carpet ride to longevity and immortality. It is my means of disabling animosities, ensuring victory over my enemies, with laughter crumbling the grounds upon which they stand.

When I am happy, I am genuinely so. I donโ€™t know how to be fake happy. Although my happiness is self-propelled because I am happy by nature, it doesnโ€™t mean that I go around glaring my teeth and laughing like a fool seeking attention everywhere all the time. My life is a circus. But I am not a clown.

It does happen, though, that unrestrained public expressions of my joy are calculated and intentional, spontaneous as a humorous situation I may have created, or I respond to might seem to be. This may be to create confusion and distraction in foreseen or proceeding conflict situations, pre-empting potential escalation to violence. It may also be to break the ice when meeting people for the first time for any reason, or to ease the tension in challenging inter-personal communication skills scenarios, as in negotiations at any level.  

CLEAN HAPPINESS

My happiness expressions are not dependent on any intakes of chemical or herbal central nervous system stimulatory substances. I donโ€™t consume tobacco in any way or form. I donโ€™t do any form of drugs; neither through inhalation nor intravenously. I very rarely drink alcohol.

And whenever I do drink alcohol, it is never because Iโ€™m in the chase for happiness. Iโ€™m ever so happy with or without the consumption of alcohol. I never touch alcohol when Iโ€™m upset over one thing or another. When Iโ€™m upset, alcohol tastes like horse urine. Yeuk!!! Yes, I have in my time tasted fresh horse urine from the ground. That teaches you how to fold your lips so that you can learn how to whistle, see?

HERMITISED HAPPINESS

Inner happiness doesnโ€™t have to be expressive all the time. Some of my truly happiest moments are when I feel happy inside, enjoying the happiness feelings as an exclusive, private affair of mine: solitary joy. These are the moments when Iโ€™m at my most perceptive and most creative; moments of illumination. These are the moments when solutions to pressing personal challenges of all sorts manifest themselves. In this emotional contentment state, Iโ€™m able to see through the mediocrity of thoughts and actions by power players and other thought leaders in humanityโ€™s big existential questions. I crush conspiracy theories from this domain of unlimited, ignorance-proof, pure thought possibilities.

ETHICO-MORAL AWARENESS

It is at this level that my senses of justice (good v/ bad) and fairness (right v/s wrong) get heightened in my analysis of world events. This forms the basis upon which my decisions to take particular stands on certain local and global divisive socio-politico issues are anchored. It is also at this level that my social relations are categorized as to the extent of sharing or not sharing certain critical values as active social beings.

HAPPINESS-PERFORMANCE MUTUAL DEPENDENCY

Outcomes of my happiness-induced high creativity and problem-solving capacity further fuel my happiness state. My happiness, creativity, and problem solutions form an essential functional loop for my existence and my appreciation thereof. If the loop breaks, I might as well be dead. Therefore, my happiness is my elixir of youth, my longevimmortality engine amplified by laughter. Such is the value of my happiness.

I cannot afford to be unhappy. I do not want to be unhappy. If I have an addiction, it is happiness as an expression of my being here and alive for life right now. No one can take that away from me for as long as I consciously strive to be a decent human being wishing and enjoying sharing my happiness with others who see a mutuality of value addition to each otherโ€™s lives. My happiness and my ability to sustain it are a gift Iโ€™ll treasure for life.

HAPPINESS PRIVILEGE       

Commenting on one of my Facebook feeds posts recently, a colleague and friend has said, โ€œBeing happy every single day is a privilege that not everyone has.โ€

I agree with that statement only partially. And that is looking at the statement as an expression of humble gratitude for being able to live on ever-generous doses of happiness daily. The idea is to identify the source of the happiness doses. I shall address this aspect below.

A privilege is a good enjoyed at the pleasure of external forces, be they human relations dynamics, or random if not predictable circumstances prevalent in nature. The privilege may or may not have strings attached. However, the assumption is that the privilege recipient has little control over the provider or facilitator of the particular privilege enjoyed. The privilege afforded to one by the high and mighty could be used as a manipulatory or control tool by the latter. As such, the state of being happy experienced and lived as a privilege may not be sustainable.

HAPPINESS AS A FUNDAMENTAL HUMAN RIGHT

In my world, happiness as a lived experience and feeling is a personal, non-negotiable human right to enjoy and share with others, if so desired. The sharing is done through various communicative means and platforms. I do acknowledge the ubiquitous prevalence of overwhelming tangible personal, societal, and natural challenges constantly working at destroying our basis for being happy. Nevertheless, I maintain that we do have both the potential and capacity to choose to be as happy and as expressive of happiness as we wish to do and to be.    

KNOW THYSELF

A personโ€™s foundation of self-knowledge is a key prerequisite to mastering the skills of how to be happy as a conscious mental and emotional choice according to events occurring around the individual. The latter may, for example, include the attainment of certain predetermined material or conceptual goals, which, for instance, could be to reach stated production targets at work. Creating a happy and congenial work atmosphere could inspire efficiency and effectiveness in production or service for all parties involved in the work process.  

Success at work and in personal relations may result in the recognition of oneโ€™s efforts through adulations and rewards in one form or another; this way potentially compounding and prolonging the already pre-existing state of happiness. A person who thrives in happiness is likely to strive to create conditions for happiness to bloom for as long as it is possible.

ATTRACT HAPPINESS

I have learned that happiness never comes to me of its own accord. The happiness living inside of me is a given. But, whether Iโ€™m solitary or in public, I attract and receive at least as much happiness as I feel inside, or the happiness that I radiate according to prevailing circumstances and space.

REGULATE YOUR HAPPINESS

My permanent inner happiness notwithstanding, I can at will switch on and off the outward flow of my happiness as necessary. It is not always that the environment shall be positively receptive to my exuberance. And, thatโ€™s okay. Misunderstandings, insecurities, and prejudices are also prevalent everywhere people interact. These are common thwarters of happiness.        

GUARD YOUR HAPPINESS

Identify your sources and hacks of happiness. Own them for the empowerment they afford you for your overall health and wellbeing, thereby fortifying your physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual resilience; opening up your mind to realms of possibilities beyond what the eye can see. This makes for your optimal performance potential in the things you do both for a living and recreation. Make longevity your goal as gratitude for your gift of happiness as your prime mode of existence choice.

EXTRAORDINARY HAPPINESS

Happiness makes for the attainment and creation of extraordinary things. The extraordinary carve permanent spaces in human memory banks. You become immortal out of your deeds claiming lasting recognition in history. Worry not. Be happy. Live forever through your mark in history inspiring others to seek and live for happiness always. Happiness is the way of love and peace, attributes that humanity so sorely needs today.

HAPPINESS FOR YOU  

Only you can define your happiness on your terms. Be happy for your own sake, first and foremost. Cause no one harm. Wish none ill. Share your happiness abundantly with those who appreciate you for being who and what you are. Conserve your energy and capacity to live and love by staying away from happiness-dampening, toxic relationships. Never let go of those that make you happy. Happiness is a mutually supportive human quality. Even animals know this. Thatโ€™s how we can keep pets.

SEE TO BE SEEN

Depending on how you organize your life as you wish to live it, take it for granted that you want to see and be seen. Therefore, allow your happiness to be an integral element of the unique brand that you are. Your brand highlights your worth as an active participant in societal development as per your skills, talents, and proclivities vis-ร -vis your occupation. The happier you are, the more productive you can be, and the more valuable you can be. Happiness is the mega power tool for personal and professional success. Try it, youโ€™ll see. It works all the time.

HAPPINESS BRILLIANCE

Not all ever-happy people are buffoons. You are happy because you have a brilliant mind. You know yourself. You know what you want. You know your worth. You are self-assured. You own earth surfaces you step on. You are happy because the extraordinary things you do change lives for the better for others looking at you, inspiring them to want to tap into their happiness reserves for life. Although you speak faster and louder than many, your physical presence and aura take up too much space around you, you donโ€™t have to be apologetic about your happiness and its expressions according to your communicative, or creative talents.

FUTURE OF PEACE IN HAPPINESS

If you have to fight, make your deeds your first line of defence. Fight smart, choose your fights. Never give fools any fighting chance. Bring down your detractorsโ€™ walls of Jericho with smiles, laughter, and a glint in your eyes; all packed in love as a weapon of peace. Peace is a durable ride into and for the future. As such, when we are finally dead and gone, friends and foes alike say, โ€œMay your soul rest in eternal peace!โ€

HAPPINESS LEGACY

The happiness-inducing memories of you in the eyes and hearts of your survivors may be a measure of how much peace youโ€™ll possibly enjoy in the afterlife. We are not sure about there being an afterlife. But, for purposes of this talk, way say that it is there. The future is ever bright and hopeful for the happy. Happiness propels us into the future with confidence and fortitude. Faith knocks on the heavensโ€™ doors for the happy. When our work on Earth is done, weโ€™ll live happily ever after in the farthest spaces of the future, assuming that humanity does not erase itself from the future of the universe.  

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
22.11.-19.12.2023 
 

๐”๐๐Œ๐€๐‘๐‘๐ˆ๐„๐ƒ ๐Œ๐„๐ ๐Œ๐”๐’๐“ ๐ƒ๐ˆ๐„?

๐ƒ๐„๐€๐“๐‡ ๐“๐Ž ๐’๐ˆ๐๐†๐‹๐„ ๐Œ๐„๐?

Sometime last year, 2022, whilst I was in the middle of working with my latest and nineth book, MACHONA GRIT โ€“ Onslaught On Hate, I came across an Instagram reel that caught my interest fleetingly. In this reel, the speaker made fiery, disparaging, and violence instigating remarks against single men. The speaker is a prominent American religious leader whose thoughts influence hundreds of millions of people across the world. However, not all will be direct adherents of his unique religious flock within the broader global faith movement of the umbrella religion, which could be Christianity, Judaism, Islam, or any other. They all serve the same purpose: harnessing of our primitive instincts, limiting the extent to which we can think we are free-thinking, independent individuals. Religion, a tool of oppression as destructive as can be.     

I choose not to name the religious leader because Iโ€™ve failed to find the said Instagram reel for a concrete reference source. Nevertheless, I have throughout all my adult life so far, come across innumerable sentiments like those uttered by the man of God vis-ร -vis men living alone without women as their marital partners.

Basically, the unmarried men hatersโ€™ contention is that solitary living unmarried men are not real men; because they are not real men, they are anti-God, and thus they deserve to die. The unmarried men haters say that God must kill single men, and it is the duty of all married men serving God to ensure that Godโ€™s will is fulfilled: death to the unmarried. Amen!

Itโ€™s strange that Catholic priests donโ€™t get married, though. Celibacy doesnโ€™t mean abstinence. Catholic priests do get caught doing the hanky panky too. When the priests sexually abuse small boys, I wonder about where God is when all this happens. Does he turn blind eyes? In that case, God is an accessory to a heinous crime. ย 

Personally, such emotional abuse and death threats Iโ€™ve outlined above are beneath me; they donโ€™t scathe me even a single bit. Iโ€™m sixty-three years old. Iโ€™m single, and Iโ€™ve never been married by choice. Over the years, Iโ€™ve on various fora already mentioned that Iโ€™m under no obligation to explain, to justify, or to defend my unmarried, solitary living to anybody. All men-of-God wanting to kill me for my choice to stay young, free, and single must just bring it on anytime. God himself is such an illusion so full of contradictions I have not time for.

For God so thrives in tyranny he made man in his, undefinable, multifaceted, illusory image. He accordingly polarized man; made man into a treacherous, murderous creature of fellow man for transgressions of frivolous, ill-defined, prejudicial so-called sins. A God of love who rules by threats and application of murder does not make sense to me.

To solve a dominance problem, brothers believing in the same God go to war against one another; as in, say, the current case of Russia against Ukraine. They simultaneously pray the same God for protection of themselves on the one hand, and power to annihilate the other on the other hand. For the time it shall take as to location of the war and the relative strengths of the warring parties, absolute mayhem, pillage, and murder could go on until the last man. Somebody might set off atomic bombs, and then weโ€™ll all be gone tomorrow. Adios, God!

Killers praising God for strength. The dying praying God for mercy. Priests praying God to receive the spirits of the dead in heaven; whilst the shredded body parts, if not ground flesh of the dead rest in eternal peace on earth fertilizing Ukrainian killing fields, if not the Congolese killing jungles. God nowhere to be seen. Not a sound from God.

No, the whole idea of the existence of an omnipresent God does not make any sense to me at all. God as an idea and a possible entity amongst us defies all logic. But, of course, his believers can have him. We are all already burning here on the hell that is planet earth, anyway. Heaven is in the minds of the free-spirited seekers and propagators of humane truths in pursuance of fairness and justice for mankind on earth.

In my countering the idea of death to men-without-women, I take the liberty to speak for the voiceless, the weak and vulnerable, the oppressed; the afraid. I do so simply because I can. I am no Messiah. I am a free spirit that scientifically knows that apart from the fundamental genetic coding that separates humans from other animals, each human being has an own unique subordinate genetic makeup that characteristically distinguishes them from other human beings. That distinction manifests itself in all aspects of being human, from state of health and its vulnerabilities to behavioural proclivities that may or may not reflect or condition our values in adulthood.

To the extent that human beings share a common physiological essence of being, it means that, although individually unique, our personal human attributes expressive traits are not finitely closed to the individual. Therefore, each our respective individual behavioural patterns, as reflected and influenced by our cognitive powers and processes, will cross, and interact with others. This is how relationships are formed, both voluntarily or through coercion. Human social organizations of all sizes and all sorts of interests, agendas, philosophies, and aspirations stem from here.

However, some peopleโ€™s human proclivities constructs will be so incongruent from others that they cannot easily fit into any structured social organization cage reflecting certain strictly defined control and manipulative values, such as religion, political movements or orientations, marriage, and many more. These are the eccentrics, the think-outside-the-box types, the innovators, the critics who, for the good or bad, question everything.

Through the epochs, there arise, amongst others, unconventional analysts, critical thinkers, philosophers, artists of all talents, social change makers, rebels, radicals, and freedom fighters whose thoughts and actions have lasting impacts on society. So, much as not everyone can be a rocket scientist; and not everyone can be an Usain Bolt, or be a religious fanatic, not every man can want to marry, or will be married by force or hook or crook. Marriage is not for every Jack and Jill.

Marriage does not define a man. Marriage is a concept a man gets into. With or without marriage, a man is a man. A brilliant man will be brilliant irrespective of whether they are married or not. In my private and professional lives, I have come across many idiotic married men. I can write volumes about idiotic married men. But for now, Iโ€™ll reduce all that to the total lack of respect these men subject their wives to.

Married men who beat up their wives disgust me. Married men who spend minimum time with their wives but unashamedly โ€˜fโ€™ around with other lovers and mistresses do not score high in my books. Many of these abused and neglected wives are some of the most melancholic women Iโ€™ve ever seen. In my travels around Europe many years ago, I met a grown-up lady who once said to me something like, โ€œSimon, itโ€™s taken me thirty years to realize that I got married to an a-hole of a man!โ€

Thirty-three years later, the couple now older and even more weary of each other, their marriage is still going strong. Thatโ€™s because, โ€œWe are Catholics. We donโ€™t divorce!โ€
Oh, help me God!
Which reminded me of what a dear brother of mine once said to me about women who hang on all their lives to marriages with a-hole men, โ€œAccording to our African cultures, divorce is unthinkable for many a woman. Divorce is โ€˜haramโ€™, you see!โ€
Jeeezzuzzz!!!   

Iโ€™m not anti-marriage. Reality is that Iโ€™m a great fan of marriage. Serious. If ever the poetโ€™s one fine day finds me at the right time and place, I could get married at the snap of a finger. Marriage is good. That to the extent that it mutually fulfils both the conceptual and functional expectations of the marriage partners.

By the conceptual I refer mainly to the subjective sentiment of love, the feelings it induces, and the expectations and obligations it imposes on those in love. Simply because we can never read peopleโ€™s minds, we can never know the feelings of other people, just as we can never know their expectations and self-defined obligations when in love. But fidelity and devotion are principles Iโ€™ve learned that they play an even more critical role in marriage. If these hold, marriage has chances of a long life.

Functional expectations in marriage are about the objective practicalities of day-to-day life that the married will and do encounter in their living together as a couple and, subsequently, as parents if children do come into the picture in time. Here are included aspects of family economic strength; an important consideration in the determination of how and where the family shall live. Other crucial questions to address will include division of duties in the home, management of extended families and other social relations, faith, culture and traditions, political affiliations, career development and ambitions, family wealth creation and sustenance, as well as many other practical considerations.     

In my world, a marriage that fails to deliver on the mutual conceptual and functional expectations for the married couple cannot hold. It need not hold at all cost, โ€˜haramโ€™ or no โ€˜haramโ€™. Marriage is not supposed to be an institution reminiscent of slavery. Neither is marriage supposed to be an institution of permanent dependency of women to physical-emotional abusive men.

Marriage is not an institution carved in stone. In any case, marriage is not an inherent feature of being human. Marriage is but one of many institutions man-created for purposes of social order maintenance, or social engineering. I fail to see how a non-functional, degrading marriage can contribute to social order. This brings forth the element of divorce, of which Iโ€™m as great a fan too. Whereas, indeed, marriage is good, divorce liberates. If ever I do get married at some point in the future, Iโ€™ll be the first to file for divorce as soon as I detect irreconcilable dysfunctionalities in my marriage.

People that are deeply in love, and wish to be together for life often look forward with glee to getting married. The same enthusiasm could be shown for impending, or desired divorce from a bad marriage. Women must not be afraid of divorce. Thereโ€™ll always be a better, stronger, and more caring man for a lover or new husband according to what civil status the divorced woman wishes to have. Itโ€™s ok to be single also. Again, in both my private and professional lives, Iโ€™m familiar with divorcee women that live happily ever after; divorce having given them a chance to pursue new paths towards fulfilling and sustainable self-reinvention efforts.                 

Some of the happiest men I know are married. Equally, thereโ€™s a hell lot of infectiously happy single, unmarried, never-been-married men I know. Of course, contents of the happiness baskets vary from the one man to the other man, regardless of civil status. Nevertheless, happiness is happiness. Happiness makes for a balanced, productive citizenry.

Conversely, the unhappiest, loser types of men I know, and have known are, or have been married. I have in my time come across extremely lonely married men. Weakened of spirit, and hoping to find happiness and comfort away from their wives, many of these sad married men are prone to extremes of costly promiscuous tendencies. Some end up falling prey to alcohol and substance abuse, with potentially dire consequences. Suicidal tendencies are not uncommon here. So much for marriage as an instrument of social cohesion. There absolutely are other ways to prove that a man is a man and worthy of societal recognition as such than apparently โ€˜fโ€™-ing around and holding women in the bondage of dehumanizing marriages.

I pity men that get into and remain in unhappy marriages for โ€˜reasons beyond my controlโ€™: family and/ peer pressure, โ€˜that is what people doโ€™, children, potential impoverishment through loss of accumulated wealth to the ex-wife in the event of a divorce, and other reasons.

It ought to be a given that nation states will strive as much as it is humanely possible to create all necessary conditions for a happy state of existence for the people. The various social interests organizations prevailing in society are there to ensure that the state lives up to its obligations for the people. This is what social justice work is about.

Itโ€™s not up to social interests organizations leaders to arbitrarily judge and condemn to death certain categories of their fellow citizens for being non-confirmatory to fluid social conventions such as marriage. Single, unmarried, and/ or never-been-married men deserve to live life to its fullest potential just like everyone else. Jesus was killed for other reasons than for that he was unmarried.

And talking about God, biographyonline.net says, โ€œSwami Vivekananda, [a] spiritual teacher and important figure in Indian renaissance of the late nineteenth century. A great believer in the virtues of celibacy [says] โ€œIf one wastes the most potent forces of oneโ€™s being, one cannot become spiritual. All history teaches us that the great seers of all ages were either monks and ascetics or those who had given up married life; only the pure in life can see God.โ€

Furthermore, biographyonline.net says that โ€œNikola Tesla was a unique inventor who threw himself into discovering new advances in electronics and science. He had no interest in marriage and saw sex as a distraction from his lifeโ€™s purpose. A famous actress of the time, Sarah Bernhardt, tried to attract him, but, he merely saw her as a distraction. When asked about marriage, he replied: โ€œI do not think you can name many great inventions that have been made by married men.โ€

WHEN THE MIGHTY FALL ON MARRIAGE

From my debut novel, WHEN THE MIGHTY FALL โ€“ rise again mindgames   Iโ€™ll read a passage on marriage. That is from p. 63 to p. 66:

โ€œPeople get married for a myriad of reasons. There are some who seem to have gotten married not knowing why and how it began at all, though. They just found themselves in it. Trying to make sense of it all with time, they simplistically and conveniently conclude that, well, everyone else does it, why not them?

โ€œCulture and social norms dictate it, they shall reason. Inevitably they make a mess of it, making life extremely miserable for themselves, their marriage partners, as well as everyone else who has anything to do with them in about all aspects of life. Many a person in this category marries themselves into murder and suicide, the ultimate tragedy of marriage.

โ€œMarriage is another unnatural institution the functionality of which is a non-ending attempt at structuring, engineering, and regulating instinctive, natural human behaviour in certain predictable directions. If it is instinctive, it happens freely according to its own predetermined, internal logic, irrespective of whether external factors are conducive, congruent or not.

โ€œFrom society to society, culture to culture, marriage rules determine how many marriage partners one can have in either direction, how often, when. The rules will also specify rituals to be followed in order to sanctify the coming together of people in marriage.

โ€œSanctification of marriage is enforced through the morals and ethics around it, particularly with respect to aspects of fidelity, respect, trust, duty, and obligation. Meaning that, in a perfect world, once bound in and by marriage, people ought to be together for life; thereby ensuring order, stability, and harmony in society.

โ€œMarriage defines boundaries and territorial integrities of the married, and their subsequent family units. These have to be acknowledged and respected in order to provide for peaceful co-existence, as well as orderly and systematic growth, progress, and development in society.

โ€œPerhaps an often-overlooked function of marriage contra instinctive, natural human behavioural tendencies is the population growth control aspect of it.

โ€œWithout the perceived and learned value of marriage as a behavioural moderation institution in societal functioning, society would be thrown into total chaos as humans respond unrestrained to instinctive, natural urges of sex, and sexual reproduction.

โ€œJealousy, power, domination, and control inspired violence in the competition for partners towards letting out, and responding to the said instinctive natural urges would be the order rather than the exception for collective human existence.

โ€œWithout the rigidities of formalized marriage rules with respect to family expansion by way of conception, birth, and raising of children, human population pressure on planet earth and its limited resources would most probably be of magnitudes much higher relative to what the situation is today. A recipe for the eventual extinction of the human race on earth due to, among other things, territorial wars making what the world currently experiences of regional wars look like a childrenโ€™s Sunday picnic in the park.

โ€œMarriage is, therefore, some very serious business. It is not for the non-thinking, and faint-hearted.

โ€œFor marriage to work for the married, or yet to be married, and therefore be beneficial to society, people have to fully understand its implications and ramifications. Irrespective of the reasons, or circumstances leading to marriage, it is of vital importance to understand and acknowledge that marriage is ultimately a personal journey.

โ€œIts life-changing implications are huge, they can never be overestimated. Life is never, it will never be the same once married. Chances of marriage being a lasting success are higher in cases where the process and the institution are congruent not only with the feelings of the concerned, but also their beliefs, faiths, values, hopes, dreams, and aspirations, among others.

โ€œPitfalls of marriage are many, deep, and wide in cases where people unwillingly, or uncritically, fall into the trap by marrying to fulfill expected conventional behaviour. The latter may be in relation to culture, religion, life circumstances, and peer pressure.

โ€œMarriage stands chances of going the distance to the extent that it is both a mutually voluntary, as well as a well-thought-out space of the most intimate of human interactions to choose to venture into.

โ€œThere are those who shall base their marriages on love. They deeply love one another above anything or anyone else on earth. Marriage will, therefore, be a natural consummation of that love. But love alone is never adequate to sustain a marriage.

โ€œLove facilitates, and spices up marriage; it does not make a marriage. Love is the key to a potential marriage partnerโ€™s heart. Love is a ringing bell into another personโ€™s, a potential marriage partnerโ€™s, life. To be sustained and sustainable, love itself needs tender loving care. But it cannot on its own guarantee a happily-ever-after life of marriage.

โ€œTo the extent that in many a perfunctorily functional marriage, love may not be the driving force, love and marriage can be mutually exclusive in the same space. Trouble in paradise.

โ€œThere is, there will always be much love to get outside marriage. As a natural instinct, people will always know when they are in love or not. Love instinctively gravitates towards love. If there is love in marriage, chances are that the marriage can be kept together.

โ€œLove is a natural force of emotion that knows no colour, race, religion, or creed. Because it is a vital part of, but larger than marriage, any marriage the importance of which is attached more to man-made concepts of culture, religion, and other social conventions than love is doomed to failure.

โ€œThe natural urge to want to feed love with, and on love, is ever so strong that people in miserable marriages will as a matter of course and natural predictability go out to look for love elsewhere. That done with either open defiance, or total discretion to the extent it will last. In many cases, this will turn out to be a direct order for the ultimate tragedy of marriage.

โ€œReality is that when a supposedly unfaithful marriage, or romantic, partner is dead, they are dead, and they are so with all the things the murderer demanded; they will never come back. Much as when the supposedly betrayed marriage, or romantic, partner has committed suicide, there is no knowing that they will find what they demanded of their partners on the other side.โ€

Thatโ€™ll be it for today. If you want to get married, do so and be happy; only if the matrimony meets your conceptual and functional expectations; not forgetting obligations to yourself as a person and as a matrimonial partner. If the marriage doesnโ€™t work, get out of it. Fast. The paradox is that youโ€™ll never know if your marriage will work or not until youโ€™ve gotten into it first. If it works, it works. Well and good. If it doesnโ€™t work, it doesnโ€™t work. Leave.

Divorce might cost you a lot of things in the beginning. It is what it is. Freedom doesnโ€™t come cheap. Hang in there. Have hope. Keep the faith. The future is bright. Time heals. Make it your goal to live long enough to see the good that the future has in store for you.    

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
July 03, 2023

๐€๐‘๐“๐–๐Ž๐‘๐Š๐’ ๐€๐‹๐ˆ๐•๐„

Reserve Husband in House of Beautiful Things

In my Tumbuka tribe in Zambia, a man is his brothersโ€™ wivesโ€™ reserve husband. Traditionally, this is an informal but serious involuntary and platonic bond that commits the reserve husband to taking care of the sisters-in-law and, especially, the children, should some incapacitating or fatal misfortune visit the brother.

I am a single, never-been-married man with several wives from a few select blood brothers and bosom friends. I introduce one of the wives as I invite you on a day at my work place of beautiful things.

Our vehicle is the poem ARTWORKS ALIVE, which happens to be the very first piece in Onslaught 1 in the MACHONA GRIT poetry book.

Poems in Onslaught 1 reflect some aspects of my defiant intellectual, philosophical, and spiritual Personal Integrity Fortress against those that hate me.

๐€๐‘๐“๐–๐Ž๐‘๐Š๐’ ๐€๐‹๐ˆ๐•๐„
Separated
By the pond
Wife from another husband
My Dear Brother Ricky
Son Bolokiyoโ€™s
๐˜”๐˜ข๐˜ฎ๐˜ข ๐˜๐˜ช๐˜ค๐˜ต๐˜ฐ๐˜ณ๐˜ช๐˜ข and I
Met in the face of a book
In cyberspace
Celebrating her birthday
We took mikes and sang
We Djโ€™d
We danced
Fell on our backs in joy and laughter
We dropped the mikes
Went our separate ways
In the perennial dollar chase

๐˜ˆ๐˜ฎ๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ถ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ˆ๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฆ๐˜ญ๐˜ข
Blazing in my head
Yandikani Lunguโ€™ spirit
With me in
๐˜”๐˜ถ๐˜ป๐˜ถ๐˜ฏ๐˜จ๐˜ถ ๐˜”๐˜ข๐˜ค๐˜ฉ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ
In the north
From where lost souls never return
Black Diamonds
Hustling to bling
In the land of
Black gold

Got to work
Iโ€™m so happy
I feel
Artworksโ€™ eyes
On the walls
On me
I clear my head
I see
Artworks on the walls
Dance for me
Artworksโ€™ subjects
Come to life in the frames
[…]
๐—˜๐—ก๐——
ยฉSimon Chilembo 14/12-2022

SIMON CHILEMBO  
OSLO
NORWAY
TEL.: +92525032
April 07, 2023

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๐–๐‡๐€๐“ ๐ˆ๐’ ๐€๐‘๐“?

๐€๐Œ๐ˆ๐ƒ๐’๐“ ๐๐„๐€๐”๐“๐ˆ๐…๐”๐‹ ๐“๐‡๐ˆ๐๐†๐’

DISCLAIMER

I do not have any academic nor professional training in art. My articulation of what art is a function of my laymanโ€™s instinctual appreciation of things beautiful against the ugly; both in the figurative and abstract manifestations as my senses perceive it in any given situation and space, at any given time. All I know is how to think and write, and write and think. Art is what I feel. If I feel it, I can think it. If I think it, I can write it. Writing is my art, my artistic expression. Writing is what I do; all attributable to my academic training.   

WORKPLACE OF BEAUTIFUL THINGS

People do from time to time visit museums of all kinds for all kinds of recreational, educational, and research reasons. I work at Norwayโ€™s Nasjonalmuseet. The institution has proved to be an awesome literary creativeโ€™s wet dream for me as an author and poet. I get at least one goosebumps moment each day I am at work. Tens of thousands of works of art are on display throughout the eighty-nine exhibition spaces at the museum. In all their widely variable expressive forms, these artworks move me in a way that ever fills me with love and joy like I have never experienced before. Working here is a privilege I am much grateful for.

At different points in about all the exhibition spaces in the museum, there are rest stations comprising benches upon extensions of which are placed, amongst other items, wooden playing cards. The cards have various quizzes and games for the guests to have a go at as they sit and rest. I, together with Ole, a fine but ever condescending colleague young enough to be my grandson, happened to have been engaged in a discussion about various aspects of the museum when we approached one such station. Ole then unexpectedly reached out and randomly pulled out a card from the bench extension. It turned out to be a quiz card with the question: โ€˜What is Art?โ€™; creating a gotcha moment that I saw Ole revelling in.

Talking about Oleโ€™s gotcha moment, this was yet another one of those moments in which a person of European extraction comes to me with the pre-conditioned notion that Black people are not cultivated enough to appreciate the finer aspects of European culture. Anyhow, my immediate response, in this case, was, โ€œArt is the capturing of an experiential moment in time and space in order to, perhaps, tell a story about that experience in the future. This capture can be in any form or medium according to the proclivities and talents of the artist.โ€
Ole, โ€œI hear you. But you will have to elaborate more on all that you have just said!โ€ ย 
Seeing as we had to attend to each of our respective duties at work then, I replied, โ€œI shall write an essay for you, then. Deal?โ€
โ€œDeal!โ€

My definition of art shall be both conceptual and functional. Conceptually, I know art when I perceive it. I do not have to be told. I do not have to be instructed. I know art when my senses register it. Regardless of the representational form, the sentimental response that I get from experiencing any manifestation of art that I consider as beautiful is a constant. Conversely, an unattractive, unpleasant artistic form as I experience it emotionally affects me in the same way relevant to it irrespective of the form or the representational style.

Whenever I read a storybook (or even write one) that I enjoy, my breathing rate slows down, and the total bodily relaxation I get gives me a wonderful warm feeling all over; I get goosebumps, and my palms get warmer and moist. This kind of feeling brings me immense joy. The dreamy state it gets me into sends me into a fantasy world of all things possible. If I had been, for one reason or another, going through hard times, this state brings hope home; it fills me with a sweet sense of freedom. In this state, I am invincible. This is my subjective domain for defining what beautiful art is for me as my perceptive senses โ€“ eyes, ears, skin, tongue, nose, intuition โ€“ register it, feed my hormonal system (feel-good hormones), and the latter instructing my nervous system to induce my being to act accordingly. Pure joy.

Whilst recognizing it for what it is, art that is repugnant to me is exactly that. If it makes me cringe, if it casts a shadow of pessimism over me, if it fills me with negative thoughts and associations, if it gives me a cold sweat, then it is bad art for me. There are times when I can see beauty in bad, ugly art, though. I think about the hands, or some other body parts, that created the work. Every hand shall tell its story according to its ownerโ€™s neuro-hormonal wiring and physical capabilities. One manโ€™s apparent gory art may be anotherโ€™s depiction of heaven. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Functionally, art is a conveyor of messages, a storyteller; a courier of generational narratives in humanityโ€™s dances with nature and itself over time. Art can be an instrument of change. Art can repair the once broken. Art can inspire hope, faith, trust, and love. To the extent that art is a personal expression, art may speak for its creator. Art creators have the potential to make or break society. Ask God, manโ€™s most divisive, master-of-carnage creation. God may have created man instead, her most complex work of art. The outcome is not any better.

Art is identity. Identity may be deception obscured in art. From the outset, art may be true by intent and purpose. But when human perception and interpretation of reality are as polychotomous as there are so many people on earth, art shall be true or fallacious as to the perceptive state and cognitive capacity of the observer. Therein lies the mystique, the intrigue of art. Who am I? I am a man in love with art.

Art is some powerful stuff. Art is a human creative potential deserving to be handled with tender, loving care. At its best, art is an instrument of peace; art has the potential to stimulate reflection on the human condition. We rise, we fall; art captures all that. Art is beauty. Without beauty, life is not worth living.

Beauty moves humanity forward and higher on the scale of qualitative and quantitative improvements in life. It is not for nothing that nations of the world, interest organizations of all sorts and sizes, wealthy individuals, and many others invest heavily in the promotion, conservation, preservation, and storage of some of our most impactful artworks over the epochs into the future. Art immortalizes human experience.

Introducing our beloved Rock & Roll Norwegian Royal Family. Long live The King!

SIMON CHILEMBO  
OSLO
NORWAY
TEL.: +92525032
April 07, 2023

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Order, read, and be inspired by my latest and 9th book, 2nd poetry volume, MACHONA GRIT: Onslaught on Hate

๐†๐‹๐Ž๐‘๐˜ ๐ƒ๐€๐˜๐’

Living in the Now

I donโ€™t live
On past glory
Past glory is what it is
Done
Dusted
Trashed
Buried
Closed chapters
Unforgettable
Crystalized
In my songs
History
For posterity
Education

And they
Detractors
Donโ€™t understand
How it is
That I can rule today
Despite their throwing stones
At me everyday

They thought
They knew me
During my glory days
They canโ€™t figure out
Whatโ€™s become of me
When they expected
Iโ€™d vaporize
In lustreless
Post-glory days life today
Them
Pathetic dimwits
Thinking they are
My redeemers
When even
Jesus ainโ€™t my cuppa tea

I sing Hallelujah
Only โ€˜cause
It is a beautiful song
Written by a human
Out of human experience
It kindles
My glory
Which comes from within

Iโ€™m smooth
I shine
Iโ€™m glass
Reinforced
Animosity might rattle me
I wonโ€™t crack
I wonโ€™t break

Iโ€™m black
Iโ€™m bold
I glitter
Iโ€™m diamond
Iโ€™m gold fortressed
Amalgamated
Iโ€™m steel
Stainless
Dirt donโ€™t sit on me

Animosities bullet-proofed
Stones might hit me
They wonโ€™t punch holes
Through my skin
They wonโ€™t cause me harm

Hate war machines might strike me
I wonโ€™t crack
I wonโ€™t bend
I wonโ€™t fall

Glory days might come and go
True to form
Constant
My presence shall beam
Irrespective of time and space
Indomitable
When it is
My time
To grace
My space
Which is all times
All places I stand

Glory is my gift of life
For life
And they
Haters
Will never understand
How it is that
I fear not the future
Faithful to my fate
I have nothing to hide
Never had

Iโ€™m an open book
I walk my written words
Thatโ€™s my nature
True to my name
Writingโ€™s on the wall

Expository
Glory days
Spill the beans
In more ways than one
Itโ€™s only a matter of time
Bring it on

Alert
When they appear tomorrow
Them the haters
Iโ€™ll see them from afar

Fazed
They donโ€™t know
They donโ€™t know me
Theyโ€™ve never known me
Theyโ€™ll never know me
No love lost

Resilient
I live my life today
For future glory today
Thatโ€™s life worth living today
Elixir of life
Any given day
Glory
Hallelujah
Praise be to
Immortality
Living hard
Living tough
Living strong
Today
Crush me if you dare
๐„๐๐ƒ
ยฉSimon Chilembo 30/11-2022

๐‘๐„๐๐‹๐€๐‚๐„๐Œ๐„๐๐“ ๐“๐‡๐„๐Ž๐‘๐˜ ๐“๐”๐‘๐๐„๐ƒ ๐€๐‘๐Ž๐”๐๐ƒ

๐–๐ก๐ข๐ญ๐ž ๐’๐ฎ๐ฉ๐ซ๐ž๐ฆ๐š๐œ๐ฒ ๐’๐ฅ๐š๐ฉ๐ฉ๐ž๐ ๐ข๐ง ๐ญ๐ก๐ž ๐…๐š๐œ๐ž

Look to Ukraine War 2022
To see
Ukraine people tearing
Replacement Theory apart
In practice
The last of
European fascistic scum falling apart

Replacement assumes plunder
Predicates
Displacement carnage
Genocide

The last of
European American fascistic scum
Daily murder Black descendants
Ancestors of whom
Got displaced from Africa
Got placed into slavery in the Americas
Thirteen million of them
Two million of whom
Became meals for
Sharks of the Atlantic

ยฉSimon Chilembo 2021

African prosperity halted
With the gap of the loss of
Bodies and brains
Replaced forever by
Poverty and misery
Disease scaling the cake
Dysfunctional states
A legacy
The Democratic Republic of the Congo
But one case in point
Gory Leopold of Belgium
Exterminated ten million people
As if they were flies here
Numerous others left with
Amputated limbs
Setting standard for
Sierra Leoneโ€™s Charles Taylor
Decades later
Rwanda genocide
Shocked the world

Historically objectively viewed
Replacement Theory
In practice
Gave us colonialism
Gave me Apartheid
As welcome to earth present
In South Africa
Displaced
My motherโ€™s people
From their land
Subjected us to
Poverty-driven subservience
Decimated us
Denied us the living
Opportunities for
Human potential maximization attainment
Replacing our human worth
With
Systemic racism oppression untold
Supremacist repressive methodologies
Blue prints perfected here
Apartheid a fascist catchphrase
These days
If you ask me

Five-hundred years later
Iโ€™m in Europe
Begging bowl
In my hands
โ€œ๐˜๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜จ ๐˜”๐˜ช๐˜ฌ๐˜ฆ ๐˜—๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ๐˜ค๐˜ฆ!โ€ noose
Around my neck
Waiting for me
To take just one misstep
To lynch me

ยฉSimon Chilembo 2021

Survived
Have I already
Several a
Direct killer attempts
Me simply doing
What I gotta do
To be a decent human being
Everyday
Tailing after bounty
Stolen from my ancestors

Meanwhile
Hangmen-in-waiting
Scandalize my name
Already stabbed me in the back
That notwithstanding
Still standing
Stepping forth up-and-up
I can breathe

In America
Survivor posterity of my ancestral roots
Defy the highest odds
Living from day to day
Ever in search in the heavens
For reasons why
The colour of our skin
Is such an abomination
If there is a God
It is not for
People of colours

Children of the indigenous
Inhabitants of the
Americas land masses
Daily decry
Genocide of
Tens upon tens of millions of their ancestors
Fifty-six million perished
In the first one hundred years
At the hands of European scum settlers

Next time you see
The pre-match Haka
Do discern All Blacks
Souls of the Mฤori bemoaning
Replacement from their ancestral lands
In New Zealand

The Wallabies are no consolation
For the Aborigines
Replaced from their
Ancestral procreative spaces
To make room for replenishment of
Australian white supremacist
Grooming endeavours
Christchurch slaughters didnโ€™t just happen

ยฉSimon Chilembo 2021

Beyond Peleโ€™s legendary fecundity
On the soccer pitch
Millions more of
Survivor posterity of my ancestral roots
Languish
Displaced in
Brazilian favelas
And the hinterland

In Argentina
History just as dreadful for
Survivor posterity of my ancestral roots
Displace
Debase
Excruciate
Exclude
Incapacitate
Isolate
Replace
Discard
Eliminate
Thatโ€™s the way of
Replacement Theory peddlers
In practice for real
Playing itself out
With impunity
With the right hand of God
Unbeknown to compassion
Jesusโ€™ civility defiled

Today
Fleeing ravages of wars
Inseparable from
Ways of original global masters of
Replacement by murder: Imperialists
People of the world
Run to modern Europe unchanged
Steam to
United States of America the cursed un-united
Resurface in
The land down under

Traumatized
World emigrants
๐˜“๐˜ฆ๐˜ด ๐˜ช๐˜ฎ๐˜ฎ๐˜ช๐˜จ๐˜ณรฉ๐˜ด ๐˜ฅ๐˜ถ ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ๐˜ฆ
๐˜๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ฅ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ๐˜ด ๐˜ถ๐˜ต๐˜ท๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ
๐˜‰๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ด๐˜ข๐˜ฎ๐˜ข๐˜ช ๐˜ฃ๐˜ข ๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ๐˜ง๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ด๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ
๐˜ˆ๐˜ฎ๐˜ข๐˜จ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฅ๐˜ถ๐˜ฌ๐˜ข
๐˜–๐˜ฎ๐˜ข๐˜ค๐˜ฉ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ๐˜ข
Want not to kill anybody
Want not to rape anybody
Want not to plunder anybodyโ€™s land
They only ask for
Shelter, food, and love
Hopefully
Packaged in something called
Human dignity
Ukraine War 2022 style
In our times

White Supremacists
Scared shitless of
Self-created myths
Of non-white people of the world
Wanting to eat
White people
Off the face of America
My foot
We are better than that by far

Oh, come on
If racist whites
Have failed to eliminate
People of colours
From black to magenta
For more than half a millennium
What makes
Hot-nutted
Small White American men
With guns in hands
As in
Buffalo shooting
Think that they can
Eradicate us now
We define resilience, dudes
Black donโ€™t crack
Goes the rap
Letโ€™s all live together in harmony
Now

Oh, by the way
In the 21st Century
And years pushing on ahead
Monoethnics are dying breeds
Multiculturalism is
The future of humanity
United in diversity today

Grow up
And
Get used to it, yโ€™all bigots
Wash your damn bloody hands
Stay clean
For human solidarity
For love
Abound in the world
Despite the mess
You ever
So relentlessly strive
To sustain
How dum
Can a human being be
๐˜‘๐˜ฆ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฆ๐˜ป๐˜ถ๐˜ป๐˜ป๐˜ป
END
ยฉSimon Chilembo 22/05-2022

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
TEL.: +4792525032
June 02, 2022

PS
The pandemic is still in our midst. Fears and factual untruths havenโ€™t abated. In my 7th book, Covid-19 and I: Killing Conspiracy Theories, I highlight fallacies red lights and how to identify them. Order the book, read, and be inspired by my philosophical exposition on the matter. It might save yours and your loved onesโ€™ lives.

DISCLAIMER: I neither offer nor suggest any cures or remedies. I promote fearless, independent thought and inclination towards pursuing science-based knowledge in times of, indeed, frightening, life-threatening phenomena in the world.

ยฉSimon Chilembo 2020

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