Commit no Nuisance

I have this picturesque picture on my door, so I can be reminded, among other things, of the subjective character of public messages. What do you mean, mate? Haha. What is a fucking nuisance? My piano teacher said it was originally made to keep people from peeing on the streets. Right... I imagine a drunk 18th century man dying for a piss getting his willy out of his trousers, feeling the warm flow of piss coming, the relief of pissing, oh, so nice, blissfully looking up to see this sign and quickly holding his urine cos he doesn't want to commit a nuisance. That doesn't happen, does it? This sign lives round the corner from my college, and I come and visit it every couple of weeks, just to say hello, since now the times changed and no one seems to know what a nuisance is anymore. And I love it!

But, hey, that's how they do it in England apparently, in conjunction with the "fit in" lobotomy and imposed "common sense". They put signs everywhere, expensive ones, and people just follow it(?), and the respectable middle class smiles happily. They made this huge campaign to tackle illegal work. Big fuck off posters in every bus stop saying "we know where you get you cash in hand work". Scary, hu? Not really. They spent 3 million pounds on advertisement and caught 3 people! Haha.

But I really think it's a clever way to do things. I suspect that odd fellow thinking about cheating the system is going to think twice if he/she sees big posters on every corner. Don't know about the knife campaign. It's a big problem here in England. No guns? Let's stab, then. The piss campaign, well, I won't piss on the street cos I don't have a willy, that's the main reason, but that sign would never keep me from doing it cos I wouldn't guess what it means. Lovely. Keep it like that.

100 Monkeys

Haha. As I reach peak alienation, my life reaches the top of the happiness mountain. I think I don't know what you are talking about at any given time. Alienation. Oh, don't think it's bad, hun. Should I say individuation? It is a paradox, isn't it? Just like when I bought my "I love sex" mug and went celibate for some unknown reason, I feel so close to you as much as I'm so fucking far away. I'm a walking T.A.Z.


So, tonight I'm starting a new type of autonomous zone. I will call it called SPAZ (nothing to do with spazzy), semi-temporary autonomous zone. Since I reached the peak of alienation and now the wheel of life will probably connect me to the masses again in a mundane way, just like before, I decided to test the 100 monkeys theory. I need 99 more monkeys to spread the SPAZ idea through the morphic field. My initial idea is that we practice transcendental meditation, innocence, fun useless sporadic work, sleep indulgence and that we speak like The Cat in the Hat . It will be tricky, I know, but it's worthwhile, the benefits are immense, and no higher skill comes without discipline. Any volunteers? Suggestions?

In the cracks of the system we think. The cracks in the system here in London are huge caves with air-conditioning, free food and exotic dances. It's fun. Some people manage to make the cracks even wider so we can pretend to be useful for a fair amount of money. This lovely lady made up a travel information website to try and convince people to walk or use public transport instead of using cars, and also invite people to go to Muswell Hill festival. How lovely! How do you think she wants to promote it? With a pantomime horse and funny walkers, of course! What else?

I don't know if you ever tried walking around dressed as a horse but I'll tell you, you can see fuck all, so they needed me to guide the 2 guys inside the pantomime horse through the streets of Muswell Hill, dressed as a horse rider, obviously.

Good money, the lads were fun, all good, but I feel in love recently and you know how it is. My mind kept wondering away so the pantomime horse walked into bushes, banged their head on those plastic roof things outside cafes, crossed the street randomly and nearly invaded the teddy bear event happening at the church across the road.

There was a small queue of children waiting to see their teddy bears fly from the top of the roof in parachutes. They even got a certificate afterwards, to prove that they entertained their teddies at the church that Saturday. There was a lady with a stethoscope, checking the teddies heartbeats after the jump, assuring the little ones their teddies were fine. Sweet.

We stumbled across the pavement into the church, causing various reactions. The horse's face wasn't exactly kids-friendly so the scared ones screamed in horror as I clumsily got my horse out of their sight.

Well, this story wouldn't be so special if it didn't signify the end of my beating-around-the-bush-till-last-year-at-college. From now till the end of June 2007 I'll be pursuing my noble plans of setting up an educational project in deprived areas of London (yes, there are deprived areas here) and teaching as many south London people as my energy allows how to make music.

I truly think if you have a creative output you're half awake in this world. No, I don't have the delusion or the ego trip of changing the world or the educational system as my teacher has, but if I can get a few kids in my area to make new connections, get their arses in gear and explore their unconscious through music, I'm sure the other monkeys will benefit too, and maybe they'll contaminate the neighbourhood with songs about love and detachment. Who knows? Let's see. But I just want my neighbourhood to be groovy. That's it. Merely selfish reasons.

Believe those who are seeking the truth, doubt those who find it.

I'm a highly suggestible creature. As soon as I see a big beard I believe the bearer to be a wise man.

Save... Save who?

"Save The Planet? The planet isn't going anywhere. We are. We're going away, pack your shit folks. We won't leave much of a trace either...Maybe a little Styrofoam. The planet will be here, we'll be long gone, just another failed mutation...The planet will shake us off like a bad case of fleas, a surface nuisance. You want to know how the planet's doing? Ask those people at Pompeii who are frozen into position..." - George Carlin

hahahaha... Well done Mr Carlin. That puts things into perspective. Should we change our slogan to "save the human kind"? Huummm... Are we vanishing soon enough to save the earth? I don't know. We humans are tough, you know.

If we reduced the population of the world to 100 people just as an experiment, keeping the actual proportions, there would be 57 Asiatics, 21 Europeanss, 8 Africanss and 4 Americanss. 52 would be women, 48 would be men, 70 would be non-white, 30 would be white, 70 would be non Christianss, 30 would be Christians (sigh...), 89 would be heterosexuals and 11 would be homosexuals. 6 people would possess 59% of all mundane riches and all 6 would be Americans. From all 100 people, 80 of them would life in subhuman conditions. 70 would be analphabets, 50 would be undernourished, 1 would be about to die, 1 would be about to be born, and only 1, ladies and gentlemen, would have a university degree. There would be also 1 lucky bastard who owns a computer. It if wasn't me, it would be my husband, of course.

So if you woke up healthy this morning you're luckier than millions of people that didn't make through this week. If you have never experienced the perils of war, never felt the loneliness of prison, never felt the agony of being tortured or the afflictionss of hunger you are better off than 500 million people. If you can go to church or to your chosen holy place without the fear of being humiliated, arrested, tortured or killed, than you are more fortunate than 3 billion people.

If you have food in the fridge, clothes in your wardrobe (or everywhere in the room like me), a ceiling above your head and a place to sleep, you are richer than 75% of the world population. If you save some money in the bank and in your money pig you are among the richest 8%. If your parents are together and still alive you are a very rare person. And since you are reading this, you are "safer" than the 2 billion analphabets.

I'm ok, really. Can't complain. Sorry for the heavy post, but I thought you would like to think about the world this way for a few moments, on a different scale.

Poisoning pigeons in the park

As you guys must have noticed I'm well into Buddhism. I'm cultivating the power of now, transforming negative thoughts into light, not feeding my passions (not necessary but celibate for a while now), avoiding meat, working on my aggressive behaviour and refraining from killing, which is quite hard considering the amount of huge hairy spiders strolling around my house.

I'm reading The Tibetan Book of the Dead, but reading the mantras in a western way can be quite hilarious, so I often start laughing, which is not very respectful, is it? I also laugh out loud when I read the description of the Peaceful and Wrathful Deities in the Great Liberation by Hearing. 3 heads, one is blue, the middle one is burning dark yellow and the 3rd one is red, six arms, one holding a skull cup, the next one holding an axe, and so forth... hahaha. That's the type of image our minds produce when we die, apparently.

But you know, it's tricky to be Buddhist. I went to a Buddhist centre near Soho Square, just to see if they could help me in any way. They could. I bought a nice Nag Champa soap, flicked through a few good books, talked to the smiley lady behind the counter, went downstairs to get some tasty Veggie food and sat down at Soho Square to eat my lunch.

As I opened my lunch box, feeling so fulfilled, so happy to be, so so Zen, a flock of filthy pigeons flew my way avid for a bit of my food. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh, filthy flying rats! Get tha fuck out of here, you nasty creatures! My Buddhism is gone. Just like that. Machine guns, poison sprays, a big crane, Marshmallow Man tap dancing. I thought of a thousand different ways of killing them all, and killing quickly, right there by the peaceful Buddhist centre.

They got the message and flew away, covering the real Buddhist sitting 5 benches away. She didn't mind it at all and shared her food with those things, smiling at them as if they were babies. Fucking nutter, I thought. They carry deadly diseases, they stink, they... they... They should be dead!!!! Ok, I'm not 100% Buddhist then. Maybe I'll be born a fucking pigeon in my next life, but I did my part. I didn't act on my emotion. I didn't kill any pigeon, so it's fine. But I must be going backwards in my spiritual journey cos I remember clearly I used to like pigeons when I was a little girl. I used to feed them and everything. In fact every child likes pigeons, just cos they don't have the slightest idea of the nasty things they do. Oh, the age of innocence...

But still, I have to do something about my rage, so I thought of singing this lovely tune with you guys. It's harmless. Let's sing along! Let's sing for democracy! Let's sing for the rights of the unborn pigeons! Let's sing Poisoning Pigeons in the Park by Tom Lehrer! For those who never heard this before, please click on the link and follow the lyrics bellow.


Spring is here, a-suh-puh-ring is here.
Life is skittles and life is beer.
I think the loveliest time of the year is the spring.
I do, don't you? 'Course you do.
But there's one thing that makes spring complete for me,
And makes every Sunday a treat for me.

All the world seems in tune
On a spring afternoon,
When we're poisoning pigeons in the park.
Every Sunday you'll see
My sweetheart and me,
As we poison the pigeons in the park.

When they see us coming, the birdies all try an' hide,
But they still go for peanuts when coated with cyanide.
The sun's shining bright,
Everything seems all right,
When we're poisoning pigeons in the park.

Lalaalaalalaladoodiedieedoodoodoo

We've gained notoriety,
And caused much anxiety
In the Audubon Society
With our games.
They call it impiety,
And lack of propriety,
And quite a variety
Of unpleasant names.
But it's not against any religion
To want to dispose of a pigeon.

So if Sunday you're free,
Why don't you come with me,
And we'll poison the pigeons in the park.
And maybe we'll do
In a squirrel or two,
While we're poisoning pigeons in the park.

We'll murder them all amid laughter and merriment.
Except for the few we take home to experiment.
My pulse will be quickenin'
With each drop of strychnine
We feed to a pigeon.
It just takes a smidgin!
To poison a pigeon in the park.

The Flow

Behold! That is a lie! They are also called comedians, writers, dancers, painters, artists in general. Why, beautiful people, these artists attract us so much? Why, ladies and gentlemen, do we have orgasms on the dance floor, shivers in the art gallery, giggles in the studio, bliss on the Internet and all sorts of emotions flooding our brains when we are exposed to art? Don't you worry, oh Buddha child. I'm going to tell you why. It all starts inside the bodies of these skillful human beings who managed to merge action and awareness and feel the FLOW. We feel the flow through them, and it makes us fly.

First, let us have a look at the components of flow, nicely categorized below by psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi

1 Clear goals (expectations and rules are discernable).
2 Concentrating and focusing, a high degree of concentration on a limited field of attention (a person engaged in the activity will have the opportunity to focus and to delve deeply into it).
3 A loss of the feeling of self-consciousness, the merging of action and awareness.
4 Distorted sense of time - our subjective experience of time is altered.
5 Direct and immediate feedback (successes and failures in the course of the activity are apparent, so that behavior can be adjusted as needed).
6 Balance between ability level and challenge (the activity is neither too easy nor too difficult).
7 A sense of personal control over the situation or activity.
8 The activity is intrinsically rewarding, so there is an effortlessness of action.
Not all of these components are needed for flow to be experienced.

I would like to elaborate on the bullet point number 8, which to me explains why some brilliant artists, having made a genius album, forget the flow in a search of external rewards and end up making a rubbish album following the initial success. Yes, beautiful creatures, they may think of fields of girls/boys chasing them down narrow corridors, but the main focus is the art itself when most careers start. A few buckets full of dollars later and the smell of money, the pressure of a whole society, an ego trip or a possible identification with the mind causes them to chase their own tail instead of feeling the flow. Having said that, we can move forward to illustrate this idea with examples related to our more humble reality, and maybe find out why some of us disconnected from the source and stopped making art.

Desmond Morris, as published in The Biology of Art did a very clever experiment where chimpanzees were given canvas and some paint. They got into the flow making weird paintings, using colours to create effects, completely absorbed. They were truly having fun. After a few weeks Mr. Morris started "rewarding the chimpanzees for producing their paintings. Very soon their work began to degenerate until they produced the bare minimum that would satisfy the experimenter." Mr. Morris managed to get them out of the flow by introducing external rewards, just like schools do to us, just like society, hindering our natural flow of creativity.

Just bear that in mind when you are making art, and suddenly a voice in your head wonders if people are going to like it. That's not the point, really.

Chinese medicine

My hormone imbalance is very good for me, I think. It makes me more assertive, physically stronger in a way, slightly masculine in a sexy way. The downside is that near my period I go nuts and my skin resembles an overcooked lasagna a Bolognese. No one notices it cos the lovely Egyptians invented make-up and I know the best places to buy it. Other than that it's fine, my skin is peach-like throughout the month, apart from those 5 fucking days.

Western medicine treats my condition with pills but those horrible things make me very sensitive. So much I cry watching washing powder commercials. It's sad. I wonder if that's what it is to be a "normal" woman. I don't like it, so I made my way to the nearest Chinese medicine shop and told the Chinese woman behind the counter about my suffering.

I said I have cists in my womb that cause a hormone imbalance and it is a normal thing for a western woman to have. She said it's not normal with a very alarming tone of voice. I explained myself saying what I meant by "normal" is that 1 in every 6 women has it. She said something happened to me in my teenage years and I have to fix it, balance the hormones, and clean my blood. I wonder what happened in my teenage years. hahaha. Well...

Anyway, she gave me these lovely Chinese boxes full of pills, a Chinese soap, a Chinese lotion and wrote the instructions on the boxes cos I can't read Chinese. I'm totally in her hands. She could give anything. I wouldn't notice. Lovely feeling.

The treatment lasts for 2 weeks, and after that I'm sorted. 26 pills twice a day, a bit of Chinese soap, a bit of magik lotion and I'm saying goodbye to the Egyptians. I get home, lock myself in my room and stare at my collection of Chinese boxes, beautiful and mysterious. I feel so happy I bought them! I don't know why.

Next week I'm doing acupuncture, as recommended by the lovely Chinese woman. I've done it before. It's great! And these pills are working! But they leave a slightly metallic taste in my mouth. Anyway, they are wise people. I won't ask the I Ching if I should trust the Chinese doctor cos it will slap me in the face with a rude hexagram. It must be a bit patriotic, I suppose.

Transformation/Utopia

If the accumulated knowledge of Western civilization has anything of value to offer us at this point, it is an awareness of just how much is possible when it comes to human life. Our otherwise foolish scholars of history and sociology and anthropology can at least show us this one thing: that human beings have lived in a thousand different kinds of societies, with ten thousand different tables of values, ten thousand different relationships to each other and the world around them, ten thousand different conceptions of self. A little traveling can show you the same thing, if you get there before Coca-Cola has had too much of a head start.

That's why I can't help but scoff when someone refers to "human nature," invariably in the course of excusing himself for a miserable resignation to our supposed fate. Don't you realize we share a common ancestor with sea urchins? If differing environments can make these distant cousins of ours so very distant from us, how much more possible must small changes in ourselves and our interactions be! If there is anything lacking (and there sorely, sorely is, most will admit) in our lives, anything unnecessarily tragic or meaningless in them, any corner of happiness that we have not yet thoroughly explored, then all that is needed is for us to alter our environments accordingly. "If you want to change the world, you first must change yourself," the saying goes; we have learned that the opposite is true.

Continues at Deoxy.org

Life is music

I'm floating, or maybe I'm liquid myself. Crazy days, running from big gigs to small gigs, from my own gigs to someone else's, fun work, exciting explorations, I feel as if I'm on acid all the time. The order of things, the disorder, instant Karma, changes I made and worked out brilliantly... Life has been treating me well. A few turning points later and my enemies became my old friends, my old friends became a question mark full of sweet surprises, new friends jump out of bushes with purple flowers in their hands, wise. Life is good.

I posted this website on my myspace and it was a big hit, so thought of introducing Pandora to my blogger friends so they can feel the flow of things on this fucking excellent website. Webradio? Much more, I would say. Check it. It helps you discover more music you like