I wish I was in Mogadishu (in 1970)
For the love of old things; don’t let (all) bygones be bygones. I just relish the feeling of Nostalgia in the morning.
For the love of old things; don’t let (all) bygones be bygones. I just relish the feeling of Nostalgia in the morning.
Sampling what we can from the past, but let’s not get existential and delve into history here, I’m simply talking about pockets, pockets of time.
Are you a little lost? Allow me a moment to explicate. I like mystery. I’m a tad sentimental, a little traditional, and more than somewhat adventurous – but only as adventurous as an introvert allows himself to be. I tend to explore in pockets, in times of inspiration to feed my soul. But, what I’m nudging towards here is: treasures. We cannot take anything with us from this life (thought I wasn’t getting existential), but we can always treasure those notes that award life more depth.
I was chatting to a friend and colleague about the internet and how people don’t want to read anymore –technology has made us lazy and a little idiotic and stupid, or perhaps just numb. Truth is, most people are okay with speedy temporary mediocrity, or they just allow it to be okay.
Are you a little lost? Allow me a moment to explicate. I like mystery. I’m a tad sentimental, a little traditional, and more than somewhat adventurous – but only as adventurous as an introvert allows himself to be. I tend to explore in pockets, in times of inspiration to feed my soul. But, what I’m nudging towards here is: treasures. We cannot take anything with us from this life (thought I wasn’t getting existential), but we can always treasure those notes that award life more depth.
I was chatting to a friend and colleague about the internet and how people don’t want to read anymore –technology has made us lazy and a little idiotic and stupid, or perhaps just numb. Truth is, most people are okay with speedy temporary mediocrity, or they just allow it to be okay.
I like to read. Sounds simple, because it is, but as has been bemoaned in the recent past, it also feels like its dying in this society. I’m currently reading an espionage thriller fantasy – sounds unreal (well it is a work of fiction), but its set somewhere in the 50’s/60’s, and it’s made up of gloriously vivid characters and stark locations. This of course was a period when there was much more mystery in the world. The world wasn’t as conscious of itself as it is now – so in a way it too is a character in the novel.
This was a time of deadly aristocrats, master thieves, underworld assassins and smugglers with trench coats – each with their own individual quirks and signatures – and those would be the good guys. This feels like an era long gone, because it is. Like another story I read some time ago that began (if memory serves) with an already old-world English traveller in Mogadishu, in the days before an attempted coup d’état in the late 70’s, as he lamented the changing of times as the dark political shadows grew longer over the city – this as he sipped a cool beverage with (as per the delightful description) an Iman lookalike. I’m certain there are characters like these living today, but they’ve been absorbed by the corporate world, the technology, a blanket of commercialism, social media and globalization. This, here, now, around us, is a diluted society. It’s something you’ll find as a theme in some of the stories I’ve written; from a father telling his son a bedtime story encompassing his former dangerous and high-speed life, to a girl imploring her mother to take her down the path to find her estranged father a half a world away.
This was a time of deadly aristocrats, master thieves, underworld assassins and smugglers with trench coats – each with their own individual quirks and signatures – and those would be the good guys. This feels like an era long gone, because it is. Like another story I read some time ago that began (if memory serves) with an already old-world English traveller in Mogadishu, in the days before an attempted coup d’état in the late 70’s, as he lamented the changing of times as the dark political shadows grew longer over the city – this as he sipped a cool beverage with (as per the delightful description) an Iman lookalike. I’m certain there are characters like these living today, but they’ve been absorbed by the corporate world, the technology, a blanket of commercialism, social media and globalization. This, here, now, around us, is a diluted society. It’s something you’ll find as a theme in some of the stories I’ve written; from a father telling his son a bedtime story encompassing his former dangerous and high-speed life, to a girl imploring her mother to take her down the path to find her estranged father a half a world away.
I like holding history in my fingers. From books, to my father’s old broken watch…
So what if they say I’m grasping at phantoms – whispers of the past that can never be again, trying to, in some small way relive a moment, or colour in a distant memory, I’ve always been like this, from trying to break into my Dad’s safe when I was seven, or trying to get into either of my grandfather’s backyard sheds – there was mystery there yes, but also objects that were decades older than me, and in a young mind, anything can be a treasure, the trick is to keep a hold of a morsel of that youth, to add whimsy to something that strikes a chord in the vein of the illusive things alluded to here..
So what if they say I’m grasping at phantoms – whispers of the past that can never be again, trying to, in some small way relive a moment, or colour in a distant memory, I’ve always been like this, from trying to break into my Dad’s safe when I was seven, or trying to get into either of my grandfather’s backyard sheds – there was mystery there yes, but also objects that were decades older than me, and in a young mind, anything can be a treasure, the trick is to keep a hold of a morsel of that youth, to add whimsy to something that strikes a chord in the vein of the illusive things alluded to here..
 |  "All of life is a foreign country." |  |
They don’t make anything like they used to. The trick is in finding gems with no pretense.
Moral here is; don’t stop reading. Books on a shelf are like latent worlds waiting to be discovered and explored – although some are more vivid than others…
There is a bit of mystery left in the world yet, it’s just about being willing to look, to find something from a certain time, or maybe just something timeless, that isn’t in plain sight. Maybe you’ll find a secret garden, or just a secret that once was lost, but now is yours. It's about discovery, and that endless pursuit, of grandeur... even in the small things.
Ahh, tis but a practiced talent indeed, to master the art,
of savouring.
Moral here is; don’t stop reading. Books on a shelf are like latent worlds waiting to be discovered and explored – although some are more vivid than others…
There is a bit of mystery left in the world yet, it’s just about being willing to look, to find something from a certain time, or maybe just something timeless, that isn’t in plain sight. Maybe you’ll find a secret garden, or just a secret that once was lost, but now is yours. It's about discovery, and that endless pursuit, of grandeur... even in the small things.
Ahh, tis but a practiced talent indeed, to master the art,
of savouring.
     |      |
"Any man's life, told truly, is a novel."
--- ERNEST HEMINGWAY, Death in the Afternoon
[Image credits: pinterest, tumblr, imgur.com, darnour.com, grantstonerrawlings.blogspot.com, i3.minus.com, lonelygentlemangloves.com, mogadishuimages.com, eurocrime.blogspot.com]
Related Posts:
Why do we love the red convertible?
Ugly Beautiful
The Inside Watch
Abandoned Ruins of Speed
Why do we love the red convertible?
Ugly Beautiful
The Inside Watch
Abandoned Ruins of Speed
RSS Feed
