Copywriter meets web 2.0

We push our minds, we wreck our heads

We work day and night in search of Gold

The fame, the glory, the promotion, the money

A Pencil, a Lion, a Spike, or a Clio

The list goes on, the pressure to perform

Drives us insane, makes some better, makes some lesser

Where do I stand if I don’t deliver?

My worth is weighed on a scale of metal!

Gold: you are the best

Silver: fantastic

Bronze: better than most

Finalist: better than nothing

You must understand one thing, if you are to understand a Creative

Adland is ruled by the ones who have Gold

It’s a zero sum game and my score stands at ‘0′

My competitive streak plays havoc on my esteem when I review

My work and it hasn’t brought me a trace of a prize

So I kamikaze into my pad

I satisfy my thirst for greatness with a 0.4mm marker

I try and try and try again

Another scamp, one more headline

Till my eyes drop off and my fingers bleed

Till I am carted away into a lobotomy

The passion and the pain - my raison d’etre

I am a copywriter, darn it! The joy, the curse

Leave me alone you halfwits, lazybones, ‘mediocrits’

I don’t have time for your power games your politics

hisjnc jhsh kal a9wj jwnao jsuvk ssss jaj aqiqi ziwndusolf

There.

I’ve lost it.

We were sitting with our backs on the rockface of a hill,

a grassy patch was our small mat, an ancient cleft on the rock became a seat for two,

we had 180 degree views of a wide river winding lazily past the hill,

a few houses hardly lining the riverbanks were in view, berry red walls, white window panes,

it was cold but the spring sun was shining gloriously on our faces,

and it was there I took out the ring and asked her to marry me.

After pausing a moment, she smiled, and said Yes.

We drank in the wonderful intimacy as we watched the wildflowers dance,

The wind offered its music, the breeze blowed the scent of our love

and my deep, satisfied sigh, far, far, away.

I’ve uploaded two of my songs recently. Click on Worship Project link on your right column to listen. I am making my songs free on the Net. I will, however, accept ‘love offerings’ from individuals who want to support what I’m doing or give towards worship that have blessed them and others.

I’m feeling low.
A low that cannot be explained.
A low that must be experienced to be understood.
In this state, the mind scans and searches.
Like a bony mongrel sniffing for bones.

   I’m asking Why.

Why this. Why that. Why, Why, Why.

This three-letter word keeps the unknown, hidden.

   But Why speaks.

Its voice was heard from the day Man was made.

Why tells me I am merely a speck in the universe.

Why tells me I cannot fathom certain things.

Why tells me I must accept what I cannot accept.

   Why matures me.

The way it matured generations of Man’s existence.

Why doesn’t stop me from loving in spite of the risks.

Why makes me realise the importance of living for now and not tomorrow.

Why helps me worship my Creator better.

   Why. I embrace you!

I kiss Why on the lips and I thank you.

Some things are better left alone in the Mind of the Maker.

On this side of the Curtain of Knowledge,

I want to walk beside it without feeling too unhappy that I can’t see through it.

   Why. Let’s not have an antagonistic relationship.

Since I’m stuck with you for life.

I want to befriend you.

I want to take you home and give you a room.

We’ll be good housemates.

We won’t do anything that will cause a stir or a row.

Welcome, Why, welcome.

There is a city of bright lights called Samsara. Its populace reek of splendour, plastic and clever gadgets. The neon signs flash themes of merriment, sex and power. In that city are an odd bunch called Believers. Believers believed in what was unbelieveable to the masses. They knew about and believed the existence of a Kingdom. They believed in a Kingdom called Kirk.

Kirk was regularly attended by Believers. It was very important to go to Kirk. Kirk was the Kingdom! Kirk was found in a big building - a wonderful one with tallish steeples called Pedestal and Prestige. To ensure that its facilities were maintained and steeples looked good, Believers were exhorted time and again to give funds to Kirk. Nobody wanted Kirk to close down. So into suede bags the dollars went.

Kirk was IT… I mean it was the all in all for Believers. It was where the Believer went if he or she wanted a taste of The Glory. Kirk existed for The Glory. That warm tingling feeling in your stomach at the right pause at certain times in the Kirk. Oh, yeah. The gut, The Glory! Halle-kirk-jah! Believers lived for that. Well, actually, once a week they woke up, read the papers, had coffee and toast, and drove to Kirk for that.

And why was The Glory worth getting up for? Because The Glory proved beyond shadow of doubt that the Kingdom was there - in the Kirk. C’mon, that sensation has got to be Kingdom! So the faithful Believers knew about and believed in a Kingdom called Kirk and that was all there was. Until one day when Believer on Seat 32XV9001L had an interesting find.

Seat 32 (what we will call him) found a dusty forgotten book on the shelf of the Kirk’s huge library of tomes. It was simply called Love Story. Seat 32 picked it up and sneezed many times, it was so dusty! Seat 32 had not felt The Glory for some time. For all his life, actually. He heard other Believers talk about The Glory; the ones who sat more to the front, especially, had so much The Glory tales to tell. But Seat 32 had none.

When Believers asked Seat 32 if he felt The Glory, he’d just nod his head but say nothing. He felt ashamed every time he did that. But to have no experiences like that, he’d be deemed an irregular Kirk goer. And nobody wanted to be known as that. It was too shameful. So nod he did and smile he did, but he never said Yes I did.

Back to the old book. Seat 32 read the pages of the Love Story as he walked home that day. The book did something to him as he read each word. Tears began to flow from his eyes. His tummy felt wrung like a wet mop that desperately wanted to get dry. He gasped as he read how a good and mysterious man, for three years, helped people supernaturally, was misunderstood, and then given a terrorist’s death.

He struggled with how this man who was a king could live poor among society’s refuse. And talk about wrong timing. Why did this man choose to walk on the very soil of Samsara at a time when colonialists ruled with chains? No splendour, plastic or clever gadgets. Just blood and taxes. Everywhere he went, needy people followed. Sick people. Dead people. Demon-possessed people. All kinds of literally damned people.

Seat 32 read on till he finished the last page. As he shut the book, something life-altering happened - his mind opened. It dawned on him that Kirk was not all it was meant to be. Over the years, Kirk became a convenient Sunday ritual for lazy people who filled seats and suede bags. It was largely irrelevant to the dwellers of Samsara city. It had no voice. No heart. It was so different from what the man in the Love Story was like.

Another big problem: The Glory was not what the book said it was. The pages of Love Story contained powerful miracles and other supernatural phenomena. Men and women in the book did mind-boggling things inside and outside of Kirk. They foretold the future, they read minds, they raised dead people, thier shadows healed others, they walked out of maximum security prisons, they experienced teleportation, they walked on water, they could feed an army with a Happy Meal, they spoke languages they’ve never learnt, they heard God’s voice. The Glory was surely not a tingling in the stomach!