theCUXN - The Tale Of The Day Of BOLD - A Berrytale

Once upon a time in Southberry, a horrible four eyed monster named Monochrome held a deleterious reign over the once beautiful land and it’s once vibrant and unified young Southberries. The poor Berries had been surviving persistent waves of hellacious attacks at the hand of Monochromes Polyphonic Army. The once colorful people had such incredible heart that however defeated and beaten they were by the army they would proclaim wishfully in song the hope of the Day of Bold.
This day was promised one hundred years ago in a most magical prophecy. It was written that a single man would liberate the people and defeat the tyranny before repainting the world with the most beautiful colors. Monochrome thought the young people fools and scoffed at their wishful grasp to the ancient word. He laughed so loud at their song that the ground trembled so hard that all the color of the world fell to the ground and scattered - making it hard for the Berries to see or communicate with each other.

On a treacherous day, Mono walked up to rest his weight on the alarmingly short podium as the people gathered in Curve Square for the once a year Passing of Law hosted by the plump tyrant. A stale, stagnant gaseous concoction of machiavellian tactic, solitude and tariff stunk into the crowd as he began to speak.
“Amendment one:  Bills for all communications will be quadrupled. Amendment two:  The cost of all communication devices will be also quadrupled”. A piercingly loud reign of boos flew from the cheated population. Monochrome raised his voice as he spoke on, “Amendment three: All youth found holding gatherings of more than three will face the horrors of the polyphonic chair!" The final amendment read that the Prophecy of Bold would thenceforth be banned from Southberry and whosoever would dare make reference of it would suffer the glare of the Green Screen Beam.

Terror and hopelessness settled in the hearts of the berries. As it did, Lord Monochrome ordered his soldiers to throw canisters of Green screen beam into the crowd who, as a result, dispersed in every humanly possible direction coughing, kicking and screaming.
In the confusion of fleeing Berries a mother left a boy to be lost in the thickness of the Green Screen beam. The boy held tight to his fluffy companion, QWERTY, noticing how the smoke didn’t affect him in the slightest. Monochrome seized laughter when he saw the boy’s silhouette did not shadow that of the other terror struck berries. The boys arm, at that moment, was yanked by his relieved mother’s hand.

On walking the colorless paths that lead to the boys mothers’ humble home, he noticed his stuffed companion QWERTY was no longer with him. He thought desperately to try and recall the moment of separation. 
Meanwhile, one of Monochromes soldiers was clearing the hall of empty green beam canisters when he found what looked like a toy. The Soldier thought the miniature keyboard on the toy quite peculiar and thus returned it to Lord Monochrome whom he would examined the artifact rigorously by.
Once the boy set foot at home his mother finally let his now drenched in sweat hand to be at his own whim once more. Mother was tired, and all the boy could think of was QWERTY – poor lost and probably cold QWERTY. He tried to forget until the morning but by the time Mother fell asleep, his inexplicable bond with QWERTY had led him sneakily out the house and speedily on route to the great hall in search of his most favorite toy.

What is your name son? A soldier asked a little boy lurking the great hall alone at night. “My name is BOLD, I am looking for a toy of mine I may have dropped sir. Could you have by any chance seen it?”

The soldier, recalling the strange artifact he had found earlier that day, asked the boy - “Does it have a miniature keyboard on it young lad?” Yes, the boy replied with gleaming eyes. “Does it have a series of oddly shaped dots on back of its head?” Yes that’s QWERTY, The boy exclaimed. The soldier grabbed the boy firmly by the arm and said “you’re coming with me!”

The boy lagged violently behind the soldier's tight grip, through the streets and up the stairs inside great tower and into Monochromes chambers where QWERTY was perched on the tallest pedestal. Monochromes grimace deepened before he interrogated Bold using the agonizing Green Beam. The boys courage shone through after surviving waves and waves of green beam glare, he did not die. Instead monochrome quickly tired, and thought to continue his violent inquisition in the morrow. The boy, who was then locked in a small cage, began to fall asleep from the pain.
So close to, yet so far from QWERTY. His eyes grew heavy, as did the inevitability of the fate awaiting him.
This would have been so, if the most enchanted and impossible had not.
With one buckle and a shake, QWERTY flew gracefully from its pedestal and hovered above the ground magically toward BOLD's cage.  QWERTY synchronized the cages lock with his miniature keyboard and typed the letters b-l-a-c-k-b-e-r-r-y. The cage magically opened.

It is said that Monochrome died that morning of a heart attack when the soldier revealed the name of the boy who escaped. It is also possible he already knew the boy’s name before he slumbered, and died the next morning from natural causes. QWERTY would disagree.
Before noon, all the Berries knew of what Bold had done and could not help but burst with jubilee at the fulfillment of the Prophecy of Bold. Monochrome was gone forever and all the youth could finally live together - sharing, interacting and communicating freely; talking revolutions, setting trends and promoting smiling faces.
All is well said Bold. All but one thing – the color of Southberry was still missing from the walls and trees and everything once beautiful.
The Berries soon realized that after all of Monochromes earthquakes, the colors of the North had been shaken to the South and all the colors of the West had been shaken far into the east. One could not possibly travel those distances on foot.

When QWERTY heard this, his heart began to pulse a white glow and the oddly shaped dots on the back of his head formed came together to form what appeared to resemble the letter B .
All the colors of the world, from the South where the excitable youth dwell, the North that hosts the collectors and thinkers, and the East where swagger exudes to the west where the singers and arts men rest, flew magically into Qwerty. With a click and a scroll all the colors of the world were shared evenly across Southberry and the marvelous envisage that was this country was restored.

The Berries sang the Prophecy of the Day of Bold again and again until time was no more.

The End

Story by Lutho Mtyamde for Blackberry

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theRM - Distortion

Album Art Design for J-SEC (Just Separate Emotions Completely)

By theLVNGrmr

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theCOUCH - Let Her to Weave

She looked as good as the day. My fingers fondled about her from the tiny frolicles of her arm northbound until they found purpose in her hair. As my index finger became a hostage to a cornrow sheltered by a sheath of horse fiber, my fateful inquisition began. 
I don’t encourage a follow in my fingersteps as you too may have a page turner seized or worse yet, develop an obscene intrigue in the captivating and abandoning strand of contemplation that is the Brazilian weave.
I dared to ask how much it cost and the answer left me speechless - but type full. The reason why someone would want that extensive maintenance plan for the rest of one’s existence titled my vessel enough for what we have here.

In the 1970’s Martin Luther king led an incredibly prominent socio-political movement which played an incredible role in the revolution of the black society. Unlike his contemporary, Malcolm x, Martin Luther didn’t strive for black power. His dream was of equality and black consciousness. Consciousness, that is, of one’s self and the embracing of one’s true identity. This notion could be stretched far across the borders of race but Ill practice restraint. MLK wanted the black civilization to be proud of who they are and embrace their natural attributes.
Racism however and all the components therein had bestowed insistently upon the black community a self-inferiority complex.  The idea that white people are superior slowly began making and shaping their logic. 

Long and silky, shiny hair, and light skin resembling purest of pures. The grave deepens but I’ve dug enough as we've uncovered the two attributes of the white man that the black person, Martin Luther king and all the ‘black is beautiful’ chanters could never compete with - Beauty.

Correct me if I’m wrong but I think the average price for a hair peace is like five-hundred Doughnuts. Not much I thought until she told me she changes it every month. I popped up the calculator and punched in the holy trinity (Merlot, cigarettes and ice-cream). The calculator proposed that I could buy a 2009 and a corkscrew, fifteen twenties or rent an ice-cream truck for a day if I took the hair peace to cash crusaders. 
As my eyes left the green beam of the math tool and fixed on hers, I looked with a most contorted expression. How could a person ever live with themselves knowing that they have blasphemed against the holy trinity for a chance to prove that oppression is still ferociously in effect?



In the same era, protestors pertaining to the movement began to publicly object to the use of hair strengtheners, bleaches, skin whiteners and everything black people used to make themselves, well… white. We’re talking marches with Fists in the air, a cloud of afros and a floor of sneakers (Thus came about afro comb with fist on the top… I cannot account for the footwear however). They began to embrace their blackness and revolted any white culture transference they had undergone. Being black, became the bruise of an abused woman worn with litost and an exhibitionists flare. They needed not apply something to themselves to be beautiful or acceptable, their being was enough 

I am aware of our unique psychologies, face and humanity alike - making the act of hiding your own attributes to look like the other person as futile as standing still for a very long time. 
Today, almost all the black woman I come across boast a well lubricated peace of oppression on their heads. And if for some reason this additive isn’t available to them, life as they know it is in utter distress. An acquaintance of mine even said this, ‘god is unfair for giving us this hair!' 
A protest chant if you will - unfair for this hair! Unfair for this hair!

Now I’m not saying that all black woman should cast their weaves to sea and sport the perplexity cluster that is Khoi-San hair. Definitely not because the argument that goes against all that I have said is just as strong if not overwhelming. It calls itself Globalization - the inter-cultural exchange that has allowed Skhothanes the Italian Carvella and coloured people martial arts training. Without the possibility of borrowing from each other’s cultures we wouldn’t be much of a unified or interactive world. 
So you, yonder, contemplating your scalp. It’s quite alright.

My finger was rescued by my pulling wrist, whom I will now deem town hero in the city of Arm. I caught a glance of the stuff gated by her eyes and remember what gave her her genius - all that she could say without saying anything

 ***

Authors LTR - Welcome

It could happen that I've squandered the sense of humor the old title implied. It could also be that the new title "The Living Room" assumes a palatial new dimension driven by riveting intent - where the living (Animate) room is a spatial allowing a mind-bendingly fresh perspective at all things profound and less profound.

I am your partisan in the rebellion against the prosaic and monotonous. Welcome to the Living Room where the television is an uncomfortable seat and the ottomans resemble Pandoras box. These Sofas persistently lull pop notions while the lamps rage intermittent scarlet for any absenteeism of light.


www.theLVNGrm.blogspot.com

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theRM - Box

Box

theTV - 21st Century girl

theTV features strings of inspired photography arranged in  progressive sequences. click "theTV" above to access

theRM -The Couch

The Couch

theRM - She

Outside - Fuck

I thought Id share something I found rather funny - A wikipedia definition for 'fuck'.

Note the manner in which they articulate themselves as to appear detached from any and all vulgar connotations to the word - as if the contributor has never himself used the word apart from this attempt to illustrate its usage.

"Fuck" is an english word that is almost universally considered vulgar by its speakers. In its most literal meaning, it refers to the act of sexual intercourse. By extension it may be used to negatively characterize anything that can be dismissed, disdained, defiled, or destroyed and may also be used as an intensive.
"Fuck" can often be used as a verb, adverb, adjective, imperative, interjection, and noun. It has various metaphorical meanings. To be "fucked" can mean to be cheated (e.g., "I got fucked by a scam artist"), or to be broken or ruined (e.g., "my computer is fucked") as well as to be sexually penetrated. As a noun, "a fuck" or "a fucker" may describe a contemptible person. "A fuck" may mean an act of copulation. The word can be used as an interjection, and its particle is sometimes used as a strong (not necessarily negative) emphatic. The verb to fuck may be used transitive or intransitively, and it appears in compounds, including fuck off, fuck you, fuck up, and fuck with. In less explicit usages (but still regarded as vulgar), fuck or fuck with can mean to mess around, or to deal with unfairly or harshly. In a phrase such as "don't give a fuck", the word is the equivalent of "damn", in the sense of something having little value. In "what the fuck?!", it serves merely as an intensive. If something is very abnormal or annoying, "this is fucked up!" may be used.

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theCOUCH - I Love Big Butts and Fiction Eludes Me

Of my most favourite ironies  in this increasingly dual existance the intricacy and complexity surrounding the most controversial part of the human anatomy protrudes. This region of the body map has a most profound task of hosting a rectum whose purpose is as equally profound,  allowing the bowels the reoccurring delight of excreting a substance arguably most vile in all history of repugnance. Yet at the same time, dependant on proportional values,  it eagerly aspires to the single most sexually arousing part of the female form. A battle between form and function eventuates. Where function is unanimously horrid and shameful, whilst the form is enough - even held in the mind artistically enough - to redirect a mans blood circulation to a limb that does not necessarily aid in walking or handling objects.

Far less interesting however is this duality than is the purpose of the next few paragraphs – to discovery why the  form so drunkenly compels us all as if no other aesthitic offered by earth is worthy of an erection. This purpose is why I have journeyed beyond the borders of wikipedia, through the tempestuous deserts of google, companioned only by my bic pen and an anthropological defiance. I sought to relinquish the reason why the wind nudging my shoulders as a result of a female form passing me, signals my turning and completely consuming the marvelous envisage that is her arse as she walks off so transcendently. My mission from that point on, would be 'to get to the bottom of this'.

In the heart of my secondary years I had the great honor of being exposed to numerous takes on Western takes on African takes of art. More a dishonor really considering I am now an Artist in Africa. The area of sculpture however, amidst its very one sided and politically driven conetmporaty they camoflauged as fine art, I now recall as the Gluteus Maximus' signature. Dating from pretty old to not so old, these illustrations of the subsumed by fertility themes female form , all appear to have certain body parts exaggerated amazingly in size. This prolific thickness would extend generously around the figures' adequately carved thighs, breasts and buttocks. Fertility dolls, theyre called, reiterate the reknowned idea that men want a woman with larger assets.
 I will demonstrate this notion in this very intricate and breath-taking example: bigger woman – bigger child - bigger legacy
This exuberant fat depository capacity represents too, other sought after, more mainstream traits like opulence, health, happiness and wealth. In some counties, thickness is not just revered but it is inforced. Jamaica being a 'fitting' example where over 65 percent of the female population are classified as obese. In this island nation particular emphasis is placed on having generous hips and hindquarters, a condition known as steatopygia. 

Steatopygia ( /stiːˌætɵˈpɪdʒiə/;[1] Greek: στεατοπυγία) is a high degree of fat accumulation in and around the buttocks. The deposit of fat is not confined to the gluteal regions, but extends to the outside and front of the thighs, forming a thick layer reaching sometimes to the knee. - wikipeadia (You have got to adore the interweb)

(an interesting note is that this condition is not gender specific. Yes, it has fortunately been gradually faded by time but men, too, had bums of  dreams)

The Steatopygia partisans believed that a woman’s ability to produce healthier, larger and stronger offspring would be heightened as this disposition more pompously instilled itself. Most civilizations right now with limited exposure to the model worshipping media and thus influence still believe vehemently in having their woman curvy as opposed to ‘infertile’. In the islands of Tonga, beauty is still demarcated by large physical proportions. 110 000 of the islands 114 000 inhabitants are obese. There is also an inflating pill market across the world, which caters to young women attempting to gain weight. Places like Kuwait. Nauru, Mauritius frown upon woman exercising and feed girls from a young age exuberant quantities of fatty camel milk throughout entire day. Women in these kind of societies are frequently divorced for their inability to maintain a spherical existence after child birth. 


A human, as an animal, driven by instincts that insist upon the survival of a humankind must contribute at all costs to the cause. He must produce the fittest offspring in order to ensure the next generation emerges at a similar or stronger stance as a specie.
The air drenched in male, cunning eyes lock after having pondered the sumptuous chance at the females bum. Survivals trigger retracts and shoots into both animals a virulent rush of brutalilty. 
This is not because of some innate hate male animals have for one another but it is because the victor of this unrelenting bout will ultimately have been the strongest, and most likely to produce a stronger youngling together with the female counterpart. 
With this common event acknolwedged, aggression and sex are accomplished. Freud argued those two attributes, mans most primary instincts. My animal bang-on has successfully cheered him on.

The love for bum, is deeply embedded within our DNA. Not for perverted reasons but for the protection of the human existence.  Media ran states, I believe, still subconsciously know this but the social stigmas surrounding obesity do not allow for an ideally rounder wife to co-exist with a strong sense of self and achievement. According to the 21s century social doctrine, as I’m sure you are aware, women are to maintain twig-like physiques as to  reach a state of sexual attractiveness. The Gods of our age, fashion and television,  preach strongly against letting ones self go.
A few flashes of hope have briefly held my breath as I transcended the 1900's. A beyonce here and a J-lo there. But the enthrall of the round bum embraced only the Native demographic.
Interestingly enough however, European women, in as recent as the 18th century wore walking costumes and ball gowns that would extend curvaceously from the backside – creating an illusion of a larger than life hindqurters. Explicated by these superfluous costumes is that the African bum motif is also installed in the genetic code of the Europeans. Globalization, if you will. 
It only becomes an affliction, i suppose, when we see that they do not posses the necessary resources.



How quickly they forget themselves. 


Meanwhile, with the prevalence of AIDS and other diseases that riddle us, the association between weight-loss and illness contribute immensely to our not-so-warm view of thinness. Steatopygia/Thickness has embedded itself culturally as the official opposition to lower standards of life. Regardless though of socio-political factors, this magnetic relationship between my eyes and that booty is innate and I am absolutely compelled that I had nothing to do with it. And for the absence of comprehension of the reality where which it does not exist, I am truly  grateful. 


The European and Western influences within my environment are undeniable. They aim to kill what we are. to rid us of the polygamous instincts. Flat sodas that are bottomless cokes replace the vigor of a world unscathed by simulated human beings. In this world where anorexia is filmed, cut, printed and applauded it would be plausible to predict the death of ass in the near future.
I will however, take a stand and revolt against the killing of our true nature by bum slapping every girl that nature has deemed worthy of my open palm. I will scream the name of Darwin whilst uttering inspired phrases such as: Doggy Style. I will open windows, allowing the rude and obnoxious lyrics of MC Hammer escape the confines of my living room, and confess!.. I like big butts and fiction eludes me!!

***



theCUXN - Funnily

Kids do, too... tote a pistol
but only if it suits... your outfit it shoots... it disglues
your memory from your brain
but its cool... everyone is doing it too

But this tuba's, played too close to their medullas
so they banned the bands and instruments

Imma get my revenge when its due
Imma respawn Led Zeppelin and Kiss too

Amends, can never be made but we can try to...
Perfection is somewhere we cannot fly to...
do not let their definitions define you...
Everyones on a mission to redesign you...

But I do, too, believe in believing
only if the beliefs dont be leaving with seasons

My heart is a kaleidoscope
when you stare at least take off your glasses bro

theCUXN - House Of Cards

Forget about your house of cards, it couldn’t possibly be that rigid anyway.

Whats the point of all the intricacy and effort if one uncompelled gust can completely destroy. Wait.
How many synonyms for destroy can there be?

Liquidate, inhialate, kill, make obsolete...
Tear-the-fuck-down, expunge, extirpate, make incomplete.

What to do to dodge torpedoes? What to do?

So you build a fence around you’re cards. Match sticks that scrape the sky. Tall and majestic in their stature.  They appear complex as a feature but intracacy is an illusion - much like the house, weakness lingers lazily. Inner and outer weak.
All the way round.

What to do to dodge torpedoes and other monstrous weapons that threaten integrity?

Machine guns erected, overly protected. Cannons at every corner  for any opposers of the deck.
Cards holding high, towering over other residences present.
Making the neighbours share the esteem of a peasant...

Patrols for the dawn and patrols for the dusk, no intruder shall enter EVER, how could he EVER?. Protected protected protected from destruction. Or so it seems...

Hot air rises and cool air drops -  Add that with the earths rotation, this air starts to mosh.

Wind begins and a house made of cards...
no matter what gaurds... 
simply falls apart.

...Destroyed, shattered, unmade, undone.

Many Worlds

A man woke, Ned, up at 7:15. he then took a shower for ten minutes and was ready to leave for work by 7:40. As he walked out the door Jim realised he had forgotten his car keys and went back inside to look for them - this search cost him five minutes. He didn’t find the keys and as a result decided to take a taxi to work lest he be late for his first appointment.
Concurrently, a taxi driver loading up his passengers got irritable towards a woman with a foul attitude before he denied her access to his cab.
A woman, whom a taxi just left behind, reproached from the cabs abandon by a step and had, indoing so, reared into a man who was now cueing behind her. He reassured her that another taxi was on its way and that he was alright. He said his name was Ned. Their conversation progressed to a date. A date turned to a relationship which then led to the birth of Lucas. Lucas went to be a scientist, avid in the research of aids vaccines until the day he succeeded. Billions of people across the world got their lives back.
If Ned hadn’t forgotten his keys, or if the taxi drivers tolorence high enough, or if the woman kept her frustration to herself Ned would have never met her. Lucas would have not been born and a billion people would share a deathly fate.


Beyond the above illustration of the butterfly effect - the many worlds theory exists on the idea that whenever you make a decision, between say an apple or a banana, the path not taken still plays on in another universe. Beyond crap examples - a split occurs based on the possible outcome for each action. The process is called, decohesion. Now obviously the path you now tread allows little room for comprehension of the path not taken but that does not contend its existence and potential for an eternality of parallel consequence.

This can be seen with quantum suicide. In Russian Roulette: when a man pulls the trigger, with a revolver loaded with the number of bullets half the chambers’ maximum capacity and randomly inserted, two things can happen – a bullets either kills the man or it doesn’t. When the trigger is pulled, the universe splits to accommodate each possible outcome. There is the path where the man still has the gun to his head and another in which he is dead. If the gun does go off and the man dies, the universe is no longer able to split based on the pulling of the trigger. The possible outcome for death is reduced to one: continued death. But with life there are still two chances that remain: death or life.

­When the man pulls the trigger and the universe is split in two, however, the version of the man who lived will be unaware that in the other version of the split universe. He has died.
Instead he will continue to live and will again have the chance to pull the trigger. And each time he does pull the trigger, the universe will again split, with the version of the man who lives continuing on, and being unaware of all of his deaths in parallel universes. In this sense, he will be able to exist indefinitely. This is called quantum immortality...



I really couldn’t possibly recall the thought pattern that got me here but ever since I reached this state of mind I can’t help but think that everything, even the most transcendent and beautiful things in life, once tainted even by the slightest of things, can lose all their charm.