Faux Peacock

He had been in a foul mood all day, kicking up a storm, cussing his heart out. I had no idea, what it was that had him twisted in a knot.

Poor pup dopey had gotten kicked a few times already; the next kick and Shraaz would lose a chunk of his foot. I was very sure. Any more cussing and a snapped head, that’s what he would have. Of that I was doubly sure.

Shraaz went to the cupboard, it had been in the family through many generations, seen many a skeletons. When one has lived so long, nothing really ever shocks. He pulled out an old tin box, it held candy once, the fading print last of its memories of better, sweeter days. Shraaz now pulled out a tuft of fuzz, a five strand hair piece. It looked like something the cat brought in. It was his prized possession. The men in his family, up until four generations before him had worn the bit with great pride. It had seen better days, days when the strands were many more.

With his preciousness held gently in the palm of his hands, Shraaz pulled out a can of silver spray. Like an artist working on his masterpiece, he sprayed across the strands with utmost precision. Out came the tube of glue , “ Stick ‘em up Pardner”, the energies looked like they were brightening up, all ready to cut through the gloom set by the Shraaz-ness all morning.

The glue went onto the fuzz... he slapped it onto his scantily clad head. The foul mood was all magically gone. The furry silver crown had brought out the peacock in Shraaz. With his silver fringe, the shining glory, he strutted around in circles, arrogance dripping all over.

It was a difficult choice, didn’t quite know what I liked better, his crass or the royal, pain in the rear end arrogant version.

Shraaz was in all surety the last who would use the head piece.

A silver crown is all that’s required to change the drama? A piece of magic ... did it do the exact same thing five generations in a row?

How can a harmless piece of nothing become a piece of program so vital to ones existence? I wonder... I wonder about my own program peacock, that vestigial bit of my psyche which has overstayed its visit. Time for the faux peacock hunt!

Peacock Man by John Coulthart

Electric Whips, Iron Man and Me

This isn't a movie review. Just a lowdown on what it did for me.

Don’t understand how anyone can wake up early to go catch a movie. It’s just a movie for God's sake! I did wake up though, yesterday was my first - the first show of a movie on the first day of screening, and what a first! I walked out of multiplex, with a skip in my step and a wide grin pasted to my face. Don’t remember the last time I was exhilarated by a movie like this. Don’t remember the last time I was ecstatic about anything like this.

My senses are all cranked up as I hear the whips crack in my head. Iron Man 2, with its brilliance and its flaws has left me very inspired.

I have seen creative genius before. Many films out there, alternate universes, trailers of the potential that is, a life that can be. A book is probably a better trigger to my imagination, it gives me the creative liberty to do what I want with the story, go as big and loud as I want to and I am not restricted by another’s vision. A film like this once in a while however does more than it was meant to do. A visual treat with its double dose of brilliance - the brilliance of a reality created by special effects you want to be a part of and the brilliance of characters. Characters that you cannot take your eyes off, characters that leave you wanting for more.

Whip lash aka Ivan Vanko aka Mickey Rourke leaves me stunned. A genius of a character and very misunderstood, at that. Like many geniuses out there, gone to waste over an inane lost cause. The grace of a man of that bulk cracking his electric whips to a beautiful dance. I want to play the whips like him. Feel the power, be one with it.

And of course, then there is the Oh so narcissistic genius of Tony Stark aka Iron Man aka Robert Downey Jr. Very few people who can be narcissistic like he is, and be loved for it. Anyone who recognises the brilliance within is allowed to be proud, he better be proud. I do not understand humble brilliance. Well, I do understand it, but it’s not for me.

I am a borderline narcissist and I don’t know how to say that without the pejorative hue that comes with it, but I am very proud to be one. Don’t know how one evolves like that when the programming is to live modestly, be humble, and stay within limits. But I am probably one only because of the program. To never forget the humble beginning, but to also not believe in limits anymore. Not made to be mediocre.

Ever felt power that left you overwhelmed, scared and in awe of the brilliance all at once? I am in search of that exuberance. In search of the electric excitement, triggered by the whip lash, I want to crack along and feel that power every moment of my existence.

I know what I want to be when I grow up Mommy... I want to be Tony Stark and I want to be Whiplash, all rolled into one. I want Brilliance.

I'm the super hero just out from my coma. Struggling to remember my super power. Learning to be the super hero I want to be.