IMHO

The internet world has its own jargons, enough to baffle anyone new to the language. There are even dictionaries for those of us who are too slow to understand.

I have come up with a few alternative meanings and new jargons.

BTW = Back to Work. This is when you've been using the internet at work and your boss walks in so you end the conversation abruptly.

LOL = Lots of Lolly. (Lolly is a British slang for money); Lucky on [the] Lotto - this is when you're trying to make others envious.

IMAO = Imagination Maketh an Orangutan - in those moments when you're experimenting with surrealism.

IMHO = In My Hamster's Opinion - again a moment of surrealism.

IMEO = In My Exalted Opinion - the state I'm constantly in.

Here are a few you won't see on the Internet:

WTF = What the Fuck is she on about etc?

TIT = This is Terrific/Terrible!

TIN = This is Nonsense!

TIF = This is Fantastic!

TIC = This is Crap!

WAP = What a Plonker! (plonker is a British slang for "idiot" )

BAR = Blowing a Raspberry (which is a British slang for: "flatulent imitative sound made with the lips and tongue, either expressing derision or used humorously for its rude associated qualities. From the rhyming slang raspberry tart meaning 'fart'. {Informal}" )

So there you have it, more jargons. I would love to hear if you've got some new ones.

LOLAHAKAL = lots of love and hugs and kisses and laughter
EJ

ps: Don't even think of responding with TIC, WAP!

Aggressive Marketing

There's a new brand of aggressive marketing. It involves people shoving unsolicited flyers, leaflets and brochures at you. These leaflets and flyers are advertising various courses such as IT and English as a second language. I see the marketing people at Oxford Street, the shopping capital of London. They line the pavements with their hands reaching out to you. "Take them, take them, they're free."

We all have our coping strategies. I either stare straight ahead of me or walk with my head down. Sometimes I cross over the road, only to bump into another one. I wonder what their job title is called. What are the promotional prospects?

The other day I was in a generous mood so I accepted a flyer from this young man. He said thank you. Poor sod! I was probably the only one who had accepted his flyer, which went straight into the nearest bin.

There are other people who carry placards or sandwich boards advertising a particular shop with a sign pointing in the shop's direction. At least they don't pester you. Haven't these people realised yet there are easier ways to get people to buy your products, just use mind-control methods. We're bombarded with them all the time anyway so what difference does another one make?

As I was walking down Oxford Street the other day, a man approached me and told me I was very lucky. Did I want to have a psychic reading? I said I didn't and made a hasty retreat. He's nothing but a charlatan! Any psychic worth his salt would have known I had no intention of having a reading.

There are also the charity workers who are trying to raise awareness for a particular cause and stopping people to support their charity. Generally, I avoid them unless I'm feeling generous. Even when I'm generous they often regret speaking to me. The last time I spoke to this guy rasing awareness for Parkinson's Disease. I directed the conversation to healing and various belief systems and whether Parkinson's disease wasn't a social construct. The poor guy was bewildered. We spoke for about 30 minutes and I went on my way. Oh well, you did ask!

Two weeks ago I was going for a walk at Hampstead Health in North London. There was this young man giving out what looked like flyers. Oh, no, not another one of those! Can't someone have a walk in peace? I was just about to say "no thank you" when I heard him say "Would you like a poem?" A poem! This can't be happening! It has to be a ploy to buy something. I accepted it all the same. I examined the piece of paper for any signs of subliminal messages advertising IT courses. It was actually a poem about someone missing his loved one. The man had written it by hand and he'd made some lovely designs on the left side of the page. Is this what it's come to, when you get so cynical you mistake a gift of a poem for advertising?

Maybe I've been living in London for far too long.

Have a marketing-free day, unless you're one of them.

Love
Enocia

For other writings see Vector8 writings

How Like-Minds Attract

It's wonderful how you can attract people who share your joy, even if only for a moment.

I was in the bookshop about to browse. I went past a rack and looked longingly at Herge's Adventures of Tintin, comics I used to enjoy reading as a child. I 'accompanied' Tintin on numerous thrilling adventures around the world. I remember reliving each story with my older brother, who was also a huge fan. I can barely remember the details now but I still recall the joy I felt as a child.

I sat down in a chair to browse. A while later, someone sat on the next chair beside me, but I was too engrossed in what I was reading to pay him any attention. As he was about to leave I noticed he had a Tintin comic.

"Are you into Tintin then?" I said.
"Yes I used to love reading Tintin as a child," he said.

I recognised that look - the joy of Tintin in his eyes. He said he couldn't afford to buy them but he was chair hopping while he indulged in his childhood passion. For a few moments we connected simply because of our love for the private investigator, Tintin; his dog called Snowy; Captain Haddock who was fond of saying: "thousands of blistering barnacles!"; the absent-minded Professor Calculus; the accident prone Thompson Twins; and the butler, Nestor. Pure bliss!

The interesting thing is I once had a relationship with a guy who had the same red hair and quiff as Tintin, though he was a lot taller. He said many people thought he looked like Tintin. His name was Tim but I sometimes called him Timtim.

I had ginger hair as a child; my nickname as a child was "ginger." But my hair grew darker out of pure peer pressure as it wasn't the norm for black people to have ginger hair. Years ago I went through a phase of dyeing my hair ginger and styled my hair in a Tintin quiff. That was fun!

I think it's marvellous when you meet someone who shares your passion.

Have a joyful day,
Love EJ

For other writings see Vector8 writings

A Dedication to My Mother

I love my mother dearly, she's always there for me. She's been a carer, bank manager, cook, cleaner, pharmacist, friend and, most of all, she's been my guinea pig.

For the last few years we've lived together on and off, whenever I've come across a new theory, or trying to master a new technique, she's been the one I've practised on.

When I was on the path of mind/body, I practised visualisation techniques on her. We did techniques to help her let go of her fears. None of them worked.

Then I studied energy healing and she was my first guinea pig. The moment she sneezed I would think, "Great, an excellent opportunity to practise." She was always cured.

Once I tried energy healing bald patches on her head to see if they would grow. After 24 hours her head started itching and a day later there were tufts of hair. She'd spent a fortune on trichology. She couldn't believe that by simply waving my hands over her head her hair started to grow. It was too much for her to take. We didn't pursue with that therapy.

Another time, just before I gave her healing, I had a thought that although she's is a staunch Methodist and loves Jesus' teachings, she's never had a vision of Jesus, at least never shared it with me. After I had given her healing she told me she saw Jesus, at least her perception of Jesus, standing by and it was the first time she'd seen him. At least that answered my question; or had I hypnotised her? Pass.

When I moved on to healing through prayer, she was the first person I practised on. She had sprained her ankle. I realised the truth of her being, prayed for her and she was instantly healed.

Though my mother has experienced and witnessed many miracles through me, she soon forgets. I can perfectly understand. If you're not constantly remembering who you are, you're bound to get into doubt. Besides our world-views clash big time. Yesterday, for instance, I said to her, "I've just read somewhere that Gods in the Old Testament of the Bible were extraterrestrials." You should have seen my poor mother's face! What kind of a daughter has she brought to this world? We had a nice discussion about ETs though.

The other day she called me to the kitchen.

"Are you left-handed, EJ?" she said.

Now that was a tricky question. I knew I was about to be told off for God knows what. If I say no, I'll probably get told off; if I say yes, I'll still get told off; but if I say, maybe, there's a 50% chance of being told off. I decided to go for the truth.

"As far as I know, I'm right-handed, but then again I could be ambidextrous." Phew, that covers all angles.

She said I put away cutlery and crockery like someone who is left-handed, facing the other way. Huh? I wasn't even aware I was doing it. She has her way of putting away stuff and it's opposite to mine. She may be right that I am a closet ambidextrous. I've now noticed I take cups out of the cupboard with my left hand and I sometimes put things away with my left hand. I stop the bus with my left hand. But I write with my right. Thank you dear mother for bringing this to my attention.

The last guinea pig session we had happened the other day. She was busy doing her crosswords which she's excellent at. She knows not to ask me for help as my response is usually, "What do you think I am, a thesaurus? I know I know it all, but I'm very selective about my knowing, you know."

Anyway, she was busy doing her crosswords when I interrupted her.

"Mum, can you hold your breath?"
"Yes."
"OK, I'm going to count to 3 then start holding your breath. There's something I would like to test out."

She did as I suggested. When she'd finished I said, "Did you have any thoughts while you were holding your breath?"
"No, I wasn't thinking of anything in particular."
"Good, that's what I wanted to know."

She was puzzled of course. I told her that in the space of God, breathlessness, there are no thoughts. She shook her head in amazement and returned to her crosswords.

It's been great living with her. She helps me to remember who I am and to stick to my principles no matter what. The irony is she's with the world and believes what the world says, though she has her moment of clarity. But she knows that I have my eyes on God no matter what and maybe she admires me for it.

I love my mother. She's been there walking with me on this "spiritual path." Most of the time she can't relate to what I'm about but humours me with my experiments. And I know she loves me unconditionally.

Mothers, who'll have them?

All my love to all Mothers,
Enocia

The Wacky and Wonderful World of Pica

OK it's time to come out and be proud of who I am, I suffer from "Pica" syndrome. What is Pica? I hear you cry. It's a craving for non-food items. Apparently some pregnant women go through similar cravings. My medical friends would probably think I have an eating disorder. I think not.

My craving is for tissues: toilet tissues, napkins, serviettes and kitchen rolls. I hasten to add that I don't eat any old rubbish tissues, they have to be soft. I don't always swallow them, sometimes I just like the sensation of chewing. Don't ask me to get chewing gum? It's not the same thing.

I used to love eating threads and wool but they were a tad problematic as they don't digest and you end up thinking you've got worms, if you catch my drift.

In the final series of the American comedy, Friends, there's an episode where Joey's agent dies. His agent only had two clients: Joey and a guy who eats paper. That was funny to watch as I could so relate, though I don't eat paper, you understand. Joey was about to deliver the eulogy only to discover that his colleague had eaten it. What a hoot!

Why do I have such craving for tissues? I used to eat them as a child and thought I'd grown out of them but the cravings are still with me. Don't know why I love them, I just do. I guess it's another demonstration that "man cannot live by bread alone" i.e. food is not what keeps me alive. I exist because I am.

This is a warning to you beloved friends - if I ever pop round for dinner, you'd better have a side-dish of good quality toilet tissue/napkins for me to snack on.

Adios amigos,
Enocia

For other writings see Vector8 writings

Astral Travel

A few astral travellers trying to show someone how to get to his destination.

A: Let me show you how to get there. Turn right, or left; go up or down and you'll get there.

B: No you've got it completely wrong. Why don't you broaden your horizons instead of doing everything in an astral way? Get on the bus and when you get to that old church, the place you need is three stops behind.

C: You've both got it wrong. This is how you get there, it's here.
A & B: Where?
C: Here.
A & B: What do you mean "here"?
C: I mean here, you're already there.

ps: after all that, the one they were showing got lost.

D: Sorry guys, I tried to astral travel but couldn't get there.
All: Forget it, it's the thought that counts.

Enocia

For other writings see Vector8 writings

The Wonder of Fashion

I'm about to have a few gripes so readers beware.

Recently I felt the need for a new pair of jeans as my favourite had rips in them and were getting too creased up around the hips. I headed up to the west end. I saw some ripped jeans for £65. Sixty five quid! You're having a laugh aren't you? I mean they should be paying me to take it off their shelf, or maybe I should part-exchange my old jeans. What do these fashion designers do at college, learn how to use razor blades? In the end I bought a couple of jeans, one that looks faded all over, the fashion now you understand; the other had creases around the hips, but those creases are custom-designed to look as if you've been wearing your jeans forever.

What about those jeans guys wear these days that hang loose around their bottom revealing their underwear. What's this all about? You know what they look like? They remind me of babies when their nappies (diapers) are filled with whoopsie. Is this supposed to be attractive? Not for me it isn't.

My mother bought me some flip-flops recently. It wasn't the cheapo plastic ones, these were a lot more stylish and they looked great. I tried them on at home and they felt comfortable. The next day I put them on. Talk about torture. I tried to look cool as I limped around. I even used the experience as an opportunity to realise I am Spirit therefore I shouldn't be feeling any pain. Sod that, the space between my big toe and second toe was on fire. That day passed ever soooo slowly for me. I reckon a few snails walked right past me. I came home and vowed never to wear them again.

I took the flip-flops back to the shop. They said they weren't prepared to accept them because I'd worn them. Their policy was they would only refund my money if there was a design fault. I pointed out there was a design fault alright, I couldn't wear them. They recommended I liaise with their head office. I called their head office and they said they couldn't comment on the phone but I should post the flipflops to them and they will check if there are any faults. I was sick of being fobbed off. Ah, forget it! Maybe I should get out my scissors and have a go at creating my own 'design fault' and send them to the head office. But Sod's law dictates that this shoe company is bound to have cobblers who are secret forensic scientists who can spot dodgy 'design faults.' Now I have lovely flip-flops I can't wear, but they sure look good and fashionable

By the way who the hell is this Sod character who created Sod's Law and has nothing better to do than dream up what can go wrong?

You know when I was growing up as a child in Sierra Leone we only knew one moisturising cream - Vaseline. Whatever the condition use Vaseline. We even used Vaseline as hair grease. Then I came to the west and visited a department store for moisturising cream. I discovered there was many skin types: oily, dry, sensitive, combination and normal. But sometimes my skin is dry, oily and sensitive, what do I use then? Well this means you have combination skin. I bought it hook, line and sinker. Poor Vaseline was relegated to the bathroom cabinet, hiding right at the back of other useless items. I would occasionally use Vaseline Intensive Care, but petroleum jelly, no way Hosea. For years I used beauty skin products out there and a lot of them felt nice but did they improve my complexion? Not really.

Now it's back to good old petroleum jelly aka Vaseline. I won't go anywhere without my little tub in my handbag. Actually these days I take or leave moisturisers. Some days I don't wear any and my skin is as soft and radiant as can be. How many men do you know who wear moisturisers? Not a lot.

A long time ago I saw this commercial on the shopping channel for hair-removal. I discussed it with my mother and wondered whether it was as effective as they made out. One day my mother surprised me with the product which you have to buy at special department stores. I was really excited and couldn't wait to give it a try. Yeow! Blimey that hurt. How come those people on the commercial described the treatment as painless? I'm a media graduate I'm supposed to be able to see right through false representations. Maybe my skin is way too sensitive.

"Well," My mother said. "What's it like?"
"Hum, it really does the job, mum, my skin really feels smooth," I said. "But you know what, I think I prefer shaving. There's nothing better than having a nice shave while you're in the bath."
"You mean I've wasted my money and you're not going to use it?"
"Sorry mum, but you bought the product out of your own freewill."

That was the end of my relationship with wax treatments, and the last time I believe anything on television.

I have a theory that the reason why we have such changeable weather is because of us ladies. Go on admit it ladies. You come out of the hairdresser's or maybe you've spent a while blow-drying or styling your hair. You come out thinking, "Please don't rain. It'd better not rain." What does it end up doing, rain? When I used to have my hair relaxed I was pissed off a lot. I didn't know then that what I feared the most is manifested. You come out of the salon and Sod's law says it's either going to be windy or chucking it down with rain. Why, weather, are you against me? Now I have short hair which doesn't need much doing to it, wash, ruffle with some gel and go. As for the weather, it can do what it likes, I don't care.

When all is said and done I have to admit that I've had it with fashion and all those beauty products out there. I'm finally 'growing up.' I've decided I'm only going to wear what feels comfortable, not because it looks attractive. I am a Spiritual Being after all. None of these products can make me happy, right? I'm already at peace.

By the way, does anyone know where I can get a decent push-up bra which will work wonders for my cleavage?

Love Enocia

For other writings see Vector8 writings