Street life - Keep freaking me out
There are many ways to freak me out. One would have thought that in this day and age of laissez faire and anything goes nothing would disturb, shock or amuse but nothing could be further from the truth, for it is the minutiae that make my head turn and...
There are many ways to freak me out. One would have thought that in this day and age of laissez faire and anything goes nothing would disturb, shock or amuse but nothing could be further from the truth, for it is the minutiae that make my head turn and my eye pop out in disbelief. When all has a perverse sense of normality though it most certainly is not.
It is Sunday, I am at the car boot sale in Cospicua and there is a Chihuahua by the name of Bin Laden - this is cause for some mild freakage, but soon I am back in Valletta and there is the battle of the mega sound systems blasting filthy techno music off the luminous carnival floats and this causes much disturbance of the faculties. Upon closer inspection I look up at a bevy of underage child dancers doing freaky dances atop of the floats, I am rendered speechless, I choke and run home.
Safe at last I turn my computer on and suddenly I am on Facebook, this is another freak show in itself but then I see politicians getting all cosy and warm on the ridiculous and highly addictive Facebook - is this really necessary? Surely this is bad for my health - help I'm freaking out. I have so many questions for the spin-doctors, what is the idea behind it? Can we become friends if I "poke" them (Facebook activity which involves virtual poke of finger in virtual ribs)? Does that mean you will think that I am engaged with your activities? Can't any of you see that I am freaked out - genuinely.
But in the morning I take a deep sigh and acknowledge my current peeves. I know now that I collect them to ensure that my day is filled with gasps and sighs. This did not happen that often in the North where I lived for most of 2007. It was not so easy to be freaked out by the red light district in my neighbourhood of Vesterbro, it was natural for the train station area to be inhabited by down-and-out misfits, outsiders and addicts - therefore I did not freak out, I kept my head down and never looked up. But here I am all eyes, relaxing at my parents' home, safe in the knowledge that all around is familiar. We turn on the television to witness a song called Vodka. I am aghast, I am a gasping for another martini to recover from the experience, once again I am freaked out, my sentences tumble out in double Russian, my mother looks concerned, who can blame her?
But that is not all from TV, for my mother is on morning TV cooking up a storm with Malta's favourite host, and in the evening, when I should be enjoying the starry night, I am instead drawn into a show that commits plastic surgery on unsuspecting participants.
Is there not a minister of good taste to send out the decorum police?
Oh the pleasure of it; at last I resign myself to it, for I conclude that it is a joyous thing I experience; freaking out is coming to my senses. One might say that I freaked out at the Gypsy Mambo carnival extravaganza where the Macedonian gypsies played and played and played as we danced until the house lights went up.
Do not read me wrong, there is no good or bad in all this freak therapy, but it is always a jolt into an extravagant, odd and misshapen world that is deranged, tacky and obsessive, petty, absurd and provincial, yet delightfully amusing and packed full of gunpowder.
So now with our carnival masks off we must ask - what next? What next to freak us out - the pre-election fever perhaps? Perhaps we can refer to it henceforth as the scramble for freak power, and indeed may the best freaks win and viva to all that!
It is Sunday, I am at the car boot sale in Cospicua and there is a Chihuahua by the name of Bin Laden - this is cause for some mild freakage, but soon I am back in Valletta and there is the battle of the mega sound systems blasting filthy techno music off the luminous carnival floats and this causes much disturbance of the faculties. Upon closer inspection I look up at a bevy of underage child dancers doing freaky dances atop of the floats, I am rendered speechless, I choke and run home.
Safe at last I turn my computer on and suddenly I am on Facebook, this is another freak show in itself but then I see politicians getting all cosy and warm on the ridiculous and highly addictive Facebook - is this really necessary? Surely this is bad for my health - help I'm freaking out. I have so many questions for the spin-doctors, what is the idea behind it? Can we become friends if I "poke" them (Facebook activity which involves virtual poke of finger in virtual ribs)? Does that mean you will think that I am engaged with your activities? Can't any of you see that I am freaked out - genuinely.
But in the morning I take a deep sigh and acknowledge my current peeves. I know now that I collect them to ensure that my day is filled with gasps and sighs. This did not happen that often in the North where I lived for most of 2007. It was not so easy to be freaked out by the red light district in my neighbourhood of Vesterbro, it was natural for the train station area to be inhabited by down-and-out misfits, outsiders and addicts - therefore I did not freak out, I kept my head down and never looked up. But here I am all eyes, relaxing at my parents' home, safe in the knowledge that all around is familiar. We turn on the television to witness a song called Vodka. I am aghast, I am a gasping for another martini to recover from the experience, once again I am freaked out, my sentences tumble out in double Russian, my mother looks concerned, who can blame her?
But that is not all from TV, for my mother is on morning TV cooking up a storm with Malta's favourite host, and in the evening, when I should be enjoying the starry night, I am instead drawn into a show that commits plastic surgery on unsuspecting participants.
Is there not a minister of good taste to send out the decorum police?
Oh the pleasure of it; at last I resign myself to it, for I conclude that it is a joyous thing I experience; freaking out is coming to my senses. One might say that I freaked out at the Gypsy Mambo carnival extravaganza where the Macedonian gypsies played and played and played as we danced until the house lights went up.
Do not read me wrong, there is no good or bad in all this freak therapy, but it is always a jolt into an extravagant, odd and misshapen world that is deranged, tacky and obsessive, petty, absurd and provincial, yet delightfully amusing and packed full of gunpowder.
So now with our carnival masks off we must ask - what next? What next to freak us out - the pre-election fever perhaps? Perhaps we can refer to it henceforth as the scramble for freak power, and indeed may the best freaks win and viva to all that!