When I was A Kid...

When I was a kid, I always wanted jet fighter pilot/weapons developer/f1 driver/gun maker/jet fighter designer. No kidding. It all appealed to me! There was something so delicious about creating mechanisms and machinery that fired balls of fury and bullets of steel. I loved weapons! I was a kid! Death and destruction came easily to that twisted young mind of mine.

I wanted to be an f1 driver too. Speeding at speeds faster than the Millenium Falcon on Bacta steriods proved seducing. I imagined having all that golden glory falling on my dark hair. My beautiful face would appear with a watch on a huge bilboard that screamed my name. Joseph, Oyster Perpetual. Not only that; the intense roaring of engines would pur at me like a pet lion everytime I headed of to work. Great riches, glory and fame sank its claws deep into my adolescent life. In fact, I wanted to an F1 driver so much I brokered with God,"if you let me become an f1 driver, I become a pastor part time."

Around the age of about thirteen. I loved food. The pleasurable feeling when morsels slid down your tongue rubbing their best upon the buds of your tongue. Mmm. yes. I loved food. The great satisfaction of a full belly. The contented smile that appeared after. The oh so relieving burp that accompanied gastronomic gluttony. I loved food. Therefore, I decided to become a chef! Why? Because I loved food? Well, thats the thing. When I declared that I wanted to be a chef; everybody began singing and praising their appraisals on how it suited me like a slim cut medium sized jacket. Why? Simply because love of food equals eating lots, equals being a chef. Nonsense. It suddenly hit me. I simply loved eating! Cooking? I burn water. I annihilate pasta. I lacerate fingers. Need I say more?

Then occured a time in my life i simply didn't know what I wanted to do. Then I decided. I loved power. I loved wealth. I wanted to be a Ceo of my own multinational multicultural, multindustrial, mutlibillion and still multiplying company! Who needs to learn how too cook when you can buy the f word dude to cook for you? Who needs an f1 team when you could buy up the entire whole f1 industry? Who needs weapons and soldiers when you've got Barney the Purple Dinosaur?

Well, wishy washy. I agree. I didn't like the f word dude anways, his profanity perforate my eardrums. I sank back to my usual spiral of wondering what I wanted to be. Then, one day, a friend commented,"ay, your writing not bad ah."

BOING!

Indeed. The next dream appeared before me in on paper with ink! I would be a writer! Immediately, this spectre of myself materialed in a vision before me. I saw myself; dapper, charming, dashing in a tuxedo in a huge cocktail party having a Rebina in one hand. With this, a rather attractive lady in an alluring dark red dress asking me," what do you do for a living?"

"I write"

Woah. Very sexy. The words "I write" set about thoughts, connotations and preconceptions running about through my head. The words "I write" sound like, "I work in this awesome magazine company with all that The Devil Wears Prada deco." Or, " I'm intelligent and charming." Or, "You are so going to give me your phone number."

Back to earth.

Words can change lives. The pen being mightier than the swords still rings true. In fact, it rings through intensely ampiflied systems thanks to the internet and the astounding marvels of the twenty first century. An article can move of men to rebellion and tear dictators onto their knees or it can found nations on solid rock and crown leaders. Newpaper expositions can expose the devilry of despicable criminals. Words written can shake mountains.

Finally, something that i'm good at that I actually like! Fascinating! However, we'll see someday if I'll actually live that dream.