Empathy- If the shoe doesn't fit, wear it anyway

"The height of empathy is a piece of one's soul that recognises the raw substance and imperfections in another. A tender acknowledgement that penetrates through the surface. A true and rare gift. "

Life's a Scoreboard, and I'm a Slutty Cheerleader

Don't let the subject line fool you. They say a heading should entice the reader to want to take a further look. I figured the word slutty would increase the interest of the female gender, whilst the word cheerleader, the males. The context of this heading, does not refer to any sexual promiscuity (If you're disappointed now, keep reading). I draw attention rather to the overt nature of people and their tendency to expose their layers in efforts to mess with the point system. Always trying to get one up on the big guy or anyone who's willing to notice.

The distressing realisation is the lengths that the human race will go to in order to see these so called points raised higher on the scoreboard. The evidence is overwhelmingly endless & we all reek of fleeting guilt. The stench, however, seems to cultivate stronger with each passing decade and self-loathing generation.

These acts of personal elevation need not always be grave, but are blatant in the smallest things yet. Simply wrapping a cheap knock-off gift in a branded designer box, or presenting a resume that includes skills Superman couldn't sell. As cliche as it sounds, nice guys finish last! Sadly,the planets population has become a victim of a superficial, melodramatic, ostentatious paradigm that tells you to rub your pom poms in any face you can. We are therefore walking, talking prostitutes with an appetite for invited conformity and desired recognition.

It's not about who won the game, it's how the game was played. Blah blah motivate my left one. But in all seriousness, at some point it's got to be exhausting competing on a world stage with social regulations that diagnose the normal standard. Heck, i'm tired for us all, but there's no way out. All you can do, is tie your laces,  keep running in the race, and forget that the number on your back is all you are in this world.

So my senseless hope to pacify, leaves you with this contribution...Own the number instead, and dance this dance with a little dignity. Remember, the scoreboard's got nothing to do with your final tally. Eat a piece of humble pie & and stop being an annoying cheerleader!

First post-No pressure

I did it, I started a blog. How unoriginal. It's funny how something that started out as an indie pseudo channel of self expression, blew up to be just another social networking craze that every wannabe emo self- confessing techno junkie just had to do. I therefore vow to commit my blog to material of authentic nature that is indispensable & seemingly impossible to find elsewhere. No pressure. The title Dear Deece, is yes, addressed to myself. I love myself and I want you to know. That's not even funny, see how I'm failing already! The self title acts as a personal memoir to my crippled, uncertain & aspiring  journey. Although the posts are directed at the followers, the underlying message of each is in essence a note to self.

I don't profess to be a Guru of Master Intellect, nor a mentor to Rico the Clown. I reserve this space for humane encounters that inexplicably derive from the one thing we all have in common...Life & Not a Clue!