Idealology

Follow This.

Follow God Follow Mum Follow Dad Follow Brother Follow Sister Follow Teacher Follow Boss Follow Friend Follow Girlfriend Follow Boyfriend Follow Law Follow TV Follow Radio Follow Billboard Follow GPS Follow Magazine Follow Arrows Follow Guides Follow Fashion Follow Them

Now follow your fucking Brain.



Things to (do to make customer) buy:

1) Bulk-order a low costing, raw commodity and ‘add value’
2) Hire an ‘innovative’ (i.e. ‘ruthless’) businessman who designs a figure to parallel ‘Tony the Tiger’
3) Prise your way into the family home and kidnap children’s minds
4) Encourage them to influence peers
5) Abuse parent’s love for the kids and guilt them into spending money
6) Let everyone believe we are who we say we are

I walk unsuspectingly into an ocean of promises which are portrayed so attractively in their perfect packaging so beautifully crafted to craft my will-be-beautiful thoughts. So many offers to help me save money (so many ways to sell my soul).

Buy 1 get 1 free on happy families when you buy this box of ‘Kellogg’s Corn Flakes’.

Spend £3 on bifidus digestivum for a digestive problem you never noticed until the advert and get a free, completely unrelated product

50% off a deodorant that makes you ‘The Sex’

...Empty wallet. Open your eyes.

Thank you for shopping at the 'Dreams Supermarket'. The place where you’re told you need pointless crap to become happy.



'The people who truly deface our neighbourhoods are the companies that scrawl their giant slogans across buildings and buses trying to make us feel inadequate unless we buy their stuff...Well, they started this fight and the wall is the weapon of choice to hit them back.' - Banksy

Oh, Hollywood

Dear Hollywood,

I'm writing this to tell you how confusing you have made my and, I'm sure, others' life. There are so many questions you’ve put in our heads:

1) Is life meant to be poignant like in 'American Beauty' or is it all basically a load of shits and giggles? I stared at a crisp packet for a long time. When I realised it was a cheese and onion one I thought 'this is definitely being filmed' but then people started whispering and I heard 'fetish' more than once. Ricky Fitts is not the only misunderstood, artistic soul.

2) Where are these men that I fall in love with every time I go to the cinema - and why do they fall in love with annoying women like Rose DeWitt Bukater? Do they not ever hang out in East London? I own granny pants just like Bridget Jones and have yet to find someone who finds that attractive. Hugh Grant, please, let's rendezvous.

3) Are there any evening classes I can take to learn how to speak that poetically? Also, perhaps I'm a prude but is it really necessary for Kat to cry in front of a class in '10 Things I Hate About You'? What happened to pride? I thought modern Hollywood is obsessed with aesthetics and looking good. She looks terrible.

4) Should I consider an explosion normal, and never bother turning around or say 'FUCK!' when I feel a slight burning sensation on the back of my head? Maybe in comparison to your protagonists I've lived a sheltered life.

5) I know stereotypes exist because they have truth in them but I have never met a magical black person before. Magical people in Hollywood are always black like that guy in 'The Green Mile' or the Oracle in 'The Matrix' (obviously bar Harry Potter because the wizarding community is not so elitist). Where do I find these magi?

I could do with some help resurrecting the mouse that burnt to death in the explosion which distracted me from the good looking chap who I could have wooed with the vast Shakespeare quotes my English degree has forced me to absorb, across the road.

Nel mio tempo libero mi piace scrivere

I don’t know where I came from
Those words were long lost
Now, instead of ‘kemcho’ I say ‘hello’ to my boss
The lines of communication
Were severed when I was young
My grandma shakes her head in disappointment
If only it was in Gujarati I had sung
The further I move
Away from my origins
The further I move
From an Indian kitchen
No shaak and rotli,
Just pasta and pie
No bhaat or puri
But pizza from the delivery guy
I don’t know where I came from
But I know where I am going
Studio l’inglese e l’italiano
Ma, Gujarati, non parlo

Success

Evidently my earlier plans in maintaining a blog failed so I'm in no doubt they will fail again. Nevertheless it's nice to lie now and then..it makes you feel dangerous. Therefore:

I'm gonna blog.

Below is some crap that I wrote...probably whilst feeling hideous



Yourself:

Take off your makeup with wet wipes you paid £4 for. They were on sale.

It’s stained with life-changing waterproof mascara (£20), man-alluring eye shadow (£15), mineral face-smothering foundation (£20) and all the nonsense you’re another insecure sucker for. Total for a new face: £55

...And that’s excluding the makeup utensils you utilised in making a man want to utilise you.

You get loyalty points though - This changes everything. This makes it okay.

Strip off from the body-shaping garms and rip away the names a kid sewed on for the thousandth time - which you pay to advertise

Cut the acrylic talons and stare at your misshapen cuticles

Has the world ended?

De-jangle those bangles

Go blind but let us see the natural colour of your eyes!

Wash out the plastic from your hair and shades that don’t belong to you but the woman on the box

Hide from the sun (unless it’s to play the games you’ve long forgotten...Hopscotch!) and tell skin cancer to find some other fool

You’ve adopted an image. It’s so engrained you can’t even trace where from, when...why?

What made you hate this perfect body that is testament to all that has been (your parents, their parents, their parent’s parents) and all that may be (when you’re a parent)?

Embrace the fat, there’s more to hug.

Embrace the frizz and scars because character is rare these days.

It’s all very well for Christina Aguilera to tell us we’re beautiful when she looks like that. Shut up, what do you know?

Not me though. Each and every one of you is more beautiful when your beauty belongs to you and not a twisty-top bottle.

Look in the mirror, wearing only what came free.

When was the last time you saw yourself in yourself look so cheap, and yet so rich?

You’re priceless.

My gift to you is yourself back.