 |
| My 2010 Mo |
With no blog update and no tweets on Twitter for the past couple of months, you’ve probably all been thinking my life outside of the toy box had come to an end. I am pleased to say I have been given a temporary reprieve, and the rumours of my assassination at the paws of the House Dog, or my abduction by Oxfam, were just that... rumours. Rumours constructed by the hideous House Human in an evil ploy to conceal the truth from the world. A truth so awful, I dare not speak it on the off chance that ‘It’ reads my blog and grounds me again. Sure I only got a credit average in my Master of Writing, I was happy, the University was happy, the other toys were happy, but the House Human wasn’t.
For four long boring months I had to come home straight after Uni, my use of the internet was closely supervised and to be used for study purposes only. But the worse thing of all, the House Human confiscated my mobile phone. How can you possibly live without the warmth of a sleek, black mobile phone pressing gently against your fur; denied the way your heart flutters when its face illuminates a darkened room with an unexpected call? Or how can you be denied the buzz you feel as you watch the delightful way it dances across the desktop when the alarm has been set to vibrate? I’m sure if there is such a thing as Bear Abuse, taking away the unconditional love and friendship of a mobile phone would qualify.
From a conversation I overheard the other day, I came to learn my grounding by the hideous House Human had little to do with how well I was, or was not doing at Uni. As it transpires the House Human had a big case of green-eyed-envy and couldn’t cope with the fact I had more followers than ‘It’ did on twitter, and ‘It’ was rather annoyed by the fact my blog was read and followed by so many. But I think what really pushed him over the edge was when ‘It’ learnt my blog was being studied by students at Universities worldwide... admittedly, I didn’t find the need to say my blog was being used as an example of how not to do a blog.
Anyhow I’m back (and while I’m not rich or famous yet), it has been just over a year since I climbed out of the toy box to introduce myself to the world. It’s also hard to believe that November, or as many around the globe have come to know it, Movember, is here once again.
Sadly, I’m not in a position to grow the mo this year as the House Human can’t afford to give me hair and, as his hair hasn’t grown back from last year’s effort, he has none to spare even if he could. So instead, I thought I would do my bit by writing a story (found at the end of this blog) and by making a donation while reminding you all how important this month is in raising vital funds for men’s health around the world.
For those of you not aware of the Movember cause (shame, shame... shame), here’s the run down to bring you up to speed. Movember was started by to blokes from Melbourne Australia (yay!) in 2003 to raise money for the two biggest health issues men face – prostate cancer and depression. In the last eight years the fuzzy-faced word, like a manly facial religion on Youtube, has gone viral. As such, Movember has grown (no pun intended) to inspire more than 1.1 Million Mo Bros and Mo Sistas from Australia, New Zealand, the USA, Canada, the United Kingdom, Finland, the Netherlands, Spain, South Africa and Ireland.
Last year over 130,000 Australian Mo Bros and Sistas got on board, raising $25 Million (AUD). According to their website, Movember is aware of participants supporting the campaign and men’s health in places such as Russia, Dubai, Hong Kong, Antarctica, Rio de Janeiro, Mumbai and everywhere in between. Hey, even the fabulous Kylie Minogue is onboard with her support.
As we know, you Human males have a funny attitude and are not very good at talking about stuff like health or emotions, therefore, someone needs to help drag you into the light kicking and screaming. This is not a case of ‘man flu’, and you are no longer a caveman, so stop your pissing and moaning before it’s too late. Become educated about the health risks you face. Talk to your mates and help them become fully informed about early detection, diagnosis and the treatments for illnesses such as prostate cancer and depression.
But most importantly, whether you are a human, a dog, a cat... or indeed, a stuffed bear, and no matter where on this planet you live, this is your chance to become a Mo Bro or Sista and help change the face of men’s health. Please visit the
Movemberwebsite to begin your journey.
Given one of the focuses of Movember is depression, I would like to share with you the short piece of prose below written while locked in the toy box . If you like the dark and dismal work of a depression prone Edgar Allan Poe, you’ll probably enjoy the Poe-like style. If not, well without doubt, you will read no further.
I look forward to hearing what you think. Until next time..
Best wishes,
Theodore Bear
Torn Soul: The depressive thoughts of a little bear
I sit; alone, caught between two worlds. ‘Tis a tumultuous time, the voices of the past present and future converge in my mind.
I walk into the light. Such a bright light – glistening like the hallowed moon marked as I by time – suspended silently in pitch-black. Life has come full circle, spiralling within and without; torturing my soul, mocking every fibre of my being – emptiness overcoming life --.
Hesitantly, fearfully, impetuously I walk unto my end. Yet I, my soul, remain unafraid to this point of all which is to befall. What shall become of me? – The world I have come to know so well, yet comprehend so little --. What is to become of those whose souls I have helped mould and direction I have changed? What murderous feat had brought me to this forsaken place? What wickedness had I partaken to be left invisible and alone – frightened --. Frightened of those that pass me by, judging with minds so narrow they are incapable of looking beyond the mere mortal to find the person I once was, the potential I once could have achieved.
Ah, then I recalled. Life had passed me by ever so quickly – such as that of a thunderous spring storm; a tornado pulling at my now blackened, putrid heart –. By sharpened tongue like an ensiform blade, I sacrificed my inner child on a cold, bare stone alter in the crevices’ of my mind, and watched in silence as all hope and passion ceased; without thought, nor care. A life forgotten; squandered; wasted.
And there alone, in the cold and quiet darkness -- hidden from those I know so well --, a new creature became fixed upon my soul.
Scorned the Demon called, ‘Come forth O’ wretched child; let thee hold thou to thine breast, kiss thy tender lips, and nurture what remains of a once good and kindly heart. Let thee bring thou eternal life and possessions beyond thou wile fantasies.
‘Perchance,’ I responded. ‘Perchance O’ gentle Demon – I beseech you, do you know how I shall return to a land of wonder -- turn my back upon this darkened shore?--’.
The Demon at once he answered, with words of simoom that beat upon my weary brow. ‘Come close O’ tormented child, let thee hold thou to thine breast, kiss thy tender lips and bring comfort to thy soul. For thy deeds of hate and murder of your very essence shall keep thee here in thy warm embrace for all life’s end.
His words rang in silence, and the light it grew in brightness – illuminating an abyss of nothingness, that made me tremble to the core --.
‘Oh great and gentle Demon, I implore you, keep your gifts and stolen treasures. Restore my mind unto me and return me from whence I came and I shall bother you no more’.
As my words were all but spoken, ghostly images in smoky passages rapidly began to form. My heart grew still, for their shadowed approach -- swift and silent -- foretold their fated chore.
The Demon he commanded, ‘Rest; let us take thee under and feast upon thy slovenly soul’.
Without expression I allowed my soul to surrender, and prayed the end come swiftly – that the viper’s venom would surge quickly through my veins--, lulling my soul into a blissful, silent rest I had never known before.
But the Demon’s words bit deeply, as his voice it called once more sweetly, ‘Let thee hold thou to thine breast, kiss thy tender lips and bring comfort to thy soul’.
‘Yes O’ great and gentle Demon … I surrender. Take your reward for the deeds I have left undone; the words of love that have gone unspoken; replace the life I feel was squandered, and release my missing mind from the purposeless fortress of my soul.’
Without a preconceived notion, my senses reeled with apprehension and I found my trembling feet placed firmly on the ground. There in the empty darkness; formed an inky-pool of fire which came swirling from the floor – peaceful, joyous, silence now filled my vacant heart --.
The peaceful silence all but shattered, as from the glowing embers a hundred-fold of demons danced in wild frenzy and began tearing at my soul. As they tormented me with terror, the Demon’s hot breath drew nearer as he whispered to my ear, ‘Let us watch as thy cold blood runs more freely, like scarlet tongues of serpents lapping at the threshold of thine enemies’ door. Let us bring shelter, eternal death and possessions beyond thou wiliest fancy and a mind that shall bother no more.’
Exhausted again I called. ‘I beseech you, do you know how I shall return to a land of wonder -- turn my back upon this darkened shore?--’.
But before the Demon answered a hand is moved in silence and put upon my fragile heart. I stir ever slightly. It is not the welcomed touch of Death that bids me take its hand, but ‘tis the trusting hand of you a friend. A friend who is willing to reach unto the murky depths of darkness; reaching out to free a troubled soul, to shine their torch and light the way.
If only for briefest moment, I feel my body rising, ascending to the surface, as if set high upon feathered wings which causes my mind to be once more, to race and soar above a crowed world, no longer alone, invisible -- hidden by the darkness --.
With the days that pass you often ask my thinking as you tend my wounds, mend the bleeding, bringing comfort to my tattered soul. But even as I’m speaking it is my guarded words and not the Demon’s that ring in the empty silence scratched deep upon my soul. For I can not tell you stories of darkened shores and smoky passages with inky-pools of fire where demons lay in waiting to strip me to the core.
For to tell you -- that I spy the Demon perched with patience upon the fortress wall; to tell you that I feel the Demon’s anxiety grow as his pulse quickens with mine; to tell you I taste his stale breath as it lingers upon the air, reminding me he has the morrow – is to say the words that make me scared, more terrified than one-hundred fold of demons dare. For to tell you… to utter these simple words and allow them to pass my lips, is to render me powerless, invisible and alone once more.
©2011 Theodore Bear
