kai's lounge

A former prostitute whose memoirs were turned into the TV series Secret Diary of a Call Girl, starring Billie Piper, has revealed her true identity.

Dr Brooke Magnanti wrote under the pen name Belle de Jour to describe the encounters she had as a high-class call girl while earning money for her PhD.

via BBC NEWS | UK | Belle de Jour drops her anonymity.

In exactly two weeks I’ll be unemployed, or rather, self-employed. I submitted my resignation a couple weeks ago to pursue a dream a friend and I have been nurturing for several years; opening our own editorial consultancy/media company. It’s the first time since leaving high school that I won’t be part of a structured working environment with a guaranteed salary at the end of the month no matter how much time I waste on FB or Twitter. I’m terrified. Will I be able to pay my recurring bills; internet, rent, phone? How will it impact on my family life? There’s no guarantee that I will be able to even match the money I make now in a given month.

I’m excited. It’s not going to be easy but I know we’ll get out of it exactly what we put into it. This is where the real paper chase begins; eat what you kill. I’ve been a bag bay attendant, data entry clerk, cashier, telemarketer, reserve officer cadet and journalist. Hopefully, I’ll be able to add entrepreneur to that list in the not too distant future. I have long resisted numerous entreaties to go after money proactively, having no inclination to be in that race, but this is an opportunity to make money doing something I’m good at and which could be fun; finally putting my brain to use.

I have no illusions about this venture being easy. I’m sure there will be times I’ll regret abandoning the structured work environment and the security it provides, but like the man said “nothing ventured, nothing gained.” I’ll be doing something I want to do, pursuing a dream of being an “ideas man.” This post shall serve as a reminder to why I am doing it when those difficult times surface.

I’m out.

Havana, Cuba CNN — A Cuban woman known for writing critical blogs about life in the communist nation said she was briefly detained by agents Friday in the capital.Yoani Sanchez told CNN in a telephone interview that she and fellow blogger, Orlando Luis Pardo, were forced into a black Chinese-made car and assaulted by three state security agents on her way to a march against violence Friday evening.

via Blogger says Cuban agents beat her – CNN.com.

Orlando’s granny is beating the shit outta him. I don’t know who to root for. Run nigga run!

Bakannal (B): So u stopped bloggin…why da fuck did you do dat?

Kwesi (K): I had better things to do with my time.

B: like?

K: make money; concentrate on the things that really matter.

B: WTF?!? Where the fuck did you start gettin props as an aspiring writer?

K: High school.

B: THAT’S A FUCKIN LIE!!

K: ok, blogging.

B: how the fuck does not bloggin put money in ur pocket?

K: Do you have to curse so much?

B: Did you abandon ur nuts with the last blog?

K: (sigh) it allows me to concentrate on more constructive things like ideas that can actually earn me some cash.

B: Wow. Did u jus make dat up?

K: What do you mean?

B: Neva mind. How much money did u make when u weren’t blogging?

K: That’s not the point. It freed me up mentally. Did you know that most multi-taskers are bad at multi-tasking?

B: Did u read that in Cosmopolitan?

K: …

B: what happened to u bro? used to be a fun niggro. Now ur some kinda pussy-whipped- teetotalin-sensitive prick. What went wrong man?

K: I grew up. Fun and games have their place but this is grown folks time B. I’m not going to blow out 20 grand in a night anymore when that money can go to more worthwhile stuff. I’m getting married in a few months and a man needs a different focus from that of when he was a boy when he contemplates starting a family. I can go on and on but I don’t think you’d understand.

B: Ahh…so now ur better than me? Because u abandoned the fun side of life and ur movin towards family life? Dat’s a fuckin pile of shit. Dats fuckin self-flagellation u fuckin moron. When the Friday nites come and you long for a drink what you gonna do? Grab a titty?

K: Can we be civil here?

B: Ur such a skunt man. I can’t beleev dis shit. Do u actually beleev dat stream of fecal matter that just came out of your mouth?

K: I do.

B: Damn.

There is a new nuisance emanating from next door. The church is still there but it no longer wakes me on Sundays and other days. However, the folks who live above it, caretakers perhaps, are the most annoying neighbours I’ve ever encountered. It’s a grandmother and two to three young teens, one of whom is a lad by the name of Orlando. Bear in mind that when you live in housing schemes your homes are about 6 – 10 feet apart in some instances. Ours is about 20 yet this woman manages to wake me from the deepest sleep regularly when she gets ready to bawl for Orlando. It’s always Orlando. I don’t know if the chap is a problem child but his name rings out morning, noon and night. He is a surly kid and is often rude in his responses. One day I wanted to pelt him with a shoe when he began arguing with his gran. He’s about 14. She has a repertoire of these sayings like “time langa dan twine” or “moon ah run til day ketch am” – and never fails to trot them out on him. Annoys the fuck outta me.

Last weekend I began seeing things Orlando’s way and sympathising with him. He’s in the yard sweeping water from the concrete where he had been washing his clothes when it began to rain so he stopped. Stupid-ass woman told him to continue. He quite logically, and rudely, pointed out that it made no sense since it was raining causing said woman to become irate, spitting folksy sayings faster than I could cuss. All this as I was trying to get my second sleep. I can’t quite capture the decibel level here but picture yourself in a large steel tank and someone’s at the top screaming down at you with that shit reverberating off the sides and pummeling you. It’s almost as pleasant as that. If I wasn’t expecting the wife I would’ve gone to work just for the escape.

Early today, around 7.30 – “Ooorlaandooooooooo!” That was it. I had already planned for just such an occasion. A devious, evil plan had wormed its way into my mind on Sunday and I had gone online and downloaded some music. Today I opened all the windows, drew the curtains, turned up the speakers, woofers and shit, pointed them at the window, and let her have it. Caught her in the midst of one of those sayings.

“No batty cyan fuck pon de Gaza/ no pussy cyan suck pon de Gaza/no boy bout yah ah informa”

Kartel in she skunt. Followed that with the raw versions of Romping Shop and Bicycle. Up to when I left home at minutes to 10 she hadn’t uttered another audible word.

From the comments on my previous post I gather there is concern, if you can call it that, that I might be watering down my content as a result of being on the GPA exec. I realise now that I may have given that impression from the said post. Well thanks for the luv folks but this aint gonna be another docu-blog. I’m still gonna say fuck and skunt and that I believe politicians are idiots. What’s going to change is the level of my political content. In the past I have shied away from commentaries and it’s ironic that I’d start now but it’s a new game.  You may not see it in the Times but you’ll sure as hell see it here. Consider it a sign of things to come.

A few may wonder about the motive behind doing away with the last blog. Well it’s still there since I’m yet to download the stuff I need from it. But the move to lock it was based on my recent election as VP of the Guyana Press Association. At the risk of sounding pompous I want to say that it is a position that requires a fair amount of public responsibility since I am in the business of holding public officials to a higher standard (lol). It might be counter-productive to the work of the GPA if some of the irreverent offerings on that blog were to be latched onto by individuals with a nefarious agenda. While there is nothing on that blog of which I am ashamed prudence dictates that I take every precaution to safeguard myself and the Association.

This also marks my return to the blogosphere and while I can’t promise regular posts I will be putting up stuff. Expect changes in tone and content as a result of the aforementioned.

I’m out.

… another beginning.

The following is a summary of a feature in today’s Guyana Chronicle by Parvati Persaud-Edwards, titled “The Slave Trade – A Blessing In Disguise? I couldn’t find the article online so you’ll have to trust that I have faithfully captured Mrs. Persaud-Edwards intent below or you can invest $60 dollars (VAT inclusive) for a copy of the newspaper.

The feature opens with reference to the UN recognition of the International Day for the Commemoration of the 200th Anniversary of the Abolition of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade.  Then she mentions the report of the World Conference against Racism, Racial Discrimination, Xenophobia and Related Intolerance and its condemnation of slavery. Mrs. Persaud-Edwards then goes on to relate an incident about the whipping of a pregnant slave as a signal of what slavery meant for blacks. Then she states:

However, history records as an evolving process, millions of super-achieving success stories of descendants of those transported and enslaved victims of man’s inhumanity to man – black and white man, many of whom would most likely never have reached the heights they achieved if it had not been for their enslaved ancestors being forcibly transported as human cargo to distant lands – lands which provided opportunities for development and growth of super-achievers.

Then she lists some of those “super-achievers.” Kobe Bryant, Oprah Winfrey, Michael Jackson, Barack Obama, Condoleezza Rice, Brian Lara, Paul Robeson, Nat King Cole and Tina Turner.

These she calls “a miniscule few of a great many who stride the globe like the colossus, who may very well have been relegated to positions of obscurity in their patriarchal lands.” According to Mrs. Persaud-Edwards:

The grit and determination to rise from their devastating circumstances impelled Guyanese foreparents from African [sic] to identities, families, homes and communities by purchasing lands and establishing villages all along the coast.

She then goes on to name a village established by the freed slaves; Plantation Orange Walk (Buxton) as an example of their industry. In conclusion Mrs. Persaud-Edwards states:

For many descendants of the enslaved peoples from Africa, slavery was not a curse, but a blessing in disguise.

My first reaction to the piece was to be offended. Then I thought what would have happened had I been born in Africa? The picture I have of Africa is one of a ravaged land. What part did the slave trade play in the continent’s under-development? Walter Rodney posited that it was the bell that started the massive slide of the continent. Then my mind switched to Guyana’s situation.  Would the Amerindians be better off learning basketball, governance and medicine so that they too could be super-achievers? Maybe we should relocate all of them to the coastland to push the government’s Grow More food campaign. It’s all for the national good right? Then I got all pissed again.

I am not as well read as I should be on the contributions of Africans to the body of world knowledge prior to the Atlantic slave trade but I know they are significant. Mrs. Persaud-Edwards’ premise that out of this abomination arose an intrinsic good is flawed on so many fronts. Obscurity in our homelands? Do you mean with our culture intact and able to trace our lineage as far back as the dawn of civilisation? Not being treated as second-class  citizens in foreign lands? The writer states that we had to endure slavery before we could fight for identity, family and a home. In other words, slavery brought meaning to our lives. Insert appropriate expletives right here. I really don’t want to make this lengthier than it already is so I will stop here and offer more of my views in the comments section.

Feedback would be appreciated.

UPDATE: found the link. It’s way down. Second to last article.