Why weird is my new wonderful.

Jeeni Blog

Helping the next generation of talent to build a global fanbase

Why weird is my new wonderful.

By Sammie Venn Jeeni's Official Writer, Columnist and Blogger.

The dictionary definition of weird is “extraordinary, out of this world” I remember the feeling of utter hope and merriment when I read that. I suddenly didn’t feel alone anymore. Once I fully released my inner oddball, the magic started to happen. The people who I thought I loved and loved me just fell away. It was like watching grains of sand slip through my fingers. At the time it felt like a gigantic loss but in hindsight it was the best gift I could have been given. I’m grateful every day for all the losses as what I have gained surpasses anything I could have dreamt of. I came out of the “kooky closet” said a tentative hello to my new surroundings and have never looked back.

Having always felt like I had trodden a different path in life, I used to feel embarrassed about my so called “weirdness”. A damaging label that was attributed over the course of many years. Always being on the periphery at school, shallow friendships and poor choices in men made me feel like there was something wrong with me.

Decades later I began the journey of coming to terms with whatever it was that made me feel a bit different. I read countless books, watched documentaries on Gaia, downloaded as many spiritual audibles as I could afford and after a period of counselling I realised that actually being “different” totally rocked and I certainly wasn’t the only one experiencing all those feelings of self-doubt. Self-doubt had finally set sail to distant shores and my passport to a happier more soulful life had been stamped with creativity with no expiration date.

My wired but wonderful List...So I’m not ashamed of saying that...

3am – the hour of writers, poets, musicians, silence seekers and overthinkers – In this crazy time that is 3am I really do achieve a lot of work. The silence is accompanied with prolific bird song and the sunrise paints a spectacular sunset across the fields. So there is no better landscape for creativity.

Gardening at Night -I water my roses at midnight in an old fashioned Victorian nightie with a gin and tonic in hand. The kiss of the night time breeze provides a magical space to reflect on the past 24 hours and plan the next.

Adventure at work -I have made a home office in my camper van and drive to various different places to work and mediate and be away from the humdrum of daily life. I need to be portable otherwise I feel stagnant and confined. My camper caters for most needs; a whistling kettle for fresh coffee, a writing station and insanely comfortable bed for those cheeky afternoon power naps.

Writing Erotica -I love to write erotic poetry and have an entire bookcase at home dedicated to naughtiness throughout the ages. Ancient manuscripts and recent tomes dedicated to Love, and all of the emotions surrounding it adorn the shelves.

Wild words and Soul Magic - I have about 10 different tarot desks I particularly Love Rebecca Campbell’s “Work your light” the illustrations are as magical as her words. I love to practice either quietly by myself or with my bestie in London. We savour our weekends as they are few and far between these days but we still write together and have created different worlds where we pretend to live like we were once warrior soul sisters. In fact lockdown has been perfect for that.

There are so many other things I do in my arsenal of “weird but wonderful” and I wouldn’t be without any of them now. Lewis Carroll wrote in “Alice in Wonderland” “you’re mad, bonkers, completely off your head. But I’ll Tell you a secret. All the best people are”. Definitely my mantra, it even sits as a plaque on my wall in the studio.

Have you got any practices or quirks that you embrace? We would love to hear about them.

Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com

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10
Jun

The Death of Letitia

Jeeni has returned to Crowdcube to raise more funds for helping new talent. Jeeni founding director Mel Croucher says, “We’re ahead of our original schedule, but there’s still so much more to do. We need to scale our online platform globally now and build our mass artist showcases. Jeeni raised £100K in 6 days and we're working hard to get more investors on board. Then we can hit all our targets, and give our new artists the recognition they deserve.” If you want to see our pitch click HERE. Mel has been writing the best-loved column in top-selling tech magazines for over 30 years. Now he’s agreed to share his work with all our members. He’s a video games pioneer and musician, and to to find out more about Mel check out his Wikipedia page. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mel_Croucher. Here’s one of Mel’s latest! Black lives matter. Unless black lives feature in a videogame, in which case they don't matter a toss. I still remember the feeling of hope and despair when I played Daley Thompson's Decathlon for the first time. That was way back in the Olympic year of 1984, and it was a primitive sports simulation from Ocean software for a little home computer called the 48k Sinclair ZX Spectrum. Daley Thompson was an Olympic gold medal winner from Notting Hill. He had a fine body, and a great moustache, and according to his skin he was the son of his assassinated Nigerian dad. Anyway, I fired up the game and there on my glowing colour monitor was the pixilated figure of Daley, the great black athlete, running along a red cinder track. The thing was, the programmers had made him white. No, I couldn't believe it either. A huge crowd of spectators also appeared in the gameplay, and every one of them was as white as a Ku Klux Klan convention in a chalk pit. It's not as if no black characters ever appeared in videogames. Almost all the assassins, hoodlums, terrorists, monsters and mobsters were black, and their purpose was to be killed off willy nilly. Apart from Michael Jackson. He was the hero in a Sega videogame called Moonwalker and his role was to rescue kidnapped children and take them home. So there was nothing creepy about that, was there. Mind you, wee Michael was mostly as white in the game as he was in real life. For a real black and white issue from the early twenty-first century, I have revisited Ethnic Cleansing, developed by Resistance Records for PC desktop machines. That's the one where the white player gets sent off on a quest to murder blacks. It is equal opportunity racism, because you also score points for killing Latinos and Jews. And speaking of equal opportunities let's hear it for the computer character Letitia who appears in an update of Deus Ex, which is set in a cyberpunk future. Letitia lives on a rubbish dump, she is as horny as she is simple, and she speaks minstrel drivel in the sort of deep-South accent last heard in a Mel Brooks parody. You couldn't make it up. Except that's exactly what they did. And shame on you Mary DeMarle for writing it, Amanda Strawn for acting it, and Square Enix for publishing it. In the USA, over 70% of all African Americans play video games, but they make up less than 3% of game developers, which tells me quite a lot about the state of the play over there. This side of the pond, things are much better, where we have over 10% of people working in game development of a BAME demographic. That's a higher percentage than their number in the national working population, and way higher than in UK publishing, tv and music. This is good news, but it's where the good news ends. Last time I visited a major gaming studio in pre-lockdown, I did see several black faces. One was on security at street level, one was behind the reception desk, two were behind the counter in the canteen, and one was swilling out the bogs. The number of black and minority ethnic decision-makers in the UK computer gaming industry is shockingly low. As a result, race has lagged way behind gender and sexuality when it comes to stereotypes in gaming. Mainstream game designers tend not to question a norm, and they rarely rock the boat by refusing to carry out a questionable storyboard handed down to them by predominantly white hands from above. Most game designers I come across have less creative imagination than Rufus my Irish Setter, not to mention a much poorer sense of loyalty and the inability to lick their own genitalia. Video games have always followed movies in characterisation, and they are painfully stiff with stereotypes. Historically, lazy, myopic creatives have allocated blacks four roles - the violent black, the servile black, the sidekick black and the comedy black. I am removing sports games and music games from my list, since they exhibit no imagination whatsoever, but simply copy real people from the real world, unless you happen to be Daley Thompson or Michael Jackson, of course. The blame for all this lies squarely with the course leaders who purport to teach video game creation in universities and colleges. I have never met a creative course leader who is darker skinned than me, and I'm a sort of mottled puce. They may well instruct their students to bung in a character of the negro persuasion as if to fill some sort of racial minority quota, a bit like when those tv adverts suddenly started to feature blacks doing non-traditional things. Like working in building societies, and driving new cars. The change is coming through the independent video game creators, the so-called home-brew developers, and the change had begun in the UK way before the Black Lives Matter movement gathered such momentum. Creative change always comes from the mavericks and rarely from the corporates. As for the people who play the games, next time you come across a racial stereotype you know what to do. Take a knee. To the groin of the writer, programmer and publisher. The Death of Letitia, from Deus Ex: Human Revolution Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com

10
Jun

A Kiss from a Rose – Why the Rose is such a powerful symbol in the arts. By Sammie Venn.

Here at Jeeni.com we celebrate and support all musicians and performers, and poetry has its own dedicated channel for artists and performers to showcase their work and earn 100% of their sales, ticketing, merchandise and donations. Last week Jeeni returned to Crowdcube to raise more funds for helping new talent. We have been very encouraged with the positive response as we reached our target in just 6 days and now overfunding If you want to see our pitch click HERE. Today we showcase Sammie Venn as a very talented and creative writer. The Rose has long been considered a symbol of the divine feminine; when my daughter and I moved to our home in East Sussex a few years ago we bought a “Coeur Rose”, a “Love Rose”, in hope that it would manifest exactly that. Consequently it has never flowered when it should, in fact it has blossomed during the oddest of times, throughout harsh frosty winters as well as scorching hot summers. I even found two perfectly formed flowers one New Year’s eve under a dusting of snow. Suffice to say I see it as a strong and firmly rooted plant that can spring to life in the most adverse conditions, In Tarot a rose is seen as a symbol of balance, it expresses new beginnings, hope and promise. I see our magical plant as something that has stood the test of time. It is full of boundless wisdom and copious richness, whilst her petals answer my prayers the thorns protect the splendour it bestows. So why is the rose such a powerful motif in the arts? It appears as a mark of love, beauty and virtue within every creative genre. It is a recurring theme in ancient literature and features in the greatest love poems of our time. Christina Rossetti, William Blake, J.B. Yeats, Dorothy Parker, Rumi, Charles Bukowski all herald the rose in their prose as nature’s metaphorical flower of Love. Roses have symbolised God at work, the scent has been aligned to that of an angel and the Virgin Mary has also been called the “mystic rose”, “the rose without thorns”. Clearly its power as a plant is multifarious, from religious connotations to passionate exchanges, sincere friendship and spiritual holiness, the rose can mirror any human sentiment. The Ancient Greeks and Romans associated roses with Aphrodite and Venus, the Goddess of Love. However they have also been used to communicate messages without words. It is not just Love that the rose represents but also confidentiality. The Latin term “sub rosa” translates as “under the rose” referring to the notion that something is told in secret. When a confidential matter was debated behind closed doors in Rome, the wild flower was placed outside to indicate that a private matter was being discussed. It is not just literature that celebrates the rose, singer-song writers have immortalised the exquisite flower in their lyrics for centuries. Without doubt it is an iconic plant and holds a plethora of meanings depending on its colour. A crimson flower is for lovers, it signifies enduring and life-long passion. The velvety petals of a lilac bloom represent enchantment and love at first sight. A white rose reflects humility and innocence whilst a yellow bud expresses friendship and joy. Stems with pink flowers can be given to express gratitude, appreciation and admiration whilst those with an orange hue can portray enthusiasm and desire. Every mortal emotion can be aligned to this beautiful woody perennial. There are over 300 species and tens of thousands of cultivars, whether they are trailing, climbing or standing tall as shrubs, the rose comes armed with prickles and thorns making them strangely more beautiful in many ways. Leigh Bardugo in “The Language of Thorns” wrote that “Love speaks in flowers. Truth requires thorns”. This seems like a perfect metaphor for the life we live. From Bette Midler to Janis Joplin, form Poison to Westlife, the rose has featured as a powerful overture in many songs and genres. It has been idolised for both its natural beauty as well as its harsher, darker side. Seal’s “Kiss from a Rose” was released in 1994 and again in 1995 when it appeared in the film “Batman Forever”. 25 years later it’s still a song that sends shivers down my spine, I can even hear it loud and clear in my head as I’m writing this article. But it’s the lyrics of Bette Midler that resonate like a thunder bolt to the heart. Harmony is not always achieved when everyone sings the same note. It is what lies between these musical tones that produces accord. The rhythm and rhyme that they ensue creates a melody that dances to its own beat and this verse from Midler’s “The Rose” does exactly that. The lyrics are haunting, rich, joyful, romantic, wild and intoxicating, just like the rose itself. “When the night has been too lonely and the road has been too longAnd you think that love is only for the lucky and the strongJust remember in the winter, far beneath the bitter snowsLies the seed, that with the sun's love in the spring becomes the rose”. Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com

03
Sep

Mel's World

Today, Jeeni has returned to Crowdcube to raise more funds for helping new talent. Jeeni founding director Mel Croucher says, “I admit we're ahead of our original schedule, but there's still so much more to do. We need to scale our online platform globally now and build our mass artist showcases. Then we can hit all our targets, and give our new artists the recognition they deserve.” If you want to see our pitch click HERE. Mel has been writing the best-loved column in top-selling tech magazines for over 30 years. Now he's agreed to share his work with all our members. He's a video games pioneer and musician, and to to find out more about Mel check out his Wikipedia page. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mel_Croucher. Here's one of Mel's latest! This place is neither a home nor a prison. It is some sort of institution. It drips a pallid 1980s atmosphere, and it makes me both afraid and excited. I am completely lost in a badly-lit labyrinth of corridors. It feels like I am being toyed with, and I want to leave. Of course I know the rules by now, and the most important rule of all is that I must keep my social distance of an arms-length and avoid physical contact with any other lost souls who wander these passages. They are creepy. They look more like ghosts than real people. Their eyes are disturbing. Sometimes they stare ahead vacantly, sometimes their staring gazes flick to the left and then to the right in a zombie rhythm. I cannot see their noses or their mouths, because they are covered by coloured masks. My own mouth is not covered at all. My own mouth gapes wide open. I think I feel hungry. I think I am searching for food. Perhaps I will find a piece of fruit, or maybe one of those pills I am encouraged to consume. As I turn a corner, I nearly collide with one of the ghostly figures. But I keep calm. I do not panic. I simply turn away and move as fast as I can. Which is not very fast at all. I can sense another presence around the next corner. The passages are only wide enough for one soul to pass at a time. I feel rather hopeless. I feel quite trapped. I think there is a distinct possibility that very soon I will lose my life. I think I need to build a wall before my time runs out. I know how to build a wall, I have had plenty of practice. The bottom rows of bricks slot into place without much trouble. But the more I seem to succeed, the more difficult my masonic task becomes. The stupid smaller bricks take on a will of their own, and the larger bricks feel clumsy in my hands. My wall is becoming a mess. There are big gaps in the structure where an enemy might get through. There are little gaps in the structure where a virus can penetrate. I think I'd better get out of here. I think I'd better find me a new space, one with some ladders to climb up and ledges to crawl along. Perhaps if I navigate these ladders and ledges, I can find my way out. And will you look up there! High above the ladders, almost out of sight, there is a young woman in a purple frock. She is in obvious distress. She calls out to me. Her flame-red hair cascades around her face, and then blows backwards. Which is bizarre, because there is no wind to speak of. Now she screams out, the same word over and over again. The word is help. Her cry is too theatrical. She has a big nose, like Princess Diana, or Pete Townshend. I am not very interested in her. I am much more interested in the beer. It believe that the beer is stored in big wooden barrels, stacked up in strategic places, and seemingly too heavy to be manhandled. But I am able to pick up any barrel I like, magically, without a problem, because I am unnaturally strong. And I am very, very hairy, from tip to toe. If I was once Pacman, now I am the mighty Kong. It has been many years since the viral invaders arrived from the Far East. The Space Invaders. At first the effects of their invasion were only faintly amusing, but then they grew rather attractive, and strangely exciting, and eventually they became quite addictive, even all-consuming. But as with all invasions, their glamour grew dull and they eventually lost their grip on power and faded into folk-memory. Recently, my domestic patterns have been disrupted, just like everyone else's. I have been procrastinating. I have been clearing out the cupboard under the stairs. Which is how I came across this old crate that has been gathering dust for longer than I can remember. Near the top of the crate there was a sleeping collection of very old videogame cassettes, many of which I had published myself. And beneath those old games there were some vintage machines in their original boxes. Once I'd worked out which of their black power supplies went into which of their grubby little holes, they sprang back into life to display crude blocky graphics on their silly little screens. It's been decades since I played Pacman, or Tetris, or Donkey Kong. And the last time I played Space Invaders, silly haircuts were compulsory and Margaret Thatcher was driving around in a tank. When this shitstorm is over, and when I am able to go free-range again, I wonder how long it will take me to forget about all the ghosts in all the corridors from all those bygone times. As for the flame-haired damsel in distress, I remember her name clearly. Her name was Pauline Daniella Verducci Lady Louise. She was less than an inch tall. She was a drip. The beer was virtual. It still is. Jeeni Creator, Mel Croucher - badly in need of a haircut Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com

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