Listening to Beethoven’s Moonlight
Sonata on my Naxos DVD that Nici
copied for me, but the pianist does
not feel the same pain I do when
I play it – much too slow and with
many wrong notes of course – but
I love playing it languorously, feel
the notes becoming sighs changing
into passionate cries of pain and
deception, feelings of such infinite
depth that no-one can reach or
fulfill them, pulling at my heart-
strings until it feels as if they will
break – but not so this note-perfect
pianist, he plays unconcerned, there
is no pain or desperation, no mad
exclamations in his rendition, he
is as cold as a block of ice in his
cool and calm rendition…
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
A Magical Cloud Above Her Head
I have strung my doll’s blue bag
on the Internet cord so it can be
a magical cloud above her head
or maybe an aurora made physical
while listening to Tchaikovsky’s
Nutcracker Suite over and over
since I hate the follow-up Vivaldi
with his version of Spring played
on violins slicing my ears with
their sharp, thin sounds, it is as
if he saw spring dancing in on
razor-sharp streams of sunshine
to cleave open the beauty of winter
and destroy every geometrically
pleasing snowflake…
on the Internet cord so it can be
a magical cloud above her head
or maybe an aurora made physical
while listening to Tchaikovsky’s
Nutcracker Suite over and over
since I hate the follow-up Vivaldi
with his version of Spring played
on violins slicing my ears with
their sharp, thin sounds, it is as
if he saw spring dancing in on
razor-sharp streams of sunshine
to cleave open the beauty of winter
and destroy every geometrically
pleasing snowflake…
Titles For Ourselves
Hanlie thinks if Johann should be called
our In-House Freelancer, we should think
of titles for ourselves, I suggested Hanlie-
Chow-Lover, she added Charlady, I think
Jane-Plumber-Organiser, Hermien could
be Mother-Of-The-Parish, Thokozile could
be Aunt-To-Many-Cousins, Mr Mohapi could
be our In-House-Poet, June could be our
Reality-Monitor, Karen could be Statistics-
Galore, Mapula could be our Feast-Committee,
I could be our Local-Broadcasting-Station…
our In-House Freelancer, we should think
of titles for ourselves, I suggested Hanlie-
Chow-Lover, she added Charlady, I think
Jane-Plumber-Organiser, Hermien could
be Mother-Of-The-Parish, Thokozile could
be Aunt-To-Many-Cousins, Mr Mohapi could
be our In-House-Poet, June could be our
Reality-Monitor, Karen could be Statistics-
Galore, Mapula could be our Feast-Committee,
I could be our Local-Broadcasting-Station…
Calling Forth Torrents Of Tears
Another e-mail reminding us of annual
performance assessments, I hate April
because of this horrible phenomenon,
blighting all goodness and calling forth
torrents of tears, Hanlie says how lovely
that our production is measurable, I sigh
and stay in black despair, hating to revisit
the darkness of the past few months, to
survive the latest attack I’m going to look
for something fortify my system, that will
either pull me away from the Black Hole
ingesting all my little light – or plunge me
into the deepest darkest satanic lair –
whatever happens, anything is better than
nothing, feeling the encroaching nightmare
is worse than facing my demons, calling up
hosts of evil creatures – at least the
fight’s exciting….
performance assessments, I hate April
because of this horrible phenomenon,
blighting all goodness and calling forth
torrents of tears, Hanlie says how lovely
that our production is measurable, I sigh
and stay in black despair, hating to revisit
the darkness of the past few months, to
survive the latest attack I’m going to look
for something fortify my system, that will
either pull me away from the Black Hole
ingesting all my little light – or plunge me
into the deepest darkest satanic lair –
whatever happens, anything is better than
nothing, feeling the encroaching nightmare
is worse than facing my demons, calling up
hosts of evil creatures – at least the
fight’s exciting….
Lugubriously Lucubrating
Sighing lugubriously, she was laboriously
lucubrating - discoursing on the evils of
attention deficient syndrome and her own
autistic tendencies, while glaring angrily
at the disciple of Zechariah Sitchin trying
to convince everyone being immoral and
irrational was the only right way to live life,
while Ayn Rand smiled benevolently as her
theory of rationality- respecting others in
as far as you wish to be respected yourself;
was carefully lucubrated by Donkeyskin…
[A.Word.A.Day--lucubrate Wordsmith.org –
lucubrate verb intr.: To work (such as study,
write, discourse) laboriously or learnedly.]
lucubrating - discoursing on the evils of
attention deficient syndrome and her own
autistic tendencies, while glaring angrily
at the disciple of Zechariah Sitchin trying
to convince everyone being immoral and
irrational was the only right way to live life,
while Ayn Rand smiled benevolently as her
theory of rationality- respecting others in
as far as you wish to be respected yourself;
was carefully lucubrated by Donkeyskin…
[A.Word.A.Day--lucubrate Wordsmith.org –
lucubrate verb intr.: To work (such as study,
write, discourse) laboriously or learnedly.]
Monday, March 30, 2009
Flown Through Part Of The Universe
Can you see how impossible it would be
for me to work away quietly if I had not
written down all my thoughts before starting
work today? PoemHunter and Blogspot are
both pensieves in which to empty my mind
of the billion thoughts driving me wild, a
method to row me into calm waters so I am
not blown about by choppy thoughts while
trying to concentrate on a such a small, boring
spot as the here and now – my questionnaires.
As soon as I have flown through a part of the
universe, I can settle down and look straight
down and play with stones
for the rest of the day.
for me to work away quietly if I had not
written down all my thoughts before starting
work today? PoemHunter and Blogspot are
both pensieves in which to empty my mind
of the billion thoughts driving me wild, a
method to row me into calm waters so I am
not blown about by choppy thoughts while
trying to concentrate on a such a small, boring
spot as the here and now – my questionnaires.
As soon as I have flown through a part of the
universe, I can settle down and look straight
down and play with stones
for the rest of the day.
I Like Zechariah Sitchin, but…
31 March 2009: Part II - Donkeyskin took a book
with her as company for an ice-cream breakfast,
and it set her teeth on edge, once again.
I bought this book because I like Zechariah Sitchin,
but I HATE the style of writing of this author! His
arrogance and tone of infinite superiority make me
feel like strangling him and I disbelieve every word
he says, even when he quotes my beloved Sitchin!
His stupidity and near-sightedness in not seeing the
development from the ancient Babylonian clay tablets
– all 500 000 of them – to the sophistication of the
Biblical account which summarizes those tablets and
offers a view of growing moral insight; makes me want
to pluck the hair from my head.
This author has failed to extract anything worthwhile
from a conventional upbringing, toting his personal
conclusions as the beginning of a new religion – with
HIM as the originator, it is worse than anything that
has gone before - I abhor his new theory that man is
a slave species created by extraterrestrial intelligences.
I prefer the theory that man thinks up his own gods
according to taste; true development lies in ethereal
morality and beauty, not in base immorality as crudely
depicted in his dramatic clay tablets - all 500 000 plus
of them…
with her as company for an ice-cream breakfast,
and it set her teeth on edge, once again.
I bought this book because I like Zechariah Sitchin,
but I HATE the style of writing of this author! His
arrogance and tone of infinite superiority make me
feel like strangling him and I disbelieve every word
he says, even when he quotes my beloved Sitchin!
His stupidity and near-sightedness in not seeing the
development from the ancient Babylonian clay tablets
– all 500 000 of them – to the sophistication of the
Biblical account which summarizes those tablets and
offers a view of growing moral insight; makes me want
to pluck the hair from my head.
This author has failed to extract anything worthwhile
from a conventional upbringing, toting his personal
conclusions as the beginning of a new religion – with
HIM as the originator, it is worse than anything that
has gone before - I abhor his new theory that man is
a slave species created by extraterrestrial intelligences.
I prefer the theory that man thinks up his own gods
according to taste; true development lies in ethereal
morality and beauty, not in base immorality as crudely
depicted in his dramatic clay tablets - all 500 000 plus
of them…
Chem In My Head: Donkeyskin
31 March 2009: At least the fairy tales
provided me with the ability to recognize
the chem in my head today - “Donkeyskin”
looking in the mirror and noticing the clothes
I wear, green and brown and black, simply
because that was in my cupboard – almost
like a big game hunter.
Yesterday I bought my doll some accessories
because she is so beautiful, a multi-dimensional
blue bag, flowers around her neck and garish
plastic hair clips, so fitting for a computer doll.
She stares with wide-open, surprised eyes at my
computer screen, sharing my own feeling of being
flabbergasted by what the world is offering.
I affixed a piece of blue paper to the window to
keep the sun out when the arrogant sunbeams
become too much and the office heats up and
my computer screen becomes illegible.
I switched the contrast down to 39, otherwise
the bright screen hurts my lasik-eyes. But
now Donkeyskin will go down to the restaurant
and start the day in true royal way with some
ice-cream - without a positive starting point
the day is jumping up and down without control;
I need to focus one strong mental beam on typing
lists, and within a moving day that is impossible.
All loose feelings need to be tied down, all stray
thoughts need to be moored safely, my mind buried
in a safe bay so the dead part of my brain can do the
requisite administration without my going nuts.
provided me with the ability to recognize
the chem in my head today - “Donkeyskin”
looking in the mirror and noticing the clothes
I wear, green and brown and black, simply
because that was in my cupboard – almost
like a big game hunter.
Yesterday I bought my doll some accessories
because she is so beautiful, a multi-dimensional
blue bag, flowers around her neck and garish
plastic hair clips, so fitting for a computer doll.
She stares with wide-open, surprised eyes at my
computer screen, sharing my own feeling of being
flabbergasted by what the world is offering.
I affixed a piece of blue paper to the window to
keep the sun out when the arrogant sunbeams
become too much and the office heats up and
my computer screen becomes illegible.
I switched the contrast down to 39, otherwise
the bright screen hurts my lasik-eyes. But
now Donkeyskin will go down to the restaurant
and start the day in true royal way with some
ice-cream - without a positive starting point
the day is jumping up and down without control;
I need to focus one strong mental beam on typing
lists, and within a moving day that is impossible.
All loose feelings need to be tied down, all stray
thoughts need to be moored safely, my mind buried
in a safe bay so the dead part of my brain can do the
requisite administration without my going nuts.
I Can Identify With Them
For Pete’s sake, now discovering that
the question what candidates did not
like, was interpreted by foggy trainees
as requesting information on what they
liked, so their replies - the story of the
shipwrecked boat and the principle of
Bathopele, actually meant they liked the
material, not abhorred it as it formerly
seemed – Jane will check my translations
afterwards, she will pick up where replies
were intended to convey liking although
they were supplied in reply to queries of
dislike, the last group of candidates were
especially dense, I can identify with them,
just as I would have felt confronted with
so much boring material at one time!
the question what candidates did not
like, was interpreted by foggy trainees
as requesting information on what they
liked, so their replies - the story of the
shipwrecked boat and the principle of
Bathopele, actually meant they liked the
material, not abhorred it as it formerly
seemed – Jane will check my translations
afterwards, she will pick up where replies
were intended to convey liking although
they were supplied in reply to queries of
dislike, the last group of candidates were
especially dense, I can identify with them,
just as I would have felt confronted with
so much boring material at one time!
Evil Kings Who Prepare Bonfires
30 March 2009: Read a different version of
the fairy tale of Eleven Swan Brothers who
were turned back into humans by the continued
silence and suffering of their sister who was
nearly burnt on a bonfire for sorcery
Only saved by her eleven brothers descending
and she throwing eleven nettle jackets over them,
I’m sure Tiffany would agree with me that all
evil kings who prepare bonfires to burn their
mute queens because the poor creatures
Were sworn to secrecy to save the lives of
swan brothers, should be rewarded by being
sacrificed themselves instead of receiving the
eternal loyalty of the queens! There is so much
wrong with this world as reflected in fairy tales
If any deity were to ask me for advice, I’d
recommend total oblivion and complete
destruction and putting a ban on
consciousness!
the fairy tale of Eleven Swan Brothers who
were turned back into humans by the continued
silence and suffering of their sister who was
nearly burnt on a bonfire for sorcery
Only saved by her eleven brothers descending
and she throwing eleven nettle jackets over them,
I’m sure Tiffany would agree with me that all
evil kings who prepare bonfires to burn their
mute queens because the poor creatures
Were sworn to secrecy to save the lives of
swan brothers, should be rewarded by being
sacrificed themselves instead of receiving the
eternal loyalty of the queens! There is so much
wrong with this world as reflected in fairy tales
If any deity were to ask me for advice, I’d
recommend total oblivion and complete
destruction and putting a ban on
consciousness!
Friday, March 27, 2009
Feeling Free To Dream Dreams
I’ve reached the end of my 1984 powers,
I can’t continue behind my computer, my
head is heavy growing heavier, my chair
hard growing harder, my heart is lonely
growing lonelier, I don’t even want to read
my story book – the situation is dire indeed…
Time, my wonderful friend and playmate,
is stretching with the utmost agility to make
room for all I have to do, but I can’t use
these precious moments, I’ve lost all power
of concentration, an animal in a cage
adorned with a computer and a doll – well,
Several when I count my pretty miniatures
also, but I’ve had enough of my squatter
camp with its lack of stimulation, I want
to run out in the street singing Kaboem-
mielies at the top of my voice and feeling
free to dream dreams…
I can’t continue behind my computer, my
head is heavy growing heavier, my chair
hard growing harder, my heart is lonely
growing lonelier, I don’t even want to read
my story book – the situation is dire indeed…
Time, my wonderful friend and playmate,
is stretching with the utmost agility to make
room for all I have to do, but I can’t use
these precious moments, I’ve lost all power
of concentration, an animal in a cage
adorned with a computer and a doll – well,
Several when I count my pretty miniatures
also, but I’ve had enough of my squatter
camp with its lack of stimulation, I want
to run out in the street singing Kaboem-
mielies at the top of my voice and feeling
free to dream dreams…
They Need A Precocious Polyglot
Brilliant, my head changed into a machine,
I’m a perfect example of the human being
described in 1984 by George Orwell, typing
crosses where the trainees made some
Translating their nonsensical remarks – ‘The
bread did not interest me' - one replied to the
question about irrelevant material, another
hated ‘Bathopele’, the next detested
The example of a shipwreck with limited
space on a lifeboat, another wanted more
musical examples; what on earth were these
people taught, did they all descend
To the same level for these classes, what was
wrong with the food - most are deeply upset
about changes in the order of presentation;
apparently it was a HUGE mistake
All agree the interpreters were atrocious,
they need a most precocious polyglot to
present these notions…
I’m a perfect example of the human being
described in 1984 by George Orwell, typing
crosses where the trainees made some
Translating their nonsensical remarks – ‘The
bread did not interest me' - one replied to the
question about irrelevant material, another
hated ‘Bathopele’, the next detested
The example of a shipwreck with limited
space on a lifeboat, another wanted more
musical examples; what on earth were these
people taught, did they all descend
To the same level for these classes, what was
wrong with the food - most are deeply upset
about changes in the order of presentation;
apparently it was a HUGE mistake
All agree the interpreters were atrocious,
they need a most precocious polyglot to
present these notions…
Strangulating And Smothersome
27 March 2009: Poor sickly Poemhunter
is out in the cold again, what with Squidguard
stoppering all outlets and Yahoo not accessible,
life is growing steadily more strangulating and
smothersome, it won’t bother some people, but
to me it is a great botheration, and what with my
sibling playing at blighting all and sundry for poetic
offences without proper defences, the silence is
growing also – except for Obladih-Obladah playing
in my ears. Due to Tiaan’s rugby match and us
getting home late, vegetables fell by the wayside,
so I’m tired and sleepy and peckish and
unwholesome-feeling.
After this gruesome list of garrulous unhappiness,
I only wish all Internet surfers better luck. I suppose
the chem in my head is unstable and keeps changing
into Perrault’s words while I’m forcibly trying to turn my
mental gyroscope to the Brothers Grimm and Ibbotson’s
Belladonna.
I’m tired and there is nowhere to go but my work station
squatter camp, sitting upright and despising life,
Grumpy feeling Droopy.
is out in the cold again, what with Squidguard
stoppering all outlets and Yahoo not accessible,
life is growing steadily more strangulating and
smothersome, it won’t bother some people, but
to me it is a great botheration, and what with my
sibling playing at blighting all and sundry for poetic
offences without proper defences, the silence is
growing also – except for Obladih-Obladah playing
in my ears. Due to Tiaan’s rugby match and us
getting home late, vegetables fell by the wayside,
so I’m tired and sleepy and peckish and
unwholesome-feeling.
After this gruesome list of garrulous unhappiness,
I only wish all Internet surfers better luck. I suppose
the chem in my head is unstable and keeps changing
into Perrault’s words while I’m forcibly trying to turn my
mental gyroscope to the Brothers Grimm and Ibbotson’s
Belladonna.
I’m tired and there is nowhere to go but my work station
squatter camp, sitting upright and despising life,
Grumpy feeling Droopy.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Perrault Is A Blood-Thirsty Fiend
Early morning life all confusion after beautiful dreams
of dolls, doll houses, sparkling glitter and steam train
sets, and one special doll with a porcelain face, yet
this is work and the constraint is to produce a certain
number of pages per day, the dream of dolls must be
put aside and the march must begin, while I am all
confused by Perrault’s version of my beloved Fairy
Tales, I got to know them as relayed by the Brothers
Grimm and Hans Christian Anderson, but Perrault
loves murder and mayhem and sends out characters
to die ignominious deaths, Bluebeard and Italian
princes trying to kill their wives, Red Riding Hood
getting eaten by the wolf, no woodcutter intervening,
I resonate more with the Anglo-Saxon spirit revealed
in English Fairy Tales, exemplified by Lewis Carroll -
Perrault is a blood-thirsty fiend, where is the chivalry
of an Antoine Saint-Exupéry (Le Petit Prince) and a
Gaston Leroux (Phantom of the Opera)?
of dolls, doll houses, sparkling glitter and steam train
sets, and one special doll with a porcelain face, yet
this is work and the constraint is to produce a certain
number of pages per day, the dream of dolls must be
put aside and the march must begin, while I am all
confused by Perrault’s version of my beloved Fairy
Tales, I got to know them as relayed by the Brothers
Grimm and Hans Christian Anderson, but Perrault
loves murder and mayhem and sends out characters
to die ignominious deaths, Bluebeard and Italian
princes trying to kill their wives, Red Riding Hood
getting eaten by the wolf, no woodcutter intervening,
I resonate more with the Anglo-Saxon spirit revealed
in English Fairy Tales, exemplified by Lewis Carroll -
Perrault is a blood-thirsty fiend, where is the chivalry
of an Antoine Saint-Exupéry (Le Petit Prince) and a
Gaston Leroux (Phantom of the Opera)?
Building A Wall Against The Sun
Just spent a very fruitful fifteen minutes
building a wall of books and computer
consoles against the sun and already
the heat is less and I feel better, with
a mini-twister in my stomach I’m ready
to brave the dangers of high school
rugby – added some files to my make-
shift wall, can’t wait to see the reaction
on our handyman and security guards’
faces when they see what I’ve done –
it is impossible to work when I’m sitting
in the bright autumn sun – glory be,
now my workplace resembles a squatter
camp ever so much more, I should put
up a notice - This is Kayalitcha - and
open a shebeen right here on the spot!
building a wall of books and computer
consoles against the sun and already
the heat is less and I feel better, with
a mini-twister in my stomach I’m ready
to brave the dangers of high school
rugby – added some files to my make-
shift wall, can’t wait to see the reaction
on our handyman and security guards’
faces when they see what I’ve done –
it is impossible to work when I’m sitting
in the bright autumn sun – glory be,
now my workplace resembles a squatter
camp ever so much more, I should put
up a notice - This is Kayalitcha - and
open a shebeen right here on the spot!
Everything - All Possible Shades
Sometimes I wish I can stay in joy, but I enjoy
BIG feelings like anger and jealousy and FUN
feelings like mischievous criticism far too
much to cut them out completely
I like the contrast between negativity and
positive things, it is great to be in love with
the world from time to time and sometimes
feeling that the Universe is in love with me
is great, but it is so exciting
To passionately hate and destroy when necessary,
I want ALL aspects in my life, not just undiluted joy,
that would be to uni-dimensional, I prefer a multi-
dimensional world where everything is present
in all possible shades and variants...
BIG feelings like anger and jealousy and FUN
feelings like mischievous criticism far too
much to cut them out completely
I like the contrast between negativity and
positive things, it is great to be in love with
the world from time to time and sometimes
feeling that the Universe is in love with me
is great, but it is so exciting
To passionately hate and destroy when necessary,
I want ALL aspects in my life, not just undiluted joy,
that would be to uni-dimensional, I prefer a multi-
dimensional world where everything is present
in all possible shades and variants...
Blight And Smite With Arriman
Got hold of Perrault’s Classic French Fairy
Tales illustrated by Janusz Grabianski – the
pictures are beautiful watercolours, mysterious
and enchanting, now I’m ready to face the
rugby match this afternoon – though it is
growing hot inside and my head is aching,
wonder if food will be adequate to combat
this discomfort before the match starts – at
least I’ll have Grabianski to keep me company
and Ibbotson’s Belladonna also so I might
blight and smite with Arriman should it all
become too much…
Tales illustrated by Janusz Grabianski – the
pictures are beautiful watercolours, mysterious
and enchanting, now I’m ready to face the
rugby match this afternoon – though it is
growing hot inside and my head is aching,
wonder if food will be adequate to combat
this discomfort before the match starts – at
least I’ll have Grabianski to keep me company
and Ibbotson’s Belladonna also so I might
blight and smite with Arriman should it all
become too much…
More Than A Thousand Words
Obligingly the sun pulled his hot face
away, taking a break behind scattered
clouds so I can walk to the library without
suffering in the heat, nearly lunch time
and I can exchange Caroline Clooney’s
“Family Reunion” for a fantasy tale, family
stories can be adorable and the little boy
with a mannequin leg as storing space was
great, but the taste of reality was too strong
in her depiction of relationships, I don’t want
to spend emotional energy on an escapist
book, prefer anything to do with fantasy,
the crisp, clear lines of legend and mythology
or Biblical allegory, I’m looking for a beautifully
illustrated Fairy Tales - in the mood for
enchanting pictures that mean more
than a thousand words…
away, taking a break behind scattered
clouds so I can walk to the library without
suffering in the heat, nearly lunch time
and I can exchange Caroline Clooney’s
“Family Reunion” for a fantasy tale, family
stories can be adorable and the little boy
with a mannequin leg as storing space was
great, but the taste of reality was too strong
in her depiction of relationships, I don’t want
to spend emotional energy on an escapist
book, prefer anything to do with fantasy,
the crisp, clear lines of legend and mythology
or Biblical allegory, I’m looking for a beautifully
illustrated Fairy Tales - in the mood for
enchanting pictures that mean more
than a thousand words…
A Scene From A Siberian Prison
Soon I’m going to explain to my colleague Jane
that she must NOT smile if there is nothing to
smile about, to smile in apology is seldom right,
makes people angry and they might lash out in
spite – listening to the sweet comforting melody
of Peer Gynt – maybe I’ll just let her be, she is
very sweet and kind without any malice and her
presence gives me a chance to keep my focus
on my work instead of falling into concentration
deficit syndrome; but noisy modulated colleague
on my other side is speaking up again and Peer
Gynt is not loud enough, nor accompanied by
by drums, to drown out the sound of her voice
I need to find an exceptional book to read while
watching rugby this afternoon, could never tackle
such an event unarmed, sitting there without
reading material is source for alarm, I had better
eat something well in advance so there is no chance
of low blood sugar or allergic confusion which might
led to boredom and the impossibility to sit still,
better wander a bit before the start so sitting
won’t be too awful, at the Gr 8 inauguration event
I couldn’t sit any more in the end and it changed
the ceremony into a scene from a Siberian prison
camp to me – I don’t want to go through that again…
I’m forced to listen to Obladih-Obladah to drown out
that self-satisfied voice again… Goodbye Peer Gynt,
it was a nice few moments spent with you…
that she must NOT smile if there is nothing to
smile about, to smile in apology is seldom right,
makes people angry and they might lash out in
spite – listening to the sweet comforting melody
of Peer Gynt – maybe I’ll just let her be, she is
very sweet and kind without any malice and her
presence gives me a chance to keep my focus
on my work instead of falling into concentration
deficit syndrome; but noisy modulated colleague
on my other side is speaking up again and Peer
Gynt is not loud enough, nor accompanied by
by drums, to drown out the sound of her voice
I need to find an exceptional book to read while
watching rugby this afternoon, could never tackle
such an event unarmed, sitting there without
reading material is source for alarm, I had better
eat something well in advance so there is no chance
of low blood sugar or allergic confusion which might
led to boredom and the impossibility to sit still,
better wander a bit before the start so sitting
won’t be too awful, at the Gr 8 inauguration event
I couldn’t sit any more in the end and it changed
the ceremony into a scene from a Siberian prison
camp to me – I don’t want to go through that again…
I’m forced to listen to Obladih-Obladah to drown out
that self-satisfied voice again… Goodbye Peer Gynt,
it was a nice few moments spent with you…
Paid To Sit Here Like An Automaton
If we don’t reach lunch soon I’ll explode,
sitting here is like waiting for my doom to
take my soul in a firm embrace, Grieg in
my ears and my courage to wander on
through the repetitive landscape of uniform
documents falling to below zero, I know
I’m paid to sit here like an automaton just
typing away, but the release of freedom is
beckoning beyond the open-plan chicken-
coop door, each time my colleague delivers
a speech in a well-modulated voice and I
have no choice but listen to every well-
enunciated word, I feel like bursting into
self-righteous flames, no escape is offered
by playing on the Internet, my favourite site
refuses to appear, I’d better change my
mental gear and try to clear the obstacle
offered by this long, slow morning, why
should life be punctuated by such boring
periods such as these, please, Lady Time,
please bring me release from this confined
space at my squatter camp work station!
sitting here is like waiting for my doom to
take my soul in a firm embrace, Grieg in
my ears and my courage to wander on
through the repetitive landscape of uniform
documents falling to below zero, I know
I’m paid to sit here like an automaton just
typing away, but the release of freedom is
beckoning beyond the open-plan chicken-
coop door, each time my colleague delivers
a speech in a well-modulated voice and I
have no choice but listen to every well-
enunciated word, I feel like bursting into
self-righteous flames, no escape is offered
by playing on the Internet, my favourite site
refuses to appear, I’d better change my
mental gear and try to clear the obstacle
offered by this long, slow morning, why
should life be punctuated by such boring
periods such as these, please, Lady Time,
please bring me release from this confined
space at my squatter camp work station!
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
A Marching Dwarf Becoming A Golem
Terry Pratchett’s Tiffany would have hatedthe depiction of Belladonna with her White
Magic in Which Witch by Eva Ibbotson, when
Belladonna approached flowers appeared
and snatches of music played in the air, old
men remembered the Christmas feasts of
yesteryear, a ladybird rested on her upturned
nose and squirrels and butterflies hid in her
long golden hair, eyes blue like periwinkles
Good grief, Tiffany would have torn this story
to pieces while I love it, studying it to make it
my chem for today – the writing in my golem-
head that tells me what I should do, though,
I’m a very bad golem, never concentrating
on the job at hand, I’m probably more of a
rocky dwarf than a hard-working clay man;
but once I start marching down the path, I
become a Second World War soldier
I’m most likely a marching dwarf, dreaming
about becoming a golem with Belladonna
as the chem for my life – would this count
as ancient religion, would blind Io approve?
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
A New Chem To Buoy My Spirits
No energy for this day, emergency measures
are advised, eating or drinking anything – whether
the bottle is marked poison or the stuff looks like
toxin – to shrink myself into this day, to make it
possible to do what’s necessary – impossible,
I’m going to run away, eat something with lots
of salt to combat sugar overload, read an old
favourite, cannot function in my life if the chem
in my head is not touched up – updating words
to sustain my spirit and power my soul, the old
chem seems to have faded these past few days,
the motivation for working and living seems to
be receding, I had better address the problem
immediately, living without a powerful chem is
painful and scary, totally against my principles,
let me take a book and a pen and write out a
new chem to buoy my spirits and keep me alive!
are advised, eating or drinking anything – whether
the bottle is marked poison or the stuff looks like
toxin – to shrink myself into this day, to make it
possible to do what’s necessary – impossible,
I’m going to run away, eat something with lots
of salt to combat sugar overload, read an old
favourite, cannot function in my life if the chem
in my head is not touched up – updating words
to sustain my spirit and power my soul, the old
chem seems to have faded these past few days,
the motivation for working and living seems to
be receding, I had better address the problem
immediately, living without a powerful chem is
painful and scary, totally against my principles,
let me take a book and a pen and write out a
new chem to buoy my spirits and keep me alive!
Escape Into A Daydream
The Internet blink means I can’t find
information for my kids school project,
the sun shining through my impressionist
window distorting everything, forces me
to type wearing sunglasses and I can’t
see a thing
I have the questionnaires only, no
challenges except the impossible
task of finding articles on pendulums,
ice-cream for lunch did not solve any
problems, my book about a little a boy
carrying his things in a mannequin leg
Only works while I’m reading, imagination
failing, can’t conjure up exotic tales to make
it all-right sitting here – I’d much rather do
something else than struggle with illegible
handwriting and pendulum tasks, need my
mind in good form to escape into
An adventurous daydream…
24 March 09
information for my kids school project,
the sun shining through my impressionist
window distorting everything, forces me
to type wearing sunglasses and I can’t
see a thing
I have the questionnaires only, no
challenges except the impossible
task of finding articles on pendulums,
ice-cream for lunch did not solve any
problems, my book about a little a boy
carrying his things in a mannequin leg
Only works while I’m reading, imagination
failing, can’t conjure up exotic tales to make
it all-right sitting here – I’d much rather do
something else than struggle with illegible
handwriting and pendulum tasks, need my
mind in good form to escape into
An adventurous daydream…
24 March 09
Without a Clue What I Should Do
On the way home, bad news about the car
to be fixed, the Internet almost inaccessible,
picked up kids, fatigued, a single vodkatini
and viola, I feel better again!
Maybe we were made to be intoxicated, life
in the raw without the protection of some kind
of pain-killer is much too much for me, Tiaan
got a project all finished from his dad
My project for Nici is still in its infancy, I can never
decide between the multitude of information about
a single subject, why the pendulum should
fascinate all teachers, I can’t fathom
Why don’t they simply prescribe David Wilcock and
have them study the fact that all form has colour and
sound, all sound has form and colour, all colour has
sound and form?
But after my single Vodka, I feel better about it all,
ready to tackle the life presented by hubby and kids,
rugby gear for Tiaan, relationships with boys for
Nici, while I trail behind – without a clue
What I should say, what I should do…
to be fixed, the Internet almost inaccessible,
picked up kids, fatigued, a single vodkatini
and viola, I feel better again!
Maybe we were made to be intoxicated, life
in the raw without the protection of some kind
of pain-killer is much too much for me, Tiaan
got a project all finished from his dad
My project for Nici is still in its infancy, I can never
decide between the multitude of information about
a single subject, why the pendulum should
fascinate all teachers, I can’t fathom
Why don’t they simply prescribe David Wilcock and
have them study the fact that all form has colour and
sound, all sound has form and colour, all colour has
sound and form?
But after my single Vodka, I feel better about it all,
ready to tackle the life presented by hubby and kids,
rugby gear for Tiaan, relationships with boys for
Nici, while I trail behind – without a clue
What I should say, what I should do…
Heisa Hoppsa! à La Astrid Lindgren…
My hairstyle is disintegrating in the mostinteresting way, a strange concoction on
my head that is starting to resemble a
sophisticated creation for the sheer
perversion of what is going on up there,
another factor contributing to lifting this
day into the realms of the fun and exciting,
Karen laughed at my lame joke and I even
managed to provoke June into smiling
against her most dedicated Fraulein
Rottenmaier inclinations, instead of being
Scrooge as I wanted to this morning,
and instead of getting on my own nerves
as an imitation Pollyanna, I’m turning into
Johanna Spyri’s Heidi today! Aha, our ever-
faithful handyman will get to play Peter –
and Jane can be Klara, a fitting example
of a dutiful lady, this day is becoming
better still, Heisa Hoppsa! - à la
Astrid Lindgren…
This Day Is Turning Out Quite Well
I feel ever so much better, I broke a chair
by making it tilt too far back, my life is always
on track when I break things, provides an
outlet for pent-up aggression, then sent Mr
Handyman a facetious message, colleagues
so thankful – though they don’t realize that
I was the one who broke it in the first place!
And I’m happy to announce that Jane’s
computer is still on the blink, the IT-man
is running up and down with new gadgets,
changing passwords while being baffled,
Jane is forced to sit on the broken chair
and take a break from those interminable
questionnaires
This day is really turning out quite well!
by making it tilt too far back, my life is always
on track when I break things, provides an
outlet for pent-up aggression, then sent Mr
Handyman a facetious message, colleagues
so thankful – though they don’t realize that
I was the one who broke it in the first place!
And I’m happy to announce that Jane’s
computer is still on the blink, the IT-man
is running up and down with new gadgets,
changing passwords while being baffled,
Jane is forced to sit on the broken chair
and take a break from those interminable
questionnaires
This day is really turning out quite well!
Happily Accepting The Downside Of Life
Oh what coincidence, or synchronicity, swollen
eyes today, and the word of the day on Wordsmith
is Snake Eyes; ‘a throw of two ones with a pair of
dice, the lowest score, feels like treachery’ – I’m as
ugly as sin, as mute as a beast, hiding the effects
of the things I eat, telling Hanlie a joke, helping
Jane fix her computer, carefully avoiding my
document, unwilling to accomplish anything, scared
I might suspect the world is not as bad as it seems
to be, today I cherish my misery, glad to understand
how negative, depressed people feel all the time,
it affords me the opportunity to write limericks and
silly rhymes, trying to find sense to infuse into my
meaningless suffering, hating my friends and
acquaintances for being inaccessible, protected by
my sense of ethics and spiritualism – I’m not allowed
to download my misery on them, hating my sense
of homemade ethics and mixed New Ageisms,
changing gears, stomach beginning to burn, low
blood sugar, hunger – just eating can ruin this day
even more, send the toxins cruising through my
system again - time to become an Epicurean-Stoic
once more, happily accepting the downside of life
philosophically, resigned in giving up hope for
a normal life…
eyes today, and the word of the day on Wordsmith
is Snake Eyes; ‘a throw of two ones with a pair of
dice, the lowest score, feels like treachery’ – I’m as
ugly as sin, as mute as a beast, hiding the effects
of the things I eat, telling Hanlie a joke, helping
Jane fix her computer, carefully avoiding my
document, unwilling to accomplish anything, scared
I might suspect the world is not as bad as it seems
to be, today I cherish my misery, glad to understand
how negative, depressed people feel all the time,
it affords me the opportunity to write limericks and
silly rhymes, trying to find sense to infuse into my
meaningless suffering, hating my friends and
acquaintances for being inaccessible, protected by
my sense of ethics and spiritualism – I’m not allowed
to download my misery on them, hating my sense
of homemade ethics and mixed New Ageisms,
changing gears, stomach beginning to burn, low
blood sugar, hunger – just eating can ruin this day
even more, send the toxins cruising through my
system again - time to become an Epicurean-Stoic
once more, happily accepting the downside of life
philosophically, resigned in giving up hope for
a normal life…
Monday, March 23, 2009
How Did They All Overcome?
When Richard Wurmbrand was in communist prison,when Victor Frankl was in a second world war
concentration camp, they found something to dance
about, a way to escape reality through the imagination,
writing books about it afterwards, hang on to integrity,
not hating the world or humanity, not plotting to blow
up themselves to escape the pain of awareness of
existence, when Herman Charles Bosman wrote a
Cold Stone Jug and created Oom Schalk Lourens,
when Spike Milligan, suffering from depression, wrote
the funny Woodcutter’s Song, when Giovanni Guareschi
wrote Don Camillo And The Devil, when J. van Melle
wrote his sad short stories of a shepherd with yellow
teeth, when C. M. van den Heever wrote Winds in
Circles, when Langenhoven wrote The Christmas
Kids, when Paul Gallico wrote Love of Seven Dolls,
when Emily Brontë wrote Wuthering Heights…
...how did they all overcome the circumstances in
their world and the feelings in their heart and head
to create something enduring - that took them
beyond the borders of immediate depression
and death?
Life Is Not A Worthwhile Phenomenon
This day is a gift, an unopened package – forever
lost to me while this pain rages in my head, ate
indiscriminately when I should follow strict rules
to keep the pain from invading my life, now another
spell in hell before I can really see the sun again,
pride keeps me harping on the theme of the beauty
of this day, not willing to hear a word of sympathy.
I love paper, being so patient, I can confess all my
unhappiness without feeling guilty about making
an even bigger mess by invading the happy lives
of others with my problems – for which I have to
accept responsibility, had I followed the pre-set
rules and regulations – NEVER eat cake that’s
been on a supermarket shelf for longer than a
day – I would have been okay.
I manage to live through small, bite-size chunks
of my day, but the constant pain in my muscles and
neck, the heaviness in my head, is a wonderful
reminder of what life must have felt like in a
concentration camp, what Siberian women
experienced in the Gulag, how it must have
been when interrogated in the Lubjanka, what
POW’s must have lived through while building
the bridge over the river Quay, at least the allergy
allows me a larger range of experience than simply
playing at being Pollyanna or Anne of Green Gables
improving life with the glad game, today I’m not
glad for anything, the only thing that could improve
my mood today is blowing this earth to smithereens
and killing all life-forms, doing away with the
multiverse - just finishing all forms of consciousness
so that the heavenly state of nothingness reigns
supreme, since all joy must be balanced by its
opposite – pain, since all life is a slow process of
dying, since all love is just a dance in a tragic-comedy,
this life is not a worthwhile phenomenon –
it beats me why it ever came into being…
lost to me while this pain rages in my head, ate
indiscriminately when I should follow strict rules
to keep the pain from invading my life, now another
spell in hell before I can really see the sun again,
pride keeps me harping on the theme of the beauty
of this day, not willing to hear a word of sympathy.
I love paper, being so patient, I can confess all my
unhappiness without feeling guilty about making
an even bigger mess by invading the happy lives
of others with my problems – for which I have to
accept responsibility, had I followed the pre-set
rules and regulations – NEVER eat cake that’s
been on a supermarket shelf for longer than a
day – I would have been okay.
I manage to live through small, bite-size chunks
of my day, but the constant pain in my muscles and
neck, the heaviness in my head, is a wonderful
reminder of what life must have felt like in a
concentration camp, what Siberian women
experienced in the Gulag, how it must have
been when interrogated in the Lubjanka, what
POW’s must have lived through while building
the bridge over the river Quay, at least the allergy
allows me a larger range of experience than simply
playing at being Pollyanna or Anne of Green Gables
improving life with the glad game, today I’m not
glad for anything, the only thing that could improve
my mood today is blowing this earth to smithereens
and killing all life-forms, doing away with the
multiverse - just finishing all forms of consciousness
so that the heavenly state of nothingness reigns
supreme, since all joy must be balanced by its
opposite – pain, since all life is a slow process of
dying, since all love is just a dance in a tragic-comedy,
this life is not a worthwhile phenomenon –
it beats me why it ever came into being…
No Song To Sing
I have no gift to bring, I have no flowers
to give anybody, read a wonderful story
of a warm little world, but my eyes are tired,
cannot find a congenial soul when my own
spirit has fled, the escapism of my own
fairytales and daydreams is unattainable,
the prism in my head through which all
thoughts and feelings are pressed, is all
broken and bent by allergy symptoms –
and without freedom of mind I have nothing,
cannot colour the world around me with
warmth, cannot escape the pressure and
pain in my head, cannot complain to anybody
because it is not uplifting to them, typing
words on a page, at times like these it would
be such a big help if an adrenaline-filled
event could happen so I could wake from
my listless lethargy and either help someone
or save the world, but the world is perfectly
benevolent, my darlings are safe and nobody
needs me, it is night and the hour of repose,
everybody is sleeping except me, and I cannot
contact anybody because I have no gift to
bring, no comforting words, no song to sing,
and even worse, I cannot hear a nightingale
sing, my ears are clogged by the allergy, the
swelling makes listening difficult, what a litany
of horrible symptoms, enough to make the
reader wish they could send a paid assassin
to take me out of this world, yet I’m still alive
which simply proves that I have not completed
my work on earth, there must be someone
somewhere who has need of my grumbling
and sorrow, who wants to hear Whispering
Hope crooned in a reed-thin voice, or who
has to be driven to despair by my terrible
attempts at yodeling, and when I feel strong
again, I shall address my family’s problems
and make it worse, of course, feeling self-
righteous in seeing their small mistakes while
overlooking my own scarlet sin with a wicked
grin, I’m sure that I have not gained mastery
over emotions as yet – and unless I do that,
I’ll have to return to earth through reincarnation,
hell and damnation, if only I could prevent
that from happening; I’d love to become a
another kind of life-form with a new kind of
consciousness - in a new dimension!
to give anybody, read a wonderful story
of a warm little world, but my eyes are tired,
cannot find a congenial soul when my own
spirit has fled, the escapism of my own
fairytales and daydreams is unattainable,
the prism in my head through which all
thoughts and feelings are pressed, is all
broken and bent by allergy symptoms –
and without freedom of mind I have nothing,
cannot colour the world around me with
warmth, cannot escape the pressure and
pain in my head, cannot complain to anybody
because it is not uplifting to them, typing
words on a page, at times like these it would
be such a big help if an adrenaline-filled
event could happen so I could wake from
my listless lethargy and either help someone
or save the world, but the world is perfectly
benevolent, my darlings are safe and nobody
needs me, it is night and the hour of repose,
everybody is sleeping except me, and I cannot
contact anybody because I have no gift to
bring, no comforting words, no song to sing,
and even worse, I cannot hear a nightingale
sing, my ears are clogged by the allergy, the
swelling makes listening difficult, what a litany
of horrible symptoms, enough to make the
reader wish they could send a paid assassin
to take me out of this world, yet I’m still alive
which simply proves that I have not completed
my work on earth, there must be someone
somewhere who has need of my grumbling
and sorrow, who wants to hear Whispering
Hope crooned in a reed-thin voice, or who
has to be driven to despair by my terrible
attempts at yodeling, and when I feel strong
again, I shall address my family’s problems
and make it worse, of course, feeling self-
righteous in seeing their small mistakes while
overlooking my own scarlet sin with a wicked
grin, I’m sure that I have not gained mastery
over emotions as yet – and unless I do that,
I’ll have to return to earth through reincarnation,
hell and damnation, if only I could prevent
that from happening; I’d love to become a
another kind of life-form with a new kind of
consciousness - in a new dimension!
The Christian Science Idea
I love the Christian Science idea that our
thoughts and attitudes determine the state
of our mind and our health – pity it is such
an indictment against me; all forms of allergy
is supposedly psychosomatic; when I eat
bread and cake the symptoms are awfully
real and chemical depression makes it
impossible to judge any criminal or wrong-
doer since I feel so evil myself
Maybe my soul chose this aberration before
I was born to make sure I’ll always stay humble
and have pity on suffering people, unfortunately,
it also makes me intolerant of all self-righteous
Pharisees , I can’t stand anybody judging others
as inferior, since I can’t feel superior at all, built
like a dwarf with a face like Mr Bean’s that changes
with the weather and inner health; a brain that
moves in and out of existence
And sometimes completely disappears, harbouring
a big black hole of impenetrable gloom in my own
head; I move between happy daydreams built on
fantasies and the reality of my Little Lotta self;
stuffing her mouth then suffering all kinds of
mental symptoms – at least I’m always sure of
steering clear of the arrogance that used to colour
my vision until I learnt that the biggest problem I
have in life – is me myself…
thoughts and attitudes determine the state
of our mind and our health – pity it is such
an indictment against me; all forms of allergy
is supposedly psychosomatic; when I eat
bread and cake the symptoms are awfully
real and chemical depression makes it
impossible to judge any criminal or wrong-
doer since I feel so evil myself
Maybe my soul chose this aberration before
I was born to make sure I’ll always stay humble
and have pity on suffering people, unfortunately,
it also makes me intolerant of all self-righteous
Pharisees , I can’t stand anybody judging others
as inferior, since I can’t feel superior at all, built
like a dwarf with a face like Mr Bean’s that changes
with the weather and inner health; a brain that
moves in and out of existence
And sometimes completely disappears, harbouring
a big black hole of impenetrable gloom in my own
head; I move between happy daydreams built on
fantasies and the reality of my Little Lotta self;
stuffing her mouth then suffering all kinds of
mental symptoms – at least I’m always sure of
steering clear of the arrogance that used to colour
my vision until I learnt that the biggest problem I
have in life – is me myself…
One Little Crocodile
One little crocodile shrinking in her chair,
she ate cake yesterday, now allergy
destroying the reptile brain, one very
unhappy saurian without direction, inner
gyroscope lost, tired and confused,
confabulating between a Dutch document,
list of work on hand and painful flames in
her head, the flames consuming her mind
and killing her spirit, turning her into a lost
soul sinking into Purgatory…
she ate cake yesterday, now allergy
destroying the reptile brain, one very
unhappy saurian without direction, inner
gyroscope lost, tired and confused,
confabulating between a Dutch document,
list of work on hand and painful flames in
her head, the flames consuming her mind
and killing her spirit, turning her into a lost
soul sinking into Purgatory…
Free Rein To The Imagination
I love mysteries and secrets –sometimes loosing my way,
fact and fiction intermixed,
illusions looming larger than life,
suddenly a mirage in the distance
looks like reality, don’t know what
it means, if I run down the street
people would think me mad, if I
remain where I am I might miss an
opportunity, what is the meaning
of the strange sign against the sky –
moving forward slowly, keeping my
eye on the horizon to fully enjoy the
mystery, when the clouds seem filled
with portents, the excitement mounts –
but as it has never been an alien
spaceship before, the new mystery
of interesting illusions and marvellous
visions is probably just a beautiful game
of Monopoly, all kinds of unexpected
orders and strange moves – life is such
fun when we throw the dice and give
free rein to the imagination!
Sunday, March 22, 2009
True Freedom And Perfect Salvation
Launched myself through this weekend,
firmly determined to clear up all mystery
and intrigue at work, send off all old
documents and complete the register
Finished reading two escapist books, finding
the pitfalls in the glad game, I’m NOT glad I’m
alive, I’m not glad the world exists, if I had a
choice I would send all awareness into oblivion
Having consciousness is too much for me,
I’ve never mastered the ability to deal with
knowing, being informed about all that goes
wrong, not able to live up to expectations
The only thing that scares me about death
is that it is the beginning of infinity; I don’t
want to carry what I know for evermore,
I hope that the content of our thoughts
Will be enlightened upon death - that our
primitive emotions will reach new heights,
that we lose all desire for acceptance and
communication – therein lies true freedom
And perfect salvation…
*******************
I have managed to change a slight depression
into a total nightmare, how on earth does it
happen that awareness of deficiency in one
respect takes over my whole life?
Abraham says simply focusing on positive things
changes perspective and thought-forms, but I’ve
managed to charge straight into the darkest corner
of the universe, how to find my way out again
I always forget why I’m an outsider in life, why I sit
on the sidelines and watch life pass me by – then
one day I eat the wrong stuff and lose all semblance
of rationality and remember again
Why I’m not a real member of humanity, free to come
and go as I please, why I have to follow strict guidelines
in order to remain only halfway operational…
firmly determined to clear up all mystery
and intrigue at work, send off all old
documents and complete the register
Finished reading two escapist books, finding
the pitfalls in the glad game, I’m NOT glad I’m
alive, I’m not glad the world exists, if I had a
choice I would send all awareness into oblivion
Having consciousness is too much for me,
I’ve never mastered the ability to deal with
knowing, being informed about all that goes
wrong, not able to live up to expectations
The only thing that scares me about death
is that it is the beginning of infinity; I don’t
want to carry what I know for evermore,
I hope that the content of our thoughts
Will be enlightened upon death - that our
primitive emotions will reach new heights,
that we lose all desire for acceptance and
communication – therein lies true freedom
And perfect salvation…
*******************
I have managed to change a slight depression
into a total nightmare, how on earth does it
happen that awareness of deficiency in one
respect takes over my whole life?
Abraham says simply focusing on positive things
changes perspective and thought-forms, but I’ve
managed to charge straight into the darkest corner
of the universe, how to find my way out again
I always forget why I’m an outsider in life, why I sit
on the sidelines and watch life pass me by – then
one day I eat the wrong stuff and lose all semblance
of rationality and remember again
Why I’m not a real member of humanity, free to come
and go as I please, why I have to follow strict guidelines
in order to remain only halfway operational…
Friday, March 20, 2009
Write A Morality Play
Friday afternoon - I can’t concentrate on
questionnaires ad infinitum, don’t even want
to read my book; want to go outside and run
about, marching to the beat of the Radetsky
March, waltz on my way home, my thoughts
haven’t found a focal point, started this morning
with a hefty episode in the life of my heroine,
tumbled into a strange day and left her at the
wrong time, the moment was not concluded,
she’s still right there where I left her and now
her plight is reaching my mind, if only I could
shut her into a compartment and finish my job
before deciding the outcome of her adventure –
or rather, before recording the outcome – since
she’s in charge, I don’t have a say, she insists
on a positive outcome, but I never know exactly
whether it is positive if she gets her own way,
being her creator I’m looking for a wise outcome,
a long-term success story, while she desires
short-term excitement and glory, there is a tug
of war between me and my characters, they
want fun while I want to write a morality play….
questionnaires ad infinitum, don’t even want
to read my book; want to go outside and run
about, marching to the beat of the Radetsky
March, waltz on my way home, my thoughts
haven’t found a focal point, started this morning
with a hefty episode in the life of my heroine,
tumbled into a strange day and left her at the
wrong time, the moment was not concluded,
she’s still right there where I left her and now
her plight is reaching my mind, if only I could
shut her into a compartment and finish my job
before deciding the outcome of her adventure –
or rather, before recording the outcome – since
she’s in charge, I don’t have a say, she insists
on a positive outcome, but I never know exactly
whether it is positive if she gets her own way,
being her creator I’m looking for a wise outcome,
a long-term success story, while she desires
short-term excitement and glory, there is a tug
of war between me and my characters, they
want fun while I want to write a morality play….
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Let’s Agree To Keep The Peace
I talk to you, and you don’t listen,
your opinion weighs more than
my feelings, I apologized, but you
still insist on taunting me with the
faux pas – I’m human, I make
mistakes all the time, let it go, not
only did I apologise, I deleted all
traces of the offensive words, why
repeating your censure of me? As
if you never ever make a mistake!
So STOP badgering me, life is a
horrible state in which to be, I agree,
so let’s agree to keep the peace,
I won’t tell you how I feel and you
won’t tell me your opinions, that way
we can have peace all the time!
I HATE sharing my thoughts with
you, it is a snare, something I always
do when I’m not thinking clearly, why,
oh why! – can’t I remember my list
of forbidden subjects when we start
to converse? 'Don’t mention that, don’t
say what you felt, don’t indicate what
it meant – he'll HATE the reply….
your opinion weighs more than
my feelings, I apologized, but you
still insist on taunting me with the
faux pas – I’m human, I make
mistakes all the time, let it go, not
only did I apologise, I deleted all
traces of the offensive words, why
repeating your censure of me? As
if you never ever make a mistake!
So STOP badgering me, life is a
horrible state in which to be, I agree,
so let’s agree to keep the peace,
I won’t tell you how I feel and you
won’t tell me your opinions, that way
we can have peace all the time!
I HATE sharing my thoughts with
you, it is a snare, something I always
do when I’m not thinking clearly, why,
oh why! – can’t I remember my list
of forbidden subjects when we start
to converse? 'Don’t mention that, don’t
say what you felt, don’t indicate what
it meant – he'll HATE the reply….
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Exist In Bliss, Learn By Experience…
I don’t mind what crutch I use
for feeling better than now –
as long as my untouchable
pre-rational assumptions allow
space for the measure that
presents itself, it has to meet
my criterion of promoting freedom,
benevolent universe and beauty,
luckily the books I love is waiting
at home, with a book in my hand
I’m never alone, life can be as
meaningless as it is, if my mind
travels beyond sensory experience
I can exist in bliss even if nothing
changes in reality… Apparently,
my arguments have no substance;
I agree, if you say so, you must be
right – if you are not, I’ll live a
horrible life – it is so easy to use
this criterion to determine what’s
right and wrong – what YOU say
is right, what I say is wrong – viola
problem solved! You judge her for
doing the same thing I do all the
time, agreeing with YOU to keep
the peace – if I had chosen wrong
at the beginning, I would have been
stuck as she was, I had been thinking
about my choice of a starting point
since I was nine, but what about
people who never did, learning only
by experience?
for feeling better than now –
as long as my untouchable
pre-rational assumptions allow
space for the measure that
presents itself, it has to meet
my criterion of promoting freedom,
benevolent universe and beauty,
luckily the books I love is waiting
at home, with a book in my hand
I’m never alone, life can be as
meaningless as it is, if my mind
travels beyond sensory experience
I can exist in bliss even if nothing
changes in reality… Apparently,
my arguments have no substance;
I agree, if you say so, you must be
right – if you are not, I’ll live a
horrible life – it is so easy to use
this criterion to determine what’s
right and wrong – what YOU say
is right, what I say is wrong – viola
problem solved! You judge her for
doing the same thing I do all the
time, agreeing with YOU to keep
the peace – if I had chosen wrong
at the beginning, I would have been
stuck as she was, I had been thinking
about my choice of a starting point
since I was nine, but what about
people who never did, learning only
by experience?
Monday, March 16, 2009
My Life As A Soap Opera
Let go, recommends the ethereal source,
don’t row against the flow, let go, happily
drifting downstream - meaning a quarterly
report – what I did when and with whom,
why and wherefore – now it makes sense,
I have to present my life like a soap opera,
that’s why I hate writing reports so much!
I hate all soapies on TV, hate melodrama
and intrigue, but every six months I must
present my work life as the most deplorable
soap box event; the officer, meaning me in
third person; translated official documents
that were duly checked, stamped, filed,
endorsed, e-mailed, faxed, and sent
She tore her hair from her head – see the
bald spots; she made a list of the lists that
had been made by her correspondents, then
made a list of all the lists in existence, she
checked the Internet then went to bed with
a headache in her head, they might assume
in her neck if not stipulated my friends -
every moment of every minute of every
hour of every day
Was spent in the right way… she should be
locked up and the key thrown away…
don’t row against the flow, let go, happily
drifting downstream - meaning a quarterly
report – what I did when and with whom,
why and wherefore – now it makes sense,
I have to present my life like a soap opera,
that’s why I hate writing reports so much!
I hate all soapies on TV, hate melodrama
and intrigue, but every six months I must
present my work life as the most deplorable
soap box event; the officer, meaning me in
third person; translated official documents
that were duly checked, stamped, filed,
endorsed, e-mailed, faxed, and sent
She tore her hair from her head – see the
bald spots; she made a list of the lists that
had been made by her correspondents, then
made a list of all the lists in existence, she
checked the Internet then went to bed with
a headache in her head, they might assume
in her neck if not stipulated my friends -
every moment of every minute of every
hour of every day
Was spent in the right way… she should be
locked up and the key thrown away…
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Look Where I Like What I See
Venison, venison pie, got at Mondanette,
the best place to buy lovely venison pie,
tossing in bed, no sleep, no drowsiness,
no interest in life – typical symptoms that
venison pie is dangerous, but it is divine
If only it would allow me to rest, to close
my eyes, but no, even that luxury is denied,
eyelids refuse to stay down, staring wide
awake in the night, a good time to read,
if only I had some interest
Being so listless, all because of intolerance
for the ingredients in venison pie, no wonder
there are many versions of me, the mind that
was me is wiped clean of feelings by this weird
occurrence, left tabula rasa emotionally
Only my knowledge remains scathe-free, with
my feelings all gone I need to rebuild an emotional
context anew every time; I return to my books and
repeat the same words until I’ve become the same
kind of person I’ve been before the symptoms
Numbed a part of my brain, maybe emotions simply
return after an absence, but it requires repetition of
the same stimuli to become me – and you wonder
why I fear negative things and hide from bad news?
Because I have no emotional reference
To cushion the shock of idiotic decisions and hostility
emphasised by the media; I have no protection against
the impact of every provocative term or event – thus, I
only look where I like what I see, if my eyes notice
anything amiss I look away – respectfully
Knowing people are free to create every possibility,
but experience has taught me my food intolerance
made me intolerant of all negativity, only positive
thoughts and events, spiritual ideas and the power
of love can pick me up
Once the allergy destroyed my judgement and love
of life – by keeping my eyes resolutely on positive
things, I regain my balance without falling into
several mental black holes at once!
the best place to buy lovely venison pie,
tossing in bed, no sleep, no drowsiness,
no interest in life – typical symptoms that
venison pie is dangerous, but it is divine
If only it would allow me to rest, to close
my eyes, but no, even that luxury is denied,
eyelids refuse to stay down, staring wide
awake in the night, a good time to read,
if only I had some interest
Being so listless, all because of intolerance
for the ingredients in venison pie, no wonder
there are many versions of me, the mind that
was me is wiped clean of feelings by this weird
occurrence, left tabula rasa emotionally
Only my knowledge remains scathe-free, with
my feelings all gone I need to rebuild an emotional
context anew every time; I return to my books and
repeat the same words until I’ve become the same
kind of person I’ve been before the symptoms
Numbed a part of my brain, maybe emotions simply
return after an absence, but it requires repetition of
the same stimuli to become me – and you wonder
why I fear negative things and hide from bad news?
Because I have no emotional reference
To cushion the shock of idiotic decisions and hostility
emphasised by the media; I have no protection against
the impact of every provocative term or event – thus, I
only look where I like what I see, if my eyes notice
anything amiss I look away – respectfully
Knowing people are free to create every possibility,
but experience has taught me my food intolerance
made me intolerant of all negativity, only positive
thoughts and events, spiritual ideas and the power
of love can pick me up
Once the allergy destroyed my judgement and love
of life – by keeping my eyes resolutely on positive
things, I regain my balance without falling into
several mental black holes at once!
Mysteries Proliferate Ad Infinitum
Strange to contemplate the different things
that make people happy, when I read that
there will always be more before us than
what has been, I was delighted
While some scientists are happy in their
certainty that answers to every question
on creation will be found; to me, that
sounds boring, the final answer
should be out of reach –
A universe small enough to contemplate
the end of all mysteries will make for
such a little space, I much prefer
mysteries that proliferate –
ad infinitum!
that make people happy, when I read that
there will always be more before us than
what has been, I was delighted
While some scientists are happy in their
certainty that answers to every question
on creation will be found; to me, that
sounds boring, the final answer
should be out of reach –
A universe small enough to contemplate
the end of all mysteries will make for
such a little space, I much prefer
mysteries that proliferate –
ad infinitum!
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Being Myself As I Was Made
Caught within the reality
you create, I should excuse
myself and seek silence in
my room, need to order my
mind right now, but you insist
on talking, I need silence in my
head to calm my heart, figure
out where I am, feeling lost in
a labyrinth of strange ideas and
new thoughts in which I got caught,
a way out has to be sought, trying
to stay in my strange bubble of
understanding from a foreign
source, your focus is interfering
here, you insist on talking about
ethics and sports stars, while I am
thinking thoughts of sublime feelings
that eschew symbols and terms and
thus are safe from human change –
faceless, nameless, anonymous
entities that allow space for me to
express dreams and hopes and
create visions of a new life – but
is it right? – I don’t care; accepts
how I create my life, not try to live
yours, walking in your shadow in
order to escape my fate – being
me myself as I was made…
you create, I should excuse
myself and seek silence in
my room, need to order my
mind right now, but you insist
on talking, I need silence in my
head to calm my heart, figure
out where I am, feeling lost in
a labyrinth of strange ideas and
new thoughts in which I got caught,
a way out has to be sought, trying
to stay in my strange bubble of
understanding from a foreign
source, your focus is interfering
here, you insist on talking about
ethics and sports stars, while I am
thinking thoughts of sublime feelings
that eschew symbols and terms and
thus are safe from human change –
faceless, nameless, anonymous
entities that allow space for me to
express dreams and hopes and
create visions of a new life – but
is it right? – I don’t care; accepts
how I create my life, not try to live
yours, walking in your shadow in
order to escape my fate – being
me myself as I was made…
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Tiaan Insists On Playing Rugby
While Nici is happily entwined in the
melodramatic soapy of her friends,
reporting who did what to whom and
falling in love with whoever and why,
Tiaan insists on playing rugby and I
dislike it, the boys hurt each other and
it is unnecessary injuries – but Tiaan
is glowing with happiness in being
part of the team, his dad is coaching
him, my wishes would only hold him
back, so I sigh and read my book
and pray for his safety – while being
a very bad mom to Nici, cannot stand
listening to melodrama, can easily
escape it on TV, but what to do when
she insists on telling me – luckily her
dad listens to the dramatic doings
of the youth with interest, making me
feel guilty, I should become more
considerate and listen to what people
say instead of seeking refuge in a book...
melodramatic soapy of her friends,
reporting who did what to whom and
falling in love with whoever and why,
Tiaan insists on playing rugby and I
dislike it, the boys hurt each other and
it is unnecessary injuries – but Tiaan
is glowing with happiness in being
part of the team, his dad is coaching
him, my wishes would only hold him
back, so I sigh and read my book
and pray for his safety – while being
a very bad mom to Nici, cannot stand
listening to melodrama, can easily
escape it on TV, but what to do when
she insists on telling me – luckily her
dad listens to the dramatic doings
of the youth with interest, making me
feel guilty, I should become more
considerate and listen to what people
say instead of seeking refuge in a book...
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Hooray For Tiffany – Second-Guessing
I love studies in consciousness like Terry Pratchett’s
insights explained through Tiffany, accurate description
indicates he must have had the same kind of experience;
he uses quantum physics to explore every possibility,
creating a parallel universe in which he parodies
current society – I’m enchanted, when I look up
from my book, I can’t see, focus is lost, he warns
that living in dreams will do that to you, but
inter-subjective reality is just an illusion, a
dream we share by making up rules,
following them as a group
As Tiffany second-guesses herself, so do I - always
deciding beforehand what I shall do, when I tried
to live life as it comes, it was a mess, once I knew
the rules, there was no fooling myself, walking blindly
into adventures just for a challenge is not possible, I
love books that describe people who think like I do,
other descriptions of thoughts sound alien to me, a
recipe for disaster, yet people are content not studying
love, lamenting when relationships go astray; but as
Tiffany studied human nature, preparing to face
bigotry; I study relationships, seeking wisdom, using
common sense to find rules for love – love per se is
unconditional, but human relationships are based on
contracts and rules, I respect all people, believing in
their good intentions, but lovingly I
don’t trust them at all
Trust must be earned, we don’t hand our money to a
total stranger or an unfaithful broker, to be exploited
mercilessly; yet people entrust their hearts to others on
the irrational basis of adrenaline, interpreted as a feeling
of love, while it could be lust - separating the two concepts
could teach us to honour relationships; poets lament selfish
love unrequited because they throw their hearts about,
surprised when they get hurt, angry when others refuse
to be exploited, such relationships are a travesty of
loyal integrity, only a study of values and subjective
rules for successful relationships has a chance
of success; all I can say is ‘Hooray
for Tiffany’!
Terry Pratchett “We Free Men” Doubleday 2003
insights explained through Tiffany, accurate description
indicates he must have had the same kind of experience;
he uses quantum physics to explore every possibility,
creating a parallel universe in which he parodies
current society – I’m enchanted, when I look up
from my book, I can’t see, focus is lost, he warns
that living in dreams will do that to you, but
inter-subjective reality is just an illusion, a
dream we share by making up rules,
following them as a group
As Tiffany second-guesses herself, so do I - always
deciding beforehand what I shall do, when I tried
to live life as it comes, it was a mess, once I knew
the rules, there was no fooling myself, walking blindly
into adventures just for a challenge is not possible, I
love books that describe people who think like I do,
other descriptions of thoughts sound alien to me, a
recipe for disaster, yet people are content not studying
love, lamenting when relationships go astray; but as
Tiffany studied human nature, preparing to face
bigotry; I study relationships, seeking wisdom, using
common sense to find rules for love – love per se is
unconditional, but human relationships are based on
contracts and rules, I respect all people, believing in
their good intentions, but lovingly I
don’t trust them at all
Trust must be earned, we don’t hand our money to a
total stranger or an unfaithful broker, to be exploited
mercilessly; yet people entrust their hearts to others on
the irrational basis of adrenaline, interpreted as a feeling
of love, while it could be lust - separating the two concepts
could teach us to honour relationships; poets lament selfish
love unrequited because they throw their hearts about,
surprised when they get hurt, angry when others refuse
to be exploited, such relationships are a travesty of
loyal integrity, only a study of values and subjective
rules for successful relationships has a chance
of success; all I can say is ‘Hooray
for Tiffany’!
Terry Pratchett “We Free Men” Doubleday 2003
Monday, March 9, 2009
Terry Pratchett Is A Drome* Himself
Would it help if I tried really hard to concentrateon assignments waiting on my desk, instead of
continuing adventures in my head to such an
extent I can’t focus my thoughts on endless
lists with nonsensical content?
I get paid to do meaningless work, not to sit here
contemplating eternity and the inter-subjectivity
of consensus reality, yet there is a blockage in my
mind, it manifests as a swelling in my ears; I can’t
bypass it to open my eyes in reality
I’m caught in a dream woven by a drome – does
Terry Pratchett know he is a drome himself and spins
webs of dreams that catch unwary readers like me and
then we can’t return to reality? Once I’ve passed the
threshold of sublime delight
I can’t turn back and it might take a day or more to calm
my mind and get my eyes back on reality, I’m not bright
at planning and overcoming things like Tiffany, I’m a
dreamer who believes in the power of visions
to change reality…
Terry Pratchett “The Wee Free Men” Doubleday 2003
Friday, March 6, 2009
A Marvelous Tale Of Invention
I’m brimful of good thoughts, might not
be able to retain or hold on to them once
I get home, but the attempt will be made,
it is such sweet comfort to know how to
turn the tide of despair into a winning
attitude, all my reading through the years
have culminated in this: My perspective
is the place where I live, as long as it
can be lifted, decorated with glitter, with
casting a golden hue on everything, much
as my sunglasses do, changing brown
into muted gold, creating a beautiful story
for me to live, as Terry Pratchett insists,
stories come true everywhere, I insist
on changing well-known stories and
making them ALL end positive; there-
fore for every story I come across there
are several endings all positive, sometimes
adding a twist to the tale just to bring in
more intrigue, making it BIG and exciting,
thus increasing the delight of my characters
upon the unfolding of the positive ending,
loving the character of Tiffany created by
Pratchett, a girl who thinks for herself and
does not do what other people do as a
matter of intelligence and principle, she
is a true witch in the making, I want to
become as independent of other people’s
opinions as this magic child is – no wonder
she was able to charm the wintersmith in
another story - then to get rid of him,
what a marvelous tale of invention!
be able to retain or hold on to them once
I get home, but the attempt will be made,
it is such sweet comfort to know how to
turn the tide of despair into a winning
attitude, all my reading through the years
have culminated in this: My perspective
is the place where I live, as long as it
can be lifted, decorated with glitter, with
casting a golden hue on everything, much
as my sunglasses do, changing brown
into muted gold, creating a beautiful story
for me to live, as Terry Pratchett insists,
stories come true everywhere, I insist
on changing well-known stories and
making them ALL end positive; there-
fore for every story I come across there
are several endings all positive, sometimes
adding a twist to the tale just to bring in
more intrigue, making it BIG and exciting,
thus increasing the delight of my characters
upon the unfolding of the positive ending,
loving the character of Tiffany created by
Pratchett, a girl who thinks for herself and
does not do what other people do as a
matter of intelligence and principle, she
is a true witch in the making, I want to
become as independent of other people’s
opinions as this magic child is – no wonder
she was able to charm the wintersmith in
another story - then to get rid of him,
what a marvelous tale of invention!
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Thank You Matt, I Did Badly
Well, Buscaglia fills my soul with
magic, this means I summarized
his wonderful, vibrant words badly
and I shall take them off, and I apologise
for making such a bad job of it.
“The poetry is only me as much as
a fictional story is it's writer.”
For me, a fictional story IS a reflection
of its writer – the mere fact of choosing
certain subjects, presenting in a certain
way, making certain comments, the ending
the author chooses – all reveals the writer,
attitude, disposition, values and principles.
In literature study – English, French and
German literature – the stories only made
sense to me once we had studied the author.
I was repelled by Balzac’s books, and reading
about him as a person, with a coarse attitude
to life, my feeling was justified.
If literature disgust me, I measure it studying
the author, and each time I find the kind of
person whose values and ideas repel me.
Poem or prose, often I feel the values and
attitudes of authors and thus screen my
reading matter as carefully as I screen friends,
sounds, images and experiences, not willing
to be exposed to things that undermine my
ability to function. In school and university we
were forced to read all books prescribed, even
if they made us nauseous. Today I’m a free
agent with my own criteria and only read
material that contribute to creating a positive,
upbeat life – while respecting the right of
everybody to read and write what they like.
“And my poetry is more interactive than you think!”
Kindly elucidate, do you mean because you write
something and leave it to the reader to read anything
they please into it?
“I want to write stereograms where people see
in them things I never imagined!”
I saw disillusionment in your poem and can
motivate why, hope it was not a shock to you.
As always, thanks for reading and commenting,
Kind regards, Peanuts.
magic, this means I summarized
his wonderful, vibrant words badly
and I shall take them off, and I apologise
for making such a bad job of it.
“The poetry is only me as much as
a fictional story is it's writer.”
For me, a fictional story IS a reflection
of its writer – the mere fact of choosing
certain subjects, presenting in a certain
way, making certain comments, the ending
the author chooses – all reveals the writer,
attitude, disposition, values and principles.
In literature study – English, French and
German literature – the stories only made
sense to me once we had studied the author.
I was repelled by Balzac’s books, and reading
about him as a person, with a coarse attitude
to life, my feeling was justified.
If literature disgust me, I measure it studying
the author, and each time I find the kind of
person whose values and ideas repel me.
Poem or prose, often I feel the values and
attitudes of authors and thus screen my
reading matter as carefully as I screen friends,
sounds, images and experiences, not willing
to be exposed to things that undermine my
ability to function. In school and university we
were forced to read all books prescribed, even
if they made us nauseous. Today I’m a free
agent with my own criteria and only read
material that contribute to creating a positive,
upbeat life – while respecting the right of
everybody to read and write what they like.
“And my poetry is more interactive than you think!”
Kindly elucidate, do you mean because you write
something and leave it to the reader to read anything
they please into it?
“I want to write stereograms where people see
in them things I never imagined!”
I saw disillusionment in your poem and can
motivate why, hope it was not a shock to you.
As always, thanks for reading and commenting,
Kind regards, Peanuts.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Sweet Revenge For All Their Typing
I’m glad to say I have only evil acquaintances
and family, showing me my own face, when
they are nasty with me, I know it is because
I am nasty with them first, they find it hilarious
that I study Buscaglia, being such an arrogant
and self-centered human being, but I stick out
my tongue at them, I love them, can’t help my-
self being cheeky and acerbic, yet I’ll always
keep on trying to grow into the kind of person
I admire; today I’m going to play with fire, enjoy
a staff meeting, making crooked lists, being
nasty once again, I’m a natural little devil, but
I have very good intentions; one day I’ll realize
them, I’m aware of my being more loveless than
most other people, that is why I keep studying
books to improve, in the meantime, I’ll hate
my fellowmen in happy enmity, fighting their
noise and gossiping with my Walkman, being
a natural barbarian, laugh too loud and pulling
ugly faces, living too loud, making my colleagues
angry, sweet revenge for all their evil typing
and their love for administration, fighting with
my acerbic brothers for being as mean as me…
and family, showing me my own face, when
they are nasty with me, I know it is because
I am nasty with them first, they find it hilarious
that I study Buscaglia, being such an arrogant
and self-centered human being, but I stick out
my tongue at them, I love them, can’t help my-
self being cheeky and acerbic, yet I’ll always
keep on trying to grow into the kind of person
I admire; today I’m going to play with fire, enjoy
a staff meeting, making crooked lists, being
nasty once again, I’m a natural little devil, but
I have very good intentions; one day I’ll realize
them, I’m aware of my being more loveless than
most other people, that is why I keep studying
books to improve, in the meantime, I’ll hate
my fellowmen in happy enmity, fighting their
noise and gossiping with my Walkman, being
a natural barbarian, laugh too loud and pulling
ugly faces, living too loud, making my colleagues
angry, sweet revenge for all their evil typing
and their love for administration, fighting with
my acerbic brothers for being as mean as me…
Fun And Hilarity
4 March 2009: I’m so excited being back in heaven –
to change my colleagues’ lives irretrievably, enjoying
their sweet company and making contributions that
leave them flabbergasted for eternity – I love my little
ice-cold corner in Kingsley Centre, mumbling and
grumbling for sheer delight, descrying lists and
administrative bits like looking up dictionaries –
but there is no place on earth where I would rather
be, especially when I shock my conservative and
well-brought up fellow-women with my irreverent
and plain bad-mannered ideas, lack of bon-ton and
lack of prowess, today I am going to do my best to
enjoy the privilege of having a life with hard-working
colleagues most magnificently – no writing little rhymes
and limericks about oddballs, realizing I’m a self-centered
ego-maniac and sadist, determined to dilute my acerbic,
unsympathetic remarks with a little of the milk of human
kindness à la Buscaglia – I love that author and his ideas;
but I don’t like humanity the way he does; I keep reading
him to try and absorb some of his positive feelings; it hasn’t
happened yet; but I keep on trying – one day I might press
a little sympathy from my heart; one day I might even care
a little bit – but not today; today was made for
fun and hilarity!
to change my colleagues’ lives irretrievably, enjoying
their sweet company and making contributions that
leave them flabbergasted for eternity – I love my little
ice-cold corner in Kingsley Centre, mumbling and
grumbling for sheer delight, descrying lists and
administrative bits like looking up dictionaries –
but there is no place on earth where I would rather
be, especially when I shock my conservative and
well-brought up fellow-women with my irreverent
and plain bad-mannered ideas, lack of bon-ton and
lack of prowess, today I am going to do my best to
enjoy the privilege of having a life with hard-working
colleagues most magnificently – no writing little rhymes
and limericks about oddballs, realizing I’m a self-centered
ego-maniac and sadist, determined to dilute my acerbic,
unsympathetic remarks with a little of the milk of human
kindness à la Buscaglia – I love that author and his ideas;
but I don’t like humanity the way he does; I keep reading
him to try and absorb some of his positive feelings; it hasn’t
happened yet; but I keep on trying – one day I might press
a little sympathy from my heart; one day I might even care
a little bit – but not today; today was made for
fun and hilarity!
Monday, March 2, 2009
Our Own Personal Challenge
I summarised his charming words badly,
instead of evoking curiosity it actually
repelled readers - herewith my apologies
to Buscaglia for messing up his wonderful
text, and a recommendation that the reader
look this up himself - it is GREAT in the
original, pity I made him sound so pedantic
and boring!
Leo Buscaglia ‘Love’ Souvenir Press 1984
pp.91, 95, 99, 101
instead of evoking curiosity it actually
repelled readers - herewith my apologies
to Buscaglia for messing up his wonderful
text, and a recommendation that the reader
look this up himself - it is GREAT in the
original, pity I made him sound so pedantic
and boring!
Leo Buscaglia ‘Love’ Souvenir Press 1984
pp.91, 95, 99, 101
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