Self-Satisfied Complainants

I’ve been given a list of letters to
translate – self-righteous people
complaining about not getting
respect for their rights, about
strangers daring to drive through
their town, about money they
should have had, about dis-
honesty and dishonor following
upon attempts to feed a family of
five as well as the family-in-law –

People seeing themselves as
entitled to everything they desire
while persecuting everybody else
who breathes the same air; the
more self-satisfied the complainant,
the less impressed I am, feeling they
should allow breathing space to all,
believe in good motives, even when
all attempts at goodness or happiness
fall by the wayside…

Fabulous Confusion

Under pressure of too much
emotion, impossible to say
or do anything, impossible
to concentrate, impossible
to calm down

Need a good cry for relief,
anything that will stop me
shivering inside, anything
that will stop me turning
cartwheels in my mind

I need repose to compose
my thoughts, to download
the images chasing each
other at lightning speed
across the screen

Of my imagination, create
a special file to keep them
till later; anything to hammer
my brain into subjugation,
to enable me

To take life one step at a
time, instead of flying like
a whirlwind, creating mael-
stroms of delight – yet
being suppressed

Manifesting in fabulous
confusion…

Dominion Of The Snow Queen

The little girl never gave up hope, kept
searching for the little boy who used to
be her best friend, even though a shard
of glass in his heart

Made him forget her, she continued her
quest, determined to free him from what-
ever curse had changed him, she found
him in the Dominion of the Snow Queen

He did not recognize her; she cried warm
tears of sorrow and joy, melting the shard
of glass in his heart, her tears washed the
pulverized glass from his eyes

He recognised his little friend, remembered
their good times and returned to the land of
the sun; this makes me smile, am I looking
for you – or are you looking for me

Did I forget you or did you forget me after
first recognition; who was deceived, I who
thought I recognised a soul mate, or you
who saw – what? I wonder -

Every single day…

Fairytales “The Snow Queen”

The Choice Always Yours

The lover is a light unto himself, not
putting faith in anything else; when
your eyes become angry, voice
lashing out in anger, your face
turning away

I remind myself that I love for myself
and those that accept the love I
offer, if nobody does, I still love
to love for the joy it brings me,
inner happiness

Independent of other people, if you
stop to enjoy a beautiful moment
with me, I shall embrace you
tenderly, then set you free,
the choice to go or stay

Will always be yours…

Sad The Joyful Laughter

Sad this day, sad the joyful laughter
on my face, sad the delight in yours,
sad the good news, sad the sunlight
outside - I can’t say exactly why

Mouche redeemed Capitaine Coq
once again; but the price in pain she
paid, the sacrifices she made, the pain
suffered by Coq before he was won

From the clutches of despair; all is
clustering in my heart, clamouring for
copious tears to wash the sadness and
pain away - someone has to cry

For the terrible events in the world;
Abraham says I can choose happy
thoughts and start feeling better; I
think of happy events

But my feelings remain focused on Paul
Gallico though I drag them forcibly; DO
contemplate the happy circumstances
of my life; My emotions

simply drag their feet and cry continuously,
Mouche’s ability to deal with inhuman pain
is still too unsettling a memory…

Paul Gallico “The Love Of Seven Dolls”

Like loving Each Other!

My twin sister called – I can’t handle
the world – I thought – what would
Hanlie have said, what would she
advise - and replied, change into
an attitude of respect

Send out positive vibes, don’t blame
old nursing sisters for being wrong,
they are willing to serve, albeit in
the wrong way, simply go inside,
calm the flame

Burning in your mind – and she said
Thank you, it helped talking to you –
it means Hanlie’s charm actually
works even when she is not about
do I work in heaven – or what?

Called my sister later – I felt better,
she reported, after talking to you –
and all-time first, hallelujah! –
and made peace at work,
explained to my director

Now all is peace and calm – part of
the remedy I recommended was to
drink a lot of wine; she got there
while remaining sober and
sane

It’s just like we are real sisters – it’s
just like getting along – like loving
each other! Oh, what do you say,
brother?!

Strangulation Comes To Mind

To love pure and chaste from afar –
is that not a description of the mother
of a teenage son also; he is so big, in-
accessible, focused on his own life; - I
have no-one to cuddle, self-sufficient;
no-one depends on me

That is fine - sets me free to do other things,
strangulation comes to mind, I feel redundant
in life, no meaning for anyone, except to provide
the money to get things done; I should depart
this life, except Nici likes me reading Winter-
smith; when reading “Love of Seven Dolls”

Remembered I had read it to Carine; if Nici
wants, I can read this one also – but she has
her own beau, I like the fellow; but not losing
her devotion, life is NOT a worthwhile situation,
no wonder my parents messed up; I should
throw in the towel -

My death is worth a lot in money, I should go
explore other dimensions as a
non-physical entity!

“Love of Seven Dolls” = Book by Paul Gallico
Carine = My eldest daughter

On The Right Track

We’ve reached the part where Anoia, god-
dess of things that get stuck in drawers,
are annoyed because the god of storms
always rained on her lava

She commiserated with Tiffany because
her beau had looked at another girl’s wa-
tercolours - my accents are growing
worse, only Tiffany is pure

While Anoia is satisfyingly annoying, I’m trying
to warn Nici about her first beau – right now it
is all stars and kisses and ‘can’t let you
go’- but I warn her

Not to look too deep into his eyes, to remember
they are NOT Romeo and Juliette – she thinks
she is wise; I encourage her, saying this is just
practice; her dad wants to know

Whether she isn’t tired of him as yet – she should
get another beau – he does not want her to get
attached; Saturday they are going to watch rugby,
I would NEVER have done that in my youth

So she MUST be on the right track, I suppose…

Terry Pratchett "Wintersmith"

So Very Soft

Given ONE cure for ALL ailments,
how does one combine the lot? If I
have a cold and arthritis and sinus,
should I drink all the various con-
coctions of cinnamon and honey, or
should I stick with one kind for a while?

I’m confused, but I DO know that my
cold has been cured and the pains in
my joints are better; now which formula
should I follow: One for ageless youth,
cholesterol, cold, stomach ache, gas,
or what?

I bought my father – 81 this year - some
warm pajamas at his request – King David
in the Bible got a young virgin to keep him
warm; I recall – but my father will have to
do with a hot water bottle – I found
women’s pajamas the warmest of all

Now to convince him the blue pair is masculine
and the design of a butterfly is a male idea – hope
he takes to the thought , men’s pajamas are so cold,
for him it would never do – while the other side offers
everything, from pink to blue – so very soft!

Everything Running Like Clockwork

I was so happily ensconced in my dreams
of incompetence, thinking South Africa the
analogue to Giovanni Guareschi’s com-
munist Italy of the post WWII years

This morning I sent out quote requests for
foreign language dictionaries in the most
resigned spirit; Reg Shoe of Terry Pratchett
fame would have been jealous of me

In total abnegation of personal desire for
accomplishment, I simply sent one request
for quotes after another, reveling in the
beautifully satisfying messages

That all the messages were rejected – balm
to my soul – until Hermien with her usual
efficiency called the bookshops and established
that these messages actually reached them

Shattering my dreams of reliving Guareschi and
Konsalik’s schemes depicted in their fiction – and
ere I could sulk to my heart’s content, quotes started
to arrive – what cheek this was

To offer so much efficiency to shatter my dreams of
repeating previous new regime’s failures in my own
country; every dictionary was blessed with a quote –
no more doubt – capitalism is alive

And well in the new South Africa, the Rainbow Nation
is operating with a ‘joie de vivre’ unequalled on earth –
I was sorely robbed of my sardonic sport of making fun
of my own political system;

Everything running like clockwork – except me, of course –
thank heaven for that!

The “Order’s Master of Devices”

Terry Pratchett shares my fascination with James
Bond movies! On p. 80 of Night Watch, the Monk
Lu-Tze went to Qu, the “Order’s Master of Devices”
who directed explosions in a “vined-off area”, took
the “technology of Procrastinators, to save and re-
store time, to blow people’s heads off” while
Brother Kai was blown two centuries back

Who built a temporal toilet discharging ten million
years into the past where all ends in a volcano, very
hygienic; who has tambourines banging to set off
explosions, and the time shift in which Sam Vines
split into John Keel and a younger self is speculated
about as “Narrative Causality or Historical
Imperative or self-correcting history…”

The little monk Lu-Tze is only one of many Bond-
representatives, Sam Vines himself is another
kind of Bond, while the Abbot and Lord Vetinari
are both representatives of M, the head of the
English Secret Service in the Bond-movies
though I fail to discern the main Bond-girl,
there is Rosie Palmer and Sandra the
smuggler…

Pages 80-82 "Night Watch" Pratchett

Happily Honeyed For Tonight

After eating meat that’s off, the kids and
I being sick, I had fever and cooled off till
I caught a cold – now time to try the cin-
namon-and-honey cold treatment

One tablespoon lukewarm honey with a
quarter spoon cinnamon powder for three
days – it will clear the sinuses, the email
says – I’d really be surprised

Lukewarm honey tastes better than cold,
the mixture is less overpowering than the
arthritis stuff that needs vodka to make it
palatable, I apply Occam’s razor to

Everything and the beautiful simplicity of plain
cinnamon and honey as a cure-all for most
diseases sounds super-simple to me and
totally accessible to even

The poorest person, my parents can’t afford ex-
pensive medicine; the homemade remedies they
try keep them healthy, happy and amazingly
alive – while hubby refuses

To consider anything but state-of-the-art medication
for cholesterol, the honey-plan sounds nonsensical
to him, but I love everything unconventional, the
cheaper and more basic, the better

Now to await results, happily honeyed for tonight!

Dribble Every Word

Oh, just listen to this, doesn’t it make
your heart sing and your tongue wish
to dribble every word in a repetitive
rhyme that drives everybody nuts?

“How about whizzing wipers, snitching
tinklers, pulling wobblers, flogging tumblers
and running rumbles, tottering nevils, a dimber,
slumgullet and dippitydoodah Nobby Nobbs!”

Terry Pratchett “Night Watch” pp 132, 133

Confused Between Laughing, Crying…

There we have it – nosebleed – for eating all
those killer pies, although I can still survive
after eating a Russian and cheese pie
using Vicks Vaporub for breathing, it
still has devastating effects

Now it’s back to the straight and narrow - hot
chocolate ice-cream for breakfast - and I’m so
confused, alternating between laughing, crying,
happiness and fear; reading about the ordeals
of Sister Luke, the Nun Gabrielle

In the Congo, the reaction of people to her, her
religious order’s insistence that she reject all
love and acceptance, which means that she
must even reject the admiration and love I
as a reader experience while reading

This is too much, I can’t live with so much self-
abnegation; I MUST be able to send my love
and affection back to her through space-time
that is all stretched out before us as Einstein
contended - I MUST help her

I can’t read books if I’m not allowed to help
the original characters in one way or
another!

Forced To Live For Choosing To Be Born

I’ve discovered King Pie – they sell a Russian and
cheese pie that actually allows me to survive, this
is amazing, all other pies causes murder and may-
hem in my system, but this one only causes sinus,
with only my nose blocked and an increased degree
of stupidity, I’m very happy to eat this, though I grow
tired afterwards and had better skip a few days to
breathe for a while

Hubby is helping Tiaan with a project while I’m
planning how to hide my growing fatigue and get
through the evening without the family finding out
about my allergic symptoms - today I shall ingest
honey and cinnamon again - and I wonder how
many of the women in the asylum where Sister
Luke, alias the Nun Gabrielle, worked; were caught
in chemical imbalances which

Might have been rectified with a proper diet – to
keep people alive who try to commit suicide is ab-
solutely wrong; I think we should be free to decide
when our lives lost all purpose and meaning instead
of being forced into straightjackets or stuffed into
baths for eight hours at a time as in my book, only
heads protruding from a hole in the covering of
wood – women ravaged by mental

And emotional pain who could never act sane again –
they are watched like caged animals to prevent them
from committing suicide; yet if we are forced to live
simply because we made the mistake of choosing to
be born; we have no freedom at all!

Thirst For Mental Liberty

We are in-between documents, Jane is
studying administrative guidelines, pre-
paring the ponderous production sheet,
I am furtively reading the Nun’s Story

Suddenly I realized how easily anyone can be
classified as mentally insane - how fine the
line between so-called normal behaviour
and the deranged, scared men in white

Would lock me away if I did not toe the line
and do everything just right, but it is too late
to aim for reform, I thirst for mental liberty,
I can’t turn back into a lackey

Of routine jobs and formality; the most difficult
thing to do is escape from life once the mind has
stopped functioning, Wayne Dyer recommends
we should practice dying in meditation

Feel ourselves moving into the light, leaving the
physical world behind, making it easy to accept
the transition that is inevitable for us all – I’m
sure the mentally deranged in the asylum

Where Sister Luke worked, were longing for
death to set them free from the emotional
and physical pain they endured…

Ultra-Bureaucratic Gobbledygook

Now we have password-protected Intranet,
we have to browse to find Policies, Acts and
Forms under HRM called New PMDS 2009
levels 1-12 : Workplan – I don’t understand
this acronymic Newspeak, going cross-eyed
on reading ultra-bureaucratic gobbledygook:

The Incumbent, that’s us, sounds like the
Interred, we are buried alive, are Requested
to Ensure we Utilize the Newly Formatted
PA’s, WP’s and PDP’s – Hermien reads this
easily while my feathery brain simply short-
circuits; all neuron-connecting pathways

Exploding in my head simultaneously; buried
alive we are sitting here, interred within a
totally deranged and dangerous bureaucracy
run by the insane…

Everything Is Officially Uncertain

I’ve got a nasty, sneaky suspicion that
administration is creeping up on me,
suddenly the production sheet is due
in the middle of the month and Jane is
compiling hers industriously while I let
my eyes go out of focus when they alight
inadvertently on a bureaucratic form,
because I fear the contamination of red-
tape stupidity where every i is dotted,
every t is crossed and the main content
is total stuff and nonsense; telling all of
us how to sit, how to work, how to think,
how to eat, how to keel over and die
without making a sound, without giving
a cry; I prefer reading Prachett’s description
of quantum interference – there are two
presents running side by side - making the
wrong choices will take us to the wrong
future, therefore it is incumbent upon me,
the secret-agent official, to take note of
Quantum Uncertainty before the two
presents snap together again, luckily
everything is Officially Uncertain…

Terry Pratchett “Night Watch” Doubleday, 2002
pp. 78, 79

Giants And Fairies Are Dancing

As I drove the kids to school today
they played cell-phone songs to me
“Forgive me Delilah - just another two
years at school” - Bon Jovi “I just wanna
live while I’m alive - I ain’t gonna live
forever!” and “Just another brick in the
wall” and I smiled, what uplifting ideas
before starting school

I felt glorious and rich for having kids that
put me in touch with their reality, when we
said goodbye I drove away listening to FM
Classic, the age divide means nothing to us,
we listen to all kinds of music together, they
know I like songs where the singer is calm
and then gets hysterical about something
before calming down –

They actually approve of my classical music
where giants and fairies are dancing in
Wonderland – well, that’s what
I told them…

The Most Beautiful Pain

The nun was right in “The Nun’s Story” by
Kathryn Hulme, since we live a life of pain
in THIS universe, the only choice we have
is between various kinds of pain – and I
prefer the most beautiful pain to any other
kind - ugly, noisy, devoid of aesthetics pain
is worse than any other kind – the nun chose
the most beautiful pain

I prefer the kind of sacrifices she made to any
other kind life requires of us all; all she needed
was a criminal mind on entering the Order and
she would have made a painless transition into
that falsely holy religious life – I’m sure I would
have done it spectacularly in a most criminal
way; since pain is a given in this inter-subjective
reality, the pain of a nun

Is the most attractive to me; I would have con-
fessed made-up sins and kept my own council
and eventually escaped the pain of human re-
lations; I think becoming a nun is the most beautiful
selfish thing, it would have suited me perfectly; to
keep at such a distance from other people - therein
lies freedom, the thought patterns of other people
hurt us; self-flagellation need only be a sham

A ritual that brings peace through its symbolical
value – all other physical acts are so deceptive
and disappointing; I prefer symbolical penance
to false love!

Experimenting Isn’t Good!

Last night I felt adventurous, decided to change
the amounts of cinnamon and honey, see why the
learned men prescribe the use in specific doses –
it was a mistake, I couldn’t sleep, my stomach did
keep burning, my system felt out of kilter, seems
too much cinnamon is an overload, back to basics,
one day without the wonder medicine and tomorrow
I’ll stick to prescribed dosages – with judicious tots
of vodka, of course, James Bond would have been
overjoyed, though I take mine stirred, not shaken –
I feel shaken enough by all the wild imaginings my
weird mind brings, a slight stirring is all I can handle
right now….

Delight On Crossing Our Rubicon

Checked all the questionnaires, rocked and sang
my way through them, busy printing to gladden
the heart of our client , delight on crossing our
Rubicon, never thought we would ever finish
these, but we forged on and here we are

Making packages - so proud of our prowess,
the students enjoyed the course but hated the
food, some will use it the stuff in their private
lives, one boldly declared it will help him to
plan his wedding; they loved the music

Used to reinforce the message – we’ve had an
arduous trip, wading through mountains of
paper, deciphering illegible handwriting
and staying the course….

"Herr, deine Güte reicht so weit, so weit,
so weit, der Himmel ist – Halleluja,
hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah!”

Intolerance For Idiotic Rules

I’m never going to be healthy, I get so angry
about nit-picking and stupidity, the only way
I can become chemically balanced is to have
both my renal glands removed so that the
upsurge of adrenaline won’t cause these
angry moods – the real cure for me is to get
drunk and stay drunk until the day I die – I
used to wonder why my father moved from
job to job and why my brothers can’t work
for a boss, now I realize it is because of our
intolerance for idiotic rules, you have to play
a game in your place of work and accept the
dictates of idiots, I have been able to keep
my job by doctoring the symptoms of anger
and distress, by following a diet for my system
being a mess due to anger turned inward and
frustration swallowed all the time; the only
peace I’ll ever know is when I learn to accept
illogical rules made for the sake of torturing
the soul and no other sensible reason on
earth; if I did not have writing as an outlet;
I would have died of suppressed anger,
that’s for sure!

Penance And Self-Abnegation

Reading ‘The Nun’s Story’ by Kathryn
Hulme is an ordeal, I hate the penance
and self-abnegation, the constant humi-
liation, confessing nonsensical sins

The austere rules and regulations, all to
destroy a sense of self, shocking to read
of the nuns’ suffering, punishment like
begging food from other nuns

Kissing their feet, no speaking, NO freedom
in an unnatural life aimed at killing all that is
beautiful in the human spirit, it hurts my heart
to read it, they had to determine

What they loved in order to do the exact oppo-
site in devotion to God, a man-made image of
God as a maiming tyrant, religion reflecting
mankind’s sociological development

At least, I’ve got the comfort to know that no order
would have accepted me as a nun, now it is time
for my fortifying arthritis drink of cinnamon-
honey with a single tot vodka, an act of love

‘The Nun’s Story’ by Kathryn Hulme - Chivers Press, 1983,
First published 1956 - Gabrielle van der Mal

My Twin Will Return

Everybody should have at least one friend
with whom they can share their problems
and sorrows, their secret joys and hopes
for happy tomorrows

I used to confide in my sibling, my twin brother,
we shared one soul, he never divulged a word
to anyone, then he went away, now there is
no-one for me

Nobody to apply to for advice, nobody to con-
fess my failures to; my positive books says
everyone has something to teach me, they
are here for a purpose

I should not wait for Godot; so I look around,
talk to everyone, but the place of trust is
empty in me, my heart longs for a
different dimension

In which I can be free, this world has
no space for me; I carry on with
blind hope that my twin
will return...

This Morning’s Experiment

Last night I slept well, so my mixture was fine,
this morning I licked the paste supposed to cleanse
the face – what did you expect, honey with a little
cinnamon – simply delicious, a multi-purpose
paste, very little ends up on the face

Feeling bad afterwards I remedied by eating
chocolate, the only panacea solving all kinds of
problems, eyes going out of focus, chocolate
remedies the phenomenon, I’ve rejected every-
thing claimed by dieticians

Eating whatever my system demands, should it
be cyanide or arsenic I’ll concede, it is quite clear
science is schizophrenic, every other day a new
thing will kill us; sugar, salt, alcohol, tea, coffee,
meat, Disprin – the very next day

New research indicates otherwise; the only research
I set store by is checking myself, if I survive without
pain, anything is fine, if it brings headache or sinus,
I throw it off my list, if I can rectify

By drinking alcohol, so much the better, it still is the
way of the gods, and who am I to differ from them?

Vodka-Cinnamon-Honey Arthritis Mix

Aha, after reading Wintersmith asking Tiffany ‘Marry
me’, I made my new concoction: Cinnamon-honey
for arthritis, one cup hot water, two spoons
honey, one teaspoon cinnamon

The day is done; should I feel bad now, it wouldn’t
matter, added single tot of vodka, waiting for the
reaction, my father also likes his drink, I might be
perfecting a brilliant cure for arthritis

He gave me whiskey in milk for upset tummy while
I was at school; now I offer him vodka-cinnamon-
honey mix for arthritis; hope I still might sleep;
last night I was still awake

Three o’clock In the morning, today as we drove
downtown to get Tiaan after rugby, I caught a
nap in the Jeep, now I’m ready for another
sleepless night - if need be

The honey-mixture is quite sweet, after watching Disney
Channel, Sleeping Beauty, and Enchantment movie;
nothing is too sweet for me, vodka complements
the honey beautifully – I shall present

The perfect cure to my father who presented me with
everything I live today; if he were like Alfred Dolittle
he would have said he gave me life, then left me to
enjoy without him - I would have said amen

My father was quite out of sight while we were growing
up, I never knew my many aberrations were due to him,
when I found out, I was overjoyed – it was all a quirk of
fate, genetics taking all in hand

NOT me being so bad as to be due to hell; though now
I know hell is a mental state - I suppose I can still visit
old Nic to reinforce our acquaintanceship, given
my terrible lineage –

Scary stuff, says hubby…

Super-Stupid Schemes

I’ve been wondering about adding vodka to the
cinnamon and honey mixture, this way my system
can zoom in on the alcohol which is supposed to
be bad for us - but being an alien, it might actually
do me good – and allow the honey and cinnamon
to work their magic effects; alcoholic beverages
always fascinate me, once the flat bottle of cane
seemed liked the ideal form for a hot water bottle,
I quickly drank all the cane to empty it as soon as
possible– then fell asleep in the wrong place –
hubby was furious, that poor man is suffering so
much under me, luckily I don’t believe in romantic
love, but made a rational match with someone who
is strong enough not to crack under the onslaught
of my idiotic brain with its super-stupid schemes

9 May 2009

Cinnamon-Honey Debacle

This mixture is supposed to keep us young
and strong as well as healthy, for me it brought
clinical depression; applying it on the skin made
the kids run away - either I’m not human at all, or
the Canadian article was too optimistic, or hubby
had added killer ingredients to the meat dish – he
tries to catch my system out by not telling me – to
see whether the diet can be expanded; tonight I
feel like death itself, my head in a tightening vice-
grip, physical death sounds positively pleasurable

Any sane person can deal with pain and illness, but
when my sanity is destroyed by chemical imbalance
in the brain and my thinking apparatus shrinks until
intelligence levels drop to below zero, life loses its
flavour and my soul ducks for cover while my spirit
flies away, leaving my heart ensconced in the Black
Hole in my mind, strangled and compressed, painful
and meaningless – a real existential crisis – of the
same magnitude as described in the really sad
Psalms in the Bible, though confession of sin

As the Psalmist recommends, doesn’t help, total anni-
hilation seems to offer a better alternative, I can help
old Nic in torturing the souls of the already deceased,
my terrible exuberance ought to drive them to regret
their sinful lives eternally...

My Favourite Storybook Character

Will always be Mouche in Paul Gallico's
Love Of Seven Dolls, the best image to
keep me from falling into the Seine of
despair...

The Illustration Says It All!

All the ugly witches and Belladonna in the
right-hand corner, lovely fantasy...

99 Unfolded Administrative Dimensions

Ntsoaki sent my Performance Assessment and
Review Forms back, they must tally with the
Performance Agreement and they don’t

I, good slave that I am, retrieved the originals with
great effort and changed the weighting to conform,
presented the forms to Karen, the boss

For the required signatures - No, she said - Look for
a version of the Performance Agreement that already
conforms to the Assessment and Review Forms

Exactly the opposite of what I was told to do, good
brain-dead donkey that I am, I trudged back to my
seat and started the arduous trek

Through ALL the documents saved on the G-drive,
looking for the elusive Agreement that should contain
the required weightings as dreamt of

in Plato’s perfect world of beautiful forms where reality
consists of 99% dead, invisible stuff called administration
which takes priority to colourful, melodious, tactile reality

For every phenomenon we see, there is 99 unfolded
dimensions to be covered administratively, now I
understand String Theory!

Honey-And-Cinnamon Cure

A brilliant new experiment, trying the honey-
and-cinnamon cure Amina emailed yesterday,
good for arthritis and everything else besides,
made some tea as prescribed, awaiting results
but I don’t feel so well…

Maybe I should start with the advice of
making a honey-and-cinnamon paste to
apply to the skin for cleansing at night; as
for ingesting, the sweet honey is heavy on
my stomach; better keep quiet

About the experiment until I’m sure whether it’s
working or not, I want to recommend this to my
dad after testing on myself; I love everything
sweet, I must keep trying to get this to work
yet a headache is developing

Swallow some pills, low blood sugar with ringing
ears; does it mean my overactive system is re-
jecting this prescription that is supposed to
cure all humankind’s ills – this is the final
proof: I am NOT a human being

All doubt falls away as I feel worse for trying
the most recommend honey cure I’ve ever
come across; I’m an alien and always will
be, maybe I’m from planet Meton like Akon
himself!

Cinnamon and Honey (Email Article)It is found that a mixture of honey and cinnamon cures most diseases. Scientistsaccept honey as a very effective medicine for all kinds of diseases. Even though honey is sweet, if taken in the right dosage as a medicine, it does not harm diabetic patients. Weekly World News, a magazine in Canada, 17 January1995 issue gave the following list of diseases that can be cured by honey and cinnamon as researched by western scientists: Heart disease, arthritis, cholesterol, colds, immune system, indigestion, influenza, weight loss, etc.

A Mysterious And Dramatic Life

One very tired secret agent taking up station
behind her desk, driving her computer to pass
the test of playing successfully at being a so-
called normal human being

But her movements are too slow, her expres-
sionless face lets everybody know that she is
there just for show; last night when she should
have been asleep

An evil potion from the confines of the deep kept
the secret agent awake and now it is too late to
remedy the situation, the enemy’s killer pie made
her stomach rumble and boil

Causing fevers to rack her body all night long, but
the secret agent is strong, weathering every storm,
even when she is tired in body and mind, too tired
to think of new ways to rewrite the story of her life

She must change her identity frequently to keep the
enemy off her trail; not sure who is friend or foe in
her life of espionage, she must keep them all on a
false trail, communicating only

With one trusted confidant who establishes his identity
with a new code-word every day; the code is unbreak-
able as it is completely mental and rests upon non-
sensory experience

No wonder the secret agent is so tired today; non-verbal
communication takes a lot of work and requires a lot of
charm from those whose lives depend on it – oh, what
a mysterious and dramatic life!

Only pity is the fatigue of course…

Hope For The Best 6 May 2009

In desperation for getting out of myself
and sharing ideas, went for a chat with
Alet and told her about the one casualty
on street with my heavy-duty umbrella

How my one and only snowflake melted
by building too many houses and how my
brother went away and how General Kar-
poesjin planned on getting married

And fell silent after we all congratulated him –
all the members of his adoring harem – and
how I was plagued by allergy symptoms this
weekend and queried the request

For comments on well-received, generally
acclaimed and highly-rated poems, how our
local celebrity poet at work is presenting a
seminar on the infinite longing for love

Where the lovers are writing on each other –
which is fine, but I prefer a longing for infinite
love that will never stop – and writing a story
on an electronic medium is more sensible

Than writing on skin – unless it is done in blood,
of course, then one can become a character in
a novel by Terry Pratchett and be a vampire
joining the Vampire’s AA

Singing songs about reformation; only chocolate
and coffee, no more blood… and Alet said she
was sure Karpoesjin would rise again from the
wedding to a love in his harem

And entertain the rest of the adoring crowd of
women; and my brother will return from walkabout
in the underveld and the snowflake will rest from
building houses sometime soon

So let’s hope for the best….

The Nun’s Beautiful Voice

What a contrast - once I’m in the grotto
where we work, I join an iceberg, turning
blue and putting on layers of clothing to
face the exciting temperature of 17 degrees
C today, with black top and blanket I’ve
turned into an old woman in a rocking
chair, it’s enough to drive any sane person
to despair, and I was not all that sane to
begin with, gone is the summer fairy feeling
and in its place just a dwarf… the only link
with reality is the nun’s beautiful voice in
my book, describing faith in miracles in
the most delightful terms…

Enlightening, Though Terrifying

I’ve found great books to read, Don
Camilla and the Devil, Comrade Don
Camillo and The Nun’s Story by Kathryn
Hulme – I’ve never read this book before,
looking forward to the ordeals of a young
Belgian nun who nursed and worked in the
Congo and Nazi-invaded Belgium, bound to
be enlightening, though terrifying where she
was nursing the insane…and on my way back
from the library I only banged one guy with my
enormous umbrella; I joined the summer fairies
today, dressed in blue jeans with my red striped
pirate shirt covered by another plain red one for
that layered look, blue bag and red umbrella too,
it felt delicious to sail down the street marching
to a loud beat fed straight into my brain by the
earphones and going right down to my feet…

The Clouds Are Crying

Now I know why the day feels
so sad, it is raining, the clouds
are crying, I’m going to take my
enormous umbrella and walk off
the killer pie that is warming my
insides so nicely right now, all the
way to the library, playing happy
songs while going on my carefree
walk, just moving like that is joy in
itself, the weather is ideal for running
away and leaving the office behind,
crying clouds will keep me cool on
my walk and life looks better again…

Tinnuting With A Tingelingeling

I have to choose in which way
I want to die – eating plastic café
food or salty offal which is slightly
worse or warmed-up chips that taste
of death after spending aeons in
refrigeration

Or a meat pie that gives sinus and
indigestion, bread cannot even be
considered, it attacks me while I’m
eating; I’ve had my ice-cream break-
fast; did not eat enough sensible food
last night, now paying the price

A ringing in my ears euphemistically
called tinnitus, my ears are tinnuting
with a tingelingeling that doesn’t stop –
I’ve decided to opt for the killer meat
pie, to taste something almost nice
before I die…

Michelin Man – Indestructible

Dressed to never be killed in my
James Bond movie at work, looking
like Michelin Man in my five layers
of clothing and a blanket in true
Basotho fashion wrapped around
all the rest, should I fall I shall just
softly keep rolling, no chance of
injury, even ten floors down I’ll still
be fine, no weapon will be able to
penetrate all these layers also – I’m
immune to attack – therefore I have
to move back into James Bond’s
camp, only players on his side are
ever so impervious to death and
destruction; James Bond,
here I come!

Attraction Rises Meteorically

An illegal dish, suffering illegally, quietly,
not whispering a word of anything, dis-
comfort; rules are purposeful, but I prefer
not to indulge in them, knowing rules in
detail makes it so exciting to breathe –
once there is a rule against an activity so
basic and asinine, the moment anything
is outlawed, its attraction rises meteorically,
the more recommendation pertaining to any
deed, its devaluation is commensurate, that
is why vegetables and exercise are the two
most boring concepts ever devised, while ma-
king love and enjoying bacchanalian feasts
always sound enchanting to the wayward
human ear, since we are born to live before
we die, I prefer breaking rules to living a
long, colourless, meaningless, boring life…

Mädle ruck ruck ruck

I tried to upload the melody
and it didn't work at all!

The War On My Chair

And I have forgotten to mention
the war on my chair, the backrest
that should bend at an angle, every
now and again it jumps forwards and
I am squashed against my desk, trying
to fix it is useless, over to Hermien,
driving my chair on wheels for fixing,
she bends it back and fastens it – I
already broke one chair – and I, two
pillows and a dictionary take up station
on the hated chair that wants to throw
me off like a bronco bull; the chair
naturally would make an ideal weapon
in our James Bond movie, squashing the
enemy till suffocating on activating a
secret lever – me being on the side of
the enemy, that task will fall to Hermien,
Jane should be the damsel in distress
to be saved, June should be Dr. No,
stroking a cat...

5 May 2009

Good Boss Is Spike Milligan

The e-mail goblin at Interpol’s magic post
are sending messages with a vengeance,
every message comes through more than
once and June has to sift through them all,
not a moment’s peace, she creates good
administration, following correct procedures
with religious ecstasy; then she has to deal
with such philistines, it must hurt her orderly
mind, I’m just so thankful the task of sorting
them out does not fall on me because I would
have joked so much we would have laughed
for a week and nothing would have been done;
when you find a gathering with a group of
clowns in the corner, this is where you’ll find
me, I’m not the main harlequin but I love to
laugh and would give about anything for a
good joke, somehow this is not a good omen
for great administration, my idea of a suitable
boss is Spike Milligan - and Giovanni Guareschi
is my idea of a great manager, just think how
much fun it would be to work with Till
Eulenspiegel, and Baron von Münchhausen
would have made a magical accompaniment
in any work situation!

A Matter Of Presentation

I carry the memory of beauty in me,
I have ‘Only You Can Save Mankind’,
‘Anastasia Morningstar’, ‘The Ordinary
Princess’ and ‘Door in the Air’ by Margaret
Mahy at the ready – but the silence in me
is overwhelming, the feeling that I’m alone
on an island simply because I don’t want
to talk to anyone – simply because there
is nothing to say

I can think of people I would like to talk to,
but they are not here, cannot give answers
to questions that baffle me, such as why I
can’t read a propaganda site without going
nuts; why I cannot concentrate today – it
feels as if I’m doing something wrong when I
concentrate on the messages received from
the one-eyed Cyclopian Interpol, he has a
single red shining eye

And a terrible desire to clobber all criminals
over the head and incarcerate them for eternity,
while I ask myself why these people went astray
in the first place and what would I have done
in their shoes – just criticizing from one side
is so self-righteous – and some of the worst
criminals live as jolly politicians – it is all a
matter of presentation – aha, this is why I
detest the propagandists

Who present my favourite mysteries like slogans
for conflicts and new religions - whereas I love to
ponder the strange and occult quietly, without
shouting down opposing viewpoints as wrong,
even materialism and status-quo positivism
have a right to exist, these esoteric prophets
cannot assume the cloak of verity while they
are just as much in the dark as everyone else
- At least this soliloquy

Counteracted the silence in my mind
a little bit…

Higher Procedural Prowess

June is indefatigable, while I’m staring
in silent elation at my discolouring skin,
enjoying the transposition brought about
by the joyous experience of freezing, she
is opening e-mails, forwarding and making
lists, instructing us to make lists also, com-
piling lists from our lists and making a final
list for the managers who can’t get enough,
counting numbers and figures, computing
statistics; sending templates and running
about, exhorting all to higher procedural
prowess and greater administrative glory;
I’m sorry to say I’m not in the same high
class of ambitious bureaucracy; I’m so
delighted by this moment of ice-cold
slowing of the movement of time, my
soul suspects higher portents and
deeper meanings, avidly awaiting
the world’s end…

Freezing Quietly - Monday 4 May 2009

Hands purple with red spots in the cold
of 15 degrees C, my head is clearing, my
soul making an appearance, freezing of
body and brain enables clear access to
spiritual truths

Feet turning into blocks of ice, we might all
end up with frost-bite, I love the crisp feeling
of being a spirit imprisoned in a body, finding
its supernatural origins as the body switches
off in the cold

To think bureaucracy gone astray gives us our
highest experience of the supernatural on earth,
the cold air blows under my long sleeves and
freezes my heart and brain, taking all earthly
ambition away

I’m as free as a bird, the need to earn a salary
is gone, even the desire for melody and song,
it is marvelous to sit here freezing quietly, lovely
feeling of nirvana, the perfect inner peace and
mental harmony

Humankind has been searching for millennia;
just join Arts and Culture in Kingsley –
and find your destiny!