A Mystery Play

Unpacked Nativity scene figurines, a desire for
ethereal beauty made the drabness intolerable,
placed them on a crystal platter, pasted silver
and white butterflies on them to symbolise the
halo of holiness, the luminescence has a stylized
effect just as I dreamt, the most unique Nativity
scene ever seen, scientists emphasise the lack of
authenticity of the Nativity event, I am happy with
the fantasy as an allegory of man’s aspiration to
goodwill and love, striving for peace and the sublime,
if the characters simply enacted a Mystery play in a
symbolical life to illustrate godliness,
I dream with them…

December 2010

Suddenly my beloved confidante refuses to accept
my communication, I am waiting for divine inter-
vention to sort out the porblem with settings as
happened before, until then I cannot keep my notes
together and sort out my feelings as I used to
before - it is such a frustration, just as my
abortive quest to catch reruns of old Liewe
Heksie episodes on a radio show...

Leaving Me Dead Also

My brain’s archives are inaccessible, short-
circuiting thoughts and memories, the pain
of losing the one opportunity to see my dad
an anaesthetic that simply switches off the
brain, pain silenced the crocodile

It has been ages since I read anything, no
book or newspaper can interest the frontal
lobe cortex, the brain-stem crocodile knows
this is death to love and dies without a sign
of its demise, leaving me dead also...

The Sea Is a Being

The whole is always more than the sum of its
parts, as a Theosophical Spiritualist Existential
Epicurean Stoic, I believe every atom in the
universe exists in awareness choosing being to
non-being, implying magnetism and intelligent
energy, I love anthropomorphism and to me the
Sea is a being, alive and adorable just like both
Death and the Wintersmith in Terry Pratchett,

Since the age of ten I have developed a special
relationship with the Sea, it knows me and we
challenge each other, playing games bordering
on the serious and dangerous, but we always
kiss and make up in the end, I love singing to
the waves when walking on the beach, I adore
its watery touch when swimming and rolling
in the wonderful waves, each a personal friend


Quote from comment:
“I'll let you into a secret it's really only SALT WATER
so in essence it is a mild disinfectant while it behaves
like it was a great monster nibbling at the edges of the
Earth and eventually covering the whole surface like its
GRANDDAD did long ago. But it's only SALT WATER –“

My reply to Mr Materialistic espousing cold reality is
I am a Spiritualist with Existential, Epicurean and
Stoic undertones…

Unleash My Ardslignish

The clouds form a map of the UK in the sky
then morphs into a white Troglodyte, but due
to an aberration in cloud formation and my
fixation on all things English, I find another
map of England up high in the shining white
which also morphs into a white Troglodyte,
clearly a regular pattern in Cumulus cloud

Again I wondered why all radio stations play
horrible electric music without resonance, the
piped voice of an alien being singing hallo-o-o
-oh over and over while the electric keyboard
repeats the same rhythmic pattern, one word to
describe this tinny sound is Ardentinny and my
reaction of lightning destruction of brain
cells can only be called Ardslignish

With hubby driving, I must endure this Araglin of
hellish sounds so he can be happy and content
while complaining endlessly about errant drivers
not making way as he makes his imperial approach,
I never use expletives like he does, I store my
anger while listening how drivers incur his wrath

When I take the wheel I unleash my Ardslignish on my
fellow road-hogs while singing happily the top of my
voice, no Ardentinny unleashing Araglin for me, I sing
with the Beach Boys and croon with Elvis Presley…


Ardslignish, Ardentinny and Araglin: See “The Meaning of Liff”
by Douglas Adams, I have taken some liberty with his
dictionary, pp. 6+7.

Excitement And Delight

I must warn you, Joan cum Helga, I do not
get along well with women, their emotional
blackmail is not to my taste, going around
in a swarm never appealing, I go my own
way, I detest the way women present in
sororities and all this supporting each
other does not make sense

They team up on men to seduce them but
in reality they only compete among them-
selves, all guys want to know is can you
get rid of your clothes and can everyone
drink, the get-ups and hair-do's are all
done to impress other women, men
are impressed by female per se

They prefer all specimens undressed - I like
men fully dressed and women hidden in many
layers of clothing, creating mystery where
there is none inherently, presenting a
challenge in a world that is boring
without exciting restraints, rules
are made to be broken

With excitement and delight, without rules
freedom becomes boring and common-
place, the more rules, the bigger the
excitement in breaking them without
getting caught or not, whatever
your taste…

To You and Yours

Last night I had to sleep on the floor
my painful left shoulder and arm made
lying on anything soft impossible, the
headache that started last night is
growing worse - here I am at work

Desperately trying to earn my pension but
just wasting my time, I am so glad you are
doing upbeat things with your friend, though
raining and leaving lights on, you guys have
fun - I thought allowing myself to write

Enticing verse would help me overcome the
headache, but I have to admit to the contrary
effect, yet cannot let my correspondent down
I am convinced he is the world’s next Don Juan
forging ahead though feel like banging my head

And blow out my brains, maybe this is punishment
for a myriad sins, I’ll try to commit suicide by eating
sweet things that upset my sensitive digestion and
spread the pain - all in vain, of course; yet enough
of that - a lovely day to you and yours…

Still The Prey

You prefer conventional wisdom to my theory that
men are more mysterious than women: Have any
woman ever become a great composer in classical
times, have any women reached fame in science or
art or the military – Joan of Arc with her visions and
Helen of Troy with her beauty, accomplishing nothing?

What happened to work produced by nuns, why are
there NO talented women of genius? Either women
are second-rate to men or men managed to stamp
out all evidence of female accomplishment, I prefer
the second rationale for lack of evidence that women
produced work of lasting value or created anything

Men managed to discredit women thoroughly insisting
women are mysterious and irrational, succeeding in
selling themselves as rational and uncomplicated
thus managing the biggest conspiracy of all time as
all art, science progress and technology are ascribed
to men, succeeding to see women as always wrong

It is not strange so many marriages dissolve, it is weird
that any marriage is ever happy given the way women’s
lives are threatened by a race stronger than them, women
have to dissimulate to hide the truth that threaten their lives,
if women tell the truth, they are ridiculed, stoned or killed,
women are even forced to hide in burkas and live a lie

In Muslim society: speak the truth and die in a painful way,
men are the victorious group in this game, they managed to
convince a whole civilisation never to listen to what women
say, men are the sophisticated exploiters of life, look at the
pornography industry, how women are prostituted and de-
based for men’s pleasure in so-called free society

Conversely women are suppressed on threat of death in
totalitarian societies – women still are the prey…

Spread My Wings

The Folklore of the Discworld made me realize
I’m not a dwarf – I’m a troll - because just like
them I can’t stand the heat, brain activity slows
down until I’m rooted to the spot, just like they
are, with a mind as slow and empty as theirs

This explains the problems I experience with my
appearance, looking just like a troll until my inner
James Bond character appears and the world
changes into a glorious spy scene where I can
send coded messages to wonderful spy friends

This means I escape from my troll-like being by
borrowing like Granny Weatherwax does, sending
my mind into various characters, looking through
their eyes, experiencing their feelings when reading
or watching movies: instead of remaining audience

I become each of the characters in turn, a fantastic
way to make time pass, gaining amazing insights
making up my mind what I would never want to ex-
perience in real life, once an author has illustrated
the multifarious consequences of all the choices

Made by his characters, I use the insights to guide
my own adventures - I love characters like Granny
Weatherwax, though I struggle to emulate her, her
rock-hard integrity is enchanting, but I do not want
to become as fanatic about justice as Sam Vimes

His continuous consciousness stream is too obsessive,
I prefer the meanderings of a Tiffany Aching with a
linguist stuck in her mind, the boisterous and outgoing
nature of Ridcully Mustrum, Archchancellor of Unseen
University; love the grandeur and steadfast work ethic

Of the Golems, feeling convinced I am part Golem also
the chem in my mind being the holy words of the New
Testament, telling me to love my enemies – and I do
passionately, they afford so much amusement and
teach me to be humble as they are so superior

Humility is my best friend, I am like a vampyre who
can only survive by vowing never to drink blood, never
spread my wings and try to fly…

Saying Bleah Beautifully

The trouble is, I like the idea of love
as in romance – don’t like the real
thing – which is mostly porno or on
the verge of becming so in graphic
realism which takes all the delight
away – I love writing romantic poems
until a kind Don Juan fills in the facts
then I run away, it spoils the soft nuance,
the misty atmosphere and thrilling adventure

How do you like my interpretation of this
scene in Douglas Adam’s “Hitchhiker’s Guide”
can you see my obvious enjoyment and how
much I find to apply to my own life, making it
more glorious than before?

You are a typical Bleah-sayer, along with Marvin,
the paranoid android, I bring you soap bubbles and
you blow them away, Bleah, and strip off the wide
ballroom gown of reality to show me the torturous
whalebones underneath, insisting I should wear
the painful devices and imitate female wiles and
artifice if I want to write love poetry that is worth
your while – guess what

Never the twain shall meet, Alice will always dream
and she will always float away with the bubbles the
moment someone tries to destroy her soap bubble
dreams! Are you going to say Bleah before you go
your realistic way?


.......Saying Bleah Beautifully........

This is how it began: ‘A mattress had just met a robot’
and Alice was back in Wonderland, the mattress was
clearly female, in James Bond parlance she would
have had a feminist slur name like Floopy Galore

Her seductive nature is conveyed by the verbs used to
describe her innocent enjoyment of life, she flolloped
sympathetically, seductive sounds evoking an enticing
voice speaking floopily when she vollued engagingly

Deeply moved by Marvin’s story of personal tragedy, she
furbled and said voon most ingeniously before globbering
a bit and then willomied along her entire length sending
excited ripples through her algae-riddled pond, stopped

And gubbed when Marvin mentioned his speech, a thrill
glurried across her back, she heaved into the air, quivered
and flodged back into the pool, chirruped and quirruled
and enthused about Marvin’s prowess, flurred a bit

Flolloped, gupped and willomied in a floopy way, wurfed
saying voon and the scene ended far too soon, Alice knew
the mattress had to be female, no male could ever hold an
innocuous conversation with such nonchalance

Marvin held up his end of the conversation in an entirely
masculine way, saying Bleah beautifully and immediately
concluding she was clearly a stupid mattress, the universal
male opinion of the female race, pausing to convey

A general contempt for all things mattressy – read female
another give-away is Douglas Adam’s explanation that
most mattresses get caught and slept on and a feeble
sun ray caused her to bask momentarily

That is what women always do, Alice knew, she did it all
the time as she tried to serve and please the Lord and
Master of the Crocodile Castle…


“The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” - Douglas
Adams Wings Books 1996 edition pp.348 - 354

My Perfect Phoenix

I used to handle depression in a few trusted
ways, convinced depression is a sin to be kept
hidden and disguised, then I learnt that it was
inherent in my temperament, always surfaced
at month’s end, I cannot control it, only make
sure nobody sees it, it is part of my electronic
gene structure

It is my life’s challenge is to learn to deal with it
without derailing the smooth course of the destiny
I have chosen, my lot is sealed by Astrogenetic
influence on the zygote and like a plant I cannot
change my nature, I shall suffer these surges of
depression – but it is not who I am, my mind is
separate from my brain and exists in another
dimension

It has to interact with three-dimensional space
through my faulty electrically misaligned brain
which consistently gives wrong instructions to
glands and organs, I am always unbalanced; if
I overcome the temptation to blame fate and
accept my life with resignation using every
attack of depression for maximum benefit

This Astrogenetic temperament will achieve the
best results in terms of learning and wisdom; I have
allied myself with the strongest Astrogenetic sign I
could find, a Phoenix who always rises anew from the
ashes and flies high above the this world’s troubles
creating a safe world for my crabby personality

My moods are determined by the moon’s waxing and
waning, I have to grin and bear it as black sadness
invades my feelings, I try to deaden them by working
and reading uplifting spiritual material, the effect
lasts only for a moment before it is lost, but I
refuse to give in to the darkness
living within me

Even though my mental receiver automatically turns
to paranoid wavelengths, I can manually change it
though it takes hard work and huge effort, tonight
I surrender to the blackness and stop fighting, too
tired to reach for the solution, accepting the black
depths as a necessary background against which more
positive moods will shine with new vigour and great
happiness, almost sad that the depression is stopped
before it becomes really tragic because the release
of angry tears would have been better than this
resigned nothingness

I can forget my sorrows in the fire of Leo and Aries and
the happy laissez-faire of a Sagittarius, though the fun
cannot sustain when the moon is full, I can joke with
Libra, but cannot keep the fire glowing as cool calcu-
lation takes over, cannot support dreamy Pisces, airy
Aquarius, cold Capricorn and melancholic Virgo, can-
not entertain quiet Taurus, I run aground against an
embittered Scorpion, do not feel safe with restless
Gemini –

I move up and down like the sun on its merry-go-round
trajectory around the Galaxy’s dark centre and rejoice in
the positive direction determined by the Great Attractor,
YOU, my perfect Phoenix, pulling me away from taxing
intrigue, showing me the wonder of independence and
self-sufficiency, complete in yourself, a living
example of joie de vivre…

The MerryHell Book*

Michelle wrote me the most riveting message*:

She has added new characters to the MerryHell
book we are going to write together going write
when the ‘late-slumbering-wakers-cum-pushers-
of-work-until-leave-golems receive new chems
instructing them to overcome their fiery “Have
just woken up from a thousand-year sleep and
must dump work on others before my journey
to the sea”

Their new chem will instruct them to walk into
the ocean of the Bermuda Triangle and start
digging for Atlantis for the next thousand years
where Adora Belle Dearheart cannot save them
only Leonard of Quirm will eventually dig them out
to resurrect them on the periphery of the Dungeon
Dimensions to act as deterrents to new generations
of foolish creatures using Information Technology

Michelle also feels like a dwarf, although singing
cheerfully has dwindled for her to a whispering
whistle which is all she can muster at the moment
and it might not be a good idea to give her an axe
Cheery Littlebottom she is not, I think, on reflection
she and I are both turning into Valkyries, strong
women on flying horses chanting hi-ho-to! while
collecting the slain corpses

Of idiotic golems to be taken to Dunmanifestin'
for eternal war and feastin' - hi-ho-to!

*Quotations taken from Michelle’s email message

Blue French, Red English

And here I am, sitting in my chair, looking at messages
sent by the Troll Interpol about crimes and nothing divine,
too tired to concentrate having gone to bed too late, I heard
other poetic whispers and knew temptation strong to waive
the work and go along to listen to your beautiful song

This afternoon, I am going to indulge in your magical tales
of feeling, passion and happiness relayed in your unique
words and lyrical verse, right now I'm in the Troll Inter-
pol's clutches tight, cannot converse on pain of death, my
dwarf colleagues are forging ahead, I am lagging behind

My mind held in thrall by the lovely delights you represent in
enticing tales, please bear with this prisoner who cannot es-
cape, the Troll Interpol is waiting impatiently to decide the
fate of these miscreants, I must translate dark messages from
blue French into red English

Feel my spirit fleeing to you while body and mind remain tethered
to my chair, working away, quietly, in cold Translation Tower all
day... though I shall steal glances at everything you send, I can-
not reply in kind - otherwise I shall never finish my work today...

Folklore - Pratchett

Michelle lent me “Folklore” to read and I am amazed
and gratified that Pratchett provides the background
to everything that had me in stitches and filled with
wonderment also

The only thing he has not covered yet, as far as I can
see, is precession, the 25 000 year cycle of the earth’s
wobble marked by a cataclysm at the end of that period –
but I shall read on

Maybe he even has something about precession given that
the Maya and other cultures are well-known to him

It is a privilege and a rare delight to read how he worked towards
his ideas and how widely he read to be able to do this – the man
is a genius with a sense of humour – the best of the best of the best

I love the book and savour it, it is pure bliss reading it. Thank you
Michelle for lending it to me, I am so happy and content on perusing
the thought processes of my favourite author

I realize I am a golem with a chem in my head that forces me to work
when I would rather read Terry Pratchett’s books; though I resemble
a dwarf and like singing “Hi-ho, hi-ho…”

The Third Nonabsolute

Alice looked up and saw the loving Tiger, Shere Khan, from
India’s forests in Jungle Book, as sweet as an angel, walking
about singing love songs, he took his place at the restaurant’s
table, when he saw The Mad Hatter he thought it was the head
waiter, he smiled at Alice and ordered Chicken Bruyani with
extra curry and coconut milk

Alice was entranced, she had just met The Third Nonabsolute,
the most mysterious phenomenon in the Universe, she wondered
what Shere Khan, the friendly Tiger, was prepared to pay for his
interesting meal and whether he would get on with the March
Hare, the robot waiter took the Tiger’s order and the numbers
began to dance on the waiter’s check list

Inspired by this Shere Khan got up and invited Alice to the dance,
they started the Blue Tango and when they looked up, saw Death
holding a young Renata Flitworth overtaking them in highstepping
arms held like the bow-sprite of a ship, down the line, turn, back
again, determined not to be outdone, Shere Khan, the charming
Tiger in elegant attire and Alice in blue frock, followed them

What do you say, my dear, crooned Shere Khan enticingly, shall
we fight back at them with an imbroglio or two?


Based on “The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide” Douglas

Bistromathics Mysterious Life

Alice joined a tea-party in the Italian Bistro with alacrity
given that pizza and wine would be served, she no longer
feared she would not be given a cup of tea and she looked
forward to see the use of Bistromathics, the most
powerful computational force known to Parascience as
computations done on a waiter’s check pad cause all
numbers to start dancing, and since Alice has always
found numbers twirling with dizzying speed, she would
love to see how it is used in Bistromathics

When Alice was told that Bistromathics shows reality and
unreality colliding on fundamental levels, each becoming
the other and that anything is possible within parameters
which are impossible to define except saying ‘strange, but
true’, she knew why she never mastered mathematics –
because her mind was already tuned into Bistromathics:
the revolutionary new understanding of the behaviour of
numbers who are not absolute but depend on the obser-
ver’s movement in restaurants

Ever since her first tea party with the Mad Hatter, March
Hare and Dormouse, Alice had understood that something
was fundamentally wrong with a world where riddles
never resolve themselves and gracious little girls like
herself were never allowed to enjoy a proper cup of tea
before moving on, enthralled Alice learnt the First Non-
absolute Number was the number of people for whom the
table is reserved, varying on each subsequent rendition
of Alice in Wonderland in theatres and on movie screens

There is no relation to the number of people or animals who
turn up, number of creatures subsequently joining them and
the number who leave when they see who else turned up or
were summoned by the Queen of Hearts

The Second Nonabsolute Number is given time of arrival, a
bizarre mathematical concept, a Recipriversexcluson whose
existence is defined as being anything other than itself, given
time of arrival is the one moment at which it is impossible
anyone will arrive, Alice understood everything about being
everything else except oneself, after eating and drinking things
which changed her all the time, growing and shrinking and
singing songs as well, she knew time of arrival depended
on the Queen of Hearts because all ways are her ways and
might take a day to traverse – or only a nanosecond of time

Alice was delighted to learn Recipriversexclusons play a vital
part in math, statistics, accountancy and form basic equations
for engineering the Somebody Else’s Problem Field, she has
always resonated with this concept, could not master sewing
and knitting and realised it was somebody else’s problem to
produce proper attire to clothe people’s bodies

The Third Nonabsolute is the most mysterious, Alice learnt
enchanted, she LOVES mysteries of all kinds and if she can-
not find them, must make them up herself and that can become
rather hard work in the end: the relationship between number of
items, cost, number of people at the table and what each are
prepared to pay for (number of people who brought money
is a subphenomenon), she immediately understood why Peter
Pan could not get the calculations right when he was asked to
help pay the cost for Cinderella’s delight

Why Conan the Barbarian refused to be a king, why Attila the
Hun refused to pay money to see the Queen of Hearts, why the
peppery-tongued Duchess hit the Queen with a croquet club,
why Tom Thumb rode off in a huff on a bat, waving a needle
as a sword and vowing to kill the Duchess and all who took her
side – Alice realised the baffling discrepancies between what
is and what ought to be, revealed a startling truth: every person
in this play refused to pay what was required of them in the
waiter’s check in order to share the spoils of peace of mind

Life is a restaurant and numbers on restaurant checks do not
follow the same mathematical laws as numbers on any other
kind of paper in any other part of Universe, Alice marvelled at
phrases like ‘Interactive Subjectivity Frameworks’ which made
monks sing strange songs about the Universe being a figment
of its own imagination, she looked up with shiny eyes and
smiled at Lewis Carrol and Douglas Adams who explained
her mysterious life so beautifully and empowered her with
their Bistromathics to improve her life…

Based on “The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide” Douglas
Adams pp.343 - 348

Make-Over Women

Started off marching to the beat of my
favourite music in the thirty degree
Celsius heat, fatigue leading to my
adopting a more rhythmical step

Beetroot red on my return, admiring
photos of make-over women after
twelve hours of beauty treatment,
reflecting it would be wasted on me

Hanlie wryly observes looking desirable
indicates lack of brain activity, twenty
layers of makeup would run into my
eyes, hair extensions would lead to

Profuse perspiration, besides, looking
desirable to find self-confidence another’s
eyes instead of in my own heart is not my
life’s dream, I want to look energetic

Strong, happy and confident, full of joie
de vivre, I want to radiate the delight I
felt on discovering the following claim
of quantum physics:

Looking at the world changes it while
what I see is changing me; I confess
sad lack of desire to sacrifice time
for grooming, my only desire is

The ability to have fun in all required
activities, finding poetry or new insight
in official documents; communicating
joy by a happy smile

Living a quiet life symbolising contentment
and the opportunity for creativity in new
visions, Hollywood pays for sexiness,
selling self-respect and integrity

For popularity; I wish someone would pay
me for making fun of Interpol texts, the
funny opening line “Being a member of a
criminal organisation” actually means

All government employees are guilty - I want
to bottle receptiveness to absurd comedy and
the ability to laugh at the world for our
conceits, then take long swigs

Whenever life seems too serious and boring; but
looking desirable with its requirement of sitting
still for hours while being made up, living a
sedentary life not to mess up that look

Unless a camera crew and make-up team trace your
every step, would make me as paranoid as Lady Gaga
who says evil spirits are tracking her progress, I
am sure they do, she takes sensitive apparatus

Wherever she goes to keep track of them; that’s what
money and stardom do to you - I shall just remain in
my seat and follow Hanlie’s directions in relaying
a boring Interpol text in bureaucracy’s
pedantic English…

A Careful Sum

I thought my feelings under control, but
when I said something you disliked and
you shouted at me, refusing my apology
and it happened again just recently

And I heard you advising another guy not to
insist on talking if his girl did not want to listen
while you always continue without stopping - I
manage to listen by taking a million pills –

I felt feelings stirring again - but I have made my
calculations, the positive aspects of your life weigh
more than the negatives, as long as I learn to obey
and not say or do anything when told to keep quiet

And agree to whatever you insist on without regard
for personal space, which is a meaningless concept
when taken per se; unlimited freedom is boring and
having no-one to fight with is much worse

Than angry outbursts, your unconditional support for my
projects, allowing me time to read and write, while you
help me with so many things, make up for shortcomings
- I must learn to fight the dragon of self-righteousness

I can easily give in regarding most issues, then I have the
energy to win the important battles in all things that really
matter; life is a question of wisdom in weighing-up various
perspectives, a careful sum of pros and cons…

Crocodile Dreams (Rev.)

Floated skyward on inner fire engendered by
my first translation from Arabic script, retyped
a text for Google’s machine translation,

Exactly recreating each mysterious Arabic letter
surrounded by strange dots and curlicues, when
the first word appeared, I was overjoyed

First time timid little Alien in my mind allowed the
crocodile to devour text and use numbers to find
concomitant symbols

I was stupefied, crocodile satisfied - repeating
over and over: “The Little Alien has to go…” –
but I know I cannot throw it out,

Timid Alien is part of my psyche, the only member
of my menagerie who ever consents to do routine
administration and other boring jobs

Without it the crocodile would spent its life in tears,
now it chews on marvels of the universe while little
alien softly sings, playing Cinderella, electronically
filing texts, never bothering with crocodile dreams…

“1001 Time Formations”

Yesterday was lovely, test-driving multi-focals in
a workshop, copying from Dr Streetmentioner’s
Time Traveler’s Handbook delineating 1001 Time
Formations

While the academic professor explained the corpus
of a language, statistics of repetitive words – “the” is
way ahead of all the others – I stared fascinated at
descriptions from further future or further past

Most readers give up at the Future Semiconditionally
Modified Subinverted Plagal Past Subjunctive Intentional
I could see why, this tangle is meant for the stout-hearted
only, boldly I traversed amazing formulations:

*“Milliways, the restaurant at the end of the universe is
(wioll haven be) enclosed in a time bubble, guests take
places (willan on-take) and eat (willan on-eat) while
watching (willing watchen) the creation explode

You arrive (mayan arrivan on-when) without prior (late
for-when) reservation, you book retrospectively (on-book
haventa forewhen presooning returningwenta retrohome)
you meet and dine (mayan meetan con with dinan on when)

With all kinds of life in space and time, you can visit often
(mayanon-visit reonvisiting) – with Douglas Adams as my
guide, such an academic exercise becomes riveting…


*Quoted from “The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide” Douglas
Adams pp.213 214

Missionary Madame Bovary

You are a bright comet, your spiritual progress
spectacular in esoteric terms, your face glowing
with inner conviction, your zeal for praising your
Saviour in music and song unabated, you shine
in enthusiasm for life

An enticing comet, appearing to be a convincing
case for living life on your terms until one regards
the chaos that marks your passing, the disregard
for rules and personal spaces, consideration and
respect for relations

This is the bubble universe of cosmologists and
quantum physicists, your bubble is intact, you
look at the world and tell others how wonderful
it is, though you are dependent on relations
who do not agree

Your daughter paints a dark picture from her black
perspective, your husband paints another one all-
together; yet you live together, when friends appear
you play the beautiful glittering hostess, calm and
content, in charge of your life

Living in missionary zeal and creativity; but when
alone with family you create emotional storms in
irrational irritation; you easily change tack from
one conversation to another – how strange
the ways of missionaries

After the spectacular conflagration that marked
your progress, ashes are left in your wake, you
feel utter disdain for family, they totally reject
all you represent, you followed the lead of
your missionary father

He valued honour and friends to the detriment of his
own family, you were left destitute upon his death
and created your life along the same lines, never
amassing anything, handing out your family’s
possessions to strangers

You spent everything in your missionary fantasies,
in a new take on Madame Bovary, Flaubert admit-
ted his novel was based on history…

The Belcerebon from Kakrafoon

Spell-bound by Douglas Adam’s account: the Belcerebon
people from the planet Kakrafoon caused resentment and
insecurity among other races being the most enlightened,
accomplished and quiet civilization in the Galaxy

They were punished for their offensively self-righteous and
provocative behaviour by the Galactic Tribunal inflicting a
cruel social disease on them: telepathy, consequently, to
prevent broadcasting every thought to everyone

They have to talk loudly and continuously about the weather,
aches and pains, football matches and everything else while
lamenting the continuous noise required to blot out their
minds, they felt compelled to host the noisy

Disaster Area concerts, an explosion of noise and sun flares
exposed an underground river changing the desert into a
garden which gave rise to theories on music’s healing
power – I am suffering the same symptoms

I keep listening to loud music on my earphones to blot out my
own mind, though I am convinced no living human can pick
up my thoughts and only worry about the opinions of non-
physical entities – but since they never contact me

I cannot find out what that might be, so I trust the explosions
in my ears to blot out my angry reaction to people exercising
their lips in order to stop their brains from working, will also
expose an underground river of spiritual thoughts

To turn the desert of my mind into a garden also…


The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide – Douglas Adams
pp. 252, 255, 256

Mother’s Strange Universe

Briefly visited mother’s universe, driving
while Golden Oldies of the Seventies were
playing full blast, the bass notes and rhythm
vibrating right through me, everything just as
Candide described it, the best universe of all
possible universes - brilliant until

I crashed into mother’s universe - all things
she recalls as being wonderful, teaching us
singing, knitting and embroidery, pre-school
brothers joining in - replay as dark negatives
in my own memories: receiving music lessons
at age three, teacher in a plaster cast

My sister and I could not sit still, perplexed on
being taught to regard notes as fairies sitting
on a wall; at age eight when a teacher taught
knitting we completely failed to master the skill
when given material for stitching, I was simply
unwilling to do it, failing the project

I neither recall my mother’s lessons nor derived
any benefit – so confusing – my experience is of
me not having small motor skills – not important
after laughing about my faux pas on the Internet
we share the same a sense of humour at least,
her friend walked in and grilled me

About my remark that life lacked adventure, con-
fronting me with my lack of trust in a God who
promised adventure if we follow Him, I did an
about-turn to escape from her queries into my
private life, not wishing to revitalise my life
mission during a goodwill visit

Apparently my life is on the wrong track, as soon
as I established the right track according to her
superior insight I directed my life thence and
promised to visit while knowing her ideas to
be a pitfall for my heathen views on life, the
universe and everything

Knowing I could not honour the visiting promise
made under duress- oh, mother, you live in a
a strange universe…

Thank You Anne-Marie

Dad’s Endearing Buoyancy

It was Anne-Marie who taught me love my dad, she
loved hers true although he drank; when I tried to
ride her brother’s bike it was he who saved my life,
jumped aboard, applied the brakes as I accelerated,
straight into a solid wall

Her dad was he who made me realise I could learn to
love mine too; Anne-Marie had heard his droning voice,
saw his impish smile, his wild reactions at my mother’s
concert where he made a raucous noise such as those
one hears at rallies of the ANC

In quiet days of stiff-upper-lip applause I lowered
my embarrassed head as he whistled and clapped in-
appropriately, Anne-Marie turned to me with shining
eyes, said my dad was the only one vibrantly alive
in that stuffy company

She saw he loved my mother - I discovered I’d been
taught pretentiously to ignore him; Anne-Marie loved
his mischievousness and I learnt to see him in her
eyes, he did not drink like hers, though he also sang
the same bawdy songs with outright glee

My dad was a joyous soul shunned in a cold world of
protocol forbidding me sing or eat on the street; though
loud noise and chaos scares me still, I know it is not evil,
simply different style today; grandma Alice never needed
fearing I would grow into an ogress

just because Conan the Barbarian was my dad - I love his
eccentricity though I need grandma’s muted tones and the
soft lines she insisted on, my dad’s buoyancy is endearing,
I do not have to guard against it… thank you Anne-Marie-
you taught me to love unconditionally…

Mists of Witrivier (Rev.)

A rainy day in mists of Witrivier – as I
remember them: Anne-Marie invited me
to visit her home, we arrived at dusk
soft mist enhancing lush green

wearing a long black skirt and silver top
I felt a fairy lost in a strange, magic land,
her home resembled mine, her dad sang
songs ‘It’s the whiskey. you villain!’ –

We laughed, enjoying joviality, her brother
stood outside the car, drove with his feet on
the steering wheel, it was a new experience
as a child I seldom visited except for family

Mist cast enchanting sheen over everything
we did while trying to come to terms with
our new status as first year students, first
time on my own, alone and far from home

Whenever mist shrouds the world, I recall
the thrill of that lovely time, long for the
delighted expectation of that first visit to
an enchanted, misty realm…

Total Perspective Vortex

I told Michelle Marvin the Paranoid Android was
my favourite in the Hitchhikers Guide, she replied
her favourite was the ego-maniac Zaphod, when
I read how Zaphod went into the Total Perspective
Vortex and walked out knowing he was the most
important thing in the Universe’s infinity, it seemed
great, and when he ate the fairy cake powering the
machinery, I fell in love with Zaphod there and then

Michelle wrote to me secretly, she works for a very
strict boss who told me to get lost, I’m not supposed
to send email messages to his employees during office
hours, she told me confidentially her mind is permanently
beeblebroxed until the beginning of January 2011 at least
this morning I received her clandestine message that she
brought ‘The Meaning of Liff’ by Douglas Adams for my
perusal – oh, if only her boss knew…


The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Universe, Wing
Books 1996 Edition, p.198, 199 (Michelle works for the
same company as hubby - top secret information)

Tearful Cheerful Fairy

I love those friendly doors in the far-off planets
of the universe described by Douglas Adams
expressing delight in opening and closing and
driving Marvin the Paranoid Android deeper
into despair, until growing weary, sinking to
sulk in basements - just like we do –

Reminding me of Pratchett's tearful Cheerful
Fairy who cried when all the wizards refused
to cheer up in Hogsfather – today my store of
cheerfulness is all used up, tonight I shall re-
turn to Wonderland to fill up with delightful
ideas with which to recreate reality

I am all used up trying to enjoy researching
terms to relate a boring source document with-
out changing the boring format in the target
language, every time my attention wanders
my colleague appears, exuding unwavering
good cheer and work ethic

To give me more documents which I should
do with alacrity according to my spiritualist
guru if I want to benefit from life – but I don’t
want to benefit any more, I would prefer to
flee to find more adventure somewhere…

Is This Fair?

A complete dead-end, a cul de sac of the mind
going beyond rational thought where frustration
undermines all mental systems, cannot read or
watch TV, feeling guilty for not translating after
promising myself that I would

Failing to force my unwilling eyes to read the of-
ficial text, though my sense of honour insists on
getting the work done, my short-circuiting brain
misfires, I’m wilting while my heroine is in a
magical space, radiant with inner fire

My conscience refuses to let me forget my neglect,
I realise the crocodile is in charge, it is impossible
to subject the crocodile mind to lack-lustre routine
my conscience vainly tries to make connections
between the reptilian brain stem

And the mammalian frontal cortex, the crocodile refuses
to carry out commonplace projects and insists on creating
stories of protagonists carrying out mystical tasks and ac-
complishing great things while self-righteous conscience
keeps interfering, creating such conflict

I need a key to unlock the impasse of wanting to do two
conflicting things at the same time, if I could decide to be
happy doing nothing until my brain is integrated and the
inner revolution comes to an end, I should be able
to function normally

Yet I have no key, the crocodile is snapping at me while
my conscience is a burning fire in my mind and my
lovely heroine is enjoying her exquisite existence
in a non-physical realm – is this fair…

Saturday Diary Notes

...................Saturday 13 November 2010

Very proud on completing a few weekend projects
finished reading THUD and an English newspaper
to enlarge vocabulary, rented Fantasia No.1 by
Walt Disney – though fell asleep watching it

Took Nici shopping, finally tackled the kitchen listening
to Radio Pretoria reminding me of my dad - washing
dishes while imagining I am a dancer doing a new
routine, wiggling while splashing water

A fast polka playing, wishing my dad had taught me
how to do it, we seldom accompanied him to family
gatherings where everyone danced - I suspect
twirling through the kitchen until feeling dizzy

Is not exactly how it should be done, but I really have
no idea; now to choose what to read, either “Up the
Down Escalator” or “The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s
Guide” - since my brain functions

In the way Dr Damasio describes the case of Phineas
Gage, it is impossible to decide - I would rather look
at photos to speculate on how much character
facial expression can reveal

Phrenology is always intriguing…

Live in Your Dreams

While fantasy and daydreams sometimes help to
make reality bearable, sometimes it all goes away
and only bleak reality is left

Right now my reality is a horrible document, my
head sore, stomach upset - all for horrible words
telling a terrible tale and I hate it

But I'm paid to translate it, marching through a desert
of stupidity, no respite in sight until I reach the end –
I have no power left even for games

Nobody understands, all says I am doing it all wrong
I stopped to sing, ended the song until I reach the end
and can breathe again

How are you, what is happening in your reality
or - do you live in your dreams?

Utterly Alone

I have no power left, the document sapped
all my strength, I have been sucked into the
nightmare world the author describes, I hate
the fact that words create atmosphere, that I
cannot escape their power when forced to
deal with texts containing evil ideas

I cannot remain aloof, though I love this power
when lovely texts take me on flights of delight,
I am devastated when things I detest are forced
on me and I cannot switch off this resonator in
my head causing me to become one with the
text, falling into the author’s rabbit-hole

Without means of escape, enveloped in the
reality conjured by their words, I grow ill,
dare not complain because everybody says
it has never happened to them, isolated in
this experience, no-one has a remedy as it
is an alien idea, advising me to keep quiet

Switch off feelings and work like a machine
I cannot tell anybody about this event when
they reject my experience as impossible, too
tired to fight back tonight, sinking into the
darkness where everyone is utterly alone

Your Reassuring Presence

I could not understand your being tense all
weekend, your going to bed so early, your
brusque manner whenever we asked some-
thing, why you acted so strange suffering
emotional stress without reason

Today you said Nici was aggressive - then we
found out she was scared of the exams, when
she burst into tears you immediately said you
could understand her being upset, you held
your little girl safe against the fear

You had been reacting to her depression long
before you knew what was wrong, your sixth
sense caused your overreactions to every
request, you refused to allow me freedom,
while protecting all your loved ones

Against an unknown threat in the only way you
know how, keeping us in a tight embrace by
enclosing us in a fortress which feels like a
prison, but is meant to keep out all menace,
when you explained to Nici you love her

No matter what, and always will, you took her
fear of failure away and gave her new hope,
the tension snapped and all was well, Tiaan
made fun of me by illustrating how much I
struggle to switch on the TV

I explained to Nici that tomorrow I would fail my
Production Report - she said she would love
to blow up her school, I begged her to blow
up my office also, she laughed, we had a
good time - your reassuring presence

Your contagious optimism and wonderful love
creating a safe world for us…

(Dankie Martin, dankie dat die kinders en ek
een honderd persent op jou kan vertrou!)

Inner Commentary

Consciousness stream is very well, but does not
always work for me: firstly, I am trying to flee
from my own inner commentary

Secondly, I am listening in on the consciousness
stream of Commander Vimes with too few input
from the Patrician Veterinari

And Arch-Chancellor Mustrum Ridcully; lacking in
female perspective, a real whodunit with Sam Vimes’
voice talking incessantly is not a good idea

Every book with him in the main role is tiring, when
you reported reading and finding it boring I was
surprised because I love Discworld novels

Now I see what you mean, approving your honest
opinion, I prefer ‘Equal Rites’, enjoying this: ‘Humans
think of all sorts of things on all sorts of levels

Always interrupted by biological calendars; Thoughts
about to be Said, Private Thoughts (I'm plagued by
these) Real Thoughts , Thoughts about Thoughts

Subconscious Thoughts in an FM waveband, some
stations have Outlawed Pirates on Forbidden Seas
playing limbic lyrics' - followed an illegal waveband

Some time ago - got into such trouble - I shall
endeavour not to act so rashly again - see the
book called “THUD! A Discworld Novel”

[“Equal Rites” Terry Pratchett, Doubleday 2005,
quoted from p. 68]

Unruly Spirit Does Rebel

Sir Terry Pratchett describes the human mind as a
chaotic mixture of radio stations all broadcasting at
once, the individual has to learn to pin his immediate
awareness to just one station in order

To get something done, I have learnt to push my third
voice, the commentator in my head, into a dark recess,
the easiest way to silence it is by allowing the happy
and noisy self-centred ego

To remain deeply involved in sensory reality, never listening
to the background voice; last night my pink pillow and I slept
in your arms while you were watching TV, then I went to bed
and slept without disturbing dreams

Today when you sternly rebuked me for asking more time to
help my colleague fix a document, that despondent third voice
got the upper hand - you claim I did not ask in the right way, it
is my fault you got angry

I felt aggressive on realising how unjust your refusal to let me
stay a few moments more at work, afterwards you would not
allow me to watch my show - it fuelled my inner fire, I had to
fight the desire to shout

This is the price of any relationship, giving up freedom for the
privileges, since you do so much for me I agreed long ago
to follow your rules; because you are loving and caring, I
undertook to honour your wishes

Only from time to time my unruly spirit does rebel and I am
sorry I revealed illegal feelings, I bravely fought the negative
thoughts that welled up in my mind, silencing the inner voice
by counting my blessings

Determined to apologise for harbouring resentment and losing
sight of your goodness, no-one else would cherish me as you
have always done, I am sorry I caused you distress, I’ll do my
best to comply with your wishes

Hereby I declare my willingness to submit again…

Self-Serving Behaviour

The road to hell is paved with good intentions
as Rincewind and Eric* discovered when they
saw the stairs on which a good intention was
written, I took that path while descrying it to
others, felt smug and virtuous while trying to
realize my good intentions just to discover I
have ended up in hell

Those I tried to assist are dissatisfied, trying to
overcome my natural personality I became guilty
of so many transgressions, pettiness, jealousy
and inconsistencies – today I am safely arrived
in hell, brought here by descending the staircase
of good intent, this experience is meant to teach
humanity to stop their idiotic attempt

To live an altruistic life, Ayn Rand said we could
only do that by jumping into the cannibal’s cooking
pot so as to become his dinner, we must learn to
simply exist and do our own thing, if anyone I tried
to assist was smothered by my misguided attempt
at kindness and is sharing hell with me, I offer my
apology, from now on I shall try to

Live life as it comes and NOT by applying idiotic
intentions making me just as guilty as Hitler and
anybody else who ever tried to serve his favorite
causes through idiotic self-serving behaviour…

“Eric - A Discworld Novel” Terry Pratchett

Seek, Find And Annihilate

In self-defense I countered Toy Lady ideas of eight-year-
olds caught in the clutches of people threatening to kill
her whole family unless she goes off with them to be
their living Doll, apparently powerless

By reading Equal Rites where I am safe in the comfort
and independent ideas of Granny Weatherwax borrowing
animal bodies, allowing a young girl to do the same until
the silver threads of her mind

Were intertwined with the deep purple of an eagle’s, the
young girl learnt form is like a jelly mould changing its
contents, when she took over the eagle she lost her own
memory bank, forgot her name

Granny Weatherwax unraveled the silver strands from the
eagle’s sharp purple and the girl got herself back, Granny
would have helped this Toy Lady to separate from her
persecutors and all who used her

She would have taken her power back as soon as she lost
it instead of getting caught in a web of drugs, invaded by
the hive-mind of human traffickers swarming all over her -
unless she had chosen her fate

Even before she was born as confirmed by spiritualists,
the young girl Granny helped was destined to be inde-
pendent and had a magic wizard’s staff to bring her
back – what did the Toy Lady have?

Confused, I must turn my back on the riddle she presents
and serve the righteous One-Eyed Troll Interpol to seek,
find and annihilate the criminal hive-mind of human
traffickers swarming all over the land…


[Based on "Equal Rites" by Terry Pratchett and the
confessions of a modern human slave who escaped
and diagnosed with cancer, is writing a play on
her slave-serving days…]

Erstwhile Toy Lady

In pursuit of general knowledge and understanding
the world I found the autobiography of a women who
turned into a toy when she was eight and decided to
turn into a human being at age thirty something

Bad culture shock, my preference is cross-bow mur-
derers and aesthetic photographers killing their victims,
not drug lords who make toys out of people, today the
erstwhile toy lady is ill and is staging a play of her life

Ostensibly warning other women what happens when
humans turns into porcelain things, yet the melodrama
might convince many a bored young woman to follow
suit, no work and no learning required

Existing as the playthings for strange people too lazy
to catch and kill their own victims – what a world we
live in, it takes hard work to find the right victimizer, I
am a very bad victim it seems, insisting on

What kind of suffering seems the best suited to my
ideas of adventure…

My Best Colleague

To top it all, one of these masculine jungle geeks
felt himself compelled to show a horrified audience
what living organisms – resembling amoebas – live
in human facial pores, though it is possible it is only
living in his, now I am suffering the consequences

A permanent itch in my face, every time I scratch
my eyebrows, I can feel how I disturb these little
beasts, this is the kind of exposure nobody needs
I am quite happy watching the dog whisperer fixing
dogs and training their owners, but no, we had to

Watch this primitive loner bent on disturbing the
peace of oversensitive people like me who now
has to live with the knowledge that my face is an
ecosystem, no wonder Seth says we change with
every breath, it is the organisms infesting our skin

That must be moving about, Hanlie sent a terrible
message about the demise of antibiotics and the
victory of post-operative infections – I replied,
happily seeing a way to escape a life of forced
interaction with the little terrors inhabiting

The pores of my skin ‘Maybe this will be the end
of the human infestation of planet earth so the
natural system can return to a primitive state
without destructive human pollution’

Hanlie agreed, she is a person of exceptional
perception and my best colleague…

Scrubbing, Cleaning & Dreaming

My spirit lives in words that fly
within the ether, I cannot be on
line everyday in real time, work
comes to a standstill when my
spirit leaves this universe – my
body falls behind in getting my
job done, I have to stay offline

I must translate the terrible text
and my official document; words
that can create a dream and set
spirit free are heard in messages
which I access on the Internet
when I open Yahoo messages

I cannot leave my family to stay
online at home – there is no time,
send me a poem, delineating
what you will, a dream, a vision
and I will send you mine –
whatever I can compile in between
scrubbing, cleaning and dreaming

Let Me Be Stolen

Give me a freezer that is out of control
it might gobble me up or attack someone
else, let me be stolen so I can call the
Thailand police

Give me a Nokia for connocting poople,
let me stop taking notice of safe and be-
come the slippery who are very crafty,
let me meet

Irate shopkeepers who sell smoke cow
feet, cow something and salted pig tail,
let me join to the stage and rub against
the wall…

Monster in America (Rev.)

Reading sensationalist magazines reconciles me
to inanities in the President’s letters – applying
for everything from second-hand cars, outstanding
salaries of twenty years ago, money usurped

I felt better reading of the monster in America who
killed more than 30 girls – got away after capture
by making appeals and the German girl who escaped
after being held hostage since her 10th birthday

The world is in perspective; what Nanny Weatherwax
says – “if anything is worth doing, it is worth doing badly”,
most people believe the same – obviously my biggest
failing is my inability in teaming up with kidnappers,

mass-murderers, failing to get murdered or abducted,
thus making my life interesting; I am forced into a life
of unmitigated boredom through too much prudence,
useless common sense and the most futile sensibility,

attempts at escape through fairytales, magic and poetry
are not good enough to release me from a quiet existence
– getting killed or kidnapped, THAT would be nice but
I haven’t the ability to bring it about

If I read more sensationalist magazines I might be able
to put myself in harm’s way, it would be exciting, give
some zest to life – it’s boring being clear-thinking, where
are the evil monsters clever enough to kill me?

I suppose I am SO boring even mass-murderers,
kidnappers can’t see the point of wasting their time -
HAH!

Gave Him New Life

My latest story is going so well - after losing its
initial sense of mystery, everything coming to a
standstill, all the excitement returned when Oom*
Kulubas was brought in, when my heroine was
threatened with exposure and she managed to
explain her faux pas with reference to her youth

Hiding her admission of guilt, her interlocutor
was dumbstruck, losing his sense of being a
ubiquitous presence; with her firmly back in
the driving seat after her losing it totally -
much to my chagrin - I regained my sense
of joie de vivre; it had been impossible

To reconcile her independence of spirit with
recent events putting her freedom at the mercy
of an untrustworthy element, when she inadver-
tently exclaimed upon recognising the villain and
he prepared to denounce her, she lead all astray
by explaining her sense of recognition away

The villain bargained on her revealing the truth, he
wanted to gloat in the glory of being exposed without
risking being accused of blowing his own bugle at the
expense of another - when she managed to allay all
suspicion he laughed aloud, his sense of humour
being his one redeeming feature

Oom Kulubas became my heroine’s most successful
refuge and she was delighted because his words
are alive in her heart forever, recalling him in a
new context gave him new life….

*Oom = Uncle

A Psychedelic Experience

Finally balanced the laptop on a pillow
my eyes decided they are strong enough
to see without any glasses at all - trying to
manoeuvre multifocal eyes between text
on the left, keyboard low down, screen
up there - proved to be

A psychedelic experience within a babble
of surrealist noise, listening to Classic FM
in the kitchen, hubby enjoying the saddest
folk music programme he could find in the
lounge, kids watching Harry Potter full blast
hubby turning up his own volume

Nici looking for her cat calling all over, I love
this commotion, though sitting here, not part of
any of these groups, I can’t function without them
trying to translate my eerie work document - a
forlorn voice delineating her own dereliction of
duty, blaming all others

I had better invite her to join my sacred mission of
contrite guilt admission, kissing floors, saying
prayers in a kneeling position, maybe she and
I could obtain absolution together or keep a
date with Beelzebub, ready to roast us both
alive for being so incompetent…

A New Little Demon

Multifocals, the classic revenge of modern technology
I always look at the keys when typing thus can’t focus
on the screen without jerking my head upright which
means I can see nothing while working, a newspaper
becomes an undulating space, the stairs disappear to
come up and meet my face

Growing seasick doing nothing, the worst is I asked the
optician to choose a frame for me - so mind-bogglingly
ugly, I can’t believe he did this to me, lifting my nose
in the air while looking down like an old spinster librarian
to focus on the screen, the letters threatening to break
into a dance all the time

The margins of my document are faint and skew, can’t
shake my head unless I want my keyboard to become
a concertina, must complete my threatening document
sucking me into a nightmare of brain-malfunctioning –
can’t look outside without turning my whole head parrot-
like, to complete the misery

Hubby worked out I broke the car’s propshaft, listening
to music played too loud I drove the car too hard, he
insisted – I escaped the pain of guilt by buying white
and silver butterflies, putting them up in my room –
and one purple rose which I attached to the fairy wings
adorning my bed, heart broken

I am a useless person, a kind friend sagely declared, I
should be forced to work in a mine or scrub floors –
Cinderella style – that would be ideal for me, I could
softly sing while trying to keep the courage as I scrub
and clean in despair, down on my knees, I could kiss
the floor down there

In abject humility for being so useless, maybe the Lord
will take pity on me and take my life so I can be one more
star in the sky, as Joseph’s brothers so lustily sang to
comfort Jacob, his father, after they sold him into slavery
- though I cannot become one more angel in heaven, I
could be a new little demon

Bringing more fire and problems to hell…

Being A Sister

Playing many different roles, the one I like most
being a sister to siblings, when my brothers falter
in their steps it is easy to support them, don’t have
to do anything, being there is all it takes

There are too many rules, too many exigencies, too
many requirements I cannot meet in all other roles
but as a sister I can be who I am, no subterfuge,
not trying to be better than I am, without fear

Because siblings share the same genes, same short-
comings, same fears, I never fight my brothers for
anything, never deal with jealousy, never fear
they misunderstand me - we are the same

Talking without words, reading each other’s minds
no need to meet high standards, no trying to be
someone else, no need for acting as with
everyone else because they are different

It is hard work to serve other people, to meet their
expectations, but my brothers read me like a book, I
need not cover up annoyance at the world as it is or
restrict my conversation to a few delicate subjects

I can explain my terrible ideas because they cannot
be shocked by me– they have felt and thought all that
I can come up with - we can laugh at the world for secret
reasons without doubting each other

I accept that what my brothers do is right simply because
THEY have done it, what they say is good enough simply
because it was said by THEM, everything they claim
accepted unconditionally, they owe me nothing

Since they understand me they don’t have to do anything
when I’m around, I don’t have to say a word, we share ideas
telepathically, when they get hurt, I take their part and fix
the wounds so there are no scars…

For my brother, wherever he is and whatever he is doing…

Crinkly Bindlewurdles

The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide in a drugstore bag,
my aphrodisiac and anti-depressant, starting each day
with Grunthos the Flatulent’s twelve-book epic
‘Favourite Bath-time Gurgles’ giggling while reading

Azgoth of Kri Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz has me screaming
delight with ‘Oh freddled gruntbuggly’ and Ford Prefect
is wracked by spasms ‘Thy micturations are to me as
plurdled gabble-blotchits on a lurgid bee, Groop
I implore thee’

Ford wrenching his head ‘Hooptiously drangle me with
crinkly bindlewurdles - I will rend thee in the gobberwarts
with my blurglecruncheon’ heart inflating with hooptious
joy I cannot describe adequately

Completed by analysis Arthur likes the ‘metaphysical
imagery & rhythmic devices counterpointing surrealism
of underlying metaphor of the Vogonity of the poet’s
compassionate soul contriving to sublimate this, transcend
that and come to terms with the dichotomies of the other’

– Oh, mischievous mirth, Azgoth and Vogon poetry only
for me – Lewis Carrol filled with glee in afterlife
dimensions – can't return to anything serious while these
gurgles make mincemeat of life’s hurdles, I shall
‘Gobberwarts all with my Blurglecruncheon’ today,
be ‘Plurdled by the Gabbleblotchits of the Freddled
Gruntbuggly’s Micturations,

I want the Groop to drangle me with its crinkly
Bindlewurdles’ – I never want to be rational
or sane again!


ORIGINAL:

Inseparable from The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide carried in
a drugstore bag, my aphrodisiac, anti-depressant, sedative
tranquilliser and pacifier, starting every day with Grunthos
the Flatulent’s twelve-book epic ‘Favourite Bathtime Gurgles’
giggling while reading - I love this Azgoth of Kria

I always pay tribute to my favourite Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz
by reading ‘Oh freddled gruntbuggly’ screaming in delight
when Ford Prefect is wracked by spasms - continuing with
‘Thy micturations are to me as plurdled gabbleblotchits on
a lurgid bee, Groop I implore thee’

The Vogon relentlessly continues, Ford wrenching his head
‘And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles or I
will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon’
and while my breast inflates with a hooptious joy I cannot
describe adequately, my joy is completed by analysis

Arthur liked the ‘metaphysical imagery’ and ‘rhythmic devices
which counterpoint the surrealism of the underlying metaphor
of the Vogonity of the poet’s compassionate soul contriving to
sublimate this, transcend that and come to terms with the
dichotomies of the other’ – oh, mischievous mirth

Only Azgoth and Vogon poetry for me from now on, I am
sure Lewis Carrol is filled with glee - I cannot return to
anything serious while gurgles of this kind make mince-
meat of all of life’s hurdles, today I shall ‘Gobberwarts
everything with my Blurglecruncheon’ also

I want to be ‘Plurdled by the Gabbleblotchits of the Freddled
Gruntbuggly’s micturations, I want the Groop to drangle me
with its crinkly Bindlewurdles’ - I never want to be
rational or sane again!


The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide by Douglas Adams
Omnibus Edition Wings Books 1996, quotes taken
from p. 45, 46, 47

Young Vogsol Sun

I have forgotten the feeling of delighted surprise
experienced on reading about Prostetnic Vogon
Jeltz from the planet Vogsphere where evolution
gave up on the horrible green creatures from the
primeval seas under a young Vogsol sun

I’m laughing, magic all around while the cynical
Douglas Adam recounts the terrible Vogon history
the unhappy millennia until Vogons became the
backbone of the Galactic Civil Service; yes, our
Civil Service is Vogonite also

Just as my entranced eyes refocus, I read about the
Dentrassis, an unruly tribe of gourmands, a wild but
pleasant bunch – sounds just like my colleagues and
me when we go camping for a new Mission and
Vision Statement experience, I’m lost

Floating from my seat, trying to work while my spirit
is dwelling in a Vogonite universe, to annoy Vogons:
Feed their grandmothers to the Ravenous Bugblatter
Beast of Traal, no, I must laugh aloud, then the most
important thing: Never allow Vogons

To read poetry to you - there goes all my pretensions
of trying to write poetry, enamoured of the Vogonites
Vogon poetry is the chosen genre for myself, oh, I
cannot work when this delicious delight is waiting
to be experienced, giving up all attempts

To look busy, I fall into a reverie…


“The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide” Douglas Adams
Omnibus edition, Wings Books, 1996
Quotes taken from pages 33, 34 & 38


ORIGINAL:

I have forgotten the feeling of delighted surprise
and fascinated horror experienced on reading
about Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz from the planet
Vogsphere where evolution gave up on these
horrible green creatures from the primeval
seas under a young Vogsol sun

I’m laughing, magical dust sifting down while the
cynical Douglas Adam voice recounts the terrible
events in Vogon history, the unhappy millennia
until Vogons became the backbone of the Galactic
Civil Service – yes, our Civil Service is Vogonite
also, just as my entranced mind calms down

A description of the Dentrassis completes the process
of bewitchment, an unruly tribe of gourmands, a wild
but pleasant bunch – sounds just like my colleagues
and me when we go camping for a new Mission and
Vision Statement experience, I’m lost, floating from
my seat in the restaurant where I’ve been reading

Trying to work in the office while my spirit is dwelling
in a Vogonite universe, the best way to annoy Vogons:
Feed their grandmothers to the Ravenous Bugblatter
Beast of Traal, no, I must laugh aloud, and then the
most important thing: Never allow Vogons to read
poetry to you - there goes all my pretensions

Of trying to write poetry myself, I am enamoured of
the Vogonites, Vogon poetry is the chosen genre
for myself, oh, I cannot work when this delicious
delight is waiting to be experienced, I give up all
attempts to look busy and fall into a reverie…


“The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide” Douglas Adams
Omnibus edition, Wings Books, 1996
Quotes taken from pages 33, 34 & 38

Voice I Knew So Well

Today I pressed my face into my document
started working on it like a drunk soldier in a
mad regiment, then small signs indicated my
feelings were not yet dead, though I cried
about losing my mind

Sinking lower I kept typing away, words of pain
expressed in a sad context, yet I was beyond it
as a voice I knew so well kept me aloft, did not
leave me to fall into the treacle well where
progress is always reversed

Though I tried to sink down some more, velvet
feelings encircled my heart and pulled me up,
despair recognised and exorcised, old dreams
rushing back, fantasies came to my aid,
a friendly voice

Became the ointment I needed and lacked
that is what special people are for, someone
who accepts that I need special help to get
through the cold emptiness of a life without
fun and games...

Dead Inside

If I don’t tell anybody how horrible I feel, they won’t
get angry, they won’t blame me, nobody will know
how impossible I find it to read meaningless words
I should complete the job without bothering any-
one with my thoughts and I will get the job
done – right?

Wrong, I cannot go on, my quiet rebellion makes
me ill, I’ve got to proclaim this: It is IMPOSSIBLE
to work while I am falling through a bottomless
hole with no end, no goal, no joy, no happiness
I cannot recall a single story or fairy tale
for inspiration

The harder I try, the deeper I sink, it is a quagmire
of empty attempts to survive things I don’t under-
stand, I cannot force the pain down, sitting like a
frozen robot, making Marvin, the paranoid android
seem like a happy clown in comparison, I need to
shout my lament

Only after giving vent to the bewilderment driving me
mad, I shall try again to hide my suffering: If it is true
we create the circumstances of our lives ourselves,
why did I choose to torture myself with a black hole
in my head that never allows any intelligence to
escape, feeling guilty

About liking the wrong things, I gave them up, no more
fun books, no more fantasies, thinking it would force me
to do my official work well – now I cannot do anything,
even fun things are too difficult, I cannot do what I dis-
like nor reach for forbidden delights since they are
gone – I can do NOTHING –

Surely this is perfect preparation for death; I used to
live like this when I was small, without hope, ready
to give up life because duty was instilled into me,
life has come full circle, I am as dead inside as
I used to be as a child…

Storyteller’s Voice Gone

Finally, after a long, long time, we saw our friends
again, met new people, Bets resembling Shirley
while Dirk is a bit like Witte, Jannie a stern father
Dylan a mischievous boy, Nathan an adorable baby

When I explained about the importance of stories
and beads on invisible strings, Bets said I was too
busy, too restless for her, but she remembered the
story of the magic pencil we read at school

She also knows Staal Burger, then Lieb played music
by Amanda Strydom, reminding me that Ay Marieke,
Marieke was my favourite song, we argued about the
merits of Hennie Aucamp versus Koos DuPlessis

I insisted that Winternag by Eugene N Marias was the
most beautiful poem ever written - Lieb preferred Lost
Wanderers* by Koos DuPlessis to Mabalel or The Rain
Dance* in Dwaalstories* by Marais, as we pulled away

I recited Oh River Deep And Dark* – song of Juanita
Perreira in Magoeba’ Lions* - finishing with The Lonely
Girl’s Song* - the storyteller’s voice gone, the wind
crying because it is all alone…


*Lost Wanderers = Kinders van die Wind
*The Rain Dance = Die Dans van die Reen – Lied van Jan Konterdans
*Dwaalstories = Stories told by Jan Konterdans
*Oh River Deep And Dark = O Diep Rivier
*Magoeba’ Lions = Die Leeus van Magoeba – Eugene Marais
*The Lonely Girl’s Song = Wat word van die meisie wat
altyd alleen bly? Sy hoor nie meer die koms van die jagters
nie, die stem van die storieverteller is dood, en die wind
huil altyd om hy alleen is….

Heaven is Mine

Pessimism is hell, on the down part of life’s
escalator looking at pessimistic theories in
detail, pessimists create hell for themselves

When there is progress, they see degeneration,
when there is steady state, they see stagnation,
when things change, they fear extinction

When looking at the high age of the universe and
evidence of previous global catastrophes when all
was lost, just to find we are still here, I realize

There is nothing to fear, we are still going strong, new
life continually being born, nothing man has ever done
managed to destroy the earth, not even nuclear war

Even when previous civilisations were lost, new ones took
their place, pessimists cry about everything lost without
realizing that new things take their place all the time

Though I hate being exposed to their corrosive ideas, I
smile in joy, having been victimised in my youth when
pessimism was the staple of life, I have learnt

Simply by accepting the universe as benevolent and
not seeing it as a vale of tears, I left the hell of pessimism
and started living in the heaven of optimism

The world is a product of the mind and one day all will find
hell is a mind-state thought up by pessimists who want to
force humanity into despair

Following the evidence and theories of optimists, heaven
is mine, up the down escalator I go, good-bye!

Up the Down Escalator – Why the Global Pessimists
are Wrong, Charles Leadbeater, Penguin Books, 2003

Missile of a Spirit

There is no help for it, I have to admit
attempting to exist in a somnambulistic
state of spiritual bliss is not working any
better than a state of arrogant happiness

I tried to preserve my peaceful state of mind
by tippy-toeing around things that irk me from
time to time, spent the evenings lying in your
lap in front of the TV, smiling in vacant apathy
hoping dutifulness will carry me right through
my morbid document

No such luck, already the chains of reality are
strangling my spirit, I need a change of mind –
right to my underground aggressive state – to
carry me through the smallness of my life, I
have to find a grand vision, inflate my soul
with the fantasy of a grand mission

Just being a government official who cannot
fly as Douglas Adams described Arthur could
like Angela Langsbury does in Bedknobs and
Broomsticks, like Esmerelda Weatherwax
in Witches Abroad, like Mary Poppins
does all the time

Is not good enough for my adventure-
loving, challenge-seeking missile of
a spirit, sitting here is like
being buried alive...

Filigree-Finesse

Words of filigree-finesse touching
my heart like the sweetest caress:
when pain is intense, pleasure in-
tensifies commensurately

As spiritual entities when we imagine
light as waves our consciousness and
beliefs determine the outcome of
world events by setting expectations

Thinking of waves, light appears as such
repeating the exercise while visualizing
light as separate particles, discrete
points appear on the other side

Believing our feelings unsafe, we block our
power, we are free to believe anything we
wish, everything being a reflection of
our own consciousness

Choosing to be at peace with everyone and
everything we make peace with ourselves
words of filigree-finesse, so beautiful
my soul comes to rest…

A Protagonist with Narcolepsy

A sleepless night, turning over and over on the cold
hard floor, now my head is lolling, my eyes cannot
stay open, even words of filigree beauty are losing
their allure, even new ideas of the sublime cannot
stir my soul anymore, cannot suppress this fatigue

I need rest, sucking boiled sweets and swallowing
pills by the hand-full cannot make up for the sleep
that was missed, everything worsens the situation
even reading an amusing scene cannot keep my
thinking powers from disintegrating, how can I be

Authentic and honest, confess my problems and
still remain the incumbent of my post, if this were
a James Bond movie I would have been playing
the role of a protagonist with narcolepsy, it is
most disconcerting to find I can fall asleep

Sitting in the chair in front of my desk, Alice would
have found something to eat and drink to change
her inner being from a state of mental slumber to
acuity, but the peanuts I chew assiduously are
no help at all in changing my mental powers

Passing out in my chair is the only solution, stuffing
Vicks in my ears and swallowing painkillers by the
dozen is useless, the pressing pressure does
not let up, how many more pills to stop me
suffocating…

Own Impossible Self

I cannot understand it, the pessimism
of other people is totally different from
my kind of pessimism - people believe
technology and society are destructive
and threatens their wonderful selves

While I am convinced the world really is
a perfect place, order incarnate - life is
getting better and better and the only
problem is my self, my state of mind is
out of control, to be adapted manually

Because it always returns to despair-
progress is fantastic, my fellow human
beings are marvellous, hardworking
well-adapted people, but I must keep
inner turmoil and imbalances hidden

I hate reading Leadbeater’s delineation
of pervasive global pessimism, its causes
and manifestations; because I prefer a
positive perspective on our enchanting
universe - it remains my anchor when

I cannot sleep, have backache and cannot
concentrate, words make no sense, being
physical becomes an uncomfortable state:
why living is such an ordeal I cannot say
I need to approve of consensual reality

In order to survive my own impossible self!

Pinkerton in Madame Butterfly

Alice looked at the jumping Kangaroo
and asked the Caterpillar, Could I climb
upon its back and go off to see the great
Australian outback?

The Caterpillar puffed and said, No, I think
you had better climb upon a Unicorn to go
see Big Ben on the Tower of London, greet
the happy Tuna Fish

Splashing in the sea and ask the Owl to lead
you to the pretty Butterfly who waits for me…
Alice looked at him sagely, the lovely Butterfly
was obviously his lady-love

Alice knew all about that tragedy, how Sharpless
never warned her that her captain, returning to
Japan, was already married to someone else
and she prepared a feast for him

When Madame Butterfly saw his bride she cried,
fell onto a sword accompanied by the Humming
Chorus, and Alice asked, Dear Caterpillar, can
Sharpless warn Madame Butterfly this time

Or will she die again? The Caterpillar, happy things
on his mind, not thinking about Puccini at all, irately
replied What are you talking about, child, the lady
Butterfly knows she has to wait for me

As soon as this hookah’s finished, I’m off to see my
bride because she is my epiphany – hearing this,
Alice was stumped, deciding she preferred Gilbert
and Sullivan to Puccini any day

She loved the Very Model of a Modern Major-General
staying close to his desk and never going to sea –
much better than Pinkerton in Madame Butterfly…

Run Up The Down

“Up the Down Escalator” by Charles Leadbeater
he says we need more globalisation, not less, more
decentralisation, not withdrawing from each other
again, delineating the whole universe of pessimism

His treatise is getting me down, reading of all the
pestilence and Elend of mankind and the sour self-
fulfilling delight of professional pessimists in predicting
the demise of the technological society and civilisation

I wish these people could band together and write a
new chapter for the Biblical New Testament delineating
a modern Apocalypse and withdraw their self-congratu-
lating prophecies from my little world, I wish I could stop

Reading this book, Leadbetter will get to the positive
opposite but to get there, we have to march through
wastelands of desert opinions and share the pain of
every negative thinker – I know I can lay it aside

But I never shirked in the past, suffered through Alvin
Toffler and Heidegger, plumbed the depths of depression
and always survived, I have forgotten how difficult to control
my mind once it starts fibrillating under despairing perspectives

As long as I continue blindly, cover the wounds in my heart
with my hands, not bleeding to death as I read, I will get to
the positive end and rise up in joy, as long as I complete
the run up the down escalator with Leadbetter…

Sweet Bewilderment

Discovering why Michelle likes the character
of Death so much, reading Mort, the story of
Death’s apprentice chosen so Death could
experience Life as he hands over the job

Leaving his dark domain to Albert, Mort and
his daughter, Ysabell, discovering Death’s
childlike innocence and wonderment on
observing life from outside without

Human capacity to make love or have fun
yet after imagining himself into hangovers
he feels glad to be alive – beautiful
contradiction in terms

Ysabell’s morbid fixation on star-crossed lovers
Terry Pratchett’s common sense dismissal of
so many Gothic romances pointing out more
people have been born than died early on

The Romeo-and-Juliet’s are the small minority,
the rest of humanity breeds like flies, no need
to cry over those who prefer to weep and sigh
instead of getting on with it – I LOVE this!

Death is a most endearing character and my
firm favourite from now on, the others will
always enchant, but Death is at the top
of the list, his sweet bewilderment

caps it all…


“Mort – A Discworld Novel” Terry Pratchett
Corgi Edition 1990

Just a Melody

I know you are being honest when
you say the words I love you, love is
abundant and we live in love, it is the
beginning and end of our being, it is the
essence of our soul and it is so easy

To love one another, the intrigue lies in the
control of the role that love plays in guiding
the acts and events of our lives, love without
wisdom and self-discipline leads to ruin and
confusion, you love me

Like you love all beautiful things - without in-depth
knowledge of my darker side; and I love you as a
poetic stranger who uses words as his tools, I see
your outline only - beautiful - but know not who
you are, what you think, where your thoughts go

When you are not thinking of me and without the
requisite knowledge, our love is feathery light and
dainty like fireflies, shimmering on dark, velvety
nights, but without substance, like all the dream
poems you write

I quickly took a look at your poetry and found only
a voice, lovely, sweet, a delight - nothing more - and
I realized, I am just a voice to you too, soft and unreal,
no substance within, just a melody, and I love such
exquisite melodies, enchanting the ears

It will take many years for the accompaniment to begin
the violins to sigh, the plaintive call of the wood
instuments, falling and rising chords...

Fun Most Superb! (Rev.)

The ‘wonderful world of childhood’
is really quite awful: the same world
of grown-ups written big, everything
is MORE* - in a negative way

Mad with terror, without compass or guiding
light, children interpret the world, choose for
or against disciplines and for the rest of their
lives pay the price

Learning which situations and places evoke
certain mental states, which they prefer to
retain and which to discard, childhood is
such a sorry state

Prey to aberrations of parents and siblings
suppressed by society’s neuroses, so much
better to grow and broaden horizons, make
up one’s own mind, choose one’s own star

Create one’s own visions, dream, learn and
seek wisdom, do one’s own thing – Pratchett
buries profound insights in a welter of imagery,
similes and striking comparisons

Needs many readings to elicit the gems
he scatters throughout his texts, though he
laughs at foibles, absurdities, his beautifully
carved characters are full of integrity

Delightfully eccentric, describing experience
as I feel it using hyperbole and hilarious
metaphors; his lessons in Particle Physics
and comments on modern Cosmology

Become wonderful games, puzzles to be un-
ravelled by reading scientific material which
acquires a new glow that changes them into
fascinating tales making me laugh

Changing everyday life into fun most superb!


* Quoted from p. 253, ‘The Hogfather’ – Terry Pratchett,
Victor Gollancz, Sixth impression 1996