Soft Teddy Bear

Alice had escaped from the Queen of Hearts
and the White Queen and she was glad to see
the great Knight on his noble steed and behind
his shining armour, she saw the lovable face of
Mr Teddy Bear, so she ran to him and he hugged
her tight.

Then she told him earnestly: You are not a Virgo
though born on 8 September, you are a Capricorn,
strong, self-confident, given the time of conception
nine months back from your birth

Capricorn follows rules – Capricorn actually makes
rules – that is how strong you are, you take a situation
in hand and tell me my life – you are earthy and sensual
and Moon Maidens are always overpowered by your
strong self-confidence and willingness to be au naturel

Moon people use clothes as a shell for self-protection and
only go out fully clad, only swimming in our birth-suits in our
own backyards at night.

You are not a Virgo who criticizes and acts the part of a martyr
you never suffer waves of shyness and anxiety, you do not
worry a lot and do not suffer from hypochondria – in short,
when you look at Virgo and Capricorn, you share a lot, but
your essence shows you are not shy Virgo, but
strong Capricorn.

The Knight stared at Alice intently – Young lady, he said, if
you were thirty years older or I were thirty years younger,
I would have made you my Moon Maiden for aye, there is
a smile on your lips, a look in your eye, that betokens
something that I would like to add to my life…

Then Mr Teddy Bear took off his knightly armour and ran
into Alice’s arms, how was I, dear Alice? he asks, she
smiles, kissing his soft Teddy Bear face and whispers
in his hair, I love you, Mr Teddy Bear, then tells him
how good he was as her Knight – that she loved
him all the while…

That night when she went to bed, Alice held on to her
Teddy Bear, kissed him good night and feel asleep
with him in her arms, a delighted smile on her lips,
while the Nutcracker got up softly when he heard
her deep breathing, to go and fight the Mouse
King while his little Mistress was happy
in her dreams…

Open The Tome

Alice is tired after dancing with Mr Teddy Bear
she knows there are still a myriad messages to
translate, it is already late and she did not sleep
much last night, the flowers are softly humming
and in the distance she still hears the strumming
of Imp Y Celyn’s eldritch guitar

The chord of creation is still sounding in her ears
and she dreams of the dance in a dress that reflects
the magic of years, Mr Teddy Bear went to bed after
dancing with her and her porcelain doll is rocking him
to sleep, Alice wish she could join the happy domestic
scene, but in the open-plan office

The show must go on, one-dimensional, movement
churning like a small maelstrom right in front of her
not sideways or backwards or upwards or any other
kind - Alice would like to go travelling in her mind -
send the tentacles of her thoughts onto the Internet,
to the waves of information

But the dance and the song is over for now, Mr Teddy
Bear is in dreamland, Mr Nutcracker only a chimera
and she sighs as she opens the tome which was
sent by Madame De La Pompadour…

Locked the Door

Have you ever locked the door to
your mind like Zaphoid Beeblebrox
to keep yourself from experiencing
your own thoughts?

It is a real uncomfortable situation
and I regret this course of action
but at the time I saw no way out
in order to protect

Everyone I love and how else than
by standing guard at the door of
ideas to fight all threats to what
keeps them safe

Especially when the biggest threat
is my own ideas - I tried to find the
meaning of life, fell in love with
ideas and thoughts

Just to be told that the symphony I
heard does not exist, the tunes in
my head shall not be played and
sung – so I began

To bury them safely till the day I can
use them as a blueprint to create a
new world…

Lightning In My Soul

And in the ties that bind we found that perfect sound
the music in the mind as you explain how you came
to play music on guitars and charm people near and
far

I love singing, trilling on a note that reverbrates
through my being, changing me into a musical
instrument so that I become a bell, a violin,
a melody

A song myself, I am wild, cannot be tamed, I
am passionate, cannot calm down, I feel the
lightning in my soul, then you catch me with
the melody

In your verse, the rhythm of your rhyme, your
dreams of things ethereal, your visions of pure
spheres turning in infinity, the lighting flashing
brightly

While the music that you make surges through
my heart, changing my appearance through
the feeling, setting me free...

Spectres Haunt Me

There is a fast spinning top in my head, turning
faster and faster, I cannot concentrate, I run and
run and my mind jumps from subject to subject
in abject confusion, only calm down long enough
to make funny remarks to the ladies running the
library, time is in flux, dilating and contracting and
spinning and stopping

I shall not go to bed tonight, it is idiotic turning over
and over, when I looked in the mirror, I could not
recognise my own face, the stranger is rather ugly
and unfriendly, when I do something it feels as if I
am doing nothing at all - bibliotherapy, I got a few
books to see me through these unsettled times
when I sit still I feel the fear

Growing as I cannot get a grip on my little world
my thoughts are so confused, everything feels
wrong, I have lost the melody that used to span
the themes in my life, all is reduced to filigree
the outline vanishing, sounds drive me nuts, I
feel a deep need to cry and long for a stable
comfort, finding none

Every step scares me, when I sit at my desk
spectres haunt me, whispering voices promise
the loss of friendship and love, all because I lost
my security when the kids left – the awareness
of their consciousness gone, left a hole in my
heart…

Demon Drink

Tired after the mad rush of today to translate
a typical soap opera conversation, he said, she
said, someone asked, the chairperson replied,
trying to keep my brain awake when desultory
remarks posing as minutes change it to mush

I must continue at home, stay in this uniform flow
until I reach the opposite side of this river of words,
churning about, foam afloat and nothing else, tonight
must be the final attempt, due date’s tomorrow, oh
night of sorrow, I foresee dipping my boredom

In the much deplored demon drink of moral Topaz
McGonagall – and who can blame me…

Namakwas of the Kamiesberg

It is lunch time, I am staring at lovely names
first the Klein Namakwas of the Kamiesberg
the Namas and Klein Korana Huis, also the
First Nation of the Northern Cape, and then
The Khomani San

Le Fleur representing the Griquas on the
Council, I always dream on words like
Kamiesberg and Koue Bokkeveld and
the beauty of Namaqualand, the
Outeniqua mountains

With steam trains where the Griquas
and Khoi-San enjoy their lives
in the sun…

No-One Left

When Anne Franck and her family hiding
in ‘Het Achterhuis’ was discovered through
a traitor’s words and Anne was taken to a
concentration camp, her hair all shaved off
her sister dead, father and mother lost

She cried and said, over and over, ‘There is
no-one left, there is no-one left’ and there her
own life stopped, that sad moment in time is
still in the air, every time I come across the
memory of Anne’s last words, I cry again

For her there was no-one left, what happened
afterwards in non-physical consciousness is
anybody’s guess, it cannot be fathomed - the
broken-hearted moment shall endure beyond
the confines of time for evermore…

A Purplish Hue

Today the auric light surrounding me proved
to be blue, recognised it immediately when I
saw blue felt and looked upon blue sequins
with a purplish hue

After the first jolt of recognition I did not trust
my instincts and turned away to search all
through the shop, yet felt compelled to turn
back to purplish blue

Adorning soft, heavenly, watercolour felt – I
am trying to position the sequins before gluing
them into place, yet have not yet found the
perfect setting for them

My soul resonates with the purple tones in the
sequins, I hope to find a vision to indicate how
they should be spaced to recreate the ethereal
feeling in my mind

I envision a cascade of shining sequins pasted
in such a way to represent flowers blossoming
in purple bunches, a clear fake snowflake, pure
and translucent, on one side

Like a message left for Tiffany by the Wintersmith
with a dewdrop web spinning circles in between -
so easy to imagine, so difficult to bring about…

Way Back When

I realized the advantages of being without
kids when you told me about your Internet
research, when I could go skinny-dipping for
the first time in fifteen years, when I got to
watch comedies on M-Net Series all by my-
self, when I jumped into the swimming pool
at twilight, I lost twenty years

When I got to sitting around in my swimsuit
I lost a few more, it is great to have a full
house, but when it is just you and I, it can
be better still – I hope others do the same
Internet research to keep them abreast of
statistics on things that make life worth-
while, it seems that when

The kids leave we do the same things we
did way back when…

Beautiful Spectres

After a restless night she got up bleary-eyed
sad for the minutes that would take her hours
to read and relay and edit and heartily detest
but then she found a surprise gift in the mail
sent by her new poet friend, a true leader and
dreamer - a very special verse

She read it with shiny eyes, dreaming of people
with hearts of gold holding visions and dreams
untold, swirling within the misty air, she gloried
in a new life with many poet friends and said -
thank you friend, thank you so much, I love
this gift - and your excellent poetic touch

Some of us would prefer writing poems till we
drop dead on our desk, I would like to sing songs
while making a mess of the boring official text
I have to relate in the language of the intended
recipient - it is difficult not to wish them dead
or under an evil wizard's curséd spell, when I
read words that have no meaning, no feeling

No interesting content, nothing I can relate to
but as you said, we have to earn our daily bread
and bosses must poke, send threatening notes
though we cry in the night for visions of poems
visiting us like beautiful spectres during the day
we must keep our feet on the ground and churn
the grindstone, turning the mill of time

Trusting one day we shall be free to indulge this
strange wish and desire for words that sing...

Film Stars Like You

Went on a James Bond 007 mission during lunch in the
sizzling sunshine, the clarity and brightness unbelievable,
the sky a most intense blue, tree leaves emerald beauty
among diamonds, felt so pleased to be alive, did not forget
my mission, as I strode with firm James Bond tread, a guy
in a suit wanted to shake my hand, I refused, knowing the
warnings of strange objects concealed in hands

Then he said I only shake hands with film stars like you, and
I knew my James Bond 007 aura was doing its work, recognized
without saying a word, laughed at his improvisation, appreciated
the compliment, the electromagnetic effect of the positive thoughts
changed my appearance, when I looked in the mirror I saw a
different person, all glowing and smiling and though she left
when I sat down at my desk, it is great to know

She is around somewhere to return when no more boring
work is to be done…


Now the yawning phase as a result of my James Bond mission
thought Tonic Water has minimal sugar but now I am so sleepy
cannot keep my eyes open – and oh sadness, learnt that Daan
Retief, the velvety voice of Staal Burger died in 1990, no hope
for a GPS – though enough remarks might be compiled from
the radio episodes, driving with Staal as my guiding light is
the most fun besides reading Terry Pratchett - at home I’ll
sleep a while before tackling my document, tomorrow I’ll
stay on the straight and narrow, must learn to accept
boredom as a way of life…

Superboring, Megameaningless

Ha-ha, it never rains but it pours, just when
I finished lamenting the dictionary list to be
updated and retyped, just finished strewing
ash over my head while sitting in sackcloth

Hell upped the ante on me: A meeting held
in English, an idiot keeping the minutes in
Afrikaans, now this idiotic text to be trans-
lated back into English; people are mad

Mad, mad, I shall take several kinds of drugs
and knock myself out in order to read this
superboring, megameaningless text, at the
moment I cannot bear to look at it

My self-righteous indignation at scribes taking
minutes behaving like fools is too big, I have no
self-control left with which to force myself into
acceptance of a completely farcical job

I can barely manage to tether my mind to the
scintillating books of Terry Pratchett, to direct
my wildly gyrating mind to a set of nonsensical
minutes is more than I can accomplish

Playing meaningless games is only bearable if
one can have a good time along the way, in my
present mindset there is no chance of this at all
I shall lie low, waiting for crisis management

I do not think it is possible to translate a text as
bone-dry boring and useless as this even if my
life were at stake, death is preferable to this
any kind of horror is better –

Now how to get to get run over, killed, hung,
poisoned, destroyed, kidnapped, fall
unconscious, disappear?

Singing Valkyries

Hell is not killing harmless people and sending
them to the Happy Hunting Ground or dining with
the gods in Valhalla, though being carried by the
singing Valkyries to Wagnerian music is another
kind of hell in itself

But hell is instituting a useless, self-important,
despondent bureaucracy with self-righteous,
depressed officials in charge keeping count of
everything, as long as it cannot contribute to
the happiness of mankind

Counting hours spent flat on your back in a chair
typing boring words until the mind turns to sludge
gloomy, unimaginative, obsessive, keeping people
alive in order to torture them in prolonged life and
forcing everyone to pay taxes

To keep the terrorizing system in place, making up
imaginary health problems in order to subject and
pitch one group of experts against another, as long
as nobody wins, increasing overall administrative
prowess, boring each other

Changing the whole world into a general gloom…

Eric - Terry Pratchett, Victor Gollancz, Vista edition
1996, based on description of hell p. 57

Lose Ability to Focus

Thought keeping the dictionary list open on my desk
would be red-hot motivation to tackle a job that makes
my hair stand on end; not so, I feel more depressed
while it accuses me of lack of interest

I detest looking up interminable lists, ISBN numbers,
prices and dates, cannot think of a way to deaden my
brain to force it into obeisance, when trying to do this
work, I lose ability to focus my eyes

My IQ, low to start with, falls to below zero, I do not
understand what I see, yet cannot bail out on grounds
of incompetence because I am paid to do the job of a
brain-dead zombie, somehow

I must reach that emotionless state where work is
possible simply because all my feelings are dead
I am aiming for mental death, what is the shortest
route, how can I bring this about?

Though I must confess that eating pizza last night
given my allergy, is one of the contributing factors
to my mental sluggishness, but still, if the future of
making up lists were not so dark and menacing

I would not have eaten pizza, trying to die through
the allergy, I would have tried to feel well to enjoy
my life, instead of trying to commit legal suicide…

Temporary Respite

The highlight of my morning was when I met
union members in the lift - calling each other
comrade, then as they left I called after them
Goodbye comrades! they burst out laughing

I complained about the Wimpy’s broken ice-
cream machine, plain cream does not have
the right taste or consistency - listening to
Shrek II in French while trying to serve

The one-eyed Troll Interpol is not a great success
too many sound effects, bored I wonder why Seth
insists all degrees of awareness experience joyous
existence in endless movement

My little personality needs to send out tentacles
into everything to find an interest to make routine
life liveable, wishing for bigger consciousness as
life within my cranium seems extremely limited

I am reading Maskerade by Terry Pratchett finding
temporary respite in his satire on the foibles of
society; but now I must kill my brain to start
research on dictionaries to compile a list...

Self-Made Prisons

I am so glad I learnt I was not intelligent
when I was small, that I was made to see
how humble I was meant to be because I
could not master routine work, even when
I manage to acquire some accomplishment
it becomes a taunt because it always seems
meaningless in the extreme to me

I have to earn my living by overcoming many
shortcomings - the inability to perform under
conditions of extreme boredom - the absence
of challenge and excitement, my system making
mastering repetition well-nigh impossible; my life
is dedicated to laws, rules and regulations which
have no spiritual or moral application

I am aware life is a game, we make up rules and
follow them in order to fabricate root assumptions
as a basis for reality, existence and ideas, it has no
eternal validity, it is confining and restrictive, and the
only reason I have to follow it is because I am in this
physical prison until I die - while my entire entity - the
complete gestalt of which I am a part

Is unlimited, free, and waiting for this little personality
I have become through so much pain and suffering, to
catch up and fuse again with the larger being that is the
whole me - being small and insignificant like this in order
to understand the concept of self-made prisons is no fun
at all and I am heartily sick of playing boring games…

Glad When I Cry

Still laughing about your remark that Father Ted in
the BBC comedy show must have been created by
someone totally inebriated, the most illuminating
aspect is the complete cynicism of the clergy illus-
trated in the priests refusing to pray for divine inter-
vention when their plane is bound to fall

Reminding me of the fate of Anne Franck, innocent
young girl dying in a concentration camp - people
represent the only power there is having been given
free will, only through wisdom and intelligence can
man save himself, Anne Franck’s father did not use
his sense to flee from Hitler’s forces

After negligence, no amount of prayer can suffice as
quantum physics makes clear, the world is changed
by consciousness making decisions just as I am bound
by my ideals, all desires that threaten my original wishes
are never realized, falling into oblivion; I never knew when
I chose integrity and nobility as the highest dream

The price would be so high – that I would have to forego
so many things I desire, but I am glad when I cry…

The Scintillating Text

Seth points out consciousness is free to
creatively add to its own quality, break the
barriers of its specialized system of reality
to gain a new type of existence in a given
physical dimension

The only changes I have wrought was to
underline words in my book ‘Seth Speaks’
with my glitter gel ink pens, adding shine
to the scintillating text that fascinate me
so much

I copy all outstanding ideas in my fairy dairy
since Seth says we create our reality by means
of our emotions and perceptions, my choosing
this lavishly decorated book is a declaration of
intent to beautify

And idealise my physical world by focusing on
specific thoughts, Seth says by guarding their
thoughts, non-physical beings gain control of
their environment and direct their feelings with
pin-point precision

It is sobering to realize that I have changed nothing
else, unless it is taken into account that Nici went to
a ball in a wonderful gown with a fantastic hairdo -
a small silver bag and matching shoes, that Tiaan
is a sweetheart

But as for breaking the barriers of my reality system, all
I have done was to laugh aloud while reading Reaper
Man waiting at the hairdresser’s, Pratchett states
Ridcully ‘formulated the most genteel battle cry
in Bowler history’ p. 167

Since his swearwords turned into nasty insects that perched
on his hat, he had to cry ‘Darn them to Heck!’ to start the war,
at least most people do not change a hairdresser’s space into
a reading room, but I doubt whether any real barriers were
moved…


Seth Speaks - The Eternal Validity of the Soul – Jane Roberts
Prentice-Hall 1972

Reaper Man – A Discworld Novel – Terry Pratchett,
Victor Gollancz, 1991, Quoted from p. 167

Accomplishment - Friday Night

Oh, how the gods love me, sending me adventure
and excitement, challenge and delight: looking up
the information of five dictionaries, reading numbers
and titles and changing the format and layout of tables
and columns, this is what I was born for, this is the reason
I am alive, this gives meaning and colour to my life

Everything else fades in uniform grey as this uplifting task
beckons to me to follow it into the valley of delight, the vale
of joy, the dell of the sublime, celestial moments like these
keep humans alive, add spice and flavour to life, how could
I ever have thought of a James Bond or Terry Pratchett when
life offers me the wonders of accomplishment

Research of the most heavenly kind, this is nectar and ambrosia
to the searching soul, balm to the restless spirit, this means the
world is getting better and better all the time, looking up
numbers and facts is the only way to spend one’s time
in a noble way…

Miracle Too High

Left without the fire of desire after taking in
toxic poisons, starting the Russian roulette
swallowing all pills in my possession, taking
them in twos, any change is fine, even sinking
deeper in depression is better than hanging in
the space between the Dungeon Dimensions
and reality such as it appears

There is nothing I fear more than being caught
in boredom, even barbed-wire thoughts painfully
exploding in my consciousness is better than ‘die
Langeweile’ - one Taugenichts reporting for duty
any feeling will do to take away the lethargy, aaah
I am growing sleepy, this is much better, now to
continue doing boring routine work

How other people remain sane while typing inane
lines of useless terms is a miracle too high for me
to understand…

Le Disque-Monde

Le Disque-Monde est un monde imaginaire
médiéval, fantastique, parodique,
absurde et comique

Développé par Terry Pratchett, écrivain
britannique, dans la suite de romans
Les Annales du Disque-monde

Un univers où règnent l'irrationnel, la
satire et le délire


http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Disque-monde

Disque-monde
Un article de Wikipédia, l'encyclopédie libre.

A Meaning For Life

What a day, finished a list of all the work I did
translated the words of a convicted criminal -
attended French class and relished the text of
Muriel Barbéry about grammar as the doorway
to beauty

Collected Nici and her marvellous evening gown
discovered my thundercloud top with silver lines
of lightning was torn - questioned Willem about
court cases in an attempt to reach enlightenment
tomorrow

I shall finish ‘Reaper Man’ by Terry Pratchett and
search for meaning, Muriel Barbéry’s book is about
planning to die and I understand why, it is so difficult
to make up a meaning for life; the moment I have it
the allergy

Takes it away, only I do not believe in suicide since
all spiritual texts agree that reincarnation would bring
us back, I would rather finish ALL cycles of life once
and for all and continue consciousness in a great
new dimension

Of a quantum physical multiverse, if Lobsang Rampa
is right I shall meet Spike Milligan after death because
he suffered from depression just like I do, I just work
very hard to hide it all the time…


‘L’élégance du hérisson’ – Muriel Barbéry

All Is Dark

Have you ever fallen quiet in your mind,
bored with your own thoughts, have you
ever experienced the inner eye of the storm
where nothing evokes a response from the
fluctuations in your mind, where all is dead
and quiet, and forcing yourself to continue
with routine activities is like sitting alone on
a desert island accomplishing nothing, totally
isolated, far from everything, meaning, signi-
ficance, future, past, alienated from your own
present also?

The magic lives in our own eyes and when their
light goes out and there is no external source of
life, all is dark… last night I had such fun singing
hymns in Afrikaans to modern tunes, this morning
my mind is empty, no resonance between my duty
and what I feel within – I am dead inside, not a word
or feeling, emotion or sentiment remain; I am swinging
like a pendulum between the high-tension wire of my
book, Pratchett’s Reaper Man, where Death is sharing
his life time unselfishly with a little girl to keep her alive,
tension mounting

And the routine work on my desk, without heroic meaning
only a convicted criminal claiming he is innocent after indict-
ment for rape by an apparently brain-dead woman who would
cry wolf upon nothing happening to her, why he thinks anyone
would believe him after his descrying the whole legal system as
corrupt, I cannot fathom; with the bottom falling out of my reality,
only Pratchett’s ‘Reaperman World’ shines like a light and when
looking away from the pages, I am in darkness, without
communication…


Reaper Man – Terry Pratchett, Victor Gollancz, 1991

[Psalm 42
“Soos ‘n hert in dorre streke skreeuend dors
na die genot van helder waterbeke, dors my
siel na U … ja, my siel dors na die Heer, na
die lewensbron, wanneer sal’k na swerf-
tog en benoudheid…” gesing op die wysie
van “and then I go and spoil it all by
saying something stupid like …”]

A Viable Option

Oh devastation, there goes the blood sugar, plumbing
to the depths of a blood sugar graph for an all-time low
cannot remain upright without strain, sleepiness like a
creeping narcolepsy stealing over me, I feel catatonic
unable to make choices and fight this thing

I have taken all pills available, but as I have confessed
already, the guilt is all mine for overindulging with syrup
and cream, sweetened coffee and waffles that soothe my
spirit, just such a pity the body has to pay the price for all
these offences, I had better run out into the street

And brave the heat to regain some energy or die in peace
sitting here while dying inside is not a viable option…

***************************************************

Aha, had a wholegrain sawdust sandwich masquerading
as chicken mayonnaise and feel better again, ready to
continue the most boring document, given my deep inner
need for noble deeds and grandiloquent speech

Here is where sacrifice for life comes in: In order to remain
a member of Madame La Pompadour’s team, I must be in
my seat typing frantically while looking straight ahead, not
making remarks about the boisterous noise of the

Administrative gang who seems to go into overdrive whenever
something triggers their sense of fun, listening demurely as our
local singer of American spirituals burst into jubilant song, and
I agree, nobody knows the troubles I’ve seen...

*****************************************************

Nope, emergency measures not working, blood sugar plummeting
again - this time I splurge on boiled sweets received after every
illegal meal at the Wimpy, anything is better than this feeling of
falling, though I shall regret this later-on, luckily, we can only
ever experience the here and now and while my present is
better, I shall allow the future to take care of itself…

Dancing with imaginary Partners

Sacrificing something special for a higher ideal, showing
compassion where it has not been earned, saving a life
from a burning inn at the cost of one’s own right to live

Since I prefer crying long before something bad happens
I choose to give up what I covet immediately, crying in the
pain of heart-wrenching sacrifice, knowing that later

The joy of the objective for which I have suffered will take
away my tears and heartache, even while giving up and
watching myself having the experience, I already feel

The promise of future joy deep in my being, the comfort of
knowing that I will not reproach myself for throwing away
long-term advantage for the brief spark of short-term fun

That will leave a bad taste in the mouth and memories that
sting and burn, though I very often fall victim to self-pity, the
reassuring knowledge of long-term objectives keeps me safe

From total despair, sparkling humour revealing pretensions
always comes to my aid, and after laughing and singing a
favourite song and dancing with my imaginary partners

I feel warm and vibrant inside, ready to create a new dream
so as to help reality expand through the constructive use
of fantasy, contributing colourful visions….


Reflections based on events described in:
1. Reaper Man – Terry Pratchett – Victor Gollancz, 1991
2. Phantom of the Opera – Andrew Lloyd Webber

[Unfortunately this only applies to important decisions
while giving in to all small temptations, when there is a
choice between fasting and eating, I overeat; domestic
chores and swimming, swimming always wins; admini-
stration and translation and reading a book and writing
prosody, I always choose reading and writing; keeping
quiet and making a noise, I sing at the top of my voice,
when hubby says nobody uses cue words I pick up
more cue words than before…]

Glued to my Dreams

Watching Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Phantom
DVD while keeping Terry Pratchett’s Maskerade
by my side, while the movie presents youth and
beauty, and accidentally, a cute little voice, Terry
Pratchett is poking fun at current society’s fixation
on presentation, when Christine looks THIS good
she must have the role, she shines with innocence
and beauty, any one else with a better voice is side-
lined, you can teach Christine to make a voice, but
you cannot teach a bad-featured soprano to entice
the audience with her looks, I am laughing

The Opera Ghost chose Christine because she looks
pretty and delightful while the real sopranos remind
him of the Valkyries - when listening to Dame Jane
Sutherland I know what he means, their jaw-line so
square and strong, pretty little Christine with a small,
enchanting voice is so much easier on the eye, though
Gerhard Butler has not been taught to sing, he sounds
so deliciously dangerous, and that’s all we want, who
cares about sound in this day and age? Pratchett’s
book puts it all into perspective, and I am laughing
with him, I love his humour and his revealing

The silly pretensions of the current age which subsumes
everything to looks and feeling while eschewing real talent
unless it can be exploited in the most sentimental way, and
why not indeed, it is only money that counts while you are
alive; the fact that Marilyn Monroe and Elvis Presley were
deeply depressed and unhappy may not be taken into
account when inspiring our youth with new ideals, but
I am old-fashioned and rather live on my own planet
I have my own ideas and I follow them quietly, even
though I cry real tears for the hurt when crashing
against other people’s materialistic reality

It does not matter, I have my eye on the eternity of
never-ending infinity and I shall keep them glued
to my dreams, even when my world threatens to
disintegrate…

*************************************************

Willem approves of my speeding, even when Mme La
Pompadour does not, apparently his mother speeds
also; when I went to the shops I tried to convince
everyone to start reading Terry Pratchett, citing
Johnny and the Bomb to work up to Maskerade
in the end; loud and noisy I have decided to stop
taking the new pill that leaves me feeling down
and depressed; I would rather die of allergy
sinus than feel so remote from all I love, I
tried to convince Tiaan that German is more
soothing on the ear than the explosive sounds
of French, German lets you sleep with a schwiss-
sound while French keep you awake with
explosives Q - P - T - K and
everything else...

Alternative Universe

And then of course I spoilt it all by eating
ever so much more – ice-cream with hot
chocolate sauce, suffocated through the
night, perspiring and feverish, not even
the two nasal sprays and long-term
allergy pill could stop the symptoms

I keep on overtaxing my allergic system
having great difficulty to retain a hold on
the meaning of life while floundering yet
I keep on eating madly, surviving last
night by reading Terry Pratchett, hugely
amused by the wizards working out

Hemogoblins in the blood are craved by
vampyres; thrilled by Death’s arrival at
Miss Flitworth’s, becoming Bill Door, and
Mustrum Ridcully’s wizard hat adorned
with fishing flies, a pistol crossbow, the
point filled with brandy

The Archchancellor definitely is a treat; now
to return to the office and being alone in my
mind, pulling out of my body to escape the
allergy pain; maybe the allergy is teaching
me spiritual principles so I never become
attached to this earth

But keep wishing for an alternative
universe…


Feeling ill from overeating meant only one thing:
eating something else to balance the effect of the
previous meal, went down to the Wimpy and had
chicken mayonnaise, explaining to the manager
that it tasted like saw-dust and I was there in an
attempt at punishing myself

He agreed, said only seasoning made it edible, I
cannot have seasoning being allergic - then up-
ended the contents of the salt pot over the bread
and voilà, it tasted like something else, I enjoyed
my counterweight meal while reading about the
Archchancellor sharing his brandy

With the Chief Priest of Blind Io and Mrs Cake
being the bane of the priest’s religious life...

**********************************

Part Of It

Is having awareness the same as being alive:
any kind of awareness gives rise to making
choices, up, not down, sweet, not sour, hot
not cold, light, not darkness – I conclude
being aware, no matter how rudimentary,
means being alive

Therefore subatomic particles, quarks and
their constituents; are alive, because they
are aware and make the choice to be alive
not dead, to continue existence, and not
dissolve into nothingness and perchance
nothingness itself

Is something too - because it gives rise to
virtual particles and miniature black holes –
sharing awareness with everything is kind
of neat, it gives the universe a heartbeat
and I feel privileged to be part of it…

**********************************

Substitutiary Locomotion

Substitutiary locomotion in Bedknobs And
Broomsticks also described in Reaper Man
since Death absconded and all life was left
to float around, inanimate things like cobble-
stones and clothes, followed by dancing
shoes, fixtures unscrewing themselves

Life drifting about becoming poltergeists and
all things nice like ball-lighting; the wonderful
scene of war, played out in Pepperling - when
the marauding Danes came fighting, it was an
important place on the English coast - finally
the museum’s coats of arms and

The knights' chainmail came alive and fought
off the German invasion – while in Reaper Man
a wizard returned to life as he could not die with-
out Death’s presence, munching celery sticks
in his coffin as a steak – word pun on stake –
could not be found; zombies abound

Lurching happily – I hope to finish this day happily
also, in spite if the fire in my mind, caused by the
pain in my brain…


Reaper Man – Terry Pratchett Victo Gollancz, 1991

****************************************

An Exotic Location

Listen to a song of Comoran place names
quaint and beautiful: Ouzio Mitsamiouli and
Bandadaoueni, then Mandzissani as well as
Ntsorale Dimani, also Kandzile Mbadjini and
Foumbouni Badjini; Nioumamilima Mboinkou
and Ivembeni Mboude – I stare at these names
as they sing in my head, ouli, oueni, issani, ani
djini, ima, oinkou, oude – what an exotic location
the Comores Islands with place names like these...

***********************************

Zoo Or Chicken Coop

Although it is better to work in a zoo or chicken
coop than sitting all alone in a big, empty office
with only one’s own thoughts to keep one com-
pany; it is sometimes irksome as administrative
personnel get on with their lives in loud decibels
while we are concentrating

Laughing inanely in hertz adding to the feeling of
unfounded weltschmertz - but I have no reason
to complain, I am safe in my workstation with air-
con to keep me cool, with warm top and blanket
to face the cold I am better off than in the street
where heat of thirty degrees Celsius

Makes life uncomfortable for pedestrians – I prefer
to be here, grumbling under my breath, detesting
my boring document, dreaming about reading
Terry Pratchett’s brilliant similes and magical
scenes…

************************************

Mickey Spillane In Mali

Abdourahamane was going to visit his friend Mamadou
when Koureichi Diakite and Sekouba Coulibaly walked
into his lounge, holding two guns pointed at his heart

Laughing in a way that would have had Peter Cheyney
and Mickey Spillane enthralled by its sheer menace and
would have delighted nasty Dr No of James Bond fame

With its evil charm, but then Abdourahamane’s old friend
El Hassan Oold Louceinu with pin-point precision shot
the pistols out of our villains’ blood-lusty fingers

When the two thugs tried to flee, he shot each of them in
the knee - oh what fun to film this for television, so much
red paint and gory scenes all over the place!

***************************

White Rabbit’s Maid Maryann

Alice did not know what to do any more
nothing she saw resonated with her rest-
less thoughts, flitting about like an egret
looking for a place to nest, everywhere
she looked the world seemed alien and
cold, she wanted to talk to a friend, but
all were occupied:

The Lori was happily typing, the Crying
Gryphon was sobbing, the Little Oysters
were engaged in being disobedient, the
Walrus was encroaching on them, just
then she heard a call for the White Rabbit’s
maid Maryann and she set off, Madame
La Pompadour saw her leave and -

Called her back with a loud croak - Where
are you going, you naughty child - Alice
replied - To serve the White Rabbit, of
course - Mme La Pompadour cautioned -
Just beware of driving his Beamer, you are
a danger to yourself and all of society, you
should be removed from the gene-pool

Like all those animals who write letters to
the Queen of Hearts to complain about the
Court in Wonderland where the Mad Hatter,
March Hare and the Dormouse cause con-
fusion all the time - Alice curtsied nicely
and sped off to share half a cup of tea
with the much-maligned trio

Alice wanted to charge to the tea-party on
her trusty steed, her high-powered,
notorious Jeep…


Alice In Wonderland - Lewis Carrol

The Chinese Lady

I'm like a crow, always zooming in on shiny
glittering things, the Chinese lady at the
shop knows me, we cannot communicate, she
sold me glue I cannot use on my wooden doll
but she allows me to browse all through her
little shop, admiring fairy wings with purple
and silver, beads and wooden dolls, hair clips
and white tops with silver sequins, I would
buy anything just to keep her little shop
going, she has a small child and a small
husband and they lead a small life, but
oh, how they enrich mine, we bought Nici
two pairs of beautiful shoes, and we dream
when we dawdle through the glamourous
things in her shop...

Filigree, Figurines & Phantom (Rev.)

I love my white table looking like filigree...


Sitting next to my figurines while typing
I still have to glue the bows onto my new
wooden doll who turns a beautific
smile on me...

**************************************

Washing dishes, dainty crystal glasses, lovely red
cooking pots – works of love – listening to
Mozart’s Ave Verum Corpus singing bel canto
with the rising notes, my whole being vibrating
harmonics, every fibre reverberating to divine
frequencies – spirit growing stronger

Lesley Garret singing Smoke Gets In Your Eyes and
Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again from Phan-
tom of the Opera, taking me higher still, sweetness
of her voice evoking unfulfilable longing for perfect
beauty, sitting in front of TV with Lloyd Webber’s
Phantom DVD, listening to Emmy Rossum’s

youthful voice interpreting a young girl’s longing
to see her beloved dead father again, the bell-like
clarity balm to my soul, coupling symbolism of The
Phantom’s total absolution of a lost man threatening
her happiness with her fiancé, realising The Phantom
suffered at the unforgiving hand of general society

Filling my little world with grandeur, I am glad the
allergy prevents me ever becoming self-righteous
as the Christian church requires its adherents to be,
I can never judge the Phantom – I identify with pain
and rejection he experienced – given I cannot meet
any set standards no matter how hard I try…

Kelkiewyn

Took up the book “Birds of South Africa” to look at the
picture of a sandgrouse dumbfounded by the endearing
name ‘Kelkiewyn’ by which is known in Afrikaans, then I
read the nasal term kelkie-wyn is an imitation of its call
while in flight, the little grouse is all grey, but its song is
beautiful [p.198]*

Also looked at the picture and description of an African
Emerald Cuckoo known in Afrikaans as ‘Mooimeisie’,
curious to find out how this name originated, I read
the sweet little bird has a loud and clear call ‘whiet
whei wheet’ sounding like a compliment for a girl
mooi mei-sie [p.216]*

Then a list of the most enchanting sing-song names
followed the description of a Mooimeisie:
Groenrugkwêkwêvoël, Witkoljanfrederik,
Beloogbosbontrokkie, Geelkeelsanger
aah, delightful, I love the rhythm of
repetitive sound


Voëls van Suider-Afrika [=Birds of South Africa]
Ian Sinclair and Peter Ryan, Struik Nature, 2009

*p. 198 - Pterocles namaqua = sandpatrys =
kelkie-wyn [=literal translation ‘chalice of wine’]

*p. 216 – Chrysococcyx cupreus = woudkoekoek =
mooi mei-sie [literal translation ‘pretty girl’]

Open-plan Work Station

I love my open plan work station with
all the decorations and little things
I have brought to adorn my space, to
catch the light and create dreams...

When The Sun Shines

Dancing and singing to ‘Picking up Pebbles’ by Cornelia
while washing dishes, changing into a joyful me, followed
by a song from Die Ou Menere: ‘Wilhelmina, Wilhelmina if
you would be mine, the world would start blooming for me
we’d live in a cottage that leaks when it rains, if someone
asks why not fix it today, I would reply when the sun
shines it does not leak anyway’

Laughing and rocking and washing with soap suds, wetting
the floor and singing along, a sensual experience of energy
and rhythm and cheerful noise; I have just added another
ten years to my life, this feels oh so very good, I am glad I
have learnt to enjoy washing dishes when I was at school
and the ability to change completely when music plays, is
one of the best aspects of life…

“Wilhelmina, Wilhelmina as ek jou maar kon kry, dan lyk die
ou wêreld soos ‘n blomtuin vir my … dan bly ons saam in ‘n
vaal ou pondokkie wat lek as dit reën, vra hul my waarom
dek jy dit nie, dan sê ek as die son skyn dan lek hy
mos nie…” sung by a group called ‘Die Ou Menere’

Find a New Dream

Saw a beautiful lady with strings of pearls and a
diaphanous cloak, face like an angel with large
blue eyes, long golden tresses, draped on an iron
stand, no body substance at all, fell in love with
the figurine, wanted to buy it for Nici’s birthday
but she declined, Willem tagged along as we
visited the shop, stupefied at the frivolous
way we spent our time

On to the Chinese shop with aura’s on sale, the art
shop where beads are the order of the day, I bought
a pink wooden lady and a fluorescent rosette, I shall
sew or paste it on her dress if I can, Nici did not want
anything; on to the pet shop, puppies, bull-terriers and
German Shepherds, hearts burning to take them home -
plants and bird-feeder strings – so practical -
definitely not for me

What a great outing, the figurine too expensive for me
without an occasion to justify her being, but the small
things I bought, memorabilia, will last me a lifetime, I
love looking at miniatures and creating a new world
for them; hubby disapproves and Willem yawns, Nici
keeps her practical eye on nail lacquer, but I shall not
be deterred, mirages of things only existing in the
mind are too sweet to let go, I shall always

Find a new dream, hitch a new star…

Singing like a Banshee

Ah, spring is here with temperatures up to
thirty degrees Celsius so the air-conditioning
wizards turned down the temperature inside
to fifteen, once again we are wrapped up in
fleeces to face the cold, I have just dug out my
Hogwarts cloak, Hanlie remarked I resem-
bled Pratchett’s witches, making me realize
I always identify with Tiffany Aching whereas
being nearer to Granny Weatherwax in age

Nevertheless since I am totally irresponsible
prone to fall into daydreams and walk around
with visions filling my eyes and only look down
to prevent falling into grave accidents, driving
like a maniac, singing like a banshee to drive
my family crazy; I feel entitled to be twelve
years old in my mind, tried reforming before
to please the powers that be, but since quiet
cynical desperation does not appeal to me

Being realistic, abiding by laws, does not last very
long; I prefer to laugh and die with a heart full of
song, cannot breathe when trying to live in the front
part of my mind, have to withdraw into that small,
still space behind and send out a clown to tackle
the world and represent me in a place that seems
completely alien and hostile a lot of the time; my
only desire is to acquire wisdom and accept all
unconditionally…

Privilege Enough

That time of the day again when there is a stranger
in the mirror, she looks good in my clothes and she
likes me, she catches the setting sun and she sparkles
in green adorned with silver, she smiles a lot and she
dreams softly, whispering that she is my friend, I want
her to take over my life but she will not stay, I enjoy her
presence so much, when I play André Rieu she dances
to every song and takes me along – only I am her only
audience and she says that is enough, I wish I could
present her in my place, but she says she lives some-
where else and people scare her, she is never around
when others appear, but just having her to myself is
privilege enough…

She dances to Olé Guapa without my having to reread
‘Reaper Man’ again, she dances alone without Death
or any other character around, she is self -sufficient and
her joie de vivre is centred in her sensations of twirling
and laughing and turning and being in light, I love it that
she takes me along for the ride, what more could I ask
from life, I am sure Bill Door, alias Beau Geste-Nidle
would approve of this state of events, he knows how
lonely Miss Flitworth was while she waited out her life
to meet up with her long-lost young love, she brings
out the dream in the melody, when the others came
home, she left the house, I wear my blue T-shirt to
be me again…

Amoxicillin and Clavulanate

Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant, the brisk and brawny doctor
who would not listen to me gave me antibiotics, I took
it without checking to see what it could be, Augmentin,
Amoxicillin and Clavulanate, names suggesting exotic
mates, but as I felt worse and symptoms worsening

Checked Augmentin on the Internet – it is a penicillin
antibiotic, and I am allergic to penicillin, a self-centred
doctor who did not listen and did not check my file in
which allergies are indicated, I drove to work with a
derelict headache threatening to strangle my brain

Then I checked and discovered the cause of the strain,
from now on I shall wear a bracelet about this allergy,
never again run the risk of being overrun by a medical
representative who does not make time to listen to the
patient, writing dangerous prescriptions…

[I wish dear Amoxicillin and Clavulanate, clearly a prince
and his consort, a lovely life and prosperity, many children
and health – but I do not want to see them again!]

Lovely Presence

Nici bought me a set of glitter-gel ink pens
so I could start writing in my cherry-pink fairy
diary, since the lock is useless no secrets will
ever be declared, I shall write my notes in code
so that only I will ever know what I meant, my first
inscription concerns ‘Soul Music’ by Terry Pratchett

My favourite because it describes the power of music
and Susan who believes there is a logical explanation
for everything, even if you have to make it up, I make up
explanations all the time; and the way Pratchett describes
a world of cheerfulness where war is a lot of fun and axes
and crossbows are good-humoured and easy-going

And Death as Beau Geste – Nidle; I mean, buried in the
desert in order to forget, and scientists are become The
Monks of the Ramtops listening to fossil echoes, incor-
porating the latest scientific research; we all know the
relationship with ourselves is the most important to
cherish on earth, I am working on mine so as to

Offer family and friends unconditional love and
acceptance and expect nothing from them
other than their lovely presence in all their
beauty…


‘Soul Music’ – Terry Pratchett, Corgi Edition 1997
Quoted from pages 89 108, 9, 112, 158 and 167

Wide, Pink Kimono

In a wide, flowing pink kimono, resembling
a pink circus tent, I drifted down the street
to pull a James Bond trick, lost my Sunlight
Liquid for washing my cup - and thus my
secret James Bond identification

First into the little Chinese shop to look for
more screens to block the sun from my office
in vain, the screens are all sold out, then to my
James Bond lady to provide it shaken not stirred
and not very shaken at that

With the miniature bottle filled with green Sunlight my
life is once again on track, green - the colour of love –
once again determines the tenor of my thoughts, expecting
nothing from no-one while offering friendly acceptance
because they are all beautiful...

A Bad Sister

It seems to me I should join the D’regs
fighting the Klatchian Foreign League
where Death as Beau Nidle is buried
in a pit of sand up to his neck

I would love to become part of a collection
of cheerfully warlike tribes having lots of fun
fighting everyone, enemies, friends, the Klatchian
Foreign League and mainly themselves

I also have a melting flowing mass that serves as
my consciousness and my brain is set to simmer
all the time, I would love to join a club where axes
are thrown and crossbows fired

In a good-humoured, easy-going way, whenever I
criticise anyone I feel bad, when the corners of their
mouths pull down, I feel like a murderer, while they
happily usurp the right to criticise me all the time

Calling me a bad sister for being alive and breathing,
simply because I am too stupid to anticipate what they
want and only offer service of the wrong kind…


‘Soul Music’ – Terry Pratchett
Corgi Books 1977, Quoted from
Pages 108, 111 and 112

Danger to Friend & Foe

Breakfast proved the myriad pills
nasal sprays, only two, by the way
and synapse-firing regulators unable
to stave off reaction to fatty food, tick off:

No chips and Frankfurter fried in oil can be
stopped by the concoctions I have imbibed -
the alternative is following a fat-restricted
diet, cutting out ALL fast-food outlets

The worst is I still seek a challenge, not enjoying
sitting quietly in my seat, I should join a rebel war
at some far-off place, run around with a weapon in
my hands, a danger to friend and foe alike

This sedentary life does not hold adventure at all
my mind is a sieve and every good feeling just falls
through leaving me bored with this little sliver of life
sitting alone in a work station with no-one to talk to

Not sharing jokes, offended family members glaring
at me from the sidelines, I think prolonged sleep is
the only alternative to death-by-boredom today -
even my group consciousness adventures

In an alternative universe are boring in the extreme
I need a change of consciousness to
set my spirit free…

Contemplating Strychnine

Caught in a fog of physical and mental
suffocation, explaining symptoms to a
new doctor; in a brisk manner, brooking
no opposition, not to be deflected
though I’m talking steadily - he
wrote three prescriptions

One for long-term allergy control, one
for immediate symptomatic relief, one
for stopping synapses firing wildly, I
was still talking about taking strychnine
when he showed me the door - these
expensive medicines

Will make you forget of ever contemplating
strychnine he said – I suppose the cost will
be more effective in stopping me breathing
than strychnine…

Additonal Harmonics

There is a movie of Soul Music with Susan
Sto Helit meeting Imp Y Celyn eventually -
Death’s granddaughter is as enchanted
with Imp as I am myself - chords creating
resonances running among instrumental
debris picking up additional harmonics…*


‘Soul Music’ Terry Pratchett Corgi Books
1997, *quote taken from p.42

Consolation

No power when we arrived at the office
I climbed onto the cupboard and talked
with a colleague until arrival of Madame
La Pompadour remonstrating with me
for indecent behaviour, I blushed and
sighed, I did it on purpose to add zest
to life

I am reading Pratchett’s Soul Music and
agree with Susan, school and work keep
on interfering with real life, the purpose
of existence is mental development through
reading books; objects and rules are just an
iron framework forming the outline to en-
close

The real beauty and love of ideals within…

**** **** **** **** **** **** ****

I did not take the new medication again, I
have decided I can feel bad all by myself
no need for prescription drugs to achieve
that objective, one sandwich and the allergy
gives the same effect, much cheaper and
much more enjoyable also; feeling my
head contracting

Because of white capsules is kind of stupid
while feeling bad because of the staple of life:
bread, seems much more noble and inevitable -
here endeth the lesson, time to check my text
and reflect on the meaning of life, the power
has been turned on, Madame La Pompadour
and her crew

Are working all virtuous and conscientious
I am the only one who believes that life entails
more than being ensconced within four walls
retrieving my soul from Pratchett’s humourous
touch to dive into the greyness on my desk –
time to learn to laugh at life even when the
labour of love

Converting one language into another, presenting
the same lines, the same content, is not amusing,
the only joy I derive is knowing that the intended
reader will derive as little joy as I did on first
reading the text - and will take even less
action than I have - what consolation!

Sensation of Strangulation

I’m trying out a new medicine as it behooves
a citizen of the twenty-first century and I feel
like hell, cannot sit still and concentrate, the
only advantage is lack of appetite, but since I
ate in any case to help pin me down in my chair
the opportunity for weight loss has been lost, a
pill supposed to fix the synapses firing in my
brain by connecting loose nerves, taking the
strain of attention deficit

But all I have gained is a feeling of restlessness,
boredom and a need for emotional and mental
stimulation, the only thing I have lost is fantasy
as no new story is forming in my head to make
up for the boredom of uneventful reality, I thought
putting up with detrimental effects would be amply
repaid by dramatic weight loss, but now I am not
so sure, a constriction in my head is causing
pain and I am tired of fighting myself

The chemicals bubbling away in my system, my
mind is growing as empty as the wide blue sea and
nothing presents itself in the form of interest, only
by stuffing my ears with Vicks can I stop them from
closing completely; if I cannot make this medication
work, I am going to become Humpty Dumpty, as round
as a ball as I eat around the clock, though a new sexy
outline would not impress anybody, it would be easier
to schlep around than waddling all over the place

For God’s sake, change the sensation of strangulation
that makes me feel like suffocation, I am in such
discomfort - and it just will not stop!

Les Anciens Souvenirs

It is the greatest thing to share memories
driving in a Casspir to Khayelitsha, visiting
a shebeen, eating fresh fish on the beach
listening to a speech in English made by a
an Afrikaans person whose accent sounds
Spanish and trying to render it all in French

Presentations of new military strategies, not
conversant with the terms yet trying to explain
to French dignitaries, a storm of emotions, a
delightful excursion to training facilities, talking
incessantly and enjoying a fresh sea breeze
while watching trained dogs giving impressive
demonstrations – those were the days

What fun that was, dumped at a Casino by Inspector
Mohamed and at a loss what to do, I cannot play a
game of chance and you cannot speak English, we
lost every cent and hated the smoky atmosphere
but our suffering was not at an end, indefatigable
Inspector Mohammed took us to a nightclub for a
treat and we were stuck, I cannot dance, you would
not being a good Christian, the Muslims emphatically
refused while all drinking spring water

We desired fresh air and important discussions about
requisite equipment, survival techniques and leadership
and remember the show by professional swimmers at
the training facility? I loved everything we did…

[Pour Général Baruku, Colonel Raus et le reste
de la délégation ; mes amis de la RDC]

My Tapestry

This is the only Vermeer painting resembling the tapestry
in my bedroom, but my tapestry is a million times more
enchanting with the girl turning her face away, the window
brought into the picture, a street scene is clearly seen, the
table is moved and decorated with a still-life, the blank wall
adorned with a clock and a painting of boats against white
clouds, I wish I could show you my beautiful tapestry…

[I took a cell phone photo and see my tapestry before
looking at the Vermeer...]

Wind’s Touch

Fingers sluggish, blue with cold, swimming in
the icy pool, little electric explosions on my
skin as the sun’s heat warms my frozen
body, the wind sighing then rushing and
sweeping, laden with secrets and
passionate dreams

The wind’s touch is delicious, the soft caresses
of sun and wind are fulfilling, diving back into
the water to gasp for breath as the cold ex-
plodes against my body, I feel invigorated,
alive, sensuous, rapturous and
filled with delight

Still Cherish Today

I love the tapestry on the wall in my bedroom
staring at it to indulge in fond memories - and
beautiful feelings evoked by the wonder of its
composition, juxtaposing nine dimensions: the
main figure, a woman staring out of a window
looking away from the viewer, the footstool
behind her

The tiled floor in a pattern of cream and blue, the
draped table-cloth and its own still-life of wine and
fruit, the pendulum clock, the painting on the wall
of a boat on the sea against a white cloud, curtains
draping a window framing a scene of a few homes
in a street; all this in one picture, such variety in the
rich colours

Used in tapestries; the fond memories of my mother
embroidering the tapestry when I was small, we were
allowed to pitch in when we had time and add a few
stitches, an honour I relished and still cherish today -
mother complained the green of the woman’s bodice
was a mistake, it does not match the green footstool
with the right hue

Blue sky reflected in blue tiles, blue sea and the woman’s
blue tucked-up skirt, table-cloth and curtains in velvet red
quaint Dutch headdress in yellow matching the petticoat in
yellow also, colours harmonising delightfully; the serene
mystery of the woman staring into the distance with
her back to me is enchanting; while you are
falling asleep

I am still staring, wondering whether an original
Vermeer painting is depicted in this tapestry, I
love the picture so much…

Alimasi Pascal - Un Diamand

Mon Général Baruku Alimasi Pascal – un diamand
parmi les hommes de la terre – mon grand ami qui
travaille toujours pour le Congo, pays de son cœur

Parce qu’une fois j’ai essayé d’aider ses gens et
nous avons discuté de la foi en le bon Dieu qui
a crée l’univers, et parce que nous sommes

Allé nager dans l’eau gelant de l’océan en l’hiver,
la preuve de notre sang-froid; nous savons que
nous sommes toujours des camarades, toujours

Combattant l’injustice, partout où elle se manifeste,
marchant en chantant la Marseillaise - mon petit
Napoléon – vous êtes toujours le bienvenu ici

En l’Afrique du Sud, pays de mon cœur aussi...

Cry No More

The kids and I are locked in mortal combat tonight
they are watching a noisy film on TV full blast, I am
fighting for my sanity with earphones on my head,
blocking the oppressive noise that hurts my ears
oversensitive; knocked over a basket with shells
and stones in my haste to escape

Listening to the orchestra playing Olé Guapa makes
me cry - I shall not dance to it tonight, when I have
read Pratchett’s Reaperman again and I have cried
for Miss Flitworth’s lonely youth, then rejoiced about
Death dancing the tango with her before taking her
back to her beloved to be together forever

In an eternal youth, I shall cry no more, rejoicing in
new beginnings and in the alternative universe I
have constructed where individualism has been
replaced by group consciousness, no judgment
left; only joyous experience where Death is the
personification of eternal happiness


****************************************************

“Reaperman” A Discworld Novel by Terry Pratchett,
Miss Flitworth’s fiancé died while smuggling to make
enough to marry her, Death, a character, worked for
Miss Flitworth and after she showed her worthiness,
he took her dancing before taking her back to her
young man; I believe the tango they danced to was
Olé Guapa "Arms outspread like the bow of a ship..."

A Deep Impression

Went to Human Resources, found a spring day
celebration, flowers and birds and confetti in the
passage, sun dresses and a white hat with silver
Nici who works there said she still remembered
my office in the Oranje-Nassau Building when I
had a mobile hung with fairies and shells and all
kinds of trinkets hanging from the ceiling, at one
time I had lines criss-crossing the office hung with
pictures and angels also, Nici said it was like a
wonderland in there, and I am gratified, delighted
that my interior decoration meant to attract fairies
and guardian angels, made such a deep impression!

I Love

I love so many things, the sun, the sea
James Bond movies with Sean Connery
lovely music, stories, legends, fairy tales
dreams of mermaids who refuse to plunge
a knife into the prince they love to save their
own lives, visions of the alternative universes
of quantum physics, flowers, books

Sweet concoctions, babies, words that come alive
and sing and jump; though I know that neither the
sun, nor the sea, nor James Bond will talk to me in
words, I enjoy the shine of their wonderful presence
love singing and talking to them, sharing my secrets
with them, knowing that everything on earth, even the
earth itself, has awareness, therefore

The love I beam to them is accepted and reflected
back to me, magnified a hundred-thousand times
and that is magical and enchanting, captivating
my mind, my heart, my whole being!

Freeze My Heart

Hayfever kept at bay by reading beautiful poetry
concentrating on doing translation, driving safely
but the headache took over in class, once again I
turned without looking, promising myself reform
on the roads; got home, said hello, got back in
the car to collect Tiaan playing cricket

No matter how hard I tried, laughing and talking
listening to Tiaan’s wild music; headache pulled
my skin tight, I cannot escape, wanted to retain
the sorcery I found in classical poetry; but the en-
chantment is gone, André Rieu stepped in, I feel
safe while listening to him - as if the fear

Cannot touch me while his orchestra is playing
safely ensconced in a make-believe world that
lasts until the very last note; afterwards, alone
in my head, curled up in bed, I have to fight the
discomfort alone; tomorrow I must be cold and
hard, freeze my heart in an attitude of -

Determined motivation to combat pain by working
with dedication - though I know I will be facing
temptation to look for dreams in beauty and
song, I know that the price afterwards will
cause such hurt; my fragile crystal self-image
might fall and break - I still have to work on

Finding all the shards of my splintered self-
concept after it scattered all over on my being
unable to exist with self-confidence, felt so bad
wearing green - ran off and bought a T-shirt and
jeans in blue to bury my feelings in a colour
I love and trust

Passion For Old-Fashioned

See how my style has come parrot-like to reflect
and echo the stilted old-fashioned lines of angelic
and divine poets, when you look at this in your own
time and marvel at the emptiness of a mind swayed
by so little parley, you shall realize I know not how to
break free once ensnared in the charms of an artist of
world-famous stature – though the enchantment will wear
off after a while if I do not feed my addiction to lovely poetry
and music in words singing in my ears

You need to scold to keep me quiet and go underground; well-
deserved would be the pain and hopefully facilitate the descent
to earth for my spirit is all unwilling and rebellious to return to the
nether places where no fantasy, melody or inner grandeur are allowed
to exist for fear of revealing the dream underneath – nay, ‘tis too much
I’m on the roll and there is nobody to roll unto, I am sorry you have to be
the reader of my eulogy on this long-livéd poet - I should strangle myself
to keep my tongue, and I cannot – since I could not delete my own folly
of admitting my passion for old-fashioned poetry

That marks the feeble-minded and sidelined idiot, I trust you will delete this
missive and send admonishment to remind me that my new, realistic life
does not leave room to swoon for the chimera of yesterday’s visions,
preferably I should die in this mental ecstasy to save the world and
me from overflowing emotion and stupidity – ah – I am as mad as
a hatter and it is all due to a wonderful person who posted poems
by Buonarroti; what antidote is there? I fear the pain of poetry
in the hands of evil people so I cannot administer the self-
flagellation of bad poetry with evil intent

That abounds on the Internet and everywhere else, I shall
bear my cross with the faith and power of a long-suffering
saint because the inner visions are sustaining my failing
eye-sight and sad loss of hearing while inner fires are
burning off the outward appearance of reality…

Divine, Sacred Words

So many dreams last night, so many images
with so many meanings do not augur well for
the rest of the day, I planned to stay anchored
yet my spirit keeps slipping away, I should not
have read divine, sacred words in missives not
meant for mere mortals, should not have looked
in the eyes of the gods

Now I cannot abide being human, caught in a mould
of place and time, yet I have to remain physical for such
a long time, cannot fulfil my duty with my heart beating in
another place, ears straining to catch celestial sounds; dare
not indulge in lyrical poetry nor allow my eyes to stray from the
cold, the empty and grey - once they alight on the sublime, they
cannot return without pain

To the ordinary: letters of complaint, forgiveness requested for petty
theft - my head is filled with helium gas, I am enclosed within shining
baubles of dreams and ideas - it will take a sharp, devastating pain to
bring me down and pain is something I do not covet at all, however well
esteemed by the soul…