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…