Oh, glorious new day, Alice will attend a tea
party with Madame La Pompadour and her
retinue, what happiness thinking of things
to say, knowing she never would
Madame La Pompadour the only one who tells
stories at these events, with many a dramatic
pause, enough sobbing and wiping of tears
to put the Crying Mock Turtle to shame
While the Gryphon looks on until joining in the
quadrille, hanging its head, reminiscing about
olden days, making Alice think fondly of
the Mad Hatter’s tea party where
The sleepy Dormouse was stuffed into the teapot,
If only, sighed Alice disconsolately, I could fall a-
sleep in the middle of desultory conversation,
wake up when it was time to leave
If only I were one soul with two bodies, I would send
one to the library, the other to attend social events;
or one to the swimming pool and the other to work
in the office all day
And live twice as much life as everybody else – my
mind in the clouds where it belongs while both my
bodies took care of ‘le train-train journalier’ which
drives me out of my mind all the time!
******
http://wiki.lspace.org/wiki/Lobsang_Ludd
Monday Lobsang Ludd was born as one soul with two bodies
from Wen the Eternally Surprised and Lady Time.
Half human, half anthropomorphic personification, based
on the character of Tuesday Lobsang Rampa who wrote
many books about his life as a Tibetan Monk.
“Thief of Time” by Terry Pratchett
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Dream About
Traffic lights out, traffic stuck at the roundabout,
the experience gained from taking trips in South
African taxi’s paid dividends, Alice swerved and
drove on the left, taxi-drivers following, blazing
a path for irate drivers eschewing the highway
Onwards and forwards, Alice dans l’Afrique du
Sud, boring, stupid and idiotic, passion spent,
the world should end, there is nothing to look
forward to, how do people stand it, how do we
exist in this emptiness, wish I had the power
To blast this universe out of existence, tired of
taking classes, tired of surviving my life, fed-up
with stupid theories, dense so-called students,
please - let us succumb to the next tsunami -
nuclear reactor failure and radioactive fallout
Strike us all down, I am so tired of listening to
everyone - the boring people telling me they
know better and always will - at least popular
culture is proving them wrong; William Topaz
McGonagall and Lewis Carrol – never
High literature, Blake and Shelley and whoever
else – who cares, we are watching the Wizards
of Waverley Place and Big Bang Theory – all
this is something I can dream about…
the experience gained from taking trips in South
African taxi’s paid dividends, Alice swerved and
drove on the left, taxi-drivers following, blazing
a path for irate drivers eschewing the highway
Onwards and forwards, Alice dans l’Afrique du
Sud, boring, stupid and idiotic, passion spent,
the world should end, there is nothing to look
forward to, how do people stand it, how do we
exist in this emptiness, wish I had the power
To blast this universe out of existence, tired of
taking classes, tired of surviving my life, fed-up
with stupid theories, dense so-called students,
please - let us succumb to the next tsunami -
nuclear reactor failure and radioactive fallout
Strike us all down, I am so tired of listening to
everyone - the boring people telling me they
know better and always will - at least popular
culture is proving them wrong; William Topaz
McGonagall and Lewis Carrol – never
High literature, Blake and Shelley and whoever
else – who cares, we are watching the Wizards
of Waverley Place and Big Bang Theory – all
this is something I can dream about…
Making Money
Alice en route to French Class turned into Mr Pin,
imbibing chemical compounds hoping to clear her
head, finally turning to sniffing mint oils and
swallowing codeine
If only she could clear her head of the vapours and
hear what is said, she listened to Gaddafi’s antics
on BBC Afrique, looked at French Journaux pu-
blished on the continent
But like Mr Pin, her brain turned into mush, all she
remembers is nuclear power is preferred to solar
and wind energy because dividends for those in
control is higher
That makes sense, who wants to serve the world
if there are no high profits involved, besides, earth-
quakes and tsunami’s create MORE opportunities
for making money
After hours of study, Alice still goes to class with a
mind tabula rasa…
imbibing chemical compounds hoping to clear her
head, finally turning to sniffing mint oils and
swallowing codeine
If only she could clear her head of the vapours and
hear what is said, she listened to Gaddafi’s antics
on BBC Afrique, looked at French Journaux pu-
blished on the continent
But like Mr Pin, her brain turned into mush, all she
remembers is nuclear power is preferred to solar
and wind energy because dividends for those in
control is higher
That makes sense, who wants to serve the world
if there are no high profits involved, besides, earth-
quakes and tsunami’s create MORE opportunities
for making money
After hours of study, Alice still goes to class with a
mind tabula rasa…
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Lovely Acoustics (Rev.)
Oh, what an echo, I am in the
Hospital’s fourth floor medical
suites with a neurologist who
checks my neck and arm
At first I hum Verdi’s Celeste
Aida having heard it on the
radio, lovely acoustics, voice
augmented a hundredfold
Wanting to sing a fourth floor
concert – dream of singing choir
one day; harmonics reverberate
through me ...
... like they used to when I sang
at University
Hospital’s fourth floor medical
suites with a neurologist who
checks my neck and arm
At first I hum Verdi’s Celeste
Aida having heard it on the
radio, lovely acoustics, voice
augmented a hundredfold
Wanting to sing a fourth floor
concert – dream of singing choir
one day; harmonics reverberate
through me ...
... like they used to when I sang
at University
Compliment
Stickers meant to decorate bicycles, letters,
envelopes, lunch box, notebook, scrapbook
as per manufacturer’s recommendation, not
looking good pasted on my computer stand
Stickers - small coloured beads swishing when
I rattle them, intended for use on movable ob-
jects, the child in me wanted them as proof that
magic is alive and well, Karen in the office said
She would introduce me to her four-year old
niece, we seem to share the same interests,
I accept it as a compliment…
envelopes, lunch box, notebook, scrapbook
as per manufacturer’s recommendation, not
looking good pasted on my computer stand
Stickers - small coloured beads swishing when
I rattle them, intended for use on movable ob-
jects, the child in me wanted them as proof that
magic is alive and well, Karen in the office said
She would introduce me to her four-year old
niece, we seem to share the same interests,
I accept it as a compliment…
An Untouchable
I love using the sun as symbol, the sun ‘per se’
and ‘as such’ just as he is, is wonderful; as usual
autumn is a most painful process and I have to
write about it, fearing you will say I am always
writing about the same things
I like the idea of love because it reminds me of
the sun – NOT the other way round, I do not like
the sun because he reminds me of love – the sun
comes first, love is but a weak image of the sun
The imagery of you as poet sibling takes your presence
out of the sun’s eternal movement and the uncertainty of
the fluctuations of friendship relations and puts it on a
higher mental basis - inviolate
You are an idea in my mind eternally, an ideal high
above the world’s treacherous cycles, safe in an
ideal dimension, as sibling you are my Platonic
friend and confidant - no fear that physical and
emotional chemical cycles will change anything
You are beyond the physical presence of the sun
on a separate plane, an untouchable, forever
unchanging – and it is magnificent!
and ‘as such’ just as he is, is wonderful; as usual
autumn is a most painful process and I have to
write about it, fearing you will say I am always
writing about the same things
I like the idea of love because it reminds me of
the sun – NOT the other way round, I do not like
the sun because he reminds me of love – the sun
comes first, love is but a weak image of the sun
The imagery of you as poet sibling takes your presence
out of the sun’s eternal movement and the uncertainty of
the fluctuations of friendship relations and puts it on a
higher mental basis - inviolate
You are an idea in my mind eternally, an ideal high
above the world’s treacherous cycles, safe in an
ideal dimension, as sibling you are my Platonic
friend and confidant - no fear that physical and
emotional chemical cycles will change anything
You are beyond the physical presence of the sun
on a separate plane, an untouchable, forever
unchanging – and it is magnificent!
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
I And Me Hologram
Another endless wake all through the night
for eating curry and spice and all things nice
gourmandise, of course, my body does not
process things I eat - tonight I promised my-
self I shall follow the only diet that worked
before, I lurch and lumber along, living my
life skulking behind a door – climbing into
wardrobes, wearing black - trying to be in-
conspicuous, too tired to listen to conver-
sations, too fatigued to crack a joke or even
dream my dreams – this is terrible: when I
am too tired to dream, life is meaningless
I MUST get my life back – my current regime
of food and pills is not working very well, lost
the ability to transcend bodily life by floating
in astral regions; fatigue follows me wherever
I go, sooner or later I succumb and stop trying
to overcome muscle fatigue and mental spasm
and sleepless nights; I have no safe place to
which to run; everyone tries helping me with-
out understanding the cause of the problem –
the only thing I can do is read my own book –
my Eternal Prayer is, Our Father who art in
heaven, please bring me illustrated books
To rest my eyes and let my mind rejoice, I
am so bored sitting still and motionless as
allergy symptoms proliferate; no-one can
conjure a vision to dissolve the material
aspect of this hologram called “I” and
“Me”…
for eating curry and spice and all things nice
gourmandise, of course, my body does not
process things I eat - tonight I promised my-
self I shall follow the only diet that worked
before, I lurch and lumber along, living my
life skulking behind a door – climbing into
wardrobes, wearing black - trying to be in-
conspicuous, too tired to listen to conver-
sations, too fatigued to crack a joke or even
dream my dreams – this is terrible: when I
am too tired to dream, life is meaningless
I MUST get my life back – my current regime
of food and pills is not working very well, lost
the ability to transcend bodily life by floating
in astral regions; fatigue follows me wherever
I go, sooner or later I succumb and stop trying
to overcome muscle fatigue and mental spasm
and sleepless nights; I have no safe place to
which to run; everyone tries helping me with-
out understanding the cause of the problem –
the only thing I can do is read my own book –
my Eternal Prayer is, Our Father who art in
heaven, please bring me illustrated books
To rest my eyes and let my mind rejoice, I
am so bored sitting still and motionless as
allergy symptoms proliferate; no-one can
conjure a vision to dissolve the material
aspect of this hologram called “I” and
“Me”…
Darwin Was Adopted
(Darwin’s hangup because he was adopted)
Oh dear, the pain, the angst, the fear,
alone at night in bed, knowing what
had been done and said: Darwin dear,
you have been adopted, is that clear -
Mama Darwin said, little Charles felt
so abandoned in his lonely bed,
knowing he had been left
at an early age
As he stared into the gorilla’s cage, he wondered
what would have happened if he had been a little
monkey too, with apelike mien and lots of fruits
to chew, wondered why he could not live high up
in a tree, the world, the sad, sad world from afar
to see, wondering why he were not a single-cell
organism in the oceans deep, where the waters
would his heart-ache keep
So Darwin boarded the HMS Beagle and went
a-sailing to the Galapagos Islands to flee his little
orphan life at home, he looked here and he looked
there, feeling sorry for himself and this little world
where animals lived by stealth and ate each other to
keep their health and plants bloomed in abundant
wealth; and said to himself: I wonder how did it
happen that a whale resembles an elephant
While a rhinoceros seems related to a hippopotamus,
why did eyes form in two’s on little fishes while they
proliferated into millions of little apertures on spiders
and other creepy things, I am sure there is a lesson to
be learnt, I feel like falling into the rabbit hole and
ponder things with the Lory and Egret, my thoughts
are reeling and writhing in circles and there is a porpoise
on my trail - such were his thoughts as he flailed about
Trying to solve the riddle of his orphan existence: Could
there be a reason why the little oysters failed to see that
the walrus were planning to eat them – were they left
bereft of rational thought such as Descartes said homo
erectus possessed – and where did this thought process
originate – could it be too late to wrestle the magic of
existence from invisible gods in the sky above and offer
it to evolution as a new godhead instead
A new fairytale to explain life as it is and was – and maybe
to determine why my mother and father did not take care
of orphan me, but gave me up for adoption – I should have
been drowned, but as I was not – does this not prove the
magic of my youth – I am so evolved and will expand through
evolution into the magic father of a new natural science
revolution? – the young Darwin mused, a happy recluse,
embracing his orphan life with the gusto of
The theoretical gourmand who devours theories for breakfast
and loves himself for being the kindred spirit of all modern
thinkers, happy to bring about the apex of atheism; there is
no god, only nothingness that creates life all by itself, just as
lightning applied to a boiling mixture in the sea, and see –
the world is an orphan, godless – like me!
Alicique (Wonderlandburlesque)
As for Alice’s gourmandise – living life on vegetables sounds
like a concentration camp existence – it drives her to tears…
Oh dear, the pain, the angst, the fear,
alone at night in bed, knowing what
had been done and said: Darwin dear,
you have been adopted, is that clear -
Mama Darwin said, little Charles felt
so abandoned in his lonely bed,
knowing he had been left
at an early age
As he stared into the gorilla’s cage, he wondered
what would have happened if he had been a little
monkey too, with apelike mien and lots of fruits
to chew, wondered why he could not live high up
in a tree, the world, the sad, sad world from afar
to see, wondering why he were not a single-cell
organism in the oceans deep, where the waters
would his heart-ache keep
So Darwin boarded the HMS Beagle and went
a-sailing to the Galapagos Islands to flee his little
orphan life at home, he looked here and he looked
there, feeling sorry for himself and this little world
where animals lived by stealth and ate each other to
keep their health and plants bloomed in abundant
wealth; and said to himself: I wonder how did it
happen that a whale resembles an elephant
While a rhinoceros seems related to a hippopotamus,
why did eyes form in two’s on little fishes while they
proliferated into millions of little apertures on spiders
and other creepy things, I am sure there is a lesson to
be learnt, I feel like falling into the rabbit hole and
ponder things with the Lory and Egret, my thoughts
are reeling and writhing in circles and there is a porpoise
on my trail - such were his thoughts as he flailed about
Trying to solve the riddle of his orphan existence: Could
there be a reason why the little oysters failed to see that
the walrus were planning to eat them – were they left
bereft of rational thought such as Descartes said homo
erectus possessed – and where did this thought process
originate – could it be too late to wrestle the magic of
existence from invisible gods in the sky above and offer
it to evolution as a new godhead instead
A new fairytale to explain life as it is and was – and maybe
to determine why my mother and father did not take care
of orphan me, but gave me up for adoption – I should have
been drowned, but as I was not – does this not prove the
magic of my youth – I am so evolved and will expand through
evolution into the magic father of a new natural science
revolution? – the young Darwin mused, a happy recluse,
embracing his orphan life with the gusto of
The theoretical gourmand who devours theories for breakfast
and loves himself for being the kindred spirit of all modern
thinkers, happy to bring about the apex of atheism; there is
no god, only nothingness that creates life all by itself, just as
lightning applied to a boiling mixture in the sea, and see –
the world is an orphan, godless – like me!
Alicique (Wonderlandburlesque)
As for Alice’s gourmandise – living life on vegetables sounds
like a concentration camp existence – it drives her to tears…
Monday, March 28, 2011
Delight Of Forgiveness (Rev.)
The fault is mine, was unaware and wrong
to let the problems grow, dumb to need
replies when there were none to heed
Why should I criticise when I’ve been just
as off the beam and yet forgiven too along
with anger realised as my unjust mistake
Muscles tensed relax, Mickey’s face from
Inch By Inch has blessed my hope-belief –
horizons fill a-shine with sun again,
It’s when I can extend my hand and be
released – my child’s delight will feel
forgiveness as a ward of clemency …
2011/03/25 Drama Queen
Drama queen playing a role to perfection, refusing
to explain her behaviour, crowning herself princess
of deception and enjoys playing her games, glaring
at everyone asking her what the matter is - too lofty
to explain anything, using freedom to treat all with
contemptuous derision; rather proud of her ability
to inflict hurt at will – just watch and wait as
she creates her own show…
to let the problems grow, dumb to need
replies when there were none to heed
Why should I criticise when I’ve been just
as off the beam and yet forgiven too along
with anger realised as my unjust mistake
Muscles tensed relax, Mickey’s face from
Inch By Inch has blessed my hope-belief –
horizons fill a-shine with sun again,
It’s when I can extend my hand and be
released – my child’s delight will feel
forgiveness as a ward of clemency …
2011/03/25 Drama Queen
Drama queen playing a role to perfection, refusing
to explain her behaviour, crowning herself princess
of deception and enjoys playing her games, glaring
at everyone asking her what the matter is - too lofty
to explain anything, using freedom to treat all with
contemptuous derision; rather proud of her ability
to inflict hurt at will – just watch and wait as
she creates her own show…
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Sanctuary Lost
I am becoming inured to lack of feeling like most
normal people, to keep special sensitivity alive in
a world where force-feeding of things we dislike is
practised on us while we have not learnt how to
escape the ill-effects of our disgust with the way
our freedom is destroyed, desires ignored and
ideas obliterated; seems an impossible task
Spiritual masters assure us it is our own fault for
giving our power away, if we knew how to dream,
resurrect previous visions or construct new ones,
life would be better again; I have lost my cast of
fictitious characters after my taking them into un-
safe territory and forcing them to row in uncharted
waters, after being subjected to inexorable force
They refuse to return for a new play, accusing me
of corrupting intrigues, my explanation that I was
experimenting to widen their repertoire, is met with
stony silence or hot tears, their sanctuary lost, no-
where safe, they say, no dream sacrosanct, they
shall not stay to be abused again, everyone gone,
when the plot derailed I did not protect them
I am living in nomansland, without feeling or joy, no
flame of hope, just waiting for the next contrary thing
to remind me this world is just an illusion - the only
happiness exists within the quest for wisdom; inability
to feign enthusiasm for boring things will not allow me
to simulate intelligence or conquer boredom while
engaged in senseless tasks - oh well -
Time is passing and things change all the time…
normal people, to keep special sensitivity alive in
a world where force-feeding of things we dislike is
practised on us while we have not learnt how to
escape the ill-effects of our disgust with the way
our freedom is destroyed, desires ignored and
ideas obliterated; seems an impossible task
Spiritual masters assure us it is our own fault for
giving our power away, if we knew how to dream,
resurrect previous visions or construct new ones,
life would be better again; I have lost my cast of
fictitious characters after my taking them into un-
safe territory and forcing them to row in uncharted
waters, after being subjected to inexorable force
They refuse to return for a new play, accusing me
of corrupting intrigues, my explanation that I was
experimenting to widen their repertoire, is met with
stony silence or hot tears, their sanctuary lost, no-
where safe, they say, no dream sacrosanct, they
shall not stay to be abused again, everyone gone,
when the plot derailed I did not protect them
I am living in nomansland, without feeling or joy, no
flame of hope, just waiting for the next contrary thing
to remind me this world is just an illusion - the only
happiness exists within the quest for wisdom; inability
to feign enthusiasm for boring things will not allow me
to simulate intelligence or conquer boredom while
engaged in senseless tasks - oh well -
Time is passing and things change all the time…
Living Life Backwards (Rev.)
Yesterday’s stranger messed up in going to French class
sans reading glasses, sitting in the wrong chair not
listening – hates news on political events, drove like
a fiend, argued Carroll’s “Through The Looking Glass”
illustrates Einstein’s relativism perfectly – where
for each person time becomes something different
And The White Queen lived life backwards, screamed in
pain before she pricked her finger, when it bled in the
actual event she smiled only, already done with the emotion
of shock, it’s how I live my life exactly, something wonderful
happens I cry my eyes out in fear of losing it – then enjoy
the wonder and when the event is over I smile having
already cried
In a space-time dimension we can move backwards
and forwards in time according to relativism, I always
move to the end of every event before it unfolds in order
to enjoy its dénouement without fear for the inevitable
ending, it can be rather a drawback – now my kids do the
same, never expressing sentimental emotion or fear of
anything going wrong, saying they are prepared for
everything going wrong all the time –
I wonder, is it a good thing? Their cynical rejection of
excessive emotionalism of Romeo and Juliet is quite
shocking to one who cried desperately on reading the
play that first time…
sans reading glasses, sitting in the wrong chair not
listening – hates news on political events, drove like
a fiend, argued Carroll’s “Through The Looking Glass”
illustrates Einstein’s relativism perfectly – where
for each person time becomes something different
And The White Queen lived life backwards, screamed in
pain before she pricked her finger, when it bled in the
actual event she smiled only, already done with the emotion
of shock, it’s how I live my life exactly, something wonderful
happens I cry my eyes out in fear of losing it – then enjoy
the wonder and when the event is over I smile having
already cried
In a space-time dimension we can move backwards
and forwards in time according to relativism, I always
move to the end of every event before it unfolds in order
to enjoy its dénouement without fear for the inevitable
ending, it can be rather a drawback – now my kids do the
same, never expressing sentimental emotion or fear of
anything going wrong, saying they are prepared for
everything going wrong all the time –
I wonder, is it a good thing? Their cynical rejection of
excessive emotionalism of Romeo and Juliet is quite
shocking to one who cried desperately on reading the
play that first time…
Machine-Gun Fire Facts (Rev.)
Alice lost in cauchemardesque French
class in which politics was study topic
listening to a French radio programme
slipping lower in her chair
pen poised in a notebook gigantesque to
show compliance compensatory for lack of
intelligence - when listening Alice never
discerns details, hears the song
rise and fall, rhythm, beat, tone and timbre of
speakers’ voices, not content, brain cannot
comprehend value of listening to irrelevant
details of international adventures in
which she cannot partake, stories that do not
change settings in her brain – loves things
that make her swoon of lyrical beauty,
amazing absurdity, surreality
Which wakes relativism, quantum physics,
the illusory quality of inter-subjective reality NOT
machine-gun fired politics peppering her mind
until she expires, slides down in her chair…
class in which politics was study topic
listening to a French radio programme
slipping lower in her chair
pen poised in a notebook gigantesque to
show compliance compensatory for lack of
intelligence - when listening Alice never
discerns details, hears the song
rise and fall, rhythm, beat, tone and timbre of
speakers’ voices, not content, brain cannot
comprehend value of listening to irrelevant
details of international adventures in
which she cannot partake, stories that do not
change settings in her brain – loves things
that make her swoon of lyrical beauty,
amazing absurdity, surreality
Which wakes relativism, quantum physics,
the illusory quality of inter-subjective reality NOT
machine-gun fired politics peppering her mind
until she expires, slides down in her chair…
Gastronomic Conflagration (Rev.)
Memo to Me:
Never again eat croissants with scrambled eggs
for breakfast, this killer headache is as good as
an assassin with an AK47 in a violin case
yet it looked so delicious – carried away I was,
reading of Alice eating, drinking and changing
form in Wonderland,
watching Food Channel visiting fast food deli’s
all over USA, everything fried in hot oil; reading
Pratchett’s Monstrous Regiment where girls posed
as soldiers, fried horsemeat with onions seasoned
with sherry – certainly whet my appetite,
but allergy alert revolted at a proposed delicacy of
bacon and eggs on croissant; the mixture of English
with French cuisine upset my psyche
A feeling of complete and utter nihilism claims,
head glows, embers smoulder red-hot, painkillers
fail; staring at my boring document wondering why
illusory reality does not flicker out of existence
my soul lost in gastronomic conflagration…
Never again eat croissants with scrambled eggs
for breakfast, this killer headache is as good as
an assassin with an AK47 in a violin case
yet it looked so delicious – carried away I was,
reading of Alice eating, drinking and changing
form in Wonderland,
watching Food Channel visiting fast food deli’s
all over USA, everything fried in hot oil; reading
Pratchett’s Monstrous Regiment where girls posed
as soldiers, fried horsemeat with onions seasoned
with sherry – certainly whet my appetite,
but allergy alert revolted at a proposed delicacy of
bacon and eggs on croissant; the mixture of English
with French cuisine upset my psyche
A feeling of complete and utter nihilism claims,
head glows, embers smoulder red-hot, painkillers
fail; staring at my boring document wondering why
illusory reality does not flicker out of existence
my soul lost in gastronomic conflagration…
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Grin And Bear It
I am different this morning - she insists on
ice-cream for breakfast, hates my clothes,
bought herself a new T-shirt, changed my
hair, loathes my shoes and underclothes
She finds my bar stool uncomfortable, she
hates my elevated keyboard balanced on
two dictionaries, made me move the
mouse down also
She thinks preparation for French class is
nonsense and declares the translation of
legal lines preposterous; she wants to
investigate the wonderful world
The change brought about by reading Alice,
no doubt, in short, it is a right royal mess to
have her around; yet she adds sparkle and
fizz to my life
I cannot think what the world would be like
without her in it, governing my mind and
changing my appearance; just for today
I shall grin and bear it...
ice-cream for breakfast, hates my clothes,
bought herself a new T-shirt, changed my
hair, loathes my shoes and underclothes
She finds my bar stool uncomfortable, she
hates my elevated keyboard balanced on
two dictionaries, made me move the
mouse down also
She thinks preparation for French class is
nonsense and declares the translation of
legal lines preposterous; she wants to
investigate the wonderful world
The change brought about by reading Alice,
no doubt, in short, it is a right royal mess to
have her around; yet she adds sparkle and
fizz to my life
I cannot think what the world would be like
without her in it, governing my mind and
changing my appearance; just for today
I shall grin and bear it...
A Magic Context
Last night I read Alice in Wonderland,
once again her conversation with the
Crying Mock Turtle and the Gryphon
worked its enchantment
Gave me the feeling of being safe with
Alice in a magic context, a safe social
situation where wondering at marvels
is all that is required
To love and enjoy life - and -
I LOVED it!
I love this experience which is probably
illegal – no grown-up has the right to
experience so much joy in such a
little thing – I am privileged
To tell you about it without being ashamed
of this feeling, it would be unfair to demand
I give it up as other compulsory joys
do not work for me
Cannot be recaptured and relived
in the same scrumptious way...
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Shuffle of the Undead (Rev.)
Did an undead shuffle around the lunch hour
block, lurching side to side in beat with my
favourite music accentuating a strange
charm of being too tired to lift my feet
Two meals of French fries stymied my brain
circuitry, stunned my nervous system, too
tired to create impressions I’m still alive, have
to wait until my mind engages again
Gave up reading and writing, I’m upright fast
asleep, everything I eat or drink worsens the
situation, I am Mrs Narcolypsy who’s been
known to fall asleep in mid-sentence
If I do the wrong thing now I shall not be able
to get up tomorrow, an eating disorder that
made me into the most antisocial being,
shunning company because of fatigue
Dedicated bookworm, follower of bibliotherapy,
without books to take my mind away from my
sleepy body I would be stuck without escape
in the molasses of a deepfreeze …
block, lurching side to side in beat with my
favourite music accentuating a strange
charm of being too tired to lift my feet
Two meals of French fries stymied my brain
circuitry, stunned my nervous system, too
tired to create impressions I’m still alive, have
to wait until my mind engages again
Gave up reading and writing, I’m upright fast
asleep, everything I eat or drink worsens the
situation, I am Mrs Narcolypsy who’s been
known to fall asleep in mid-sentence
If I do the wrong thing now I shall not be able
to get up tomorrow, an eating disorder that
made me into the most antisocial being,
shunning company because of fatigue
Dedicated bookworm, follower of bibliotherapy,
without books to take my mind away from my
sleepy body I would be stuck without escape
in the molasses of a deepfreeze …
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Suffering Avenged (Original & Revised)
(ORIGINAL)
Oh, how easy it is to fall back into the
evil ways of my youth, to eat and drink
dangerous things such as French fries
and fast food, then to take place behind
the eyes of the authors who retained
the mind of a child
To flee the reality of boring texts like bone-
dry legislation that bring about mental death –
I hope there is a special hell for everyone who
forced other people with imagination and dif-
ferent taste to read destructive legal
documents
I hope they will be tortured by exposure to end-
less repetitions of children’s stories until they feel
the same pain they made others endure, that
every terrible moment of suffering will be
avenged in the tables being turned on
every boring person
We were constrained to listen to - even when
our brains kept falling out in the attempt to
hide the high degree of frustration we
were subjected to…
(REVISED)
Oh, so easy to fall back into dangerous
ways, to eat French fries and fast food,
drink in evil dilemmas – then hide behind
the eyes of authors who retained those
unsophisticated minds of children
Flee surreality of boring texts like bone-dry
legislation bringing mental asphyxia and
death – hoping there is a special hell for
those forcing others with imagination and
taste to read destructive legal documents
Hoping they will be tortured by exposure to
endless repetitions of children’s stories until
they feel the same pain they made others
endure, that every moment of suffering will
be avenged in tables being turned and
Dumped unimaginatively on every boring
person we were constrained to listen to –
even when our brains fell out of our heads
in attempts to hide high degrees of frustration
we were subjected to…
Oh, how easy it is to fall back into the
evil ways of my youth, to eat and drink
dangerous things such as French fries
and fast food, then to take place behind
the eyes of the authors who retained
the mind of a child
To flee the reality of boring texts like bone-
dry legislation that bring about mental death –
I hope there is a special hell for everyone who
forced other people with imagination and dif-
ferent taste to read destructive legal
documents
I hope they will be tortured by exposure to end-
less repetitions of children’s stories until they feel
the same pain they made others endure, that
every terrible moment of suffering will be
avenged in the tables being turned on
every boring person
We were constrained to listen to - even when
our brains kept falling out in the attempt to
hide the high degree of frustration we
were subjected to…
(REVISED)
Oh, so easy to fall back into dangerous
ways, to eat French fries and fast food,
drink in evil dilemmas – then hide behind
the eyes of authors who retained those
unsophisticated minds of children
Flee surreality of boring texts like bone-dry
legislation bringing mental asphyxia and
death – hoping there is a special hell for
those forcing others with imagination and
taste to read destructive legal documents
Hoping they will be tortured by exposure to
endless repetitions of children’s stories until
they feel the same pain they made others
endure, that every moment of suffering will
be avenged in tables being turned and
Dumped unimaginatively on every boring
person we were constrained to listen to –
even when our brains fell out of our heads
in attempts to hide high degrees of frustration
we were subjected to…
An Exalted Being (Rev.)
Sedately walking the street, not as an anonymous
and lonely soul, no, an exalted being clutching an
illustrated edition of Through the Looking Glass
and Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
Cherishing my treasure, beatific smile playing on
pursed lips, mentally preparing to partake of the
most satisfying feast of mixed dimensions, the
enchantment of irrefutable logic leading to
Insoluble conundrums and delightfully irrational
ideas, walking in scorching sun accompanied by
Lewis Carroll, and his fresh way of looking at
old things my talisman, my guarantee
The world will appear new to me, life’s sweetness
can never be dulled when regarded through
his wondering eyes!
and lonely soul, no, an exalted being clutching an
illustrated edition of Through the Looking Glass
and Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
Cherishing my treasure, beatific smile playing on
pursed lips, mentally preparing to partake of the
most satisfying feast of mixed dimensions, the
enchantment of irrefutable logic leading to
Insoluble conundrums and delightfully irrational
ideas, walking in scorching sun accompanied by
Lewis Carroll, and his fresh way of looking at
old things my talisman, my guarantee
The world will appear new to me, life’s sweetness
can never be dulled when regarded through
his wondering eyes!
A Lifetime Of Reading
Crashing into a wall of impossible text, legislation
of the kind that only Mr Slant, a zombie of about
four hundred year’s undead existence can stand
without crashing into waves of nihilism
Casting about for positive focal points, consulted my
favourite guru who kept repeating the mantra ‘keep
thinking of what you desire and it will come to you’
suddenly a clown appeared with a whistle
Calling us to the foyer to receive chips and chocolate
to celebrate the issue of our first newsletter, the guru’s
words vindicated as I always think about stuff to chew,
being the female equivalent of
Mr Tulip, I should be called Mrs Tulip, sniffing spearmint
and peppermint oils, seeking relief from clogged sinuses
and tinnitus, my brain as scrambled as Mr Tulip’s, I am
dependent on Mr Pin – that would be Martin –
To make all the decisions in life, while I am closeted with a
book trying to become resigned to being the village idiot
wherever I go given the speed with which my thought
processes disintegrate and scatter the little insight
I might have gained through a lifetime of reading…
*******************************************
“The Truth” – Terry Pratchett – Mr Slant – a zombie lawyer,
almost 400 years undead
Two characters, Mr Tulip and Mr Pin, who remind of Mr
Albert Wint and Mr Charles Kidd two fictional characters
in the James Bond film “Diamonds Are Forever”
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Door To The Outside
It is raining outside, every room we have added
to this house has a door to the outside, the new
master bedroom, the living room, the dining room,
the sunroom, all have sliding double doors because
of my phobia of being stuck inside
Now it feels as if we are outside when sliding doors
are open while rain is falling, hailstones; everything
required to make this a green, lush autumn season,
the feeling of sad, nostalgic reminiscence for the
departing summer is lifting as I listen
To the rain falling outside – although I could not find
a TV programme to watch or another book to read, I
am happy feeling free – just like we felt as teenagers
living in a room outside the house with a door into the
rain – the magnificence of being
Free from parental care as we lived in the garden, the
willow tree as our guard – which made me feel the
agony of claustrophobia at university stuck in a match-
box room on the 14th floor of the residence I abhorred;
but that is in the past - today
I am happy and content in this wonderful house -
sliding doors everywhere; except the old master
bedroom where Nici lives in teenage pride,
bathroom en suite - and Willem coming to
visit every second weekend…
to this house has a door to the outside, the new
master bedroom, the living room, the dining room,
the sunroom, all have sliding double doors because
of my phobia of being stuck inside
Now it feels as if we are outside when sliding doors
are open while rain is falling, hailstones; everything
required to make this a green, lush autumn season,
the feeling of sad, nostalgic reminiscence for the
departing summer is lifting as I listen
To the rain falling outside – although I could not find
a TV programme to watch or another book to read, I
am happy feeling free – just like we felt as teenagers
living in a room outside the house with a door into the
rain – the magnificence of being
Free from parental care as we lived in the garden, the
willow tree as our guard – which made me feel the
agony of claustrophobia at university stuck in a match-
box room on the 14th floor of the residence I abhorred;
but that is in the past - today
I am happy and content in this wonderful house -
sliding doors everywhere; except the old master
bedroom where Nici lives in teenage pride,
bathroom en suite - and Willem coming to
visit every second weekend…
Terminal Benevolence
Finished reading “The Truth” the 25th Discworld
Novel by Terry Pratchett, rereading my notes to
decide what to report about this, deciding to jot
them down as they are, a memory of the best
satire by an author worth his weight in gold…
p162
“The philosopher Heidehollen says the universe is
a cold soup of time, all time mixed up together, the
passage of time being merely quantum fluctuations
in the fabric of space-time” - “in another country the
psychotropic scenery knows that thunder, lightning,
drum rolls and organ music are expected of it”
Pratchett combines German philosophy with
Hollywood movie conventions
p199 & p200
Mr Pin with an expression of terminal benevolence
Mr Tulip from Little Flowers of Perpetual Annoyance
Mr Pin saying the way to send a soul to heaven is to
give the body hell; two characters reminding of the
two criminals in “Diamonds Are Forever”, James
Bond, now I KNOW why I hate false altruistic
benevolence so!
p205
“A subject’s own morphic signature aligns the thing-
particles in phase-phase according to the Temporel
Relevance Theory, creating the effect of multiple di-
rectionless windows which intersect with the illusion
of the present and create metaphoric images accor-
ding to the dictates of quasi-historical extrapolation”
Ah, adorable, Pratchett uses quantum physics to
explain the illusion of material reality
p210 & p235 & p286 & p314
Saying with “horrible cheerfulness: You can tell as many
lies as you like if it’s advertising”, phenomenology
as explained by Heidegger, what a thing LOOKS
like and “a Lecturer in Vindictive Astronomy”,
oh yes, kill them with theories, delightful!
P319
“Reincarnation enjoys a joke as much as the next
philosophical hypothesis” – ending with a brilliant
observation: “Nothing has to be true for ever, just
long enough, to tell you the truth…” my truth for
today making me happy, need not last till
tomorrow…
“The Truth” the 25th Discworld Novel by Terry Pratchett
Published 2000 by Doubleday
Novel by Terry Pratchett, rereading my notes to
decide what to report about this, deciding to jot
them down as they are, a memory of the best
satire by an author worth his weight in gold…
p162
“The philosopher Heidehollen says the universe is
a cold soup of time, all time mixed up together, the
passage of time being merely quantum fluctuations
in the fabric of space-time” - “in another country the
psychotropic scenery knows that thunder, lightning,
drum rolls and organ music are expected of it”
Pratchett combines German philosophy with
Hollywood movie conventions
p199 & p200
Mr Pin with an expression of terminal benevolence
Mr Tulip from Little Flowers of Perpetual Annoyance
Mr Pin saying the way to send a soul to heaven is to
give the body hell; two characters reminding of the
two criminals in “Diamonds Are Forever”, James
Bond, now I KNOW why I hate false altruistic
benevolence so!
p205
“A subject’s own morphic signature aligns the thing-
particles in phase-phase according to the Temporel
Relevance Theory, creating the effect of multiple di-
rectionless windows which intersect with the illusion
of the present and create metaphoric images accor-
ding to the dictates of quasi-historical extrapolation”
Ah, adorable, Pratchett uses quantum physics to
explain the illusion of material reality
p210 & p235 & p286 & p314
Saying with “horrible cheerfulness: You can tell as many
lies as you like if it’s advertising”, phenomenology
as explained by Heidegger, what a thing LOOKS
like and “a Lecturer in Vindictive Astronomy”,
oh yes, kill them with theories, delightful!
P319
“Reincarnation enjoys a joke as much as the next
philosophical hypothesis” – ending with a brilliant
observation: “Nothing has to be true for ever, just
long enough, to tell you the truth…” my truth for
today making me happy, need not last till
tomorrow…
“The Truth” the 25th Discworld Novel by Terry Pratchett
Published 2000 by Doubleday
Friday, March 18, 2011
Terrifyingly Empty
Lost my dream, invisible to begin with,
used to give me sustenance, without it
I have no fire in my heart, I am become
a dead golem without a sacred chem in
my head; everything I think stays inside
as there are no dream people to talk to
I need to revive the feeling that there is
someone out there who cares what I as-
pire to - feeling apathetic and unheard -
languishing in silence without the power
conferred by hope, I have to pull myself
up by my own boot-strings
Fabricate an alternative world where tele-
pathy provides communication – I cannot
stay in this material illusion, loneliness is
killing me, physical reality feels so empty,
so absolutely, terrifyingly empty…
used to give me sustenance, without it
I have no fire in my heart, I am become
a dead golem without a sacred chem in
my head; everything I think stays inside
as there are no dream people to talk to
I need to revive the feeling that there is
someone out there who cares what I as-
pire to - feeling apathetic and unheard -
languishing in silence without the power
conferred by hope, I have to pull myself
up by my own boot-strings
Fabricate an alternative world where tele-
pathy provides communication – I cannot
stay in this material illusion, loneliness is
killing me, physical reality feels so empty,
so absolutely, terrifyingly empty…
Thursday, March 17, 2011
My Heart Bleeding
It feels so useless to share my passions with
others, it seems to be meaningless to show
them the pictures I love, wonderful exciting
ideas and theories that mystify me
My listeners were mystified, Newton’s mechanics
would be enough, nobody inspired by quantum
physics, no-one jumped up and down with me,
everyone focused on pain and loss
Politics, earthquakes, tsunamis, conflagrations,
contemporary events and lack of a clear French
foreign policy; fighting, torture and death; while
I am thinking of atom smashers
Leaving traces only when microscopic particles
smash into each other – all spiritual New Agers
agree that all people know subliminally when
all kinds of upheavals will be
And willingly choose to participate; but I must hide
this insight for fear of being crucified, people did
not even exempt Sherlock Holmes and Arthur
Findlay from disgrace and contempt
When they expressed their convictions regarding
life after death - what can a poor little translator,
suffering every political lecture where no-one
has heard of Ayn Rand and her philosophy
-that the true altruist jumps into the cannibal’s pot
to be eaten, sacrificing life for the well-being of
fellow human beings- say; when confronted
with Western materialism?
I sway under the attack of cynical Western belief
in exclusive sensory reality, my spirit suffering as
I strive to hide my spiritual convictions - my
power spent - my heart bleeding…
others, it seems to be meaningless to show
them the pictures I love, wonderful exciting
ideas and theories that mystify me
My listeners were mystified, Newton’s mechanics
would be enough, nobody inspired by quantum
physics, no-one jumped up and down with me,
everyone focused on pain and loss
Politics, earthquakes, tsunamis, conflagrations,
contemporary events and lack of a clear French
foreign policy; fighting, torture and death; while
I am thinking of atom smashers
Leaving traces only when microscopic particles
smash into each other – all spiritual New Agers
agree that all people know subliminally when
all kinds of upheavals will be
And willingly choose to participate; but I must hide
this insight for fear of being crucified, people did
not even exempt Sherlock Holmes and Arthur
Findlay from disgrace and contempt
When they expressed their convictions regarding
life after death - what can a poor little translator,
suffering every political lecture where no-one
has heard of Ayn Rand and her philosophy
-that the true altruist jumps into the cannibal’s pot
to be eaten, sacrificing life for the well-being of
fellow human beings- say; when confronted
with Western materialism?
I sway under the attack of cynical Western belief
in exclusive sensory reality, my spirit suffering as
I strive to hide my spiritual convictions - my
power spent - my heart bleeding…
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Dear Gerhard – this is for you:
There you are, six years old, ready to
start school, posing under the willow
tree that stood in front of our room
until struck by lightning
The old house in the background, a ladder
indicating my dad never stopped fixing it
the porch where I used to read at night
when people were too noisy inside
You have the pixie look that marks the
very small boy, a look of innocence and
joy, I wish we lived in a universe
where we could retain it
Though you look different now, your joy
is still the same, your infectious laughter
exploding like mine, must be a family
trait, and I like it
We share a fascination with happiness and
optimism, we share a love for your grand-
ma, my garrulous aunt whose
fingers and tongue
Never stopped for a moment - you clung
to your dreams when family seemed to
look down upon you, just like I clung
to mine – we share more than genes
We share a determination to remain
enthusiastic about life - in the face
of all contrary evidence!
Abhor Life’s Smorgasbord
I was not going to cry about this mind-blowing,
skull-crushing document, I was going to be a
Stoic Spartan, just carrying on – but when we
were offered celestial courses, then forced to
take what we abhor from life’s smorgasbord,
I lost my cool, broke down and cried
It is a once-off, my armour to fight losses should be in
place, although one ship passes me by, there are a
myriad others, let me cry about the loss of a course
in literary translation, the loss of the thought of
enjoying tomorrow’s class; I knew it to be a
hallucination right from the start
When I have cried enough, lost enough time to
make me look bad; sadness will sink down, once
all chances of looking good are lost, good feelings
will come - let me destroy all hope, kill the dreams
to hasten the future of my lonely life - I tried
to swallow the bitter gall
Of the tragic document - but it turned out to be
just a farce, could not force my brain to concen-
trate, tomorrow will be a most terrifying day,
already despairing of enjoying the charade -
when will it be my turn to give up the spirit
Yet Pratchett and quantum physics
will keep me alive…
skull-crushing document, I was going to be a
Stoic Spartan, just carrying on – but when we
were offered celestial courses, then forced to
take what we abhor from life’s smorgasbord,
I lost my cool, broke down and cried
It is a once-off, my armour to fight losses should be in
place, although one ship passes me by, there are a
myriad others, let me cry about the loss of a course
in literary translation, the loss of the thought of
enjoying tomorrow’s class; I knew it to be a
hallucination right from the start
When I have cried enough, lost enough time to
make me look bad; sadness will sink down, once
all chances of looking good are lost, good feelings
will come - let me destroy all hope, kill the dreams
to hasten the future of my lonely life - I tried
to swallow the bitter gall
Of the tragic document - but it turned out to be
just a farce, could not force my brain to concen-
trate, tomorrow will be a most terrifying day,
already despairing of enjoying the charade -
when will it be my turn to give up the spirit
Yet Pratchett and quantum physics
will keep me alive…
Saturday, March 12, 2011
King of Storms (Revised)
No-one shall ever be able to make you feel
the admiration I felt as a child when older
brother met nieces - guitars playing in unison,
singing songs I cannot recall - only the joy of
seeing gods on earth charming each other
Nobody can ever measure the depth, height
and breadth of young child’s admiration for
their talented elders – later they trimmed my
brother’s hair with a razor, the very same
Susan and Ria known as ‘Sannetjie en Ria’
Susan with black, enticing hair, the blonde
Ria - they sang like angels – together with
Martie, their elder sister married to my uncle –
a dreamer who bought a train set, painstakingly
cleaning it when I first took an interest in him
Memories can be the best part of life - shivers
and frissons, books that have been read, forming
together a wonderful memoir of dreams, a way
to escape everything that did not chime with
visions of a new world
A new universe where mother was Queen of
song and music, brother was King; dad was
King of Storms, Poseidon himself, causing
waves of chaos to undulate through the lives
of everyone who loved him
Even my Scorpion uncle and his progeny,
Gerhard especially; played a role in this –
my personal myth, my very own Odyssey –
a quest for the golden fleece - or even –
our Lord’s golden chalice…
Classic Accident (Rev.)
Tiaan next to me, GPS in hand, directing,
I am driving, shaking my shoulders in time
with the songs he plays, approached the
corner too fast, scared of slipping, just then
he turned up the volume, sound burst in my
ears, for a moment I lost control of my con-
sciousness, I could not hit the brake even
if I had wanted to
The classic accident scenario; I shouted above
the din, TURN DOWN THE VOLUME! – I knew
we had been given a heavenly reprieve; for a few
seconds I was not in control of the car, explained
to Tiaan he must check what is going on before
fiddling with the knobs, when a driver loses control
only divine providence prevents the inevitable
accident – it was terrible
a decibel-high wild shout by the lead singer
scrambled my brains, stayed my ability to
apply brakes judiciously; felt the car slipping,
beginning to slide into a corner – knowing
how it could have ended, I pray once again
please, Heavenly Father, keep my children
safe…
I am driving, shaking my shoulders in time
with the songs he plays, approached the
corner too fast, scared of slipping, just then
he turned up the volume, sound burst in my
ears, for a moment I lost control of my con-
sciousness, I could not hit the brake even
if I had wanted to
The classic accident scenario; I shouted above
the din, TURN DOWN THE VOLUME! – I knew
we had been given a heavenly reprieve; for a few
seconds I was not in control of the car, explained
to Tiaan he must check what is going on before
fiddling with the knobs, when a driver loses control
only divine providence prevents the inevitable
accident – it was terrible
a decibel-high wild shout by the lead singer
scrambled my brains, stayed my ability to
apply brakes judiciously; felt the car slipping,
beginning to slide into a corner – knowing
how it could have ended, I pray once again
please, Heavenly Father, keep my children
safe…
A Valuable Escape (Revised)
The world of The Wizards of Waverley Place
made last night easy to deal with – those bad
feelings, result of drinking red wine and eating
white killer rolls; entered a ready- made place
where the mind rests in innocence
Mastered the jargon, the upbeat comments on
life and its aches, easy to take refuge in this
superficial universe, a valuable escape when
the allergy takes hold – and when the menfolk
hog TV immersed in a list of interminable
rugby and cricket games
Stuck, cannot read any more, need to float,
to find a Shangri-La where ordinary rules of
universes are suspended, where eternal youth
keeps minds occupied, free from the laws of
food consumption this body is subject to
I wish it were last night, the Walt Disney
channel at my disposal to keep my heart
safe - until the brain functions again...
made last night easy to deal with – those bad
feelings, result of drinking red wine and eating
white killer rolls; entered a ready- made place
where the mind rests in innocence
Mastered the jargon, the upbeat comments on
life and its aches, easy to take refuge in this
superficial universe, a valuable escape when
the allergy takes hold – and when the menfolk
hog TV immersed in a list of interminable
rugby and cricket games
Stuck, cannot read any more, need to float,
to find a Shangri-La where ordinary rules of
universes are suspended, where eternal youth
keeps minds occupied, free from the laws of
food consumption this body is subject to
I wish it were last night, the Walt Disney
channel at my disposal to keep my heart
safe - until the brain functions again...
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Sacred Not Profaned (Revised)
Do you wish to continue
therapeutic writing only
he asked sneering, rather
than expertly covering all
fields using words correctly,
I cringed, yes, I want to
continue therapeutic writing,
but I can truly express what
I feel to be rejected and
maligned by the likes of you
and your cronies, sorry;
Colleagues, I cover the trials
of mental events by describing
fleeting emotions flashing over
the surface, hiding the real thing
from prying eyes, reading and
writing myself into oblivion –
Right now Pratchett’s description
of how a person withdraws into
a bubble of privacy in a much too
noisy world is a brilliant ploy that
keeps my inner being safe
from turmoil
Surface events delineated in detail –
excitement of passion and feeling
without giving away the real thing
beneath – the sacred shall not
be profaned…
[ORIGINAL:]
Do you wish to continue with therapeutic writing
only, he asked with a sneer, instead of covering
all fields with expertise using words correctly, I
cringed, yes, I want to continue with therapeutic
writing, do you think I can truly express what I
feel to be rejected and maligned by the likes
of you and your cronies, sorry; colleagues
I cover the trials left by mental events by describing
fleeting emotions flashing over the surface, hiding the
real thing from prying eyes, reading and writing myself
into oblivion - right now enjoying Pratchett’s description
how a person withdraws into a bubble of privacy in a
much too noisy world, a brilliant ploy that keeps my
inner being safe from turmoil
Surface events delineated in detail - the excitement of
passion and feeling without giving away the real thing
beneath - the sacred shall not be profaned…
therapeutic writing only
he asked sneering, rather
than expertly covering all
fields using words correctly,
I cringed, yes, I want to
continue therapeutic writing,
but I can truly express what
I feel to be rejected and
maligned by the likes of you
and your cronies, sorry;
Colleagues, I cover the trials
of mental events by describing
fleeting emotions flashing over
the surface, hiding the real thing
from prying eyes, reading and
writing myself into oblivion –
Right now Pratchett’s description
of how a person withdraws into
a bubble of privacy in a much too
noisy world is a brilliant ploy that
keeps my inner being safe
from turmoil
Surface events delineated in detail –
excitement of passion and feeling
without giving away the real thing
beneath – the sacred shall not
be profaned…
[ORIGINAL:]
Do you wish to continue with therapeutic writing
only, he asked with a sneer, instead of covering
all fields with expertise using words correctly, I
cringed, yes, I want to continue with therapeutic
writing, do you think I can truly express what I
feel to be rejected and maligned by the likes
of you and your cronies, sorry; colleagues
I cover the trials left by mental events by describing
fleeting emotions flashing over the surface, hiding the
real thing from prying eyes, reading and writing myself
into oblivion - right now enjoying Pratchett’s description
how a person withdraws into a bubble of privacy in a
much too noisy world, a brilliant ploy that keeps my
inner being safe from turmoil
Surface events delineated in detail - the excitement of
passion and feeling without giving away the real thing
beneath - the sacred shall not be profaned…
Monday, March 7, 2011
My Heart Beating
My thoughts were fluttering about without
purpose, sad little birds with nowhere to
perch, all the love and warmth I felt in my
heart before had gone
I did not have the strength of conviction left,
could not recall your voice, could not see
anything worthy of a dream, I was growing
cold inside – then you came
And spoke the words that mean everything
to me: Did I tell you how much I love you?
Your started my heart beating again, and
when you added
I would want to crush you in my arms today,
my feelings woke up and I became me again
the fear of not seeing you, leaving, shedding
the cloak of doubt
The fear that I was dead inside, lifting as I
came alive and new vigour filled my whole
being, you brought life back to me with the
only words that set me free
From fear of turning into stone –
I love you…
purpose, sad little birds with nowhere to
perch, all the love and warmth I felt in my
heart before had gone
I did not have the strength of conviction left,
could not recall your voice, could not see
anything worthy of a dream, I was growing
cold inside – then you came
And spoke the words that mean everything
to me: Did I tell you how much I love you?
Your started my heart beating again, and
when you added
I would want to crush you in my arms today,
my feelings woke up and I became me again
the fear of not seeing you, leaving, shedding
the cloak of doubt
The fear that I was dead inside, lifting as I
came alive and new vigour filled my whole
being, you brought life back to me with the
only words that set me free
From fear of turning into stone –
I love you…
Swallow Her Whole
An insulting letter to the Receiver of Revenue – and I have
friends who work there, I hope they will demand even more
aching interest increases after this citizen’s self-righteous
missive composed in such a hostile and aggressive, tone
I hope this kind of nastiness is scorned in total silence –
that the toads and vipers she spat out against ordinary
officials conducting their lives turn upon her and swallow
her whole –how dare she use such cruel invective on
People who try to serve – may she and her letter just vanish
into oblivion so that nobody will be required to see the
awful red flames in her dark aura, may every revengeful
word turn away from those who did their work
May she learn to become humble and kind,
may she learn she is just as prone to make
mistakes as the rest of us!
friends who work there, I hope they will demand even more
aching interest increases after this citizen’s self-righteous
missive composed in such a hostile and aggressive, tone
I hope this kind of nastiness is scorned in total silence –
that the toads and vipers she spat out against ordinary
officials conducting their lives turn upon her and swallow
her whole –how dare she use such cruel invective on
People who try to serve – may she and her letter just vanish
into oblivion so that nobody will be required to see the
awful red flames in her dark aura, may every revengeful
word turn away from those who did their work
May she learn to become humble and kind,
may she learn she is just as prone to make
mistakes as the rest of us!
Such Mastery
To calm my spirit I read the illustrated
‘Scarem’s House’ – about a dreary and
depressed ghost family who are happy that
way – until the cheerful Merry family moves in,
the ghosts are outraged and start haunting
them but the modern Merry family invites
friends to share the bizarre enjoyment
In the end the ghosts go on holiday with the
Merry family, my fears laid to rest by this de-
lightful tale; next ‘The Attack of the Killer Fish
Fingers, the Freaky Facts Club’ – just the title
makes me feel joyous; then ‘Dinotopia, The
World Beneath’ about archaeology and
lost civilizations
Beautifully illustrated by James Gurney, a
painter - I rest mind and spirit in the wonder
of these creations, withdrawing from a world
in which factual sequences are required –
processing techniques so alien to me I cannot
even begin to acquire such mastery…
‘Scarem’s House’ Malcolm Yorke, Scholastic
Children’s Books, 1994
‘The Attack of the Killer Fish Fingers - The Freaky
Facts Club’ Paul Zindel, Red Fox Books, 1993
‘Dinotopia, The World Beneath’ James Gurney, Dorling
Kindersley, 1995
‘Scarem’s House’ – about a dreary and
depressed ghost family who are happy that
way – until the cheerful Merry family moves in,
the ghosts are outraged and start haunting
them but the modern Merry family invites
friends to share the bizarre enjoyment
In the end the ghosts go on holiday with the
Merry family, my fears laid to rest by this de-
lightful tale; next ‘The Attack of the Killer Fish
Fingers, the Freaky Facts Club’ – just the title
makes me feel joyous; then ‘Dinotopia, The
World Beneath’ about archaeology and
lost civilizations
Beautifully illustrated by James Gurney, a
painter - I rest mind and spirit in the wonder
of these creations, withdrawing from a world
in which factual sequences are required –
processing techniques so alien to me I cannot
even begin to acquire such mastery…
‘Scarem’s House’ Malcolm Yorke, Scholastic
Children’s Books, 1994
‘The Attack of the Killer Fish Fingers - The Freaky
Facts Club’ Paul Zindel, Red Fox Books, 1993
‘Dinotopia, The World Beneath’ James Gurney, Dorling
Kindersley, 1995
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Dyscalculia
Just finished reading “The Thirteenth Winter
– A Memoir” by Samantha Abeel, published by
Sholastic Inc. 2004 - author suffering from
dyscalculia, a learning disability affecting her
capacity to learn skills based on sequential
processing such as math, music, spelling
and grammar
Dealt with her disability exactly the same way
I dealt with mine, falling prey to anxiety and
sleeping and eating disorders - she was
diagnosed and received special help for
the disabled, published books and did
public speaking, while I simply forged
on until I broke down
The author describes the way I experienced
and processed the concomitant depression
exactly the way it was; except that I had a
twin sister and two older brothers behind
whom I could hide; as well as a granny
to help me cope until I fell ill
Learning how another human being dealt with
the same shame, suffering and humiliation, I do
not feel so bad any more, realising my perfor-
mance can never be up to standard; instead
of it being a shame, it is a miracle that I have
managed to work hard and hold a job
for all this time!
Thank you to all who helped me for so long and
are still helping me with polishing my writing as
I just cannot force my mind to master sequential
skills which I do not naturally possess
– A Memoir” by Samantha Abeel, published by
Sholastic Inc. 2004 - author suffering from
dyscalculia, a learning disability affecting her
capacity to learn skills based on sequential
processing such as math, music, spelling
and grammar
Dealt with her disability exactly the same way
I dealt with mine, falling prey to anxiety and
sleeping and eating disorders - she was
diagnosed and received special help for
the disabled, published books and did
public speaking, while I simply forged
on until I broke down
The author describes the way I experienced
and processed the concomitant depression
exactly the way it was; except that I had a
twin sister and two older brothers behind
whom I could hide; as well as a granny
to help me cope until I fell ill
Learning how another human being dealt with
the same shame, suffering and humiliation, I do
not feel so bad any more, realising my perfor-
mance can never be up to standard; instead
of it being a shame, it is a miracle that I have
managed to work hard and hold a job
for all this time!
Thank you to all who helped me for so long and
are still helping me with polishing my writing as
I just cannot force my mind to master sequential
skills which I do not naturally possess
Friday, March 4, 2011
Happy Consequence (Revised)
Forgotten the happy consequence of losing
self-confidence – while drooling, squinting,
hands shrivelling into claws, back hunching
more and more, I can reassure all concerned
their strategy is working
Spirit broken, knowing sitting uncomfortably
in the wrong position was a sure-fire way of
making me see failure, an overimaginative
translator with the misfortune of being a
disastrous poetaster and limerickster
A quick-step smiling court jester turning
somersaults in passages, grovelling before
supervisors at work, kissing floors, attending
language classes; luckily grown completely
deaf, cannot hear or understand a word
Frozen in shock at depth of inadequacy, lost
hearing and thinking capacity, pain is numbing
my brain, cannot concentrate; this is excellent, I
am as dumb as I’m told I am, and what is even
more gratifying, I feel like dying
Knowing my best isn’t good enough and never
will be, no use trying, after giving my all I am
sent away as an ugly sinner, a low-life under-
achiever expected to die of shame and guess
what – I do feel dead, so ashamed, I am sure
Death’s too good for me, hoped for crucifixion,
strangulation, execution by military fusillade, I
cannot wait to die ignominious death, cannot
contain my impatience to say my farewells to a
world in which I have failed
What release this is, a world cleansed of me, an
evil person, what rejoicing as my lack of work
ethics and moral principles are allayed – how
overjoyed they who worked hard to kill my false
self-esteem, reveal my lack of character
I am happy they’ve succeeded so all can know
how far below par my attempts at posing as a
human being have been while underneath I’m
Machiavellian, a parasite on society, not deserving
life and daylight, only worthy of early death
Oh, what joy to be released from the task of
imitating my honourable colleagues while underneath
I was nothing but a mean and weak impostor
who should have been erased on the day
of birth!
self-confidence – while drooling, squinting,
hands shrivelling into claws, back hunching
more and more, I can reassure all concerned
their strategy is working
Spirit broken, knowing sitting uncomfortably
in the wrong position was a sure-fire way of
making me see failure, an overimaginative
translator with the misfortune of being a
disastrous poetaster and limerickster
A quick-step smiling court jester turning
somersaults in passages, grovelling before
supervisors at work, kissing floors, attending
language classes; luckily grown completely
deaf, cannot hear or understand a word
Frozen in shock at depth of inadequacy, lost
hearing and thinking capacity, pain is numbing
my brain, cannot concentrate; this is excellent, I
am as dumb as I’m told I am, and what is even
more gratifying, I feel like dying
Knowing my best isn’t good enough and never
will be, no use trying, after giving my all I am
sent away as an ugly sinner, a low-life under-
achiever expected to die of shame and guess
what – I do feel dead, so ashamed, I am sure
Death’s too good for me, hoped for crucifixion,
strangulation, execution by military fusillade, I
cannot wait to die ignominious death, cannot
contain my impatience to say my farewells to a
world in which I have failed
What release this is, a world cleansed of me, an
evil person, what rejoicing as my lack of work
ethics and moral principles are allayed – how
overjoyed they who worked hard to kill my false
self-esteem, reveal my lack of character
I am happy they’ve succeeded so all can know
how far below par my attempts at posing as a
human being have been while underneath I’m
Machiavellian, a parasite on society, not deserving
life and daylight, only worthy of early death
Oh, what joy to be released from the task of
imitating my honourable colleagues while underneath
I was nothing but a mean and weak impostor
who should have been erased on the day
of birth!
What a Privilege (Revised)
Underachiever that I am, I went into shock
realizing the depth of my manifest failings,
with my allergy always at work as an oxygen-
thief I fail to concentrate on routine things
The i’s are not always dotted and t’s crossed,
spaces and full stops not filled in correctly, my
administration a sin, migraine taking up valuable
space sitting in my Troglodyte chair
Three dislodged discs in my neck abetting my
failure to love perfect diction in rendering letters
by disgruntled members of the public in perfect
English for an obscure secretary of the President,
Not careful enough about one-eyed Cyclopian Troll
Interpol messages hunting criminals all over the
world, not word-perfect translating Arabic script into
workman English, not meeting with any requests
I see how I underachieve, how my example in
feeling ill at work and filling forms incorrectly
creates bad impressions, how lacking
accomplishment means I deserve punishment
The shock received is SO good for me, they need
ever so much better people in bureaucracy, people
who can serve with one hundred and seventies
intelligence quotient – I shall quietly assimilate
label of underachiever, my intelligence just
fell by a hundred degrees since that appellation,
being in shock means I am frozen in pain of
devastation, of guilt and sinful, awful things
Therefore I toil in misery, sweat clouding brow,
knowing now that I shall never be good enough
for our scintillating bureaucracy - but privileged
to serve in my lacklustre way!
************************************8
Isn't it wonderful how fast we become dumb
when labels are hung around our necks - losing
the little ability we had - so now we have none?
I thank everybody who took pains to make me
see the error of my ways and by labelling me
an underachiever, making sure I turn into
a gibbering idiot overnight, I can happily
assure you the therapy is working, I am
growing dumber by the moment!
[ANONYMOUS COMMENT:
We all underachieve, and we also over-achieve; the
perspective that matters however isn’t exactly ours
to chose.
In the workplace mania for ‘ranking’ as you express
it exceeds all rational derivations of utility. It
ceases to be an incentive for behaviour modification
and therefore is actually useless.
In that respect I see what your poem defines as
your own devaluation.]
realizing the depth of my manifest failings,
with my allergy always at work as an oxygen-
thief I fail to concentrate on routine things
The i’s are not always dotted and t’s crossed,
spaces and full stops not filled in correctly, my
administration a sin, migraine taking up valuable
space sitting in my Troglodyte chair
Three dislodged discs in my neck abetting my
failure to love perfect diction in rendering letters
by disgruntled members of the public in perfect
English for an obscure secretary of the President,
Not careful enough about one-eyed Cyclopian Troll
Interpol messages hunting criminals all over the
world, not word-perfect translating Arabic script into
workman English, not meeting with any requests
I see how I underachieve, how my example in
feeling ill at work and filling forms incorrectly
creates bad impressions, how lacking
accomplishment means I deserve punishment
The shock received is SO good for me, they need
ever so much better people in bureaucracy, people
who can serve with one hundred and seventies
intelligence quotient – I shall quietly assimilate
label of underachiever, my intelligence just
fell by a hundred degrees since that appellation,
being in shock means I am frozen in pain of
devastation, of guilt and sinful, awful things
Therefore I toil in misery, sweat clouding brow,
knowing now that I shall never be good enough
for our scintillating bureaucracy - but privileged
to serve in my lacklustre way!
************************************8
Isn't it wonderful how fast we become dumb
when labels are hung around our necks - losing
the little ability we had - so now we have none?
I thank everybody who took pains to make me
see the error of my ways and by labelling me
an underachiever, making sure I turn into
a gibbering idiot overnight, I can happily
assure you the therapy is working, I am
growing dumber by the moment!
[ANONYMOUS COMMENT:
We all underachieve, and we also over-achieve; the
perspective that matters however isn’t exactly ours
to chose.
In the workplace mania for ‘ranking’ as you express
it exceeds all rational derivations of utility. It
ceases to be an incentive for behaviour modification
and therefore is actually useless.
In that respect I see what your poem defines as
your own devaluation.]
Though It Hurts
I always think I am inured to nobody listening when
I speak - nobody caring what I think – until the day I
feel the need to explain my ideas – and you grin, it
does not matter, I shall pop back after all, always
did before
I try to put it in writing only to discover it cannot be
done, suddenly realize my soap bubble of friendship
- so-called – is bust; the words Walt Disney put in the
mouth of Alice – ‘I always give myself some very
good advice, but I very seldom follow it’
Appear in my mind to taunt me – I do the same,
advising myself, go there, do this, say that – do
NOT reveal the agony or its source - yet after
trying I could not do it, told you about my
sorrows – and you laughed
This is as it should be, though it hurts…
I speak - nobody caring what I think – until the day I
feel the need to explain my ideas – and you grin, it
does not matter, I shall pop back after all, always
did before
I try to put it in writing only to discover it cannot be
done, suddenly realize my soap bubble of friendship
- so-called – is bust; the words Walt Disney put in the
mouth of Alice – ‘I always give myself some very
good advice, but I very seldom follow it’
Appear in my mind to taunt me – I do the same,
advising myself, go there, do this, say that – do
NOT reveal the agony or its source - yet after
trying I could not do it, told you about my
sorrows – and you laughed
This is as it should be, though it hurts…
Façade Of Quosimodo
Behind the mask and façade of Quosimodo -
eyes squinting, back bent, hands transformed
into claws, Alice followed her duty, forcing her
hunchback into her chair under Madame La
Pompadour’s watchful eye, frame upright,
neck on fire
Ears conveying no sense, not an intelligent
syllable, IQ falling - - in a world of enforced
calculation there is no space for an Alice,
without Douglas Adams’ Bistromatics and
Terry Pratchett’s Hubert with his Glooper,
an Analogy Machine
solving problems, not as numerical exercises
but by duplicating them in a form people can
manipulate - water flowing through a glass –
now THIS Alice understands, crystals and
coloured water, an Igor storing lighting in
a jar - while a confirmed criminal
Takes over the banking system, lending money
at huge interest only to those who do not need
it; paying as little as possible profit to clients;
even Gadafi’s insistence that his Libyan
people love him - make more sense to
Alice (he has his personal universe)
Than saving dying languages which keep
their speakers in an iron grip of isolation,
making communication with the outside
world impossible; though linguists want
to preserve all extinct languages as a
curiosity - evidence of the variety
Of human cultural creation...
“Making Money” - Terry Pratchett - Doubleday
2007, quoted from p. 62
Glooper Image at: www.algodoo.com/doobox/details/22598
Thursday, March 3, 2011
After Class
Le cancre dans la classe – c’est moi, I am
learning to be humble again, now I know
why we must forget, halt consciousness;
cannot stand this awareness of sorrowful
stupidity without plummeting to new
depths of sad existence
Why forge ahead when all I do is expose my
lack of intelligence, how long must I eat humble
pie and swallow my words; forced to admit that
I am good at nothing? Like Ecclesiastes, I should
have been drowned or strangled at birth, like the
author of Lamentations
I should never have seen the light of this earth –
my life is a blight upon the sacred pathways of
inspiration followed by the self-righteous while
my being is an abomination, please stone me,
get this over and done with; I am never going
to get used to feeling
Like the most disfigured and horrible creature
ever created, the most unendowed simpleton
who ever gave itself airs of accomplishment,
fact is – I have none and will never acquire
some, even if I live a hundred years - we
all need only die once
Please let me die instead of dying over and
over as my stupid pretensions are unmasked
one by one – or let me scrub floors and
wash pots for the rest of my life…
3 March 2011
learning to be humble again, now I know
why we must forget, halt consciousness;
cannot stand this awareness of sorrowful
stupidity without plummeting to new
depths of sad existence
Why forge ahead when all I do is expose my
lack of intelligence, how long must I eat humble
pie and swallow my words; forced to admit that
I am good at nothing? Like Ecclesiastes, I should
have been drowned or strangled at birth, like the
author of Lamentations
I should never have seen the light of this earth –
my life is a blight upon the sacred pathways of
inspiration followed by the self-righteous while
my being is an abomination, please stone me,
get this over and done with; I am never going
to get used to feeling
Like the most disfigured and horrible creature
ever created, the most unendowed simpleton
who ever gave itself airs of accomplishment,
fact is – I have none and will never acquire
some, even if I live a hundred years - we
all need only die once
Please let me die instead of dying over and
over as my stupid pretensions are unmasked
one by one – or let me scrub floors and
wash pots for the rest of my life…
3 March 2011
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Troglodian Dementor Fighter
Murder and mayhem, mysterious maiming
and death bells tolling the midnight hour –
sounds perfect to me - sincere condolences
on having to grapple with a medical system
While I am waging a desperate war on my
Troglodyte chair in which I am drowning
and which tries to suck all joie de vivre
from me in true Dementor style
My knees being higher than the rest of me
I keep sinking into the dudgeons of despair
I never knew a chair could be a Dementor
in Disguise…
Kind, though weakening, regards
Marilese - the Decrepit Intrepid
Troglodian Dementor Fighter
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