Birthday 31 May 2012

Traditional birthday symbols do not appeal to you,

neither gathering of friends - nor cake and sweets

your recent purchase of a new camera serving as

your birthday gift, you declared, you are content to

be at home with the kids, listen to Leonard Cohen

crooning about cracks letting in the light and make

peace with the passing of time; happily you beam

upon all you love in a safe retreat from office and

duty while I am still striving to think of something

special to mark your birthday…

Happy Birthday Martin! I love you so much...

Dagboek 31 Mei 2012

Jou verjaarsdagwens is dat niemand jou roetine

moet versteur nie, jy luister na Leonard Cohen en

voel tevrede met die lewe en sê jou nuwe kamera

is jou geskenk jy wil niks meer hê nie - en ek loop

rond met ‘n vreemde gevoel al soekende na iets

om jou verjaarsdag besonders te maak; dit voel

verkeerd om heeltemaal niks te doen nie, ek voel

so dwalende soos die Vlieënde Hollander wat

voortvaar op die see sonder doel, sonder idees

hoe om jou dag op te kikker sonder om jou

grensloos te irriteer

Jy droom oor ‘n huisie by die see, jy het die regte

een al geëien en wil graag die transaksie bekragtig

maar die eienaar wil nie aan jou verkoop nie - toe

klim ek op die Internet en vind my eie droomhuis

‘n argitektoniese wonder van lig en glas waarin ek

‘n sonbril sal dra dag en nag en twee keer per dag

die glasruite sal moet was, ons sal glaswassers in

elke vertrek moet hou en ek sal elke dag drie ure

lank vensters was – dit sal nooit deug nie, daarom

sal ek liewers aan jou huisie aandag gee, dis ver

genoeg van die strand

Om skoon te bly en al moet ek dan af see toe ry

hoef ek nie elke dag vensterwasser te speel nie,

my droomhuis sal net ‘n droom bly want ek het

nie die krag om heeldag huis skoon te maak

nie - die fantastiese Internet-huis verg

permanente versorging elke oomblik

van die dag...

http://www.interiorarcade.com

One of the most beautiful beach houses of New Zealand,

located near a point called the Tatpouri Point, has

stunning views.

A Hopeless Project

Improvement indeed, staying away

from flame-throwing sugar - eating

salty cornmeal products instead -

turning chemical depression into

an ice-cold anger that makes me

hate myself and all existence

Escaping the interminable rise and

fall of voices by listening to music

full-volume on my ear-phones –

keeping irritation of meaning to a

minimum, facing an endless day of

inner turmoil caused by a system

So wayward it never stays on keel

for more than a few minutes at a

time, a frozen statue in front of a

computer screen, not allowing fury

at being a simpleton to boil over as

that is useless waste of energy

Knowing spiritualists would indict me

for lack of responsibility but in my de-

fence the headache came first and

nothing I did changed one iota of

anything, better to embrace  this

feeling than trying to grow holy

A hopeless project to begin with

Non-Existent Nonentity

Folded up reality, pressed thin to fit

on one page in my diary, all twenty

dimensions or however many String

Theory postulates – safely tucked

away and only the text in front of me

exists because today I am a totally

non-existent nonentity, my mind is

grey and no amount of colour in the

office, no amount of words, no notes

sounding in song, can fill the gaping

emptiness where hope once lived

let me pick up my cross of boredom

and be bored some more, tomorrow

I might feel different, if not, at least

the red-hot flames people’s anger

at my being delinquent will replace

the greyness with lively pain…

Spontaneous Combustion

I was seriously distracted from my sweet hibernation by

starting to burn from inside; aha, I thought, spontaneous

combustion, as I waddled forth, soles of my feet burning

and my legs and feet trying to burst from the flaming skin;

I am going up in flames – though the fire and smoke never

came – then I told my twin sis of my adding kiwi fruit to our

diet and she saw the light: kiwi fruit is highly acidic, together

with pineapple and banana it nearly killed her – my pain was

the result of sugar causing high acidity kindling fire in my body

I realised spontaneous combustion has been caused by acid

in people, makes sense to me, got hold of soda water - drank 
enough to fill a trough, feel acid-free and almost human and it 
seems my brain is threatening to wake up again, thank heaven 
a pervasive feeling of aggression towards life is also subsiding 
I'm almost alive in this strange universe….

Monday 28 May 2012

Nici’s project for making a cliché subject into something original by burning
roses did not work, fresh roses do not burn, she discovered, there is a lot of
symbolism in there, it means so much to know that innocence is impervious
to the destruction of the fires burning in hearts grown cynical in disappointed
minds that were never prepared to weather the storms of life, so while I sigh
as I pick up my cross, I also smile because my cross is actually very light and
my pain is minimal – when Nici came up with the twisted idea to have Tiaan
pose in the act of plucking out his own eye to illustrate the cliché of turning a
blind eye, her dad smiled – though he hates her refusing him taking over her
life, he loves her fierce independence and enjoys the clashes they have

NOT FAIR

It’s not fair, without warning,

without hearing a request for

permission, I start hibernating,

slept through the weekend

Only wakening enough to do

the most essential stuff like

food preparation, washing

up and playing at being

Nici’s night-time driver over

a bumpy dirt road where two

big holes and a slumbering

tree stump wait to catch me

Then sleeping and watching

TV – reruns only, no energy

for new things; every year

this hibernating process

Starts automatically and

I cannot fight it...

All The Emotion Evoked

Now where shall I take the high tide of emotion
seeing that I have finished reading the story of
Tiffany Aching - the book is too short; the great
promise of it beginning when she demanded a
full-scale hearing while every element seemed
to be against her - which made me shudder on
her behalf - turned benevolent universe MUCH
too soon and with the odds not stacked against
her victory was too easy and she was given all
help, suddenly she was such a sure-fire winner
riding the tide and I no longer identified with the
protagonist - my heroines always have to suffer
much longer with more challenges to overcome
I was ready to face a lot of pain - just to find the
ride too short, too few obstacles, the bride-to-be
was a special witch great at dealing with ghosts;
all misunderstanding solved too easily - I prefer
complications and intrigues for a sweet heroine
but Terry Pratchett spun a beautiful tale - to be
embroidered - until it contains all the pain I can
imagine - he remains my favourite author – all
the emotion evoked will be used to experience
and recreate fairytales old and new in my head

I Shall Wear Midnight – Terry Pratchett –
What a Wonderful Book!

What Is So Fearsome (Revised)

In my book I don’t live where Tiffany, the

sixteen-year old witch is suddenly safe as

her enemies turn out friends, with only one

menace left, an old ally of all witches once

Defeated by gloating Granny Weatherwax

when Granny was young; a plot change too

quick, pivoting from abject misery of a

showgirl who cared deeply for her family

And suffered under an unmasked bully – so

my high-tide emotions have nowhere to go;

what to think, those threatening Tiffany now

friends, one enemy left – an eyeless man

Without soul who awoke in Wintersmith –

but he too is exposed and I am again left

perplexed; the delicious horror of vague

dread tames into two-dimensional images

Of just one good universe with one threat,

a nondescript escaped convict without

credibility or menace, now what on Earth

is so fearsome about that?

I Shall Wear Midnight – Terry Pratchett

If Only (Revised)

‘Your body is a pure reflection of the
balance of thoughts that you think’ –
I read these lines over and over with
great sorrow, suffering a headache
caused by taste addiction to quick
pick-me-ups
 
Attempt to break enslavement
sitting still and avoiding sensory
stimulation, but for words on paper
and illustrated screen – terms
do not sing, meaning unrelated
to spelling and sound
 
The sole sensation in unalloyed
boredom of being ensconced on
a back-straightening high chair
with air-con’s soft susurration
and random voices relaying
information on work problems
 
If I had metaphysical thoughts
to lift me up like a spiritual Indian
Fakir my body would be happy to
exist in limbo without experiencing
any kind of sensory stimulation, a
sense of taste the one loss
 
It makes me think I’m alive - the
official lines on death, destruction
and fraud leave me cold – dead
in my chair – dying some more

Death’s Dark Domain (Revised)

Impressed by the fluent Arabic and

French speaking young merchant

I purchase a deep purple garment

which I cannot wear; it makes me

feel too weirdly oblique

Dark purple, the colour of storms and

dire weather’s clouds at sunset – if

truthfully used it offsets other hues with

aplomb, but alone a one-dimensional

purple is deplorably wretched

Too late to take it back - in bohemian

haste I cut off the label, no-one dates

me with manufacturer’s shtick so I’m

stuck with a purple so deep its only

use is in Death’s dark domain

Hallucination (Revised)

Reading ‘I Shall Wear Midnight’ I whirl,

hallucinating my own making, becoming

my own protagonist, everyone becomes

Wintersmith turning into eyeless men

stalking everything good

Prosecuted not knowing how darkness

would lift, Wizard Eskarina entered so

Tiffany could understand, she must

dance again; forces unleashed solving

enduring winter by giving a death-

dealing kiss to the snow spirit

Everywhere it threatens goodness; evil

of hatred created slain ages ago by witch-

hunting victim’s frenzy of misguided zeal –

all social comment based on reality, a

Dark Ages Spanish Inquisition when the

religion of Om, the one god, misused  

To suppress and subdue, the Age of Reason

yet to come to require use of verifiable

sensory evidence to determine meaning of

guilt and secure freedom for the innocent –

I had to stop reading, too much meaning,

overwhelming emotion and feeling


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

“I Shall Wear Midnight” – Terry Pratchett

Tuesday 22 May 2012

Since the blue scarf was left at work

I wore my pink scarf this morning, in

the office I draped it around the blue

one, suddenly my coat rack scene is

bathed in the setting sun’s pink after-

glow – a sunset scene on the beach

emphasising the pink of my imitation

orchids and roses, the contents of my

cupboard is slowly transferred to the

office, tonight I shall take the scarves

home, create a new scene tomorrow,

at least the white scarf with glitter still

is around my neck below my black

sleeveless camp top for the great out-

doors which I dream about while sitting

here in the hushed quiet of the open-

plan office where official complaints

about substandard IT services offered

break the tedium of a sad lament on

my desk by someone classified as a

schizophrenic – without his consent!

he adds, aggrieved, demanding the

prosecution of this offending doctor

threatening to write to the Minister

of Safety and Security – Oh MY!

All Started With Her

The day faltered to an ignominious end,
Internet connection lost, email off, cannot
look up anything, headache caused by my
feasting on chips - and a cheese griller - for
breakfast, super recipe for culinary disaster
 
Felt so oppressed by the ubiquitous black I
wear everywhere; pulled out my ice-blue top
to be an Ice Princess again, start the dream
with the mirror playing along - light just right
in the afternoon to show a smiling stranger
 
With whom I can enact shows on my own -
yet I could try to be a good mother and wife
ask everybody about their lives, but getting
chased by Nici from her room with hubby
engaged in earnest technology research
 
I ensconced myself in the warm glow of the
kitchen - Tiaan entered and commented on
being allergic to egg, I inadvertently said all
allergic people should be shot, starting with
me, he enacted the scene, shooting all down
 
Commenting - when people enquired about
the shooting - he would point to my corpse
and say, ‘It All Started With Her…’.
 

Monday Morning 21 May 2012

Never mastered the technique of carrying

meaning from one context to another, while

smiling in the car about last night on my way

to work, knowing which principles had been

symbolised, I am flabbergasted as to place

when in the work situation

I fail to become engrossed enough in the game

of Monopoly played as a means to earn a salary,

following arbitrary rules to keep us occupied and

move electronic documents from file to file; what

is the essence of being, can I hold on to myself

while being a child

In a reality of idiosyncratic activity without any

inherent meaning or long-term purpose except

to pass the time in such a way that bundles of

results can be quantified; those who profess to

know say simply being busy is joy in itself - but

somehow I need to invest 

Everything with meaning to ensure relevance