Multi-Faceted Text [Rev]

A sad crocodile failed to master a Spanish text - showing only
reptile brain limitations when confronting language intricacies, 
exposing lack of common sense & bad visual ability, practically 
blind and losing its crocodilian mind; escaped finally by turning
into a fairy and flying away - was a princess for a brief moment
tonight - now that is past and the headache

Destroys all happiness, at a loss to solve this dilemma, feeling
guilty for the sin of being stupid - Seth says all consciousness
picked their circumstances and focus-points before birth, thus
the crocodile chose to be so dense, unless the poor reptile did
not know how to create a clever mind; good intentions are not
enough, high ideals & lodestars do not help when a crocodile

Tackles life; a sudden belief in health did not come about and
laughter just vanished as I lost the right to good feelings - yet
this will not stop me from cherishing impossible dreams and
fleeing into  fantasy to relieve imagination of all limitation - I’ll
join Don Quixote in tilting windmills & if failure has me falling
and crying, I’ll get up and try again because

THIS kind of challenge is fantastic; today suffering the pain of
failure, but tomorrow there shall be success again because
there has been success in the past & any one of my probable
selves, whether fairy or crocodile, will know how to create a
holographic rendition of a multi-faceted text…

Fly Away

Fairy Dewdrop's World

A crocodile, a restaurant: fillet without basting
jacket potato, a Scorpio, prawns & butter sauce
offered to a happy crocodile drinking water &
grape juice, an allergic result: the crocodile’s
headache, insomniac again; the question is:

Which world, which me: Seth says we compute
parallel probable realities faster than we can
think and probable versions of the Self realise
every possibility: why then am I stuck in THIS
life, we live Moments inside out, to recreate

The world every time we bat our eyes thus
we recreate Past and Future all the time; my
chosen work is to add glitter to the pictures of
my Past, interpret those dramas in new ways
to give my cells new Memories of Health and

Happiness - taking medication helps, and a
a teaspoon of sugar in my tea, it brings Mary
Poppins’ magical alternate reality with it, in
which I live as her ardent disciple; and The
Sound of Music which accompanies me every-
where, interspersed with My Fair Lady

Maybe I have too many alternate selves in
too many plays, chaos reigns – my vibration
is dispersed & my mental dial moves through
too many frequencies – for now I shall tone it
down by becoming the Dewdrop Fairy in pink

Comparing two texts while a cool breeze and
cobweb-spider-colleagues keep me company,
crocodilian aches are gone, I plan to fly away
real soon...

My Fair Lady

For To Sleep [Rev]

A celebration to commemorate when my laptop came
alive again; after playing possum for so long, refusing
to start, claiming “battery low”, with no recharging set
of electrical current managing to cure this recalcitrant
beast. It led to my having energy drinks before going
to bed, & lying awake with burning stomach - sipping
a soothing tea, eating sweet things - nothing helped -

Started attacking my own hair with nail clippers; after
taking a foamy bath in the delicate fragrance of Italian
soap, on the cool tiles spread a large sleeping bag &
slumbered a while before hurriedly arising & charging
to work full-speed at my work-station - to work for the
Nation - but as Spanish cultural terms for Argentina’s
Government are delinquent - & refuse to be found

Fatigue’s gotten the better of me - I relinquish diet &
eat instant Hot Chocolate granules for a final energy
blast before passing out during lunch; standing here
as my ferocious chair attacks with 4 sharp claws and
a fifth wheel making it mobile still - a menace indeed,
is banished from my sight - although it hovers in the
background, ready to scratch me again; I exercise

On my toes without much enthusiasm since the only
ideal left is an escape into Morpheus’ embrace while
enjoying sleep’s comfort; my neck bent while leaning
back in my other FRIENDLY office chair - which has
only ever tumbled me off when I lay too far back, so
now I’m prepared … oh, for to sleep…

Patterns Of My Dreams (R)

Actually, you're my yardstick, - around which
I weave patterns of my dreams - you are the
sanctuary, a centre from which I calibrate my
mental gyroscope - and you're that brother I
dreamed of having before I had to grow up -
realising brothers were unalike the dreams
woven about them; nothing filled that empty
space until I found you - a true poet I could
adulate and emulate

You are my Dr Serfontein and Capitaine
Carrot; the patrician - Lord Vetinari, of my
own Kingdom, and you are my criterion for
measuring tone and rhythm of poetry; you
taught me how to live in a translation world
by learning to express feelings in different
words - I thank you for being able to carry
burdens of my trust and suspicions when
I confronted you with my fear you disliked
my songs; and more than thanking you

I send you my delight, hoping it melts your
heart & makes you feel how wonderful you
are in fulfilling my dream of being safely in
my own brother's team…

Cave Of Ignorance

Mister S Pirie is quite eerie in his eyrie in the sky
attracted by Eastern Yin and Yang principles he
cannot see the forest for the trees, since literary
ideas like similes such as "tuning mental knobs 
to listen to the preferred mental station" means
nothing to his literal brain, he believes we only

Make cars without dreaming & using feelings by
choosing thoughts that enable us to face life, he
thinks we are at the mercy of impersonal forces,
living in the ensuing chaos when we observe the
world indiscriminately without interpreting: for
him, building cars is all there is, therefore

There's no need for feeling, emotion, dreaming
and planning things - Pirie perfectly values his
ignorance, refusing to consider the comparison
between tuning a radio to receive FM Classic
instead of Radio Ga-Ga; to him the line The
Specific Frequency I Want; means nothing

The terms Right & Wrong leave him behind
in a relative world of individual realities, his
bumbling: right frequency, vibration or some
such: reveals his inability to study what is
meant by these terms used in an extended
metaphor, he analyses: Anything we want

attracted into our lives" without realising it's
a literary device for controlling our feelings by
ignoring potholes in the metaphorical road of
life, he thinks it means magical things without
material history, never bothering to study The
Theory of Mind Frequency to understand

It's a comparison to explain how controlling the
mind can energise & empower us by directing
feelings from despair to the brightness of the
sun; a sentence he can never understand, he
arrogantly attacks this - making it his business
to be the blind Pharisee leading his Blind Flock

Deeper into the Cave of Total Ignorance…

All There Is [R]

Quite eerily, Stephen Pirie plies his eyrie in the sky,
attracted by Eastern principles of Yin and Yang, he
cannot see forests for trees, and he thinks a human
mind should be tuning-free and receiving everything
broadcast at the same time: woe to thee if a chaos
& confusion overpowers, you just have to carry on

Making cars without thought to Billy Joel’s Uptown
Girl or Piano Man as individuals never dare listen
to others; he must sink into building cars only, for
fear of being overcome by feminine principles and
then receiving something specific, a great mistake,
man should be active - allow his mental knobs to

Turn freely on their own - dealing with the ensuing
chaos all alone, never falling into traps of listening
to what others say - as building cars is all there is


[REVISED: A formalized and polished expression
distilled from the raw swell of emotion that triggered
the ORIGINAL poem.]


[ORIGINAL: A breathless run-on expression of emotion
upon discovering how metaphors are not understood by
certain authors who persist in sharing their misconceptions
with the public - so I had to show my respect for and
approval of his course of action by doing the same about
his viewpoints, honouring his activities by imitation.]

Stephen Pirie is quite eerie in his eyrie in the sky
attracted by Eastern Yin and Yang principles he
cannot see the forest for the trees, he thinks the
human mind should be free from tuning to receive
everything broadcast at the same time and woe to
thee if the chaos and confusion is overpowering,
you just have to carry on making cars without a
thought to Billy Joel’s Uptown Girl or Piano Man
since the individual never dare to listen to others
as he must sink into building cars only for fear of
being overcome by the feminine principle and then
receiving something specific - a great mistake, man
should be active and allow his mental knobs to turn
freely on their own, dealing with the ensuing chaos
all alone, never falling into a the trap of listening to
what others say, building cars is all there is ….

Debilitating Cultural Diversity [Rev]

Without a functional government the South
African people are taking care of each other,
the can-do-nation took the initiative, bottled
water is delivered to drought-stricken areas

Leading in security as private firms replace
the corrupt police corps and private medical
service substitute public hospitals robbed by
criminals appointed by narcissistic thieves

Who took over - we do things while robber-
politicians live like kings with money stolen
from everyone to fund their own empires as
apartheid led to their inevitable debauchery

As the new Mafia in charge who has to make
up for lost time - using tax money to line their
pockets as just recompense for suffering; as
for the poor, they’re used to having nothing

And it’s so much better under a new regime’s
open-border policies & suppression schemes;
voters suffer any indignity under new financial
crimes, always GOOD when compared to the

Previous race dispensation; colonial masters
plundered Africa - which should be plundered
by Africa’s own indigenous people, billionaires
and tycoons destroying the continent as its 
 Rightful inheritors gobbling up the spoils left by
foreigners; the poor gets even less since royal
kingship & tribal segregation is to be cherished
as precious traditions - preserving debilitating

Cultural diversity prized by academia’s useless,
blundering pedagogues

Victories On Sailing Ships

The massing cloud above’s a mirror of my heart,
weak & grey in sad news - my child’s going away;
heartache flows into headaches conspired in my
succumbing a blubbering mass of tears - feelings
overpower what reason I may’ve previously had

The Eternal Moment of Now ominously fills with
dark portent, how can motherhood end in despair
like this when legions of angels are going with her,
her safety’s assured, she’ll break hearts wherever
she takes her cheeky self, she’ll have fun among

Ship’s passengers clamouring for a photograph,
with pert replies to arrogant remarks, not allowing
a stranger to tread upon her pride or overwhelm
her self-assurance; filled with courage, eager to
apply her strong Aquarian people-reading skills

She knows Astrogenetics, analysing her friends,
choosing whom she can identify with & be close,
singing her way through fear and doubt, berating
me for bequeathing this singing habit though her
smile destroys its sting, her room a hoarding hell

Instilling fear into neat dad, seeing a fire hazard
therein, but she stands her ground threatening to
lock her room while she’s gone, at the end of his
tether, Scorpio demands she take her evil cat with
her; but she simply deposits her Kallie-Kieter-Cat

In his arms, sweetly reminding him HE taught her
cat aggression for protection, now cat’s an angry
threat to all - especially the Jack Russell he loves
so much - ah, well, we’ll miss Nici all the time, &
long for her company & excited remarks,

We’ll feed her cat and leave her room untouched
until she returns to charm us all with her tales of
victories on sailing ships…

[Background:

On Monday 25 January I heard my daughter had to be in
Mexico on 29 March for a new job and I was devastated
to think of my not having her lovely company.
The [REV] indicates that Ivan suggested improvements
as the first version was written under emotional stress &
had to be polished to make expression clearer. I wish to
thank him for the care he takes to read and reflect upon
my themes. ]

An Empty World [Rev]

I look upon an empty world through swollen eyes,
my little girl is leaving home; while logically it had
to happen one day - but Mexico? I don’t think so;
a dark world looms without her dainty smile, wild
shrieks when she sees me, chasing me from her
room, making remarks lesser women would need
to cringe to; Mom’s the naughty child, she says –
to be sent to a corner for her delinquent deeds -

Now I see the date she leaves; so very soon, two
months from now - her working on a ship for six
months before returning home makes me feel ill;
my eyes see a world empty without her laughing,
talking in overdrive - harsh comments on seeing
how the study looks, giving me a pool noodle I’d
so long wanted, rolling her eyes about her mom;
my head hurts - I feel nauseous knowing she will

Leave so soon - the day she leaves I’ll have cried
enough, sending her off with a brave smile; - now
I’m in sackcloth and ashes in an empty world, may
I overcome this feeling soon, it’s awful expecting
my little world to end in this Armageddon…

A Brave Cavalcade [Rev]

There is a brave cavalcade in my head
the waves hissing and buzzing, flashing
blue lights entertaining electrical currents
hiding electrical signals in my brain until
a dark hole is left, and I, river-deep and
dark-current propelled, go forth dancing
with Portuguese regulations of which
nothing makes sense - endless cups of
tea to give me strength - but I sink

and all I can think of is hot chocolate - to
make my somersaulting, cavalcading
head rejoice by weaving golden wires,
silver cables & bright colours together &
calibrate my twisting day and calm the
spiralling orbits in my brain and balance
my mental gyroscope - stabilising a
smouldering flow of prayer-beads

the Tibetan prayer wheels are controlled
by the Thief of Time - the son of Wen in
Seth's Eternal Moment of NOW recreate
the past as a new memory of wonderful
times, playing Bocherini's minuet & James
Last's Radetski Mars with folk singer Chris
Blignaut as counterpoint: “And the baboon
came with a crooked tail, boggom General”
and Langenhoven’s Brolloks & Bittergal

Debussy’s Clair de Lune while the Queen
of Hearts played her sorrows sweet within
the melodies flowing to her inner sanctuary,
dreaming of Kyrie Eleison …
 
ORIGINAL AFRIKAANS:

'n Brave Kavalkade

Hier is ‘n brave kavalkade in my kop
die branders suis en bruis, flitsende
blou ligte tussen elektriese stromings
in my brein delg elektiese seine todat
slegs ‘n donker holte agterbly en ek
in diep-rivier-en-donker-stroom voort-
stoom regopstaande met dansende
Portuguese regulasies, geen woord
maak sin nie; ontelbare koppies tee
om my krag te gee - maar my kragte

sink en al waaraan ek dink is warm
sjokolade - my bollemakiesie-lewe
en kavalkadende kop te verbly deur
goue drade, silwer kabels en kleure
saam te weef en die dag se kinkels
te kalibreer - die skewe wankelende
omwentelings van al die rondomtalie
groeiende spirale in my brein kalmeer
en balanseer - ‘n smeulende stroom
van gebedekringe stabiliseer soos elke

keer wanneer  die Tibetaanse tydringe
van die Tydrowende Struikrower wat
in Seth se Ewigdurende Oomblik van
die NOU die verlede tyd nuut othou as
‘n salige herinnering aan wonderlike
tye - Bocherini se minuet gespeel op die
klavier en James Last se Radetski Mars,
Oom Chris Blignaut as kontrapunt, En
die bobbejaan  kom met sy stert so krom,
o boggem generaal – en Langenhoven

se Brolloks en Bittergal, Debussy se
Clair-de-Lune-Maanstraal terwyl die
Koningin van Harte haar eie smarte
so verhaal in soete klanke van haar
melodie vir haar innerlike heiligdom,
haar droom van Kyrie Eleison...

Deranged Self-Estrangement [Rev]

After crafting a magical English rendition of a
sweetly singing Spanish Import Permit, back to
Portuguese Phytosanitary Regulations - as my
knowledge of Portuguese is restricted to what I
know of French, it’s mind-boggling work - back
breaking and blood-sweating, my brain turning
somersaults in my head - interspersed by panic

attacks and adrenaline-surges of perspiration;
existential angst at levels no-one envisioned or
encountered in life, not even amidst war - this is
internal strife of probable versus real selves, the
covert probabilities wanting to take over my little
ego; leading a battle against my inner conviction
I don’t know Portuguese by madly researching

Portuguese terms - loss of identity driving a mad
run-away horse of a strange language, falling off
cliffs, abseiling down ice-bergs, climbing slippery
rock-faces; I’m gasping, near mentally deranged,
in total chaos as my mental gyroscope spins out
of control, as if I’m lost in the Devil’s Triangle in
the Japanese sea; my current state of deranged

self-estrangement calls to you to take the reins
of my runaway train…

Uniqueness

If you ‘ave ‘em, they’re usually the one’s who 

first disprove you’re unique - siblings I mean -  

solid proof you wouldn’t want it in differences 

anyway; and there is always the possibility of 

estrangement making an inroad - too great & 

you’ll sooner drive other routes than be seen 

on the same road; and there’s the rub, as far 

as you go, you haven’t moved an inch away 

’Tis true your uniqueness exists only in ways 

assumed by you, - if others play a hand then 

it’s theirs to own without reservation - and so 

you’re what and whomever they fit you into - 

not a pretty picture unless it’s sibling-hood’s 

decent & best memories reverently dressed 

© 19 January 2016, I. D. Carswell

 

 

 

Peter Pan Said [Rev]

For me, Peter Pan said, Conan’s finally dead,
I buried him as a kid - he perforated my soul,
 - breaking my spirit with words too harsh to
repeat. I wrote his transgressions on a scroll;
now that chem’s in my head he wounds my
mind with darts of vile vituperation & vulgar
insinuations, his irrational fury; only mom is
left and it’s best she doesn’t bring her faith

In God to me since she could not even love
her own mother; what’s love, cynical physical
infatuation evaporating faster than it forms so
the lover has nothing afterwards, unless he’s
a Romeo achieving fame by killing himself - I
shall stay in Neverland, never grow up, never
seek to investigate truth behind the façade
that was my travesty of a childhood

A serving Cinderella shared me her pain & in
her misery, targeting my sister, making me see
what contempt & rejection is - my family’s lost,
Attila just a shell of himself, the condescending
Duchess a lost elf, sometime bully, Alice gone
to live in Crocodile Castle in magic Wonderland
where a Phoenix burned her pain away, saving
her and keeping

A formerly lost waif in a very safe place; Tom
Thumb rode away on a mouse for a nomadic
and houseless life - none of us are emotionally
calibrated - this exacerbated by the existential 
dilemma: Which Universe, Which Me - I prefer
to be free in Neverland to be as prejudiced as
I like without trying to disentangle strands in
my head, without stoppering the holes in my

Heart, forever blaming Conan, the Queen-of-
Hearts & Cinderella for stealing my freedom,
making me into a changeling, showering me
with poisonous glass shards as the mirror of
their lives smashed and we fell down into
Purgatory….

Inexpressible Joy [Rev]

I want to write, the Duchess said, a book about
all the memories of our youth - how I cried each
night about Peter Pan’s plight in getting a hiding
every night - and asking Alice to assist since she
can remember nothing else and asks: what else


happened when we were toddlers and beyond?
Alice thought of the music and the singing - & of
playing the game of speaking other languages, of
swinging on the jungle gym, swimming in a small
zinc pool, of a decorated wheelbarrow full of

presents ostensibly left by Father Christmas - of
wearing long white gowns & being angels as our
brothers Attila and Peter Pan were shepherds; the
Queen-of-Hearts reading us Lewis Carroll’s ‘Alice’
& The Scarlet Pimpernel, singing lullabies and

playing piano so we sang along, also the Duchess
& Alice running about ecstatically on aunt Morticia
& uncle Machiavelli’s visit, the fun it was when we
jumped on beds from cupboards above - with well-
deserved punishment afterwards, watching home-

movies screened on a sheet, riding horses on the
drive-in* magic Merry-Go-Round, Conan buying us
a large chocolate each and serving fish-&-chips on
newspaper - the Queen-of-Hearts nearly fainting on
discovering this heresy, grandma Alice-Cinderella 

waking all with sweet tea in bed every morning, and
taking Alice to get glasses and she could see clearly
for the first time ever - an inexpressible joy, so many
memories, so little time to write it all down…


[* Velskoen Drive-in, Randburg, 1970’s]

Held Ransom [Rev]

A clever Muslim spokeswoman said she
covers her head since she need not use
her sexuality to succeed, which begs the
question: did nature make woman so bad
they must cover up & why shouldn’t men
cover up too keeping women free from the
same temptations; why do men need their

Sexuality to succeed? If everybody needs
be a-sexual, hybrid characters as in George
Orwell’s 1984, we should ALL be covered
from head to toe so nobody gets lascivious
ideas and all the repression would lend such
Victorian allure to what’s under the coverings
that any illegal delight would send shivers

Through men & women alike, a re-enactment
of Leon Uris ‘The Haj’ would ensue - morally
outraged fathers would slay their wives and
daughters if they allow strangers to accost
them; obviously, mere existence is “wrong”
in the holy order set by the Creator - who
actually wishes womankind extinct & men

Cringing on their knees all day as they fer-
vently pray before dying holy & childless in
hunger and poverty, a vision some religion
would cherish, I’m sure; & as mankind can
be held ransom for being a creature of the
earth, priests can play mind games while
they reign supremely as the only worthy

Ascetic beings - driving all humanity into
oblivion - in honour of their Creator-God!

 

 

Nesting Languidly [Rev]

Today, think Sinbad; I’m a pirate clad in wide, black
burka pants & zebra-stripe T-shirt - without a knife
gripped between teeth - it can be arranged - & I’ve
strapped a frozen water bottle to my back to abba
ice-cold liquid as my cooling system because this
building our Department is housed in cannot effect
a working air-con system; I’m ramrod-straight like
a sea-rat spritzing water on my face, counterpoint
to drinking energising coffee, warm and delicious

Still doing exercises in front of my computer as the
Department fails to provide me with a back-support
chair - standing’s Internet-praised as good-for-you
anyway, ear-phones to reduce open-plan office with
chicken-coop cackles to a uniform noise in order to
keep my poise; it’s blessed life on an exceptional day
in a universe where loving, intelligent energy fills
every consciousness & we’re free to mould energy

Into lives that please us - mine is so good it will be
the last reincarnation on this earth; after death I’ll go
to a non-physical plane & continue learning without
corporeal impediments, relaying information through
a willing spiritual medium who prays only kind & good
voices should come through - a magnificent vision -
in the meantime, we formed a noisy new group, the
Smiling Nightingales because we are always happy:

Azui, Thokozile, Mimi and me - who greet each other
melodiously “Hal-loo - Hal-loo” - while I’m making
progress with the Portuguese Regulations nesting
languidly on my desk…

Fairy Dust (R)

Let me clothe this day in a new way - let me
stretch my legs on my desk as ballerinas I’ve
seen do so on tables and objects - & let me
touch my toes, do pliés, all of it while studying
agricultural regulations in Portuguese; drum

roll please: I called a scary text by its name,
the little alien in my head did not faint, quite
the contrary - he looks forward to ME doing
the translation into English as he plays with
Terry Pratchett’s idea that belief’s the factor

that brings the world into existence, and all
the stories and characters in it; today Peter
Pan - my brother in his British Neverland -
will learn that he is the hero in the Saga of
the Duchess and Alice fighting about their

theories of reality & truth the way they see
it - Peter Pan is the Duchess’ champion &
now he shall be Alice’s Don Quixote hero
also because he protected Alice’s Wonder-
land from imploding - just as he keeps the

Duchess’ dreams and his own Neverland
intact by creating his own universe where
he can fly and take Alice & the Duchess
with him - using the power of fairy dust -

Intense Distress

     
Cradling a bottle of frozen water, standing here in
tears, treading water going under, haven’t slept a
wink after Lord and Master of the Crocodile Castle
turned into Prima Donna doing the dying stance of
Violetta in La Traviata, declared - one hand on his
forehead, eyes staring into the abyssal deep –

“Ah, terrible problems at work, can’t tell you, can’t
tell anyone, hush-hush, confidential, high security
risk…” - overpowering feeling of doom created by
his melodramatic act, I implore him to elucidate -
he refuses knowing nothing can be as bad as his
mysterious portentous boding act suggests –

Happily he trips off to bed, his mind at rest, and
sleeps like a baby while I’m stuck in the deepest
end of the abyssal depth, only me, the BBC and
strange worms living on methane bubbling up in
under-sea volcanoes, alone, my mind spewing
forth mysterious menacing scenarios which

Manifest in horrendous headaches, I’m standing
here wearing purple storm clouds while stuck in
the Black Hole in my head sucking in all light so
nothing can terminate the intense distress of the
lightning abysmal storm derailing life

Happy Being; Joyful Existence [Rev]

In youth Learning is exalted in song, but growing
older knowledge loses its charm and this leads to
certain disappointment, in older age wisdom and
insight into the workings behind ordinary sight, the
invisible organisation behind life’s scenery can be
discovered, there are so many stories and various
interpretations, following them all leads to madness

Applying everything we come across is impossible
and criteria to determine choices are indispensable,
usefulness and practicality being the best norms for
determining ideals that confer beauty and magic to
life, we all seek happiness & finding principles that
lead to achieving this guides us wonderfully - in the
end we follow dreams growing from chosen attitude

When mom berated sis for doing housework when
great things should be accomplished, it was clear
why I want to enlarge my perspective everyday &
regard all routine action as a waste of time, even
learning new things through translation isn’t good
enough, everyday has to contain something life-
changing and beautiful – but today I’m going to

Be content regarding life on the African continent
as the only thing relevant to my little life wherein
lying in the sun as a dedicated crocodile’s the very
essence of being, the sensation of sun on skin the
epitome of happy being…

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

Joyful Existence [R]
Learning’s exalted in youth, but growing older the
charm of knowledge fades - wisdom & insight into
the invisible organisation behind ordinary life - the
mechanisms creating life’s scenery, is discovered;
following the stories about these is very confusing

Applying everything’s impossible, we need criteria
to evaluate - usefulness determines ideals which
bring beauty and magic into life, everybody seeks
happiness as we follow dreams: Mom berated sis
for doing menial work - instead of accomplishing

Great things: it’s th’   source of my existential angst
where routine is a waste of time, learning through
translation isn’t good enough as every single day 
MUST bring something life-changing & beautiful
YET today I choose to be content in my life on

The African Continent where lying in the sun as a
dedicated crocodile is the very essence of being,
the sensation of sun on skin seen as the epitome
of joyful existence versus non-existence….

[Shortened version of “Happy Being” to focus on the essential
message - happiness.]

It’s A Virtue

Talking to Scorpio is like talking to a wall – except
a wall is kinder and does not tell one to shut up –
listens quietly and does not tell one to stop, in many
ways sticks and stones breaking bones is nicer than
this refusal to enter into conversation, it’s easier to
talk to the TV than to Mr Superb, ah well, respect is

Due to him as he works to take care of everything
and why should I want discourse when the whole
world is waiting outside, imaginary friends on the
Internet, my older Brother with his poetic intent, Mr
Dreamside using weed to get to “the other side”, the
Spiritualist movement in England with illustrious name

Like Arthur Conan Doyle on board – and seeking Bible
Codes with Newton in its ranks – why then trouble about
Scorpio, let him live his absolutely unique, simplistic life
that has no room for anybody else, his austere Spartan
style shall be honoured and his total lack of hedonistic
tendencies approved, no wonder he’s such a good

Provider, always on his course, looking neither left nor
right; Those with whom correspondence is possible –
are unknown, so let me curtsy in obeisance to the one
person I really know - who has neither fault nor short-
comings, except never to enter into conversation with
this crocodile – and it’s not a fault, it’s a virtue –

I realise, I think you understand…

The Discord [R]

Alone at night with all the day’s words said - I’m ready
for bed but memories arise & impatient to be rehashed:
mom asking what was accomplished; mom complaining
about the Duchess doing her own work, scrubbing and
cleaning, mom saying she should have used her time so
much better - what a WASTE!

This is some strange mothering - and it’s into my mind
- what have I accomplished that will last since routine
jobs don’t count? What books have I read, what new
skills are mastered? And my reply comes ashamed -
nothing; cleaned - watched TV and wondered about
dreams, beating myself up, then I remember Seth’s

Words: the best New Year’s resolution should be to
approve of myself, my likes and dislikes, abilities &
disabilities, failures & accomplishments - because
they have been created for a reason: and I sigh,
approving myself after a day like this is difficult -
but if it has to be done, let me hasten to add -

I approve of me with my ability to go overboard
and send my family running from the discord…

Consult Scorpio [Rev]

Lord and Master of the Crocodile Castle is so clever
only he knows about the weather; it isn’t hot, he, the
Phoenix who bursts into flames and rises anew from
the ashes daily declares; - it’s just the same as any
other day - he opens the blinds and takes down all

The covers against the heat to allow the sun stream
in, and I agree - of course he knows more than any-
body else, and as I’m just a cold-blooded crocodile
who thinks it’s hot when it isn’t, I accept his dictates
and open everything

Isn’t it wonderful that he as a double sign, Scorpio-
the-Grand and Phoenix-the-Phantasmagorical & is
so much more in charge of his world than anyone
else; the nuclear furnace in the backyard doesn’t
trouble him at all - because, when it rains, he says

As it will real soon, the yard will cool down and it’s
not even warm today; the ignoramus who said it’d
be 42 degrees Celsius today should be stoned -
people are so dense, they should rather consult
with Scorpio to check everything they say…

Song For Tara [Rev]

I heard a voice so sweet & clear - it seemed
the music of a flute or bird; astonished to find
this voice belonged to Tara dear as she sang
her life for all to hear in rhythmic story notes

I climbed on a Merry-Go-Round of her mystery
song and found so much - a poet who majored
in philosophy is quite unique and the magic of
her carousel revealed her a lively, energetic

Acrobat who dances all night to words, who
takes on the world and sets aspiring poets to
flight - I’m so fond of her voice as water clear
and crystal consciousness - she became my

Cherished friend & through her life’s trials I’ve
kept reminding her of her music & song - she
promises she will sing again and dance to the
rhythm of stars that only she can hear, & as

Only she can recreate in her own words…

Loquacious Tiered-Hat [Rev]

Brilliant psychological insight - we hide behind glasses;
more-so behind sunglasses, & we have a hat for every
role we play - indicated by changing them for different
occasions; but I don’t conform to the norm when I wear
all my hats at once symbolising that all the personages
playing roles are present at the same time, listening in

To all conversations. First worn my second-hand army
hat, my in-pool crocodile-self hiding from a blazing sun,
then grey sunhat, wider brim for more shade with shiny
silver thread, a taste for shining things - & see-through
so I cover it with a gold straw hat, reminding of Ridcully,
ArchChancellor of Unseen University, wearing his army-

Knife-gadget-ensemble hat for a magic which changes
the world into a wonderful place; thus when this crocodile
runs out of the house to traverse the backyard’s nuclear
waste to the cool pool, I wear all 3 hats and sunglasses,
the hats symbolise ALL my roles are contained to keep
my family and friends entertained by imitating fake

Russian accents & authentic Cockney speech; ah ha, no
wonder they run away; I’ll talk to waiter & shop assistant,
they have to listen politely to all those loquacious three-
tiered-hat bores like me….
 

Safe From Infection [R]

I can’t believe the idiots on the Dream Wedding Dress
programme; the presenter dressed in shabby clothes
without ‘chic’ that could make ‘shabby chic’ a winner -
trainers with stovepipe pants and a quiff created by a
sadist prison barber; also 3 members of my tribe with

zero emotional intelligence; nerdy-glasses guy with his Big-Bang-Theory-winner hairstyle, plus 2 super-idiotic
girls - the first’s head was flower-garlanded making her
look like an escaped Ophelia who-had-too-much-water,
as Hamlet declared; with far too much alcohol in it

all speaking as if Afrikaans was a nasal twang and their
dialogue prepared in a gr. 1 class; bride-to-be hair roots brown & top bright red, fidgeting all the time - choosing
boring dresses with imitation flair, no bodice to make up
for the lack of a chest – and this would land her the role

of a man in The Ride of the Valkyries, armholes cut deep,
no support to make up for her lack of Pamela Anderson’s
signature treasures, thus she resembles a concentration camp survivor - no Swarovski crystals – just  cake-icing
layers of net and tulle enveloping her bleak presence

like the wide dresses my aunt crocheted for doll faces
with toilet-paper-roll bodies to adorn the WC - all the
while the 3 idiots talking her to death - I had to resort to
silent-movie style - why stay, I hear you ask - because
I’d hoped to see a beautiful dress that would make up

for the lack of finesse - yet it got worse; the last dress
was dipped in oil and splattered with ink, a dark brown
& black creation, perfect for a vampire’s wife in a third-
rate movie - then my family tired of my stream of inane
comments & called me to watch Diners, Drives-Ins and

Dives to divert me from the arrogance and snobbery of
the “cream” of “Afrikanerdom” - which failed to impress
my kids in their expensive schools where an irreverent
attitude kept them safe from infection…

Death Roll [Rev]

My little world which was crumpled and strangled
within the washing machine’s death roll, an event
worse than a crocodilian attack - now slowly turns
upright again; Monday it’s back to the office with
a set bedtime and early rising with office routines

Plus a time for everything, not confusion of home
where anything goes at any time until I can’t sleep
at night and snooze during the day: found 3 black-
and-white blouses to face New Year; what a relief
that discipline will be forced back on me

It’s dearly needed - I always fall into the whorl of
freedom - until the washing machine’s death roll
defines my existence - then it’s time to get back
to the office, not keep stashing notebooks in big
bags camouflaged under sea-coloured fabric