Nor Ever Will [Rev]

After being threatened with old Afrikaans translations to be
redone as an exercise for me - an illiterate as far as one-to-
one technical terms and subject jargon go - I dived into my
Portuguese delight, savoured each idea, rechecked every
legal line - if a moments leisure means I’ve to do projects I
relish even less than regulations, I’ll devote my attention

To every part of my bovine embryo export document, study
every aspect of the hygienic conditions and warning signs of
dangerous diseases, which reminds me, boredom’s always
been a disease dangerous to me: whether I need much more
info than the average citizen - or I’ve too much adrenaline
devouring my energy, and thus have to work hard to find

Exciting things to rekindle my flagging interests, I cannot
ever tell; fact is - I have to eat & drink to fill empty moments
devoted to emotionless, without passion, boring & saddening
research - I chewed my way through peanuts & popcorn today
to complete my document; if I didn’t have allergies, who can
tell where I might have been: a cabaret star, a teacher, a

Fortune-teller - but no, with the problem of flagging energy, I
ended up in this pedantic profession where I shock everyone
claiming we should shoot the messenger; why let any single
individual have a joy of spreading tales of tragedy, or losing
a war when all who hear the message fall into deep mourning
without release of their pent-up emotions -

Yes, I guess I do not fit the norm - nor ever will…

Flying On The Notes

I also feel the desire for vengeance exploding in my
heart as I listen to Maria Callas, menacing Queen of
the Night, singing a solo from The Magic Flute as she
swears vengeance on Zoroaster - in my case it is the
massacre of the talking voices in the office as the

Noise rises and falls and what little of my wits I still had
with me, is lost in the unholy din - suddenly becalmed
I realise her voice is loose and free among the stars in
the sky as she swings like an acrobat between these
perfect notes leaving laserlike loops, both short and

Long, shimmering and vibrating in perfect pitch via the
sweet bell of her clear voice, in the air and in my mind,
taking all listeners with her on an unparalleled flight be-
tween the stars and we find ourselves enfolded within
the powerful might of her voice, resonant, magnificent

Who cares what happens to animal health certificates
when in spiritual heaven, flying on the notes sung by
an angel who once graced this earth with her art?

Cross-Purposes (Rev)

Our dear Chief Director, ambling through the office
suddenly accosted me, gnawing my way through a
packet of chocolate oatmeal cookies in preparation
for the day when illness or age will prevent me from
indulging - I nearly fell off my chair when he asked
what I was doing; swallowing hastily -

I replied: Researching the bovine embryo for export
while reflecting on titbits of Arabic such as the letter
K looking like a J with a small, lopsided s on the leg
of the letter; nonplussed he looked around & asked
whether my colleague Thokozile was engaging the
same task - No, something else entirely - and at

This point I knew we were talking at cross-purposes
again; somehow I cannot keep a talk with our kind
Director on track, we always derail completely as I
leave for Siberia and he ends up in Germany, even
Bulgaria; then he amiably ambles away while I stare
at my screen, amazed a small conversation such as

This can end up in a tangle; ah well, tomorrow I’ll try
to make more sense of what he says….

Supposed To Be Fun

Planning to help my colleague fight cancer I
read about alternative therapies & medicine,
everything these people say makes sense –
only in the end, it’s impossible to do because
medication’s expensive & I’m so dense, can’t
work out how to obtain expert help & there is
the advice on how to prevent cancer –

It boils down to keel over and die before cancer
strikes, we’re not to eat salt, sugar, wheat, animal
products or chocolate; by this time my eyes were
bulging and I ran off and bought all the foodstuffs
listed as unhealthy before a diagnosis could take
free access to these lovely things away from me,
scared stiff by the fact that everything I love

Is on the no-no list before & after cancer invades,
should that diagnosis ever be given I would hide it
and eat myself into the grave without established
murder and maiming through chemotherapy that
reduces life’s quality to zero and destroys zest for
life, should disfigurement be necessary for survi-
val, I’ll REFUSE as life’s supposed to be fun

Not a judgement putting us in hell! 

Laughter Divine [R]

And so came the message from our Sunshine Abbess:
the Nazi High Command of our little cloister orders we
are to observe silence at all times, no talking in cubicles,
over cupboards or dividers - this is a religious institution
where the Holy Grail of Language Purity is worshipped
and we shall spend the day on our knees - pleading for
absolution and exoneration for the years we attended
to foreign gods of strange countries, as of now

Only the Queen’s English and the old Dutchmen’s home-
brewed Afrikaans will be allowed to exist in this hallowed
institution, anybody caught talking will be lynched on the
spot, our Nazi dictator boss Mme La Pompadour, a most
terrible scourge - cannot stand the noise she hears upon
opening the throne room in which she presides (when she
bothers to come to work which isn’t very often) and we be-
have like children in the trenches, running around

Talking about our lives, a cardinal sin, we’re supposed to
whisper about language matters only, quietly digging the
bureaucratic and administrative trenches, making endless
term lists to please Her Highness La Pompadour, -directly
related to Spanish Inquisition’s Tomás de Torquemada -
who would have burned us at the stake as evil witches a
long time ago if her Nazi inclinations did not force her to
torture us alive in the open-plan-office trenches

Studying the message of oppression signed in blood under
duress, I noticed a loophole - no prohibition against singing,
how marvellous, I went to my friend singing snatches from
The Sound of Music and in the stairwell a favourite German
Wiegenlied Schlafe mein Prinzchen shlaf ein, es ruhn Schäf-
chen und Vögelein; the wonder of sweet sound and dream
so overwhelming it lifted me up from this Nazi earth and I
floated above on cloud nine, still singing Schlafe

Mein Prinzchen shlaf ein - and I realised to err is human and
to forgive divine, with laughter divine I toasted Madame De La
Torquemada - the little alien dreaming of being ein Prinzchen
schon in dem Himmel…

Beautiful Swan [Rev]

Sunday revealed the joy brought forth without my
realising it: softly, secretive, after my saying Friday
that anything wonderful could befall – and it did, my
eldest, my darling wayward daughter, Carine, very
courageous and confused; called to say that while
she packed to leave for the Cape she found letters

I’d sent expressing how much I loved her and that
she loved me too, that I was the only mother she
ever knew- although not precisely true, there was
another who died in fire - purging her from all that
went wrong – whom I shall always honour for her
gift to me - birthing Carine and handing the little

Girl to me to cherish – thank you Leonie, I shan’t
ever forget you brought Carine into being & then
entrusted her to my care so I could learn from her
and share her with my twin, my beloved Duchess,
Carine enriched my lonely life, cleared up some
mysteries; now Carine has found Michael

Loving her with the name of an archangel & such
a cute face, thus there are even MORE legions of
loving guardian angels around you - Carine - and
as you move away to the far-off Cape where my
darling Duchess is waiting to welcome you in De
Rust before you move to George, I send my love

In a golden light with you – I shall always love my
little girl who at 6 years old so bravely pulled on the
hosepipe to water the garden at your dad’s, our Lord
and Master of the Crocodile Castle, behest; today I
understand you chose the role of Ugly Duckling as
your life’s fairy story and now you sail forth as the

Beautiful swan you have become like you planned
before you filled this life with powerful intrigue, first
leading you away from us - then bringing you back
to my love again - dearest Carine!

In Retrospect [Rev]

My Portuguese dragon turned into a Portuguese dream, for
the first time I found ALMOST all the documents required
to interpret animal health in suitable terms & I envision the
joy it will bring to finish it - of the happy hours of research
after it became clear we really live in the safe universe that
takes care of us all and though safe in the protection of the
general well-being I fell while walking for exercise

Yet with no money or purse on me, the overzealous pick-
pocket had to admit defeat so just my left thumb is numb
while my right knee had to bleed a good deal ‘ere I came
to realise that applying a plaster while my leg is stretched,
meant the wound opened when I bent it again & tonight I
shall fix it - the best is we have no plans for the weekend,
anything wonderful could befall – have to pay the doctor

Though, but no matter, tonight is bright with starlight and
I survived the heat in the office – sleepily, somnambulant,
catatonic at times – everything’s beautiful in retrospect…

Thoughts Congealing [Rev]

Early morning at work - and I don’t know where I am in
a thorny Portuguese bush that’s turned into this hydra
sprouting aggressive heads - where I’m entwined with
fear and confusion, looking up ‘Bovine Ova Tutorials on
nomenclature & anatomical structure according to IETS
Manual of the International Embryo Transfer Society’

The little alien in my head is shouting blue murder being
forced to study science so boring, but I forge on, reading
the Terrestrial Animal Health Code on micro-manipulated
embryos; Ron Hubbard’s madness comes true, I’m torn in
two by the requirement to translate correctly & master the
texts although revolted by the content; caught between

Options means headaches; I must orientate & win back
a feeling of living in a safe universe before my thoughts,
congealing with fear & anxiety, can be tamed so the little
alien can focus again; expressing these feelings leads to
a surcharge of adrenaline flooding my being and I spritz
water until cool enough to return to this Portuguese text

I must conquer as my current life-and-death challenge
in a fight I dare not lose in this, my little life….

Sink And Rise [Rev]

I wandered home sorry for myself wrapped in self-pity,
sat down to watch TV and when the story of Dracula’s
grandson played out life became joy - it doesn’t matter
what’s wrong with me, there’s something magical about
reality where gifted people tell stories which elevate my
heart & set my blood on fire, whooping, jumping up and
down with delight, infusing my whole being with an

Unknown power propelling my mind onto another mental
station where explosions fill the air & I’m a mote of dust
enjoying every moment; this joy brings great vitality and
gives me the energy to sink and rise with my fluctuating
emotions; luckily sadness and self-pity provide that all-
important contrast that jump-starts emotions, otherwise
life turns into the most a boring one-dimensional pool

Of translucent insipidity; I prefer the fireworks within the
up-and-down movement because even though pain feels
real, it is only an illusion…

Standing As Sentry [Rev]

A Sunday afternoon at home in the sun room has seldom
been so pleasant compared to a 26 degree Celsius open-
plan office, it’s only with the greatest effort I keep my eyes
open by listening to Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 21 - and
Franz Liszt’s La Campanella & if all else fails, I’ll watch the
80-year old Janey Cutler debut on Britain’s Got Talent and
the Prima Ballerina of the Royal Ballet prepare for her role
as the Sugar Plum Fairy - I even didn’t notice it’s lunch

Now I’m falling asleep again & a bucket full of plain tea must
revive me to face Elisa tests for Rift Valley Fever in imported
bovine embryos - but it’s still gross & my latest theory is that
my brain’s been dissolved by the chemical stuff quacks give
us these days to keep active while our legs fail due to the on-
slaught of osteoarthritis; as sentinel at my computer console
I stop unauthorised wild-card texts from escaping authority
before I try to relay these into my very best prescribed

English sounding clipped & circumscribed when expressing
the Portuguese Animal Health Regulation lines; in need of
serious diversion I find Dalida singing Salma-Ya-Salaama,
wish I were travelling around the world as she proclaims
to have done in her energising song…

Making A Mess [R]

Instead of cutting my way through dense foliage
with my machete, I fight the many-headed hydra
with my long sword and every time I cut off one
head, 2 more appear in its place, doesn’t matter
which Portuguese term is found, it doesn’t make
sense in the context and looking up the nouns &
verbs separately is not much help, the heat in the
office of 26 degrees C contributes to falling asleep
as I sit in my chair, this is a life and death fight &
requires being intelligent and alert while my head

is governed by the little alien thoroughly bored by
the Regulation text, valiantly I fight against all the
factors working against my attempt to relay from
Portuguese into English with the help of Google
translate and exhausted I try to engage a clever
brain cell or two to complete my Herculean task,
the hydra is lifting its many heads and I fend off
an attack on my self-esteem - because it’s very
difficult to think well of oneself when failing like
this, but the fight is a challenge and breaks the

boredom of everyday life, let me continue in my
thankless task of making a mess…

Truly Alive [R]

FINALLY you returned after an eternity spent in limbo while
nothing made sense, walking around without thoughts in my
head, watching various TV programmes & reading anything
and nothing emotionally registering, talking to my colleague
just to discover while I’m on planet nine with Anne Fine, she
is firmly planted in the reality of bureaucracy & living her life
with her mind on what’s happening, not another wavelength
like mine, I gave up communication to wander alone like the
proverbial cloud while finding myself an outsider in my

Own life - life became a dark pit the bottom of which I could
not begin to reach, when you returned I couldn’t register the
fact at first, the opaqueness remained in place as it seemed
life was emptiness, then you spoke and listened and heard
my reply and gradually my mind defrosted until it feels as if
I can talk again – thank you for being the listener and critic
I can rely on and for the opportunity to listen to you as you
faithfully coach creating rhythms within lines - without ever
breaking the enjambments and now I’m present in my

Own world, embracing life as an illusion of symbols which
my head must express in terms that rational people can’t
understand as images leave them nonplussed and poetry
is an alien concept to them which they replace with cold
words bereft of any feeling and therefore to me bereft of
all meaning, you make it true that I FEEL, therefore I am,
only when feeling enables us to set priorities and make
choices, are we truly alive…

[Sunday 17 July 2016]

Fireworks 2- Emotional Life (C)

Sunday morning and I must face the chaos of yesterday,
reread and fix – why is it so difficult to face my emotional
storms afterwards – just now I washed dishes & danced
to a German Tiroler song, just as I wrote the first line the
Regensburger Domspatzen - Schlafe, mein Prinzchen -
in heavenly notes and I left the world on the melody

To rise to super dimensions of pure consciousness where
no physical body exists, merge with the lullaby to become
one with the theme echoing in the sacred silence of inner
space, the voices fading away & I return to the computer
forced by the cold wind to don warm pants and faded blue
jersey – now compelled to look at previous journal entries

Thus look at myself as revealed in all these emotions –
but then a call comes reporting a robbery at my eldest
daughter’s flat – tears and distraction after we watched
Ellen Degeneres being generous on TV and all is quiet
then suddenly, my beloved the head chef getting ready
to barbecue and all in the kitchen where the computer,

the radio and I love to be alone with celestial music –
another German song stroking our ears with a swishing
schw-sound, time to prepare the vegetables so no time
to look at my previous writings - ah well, being willing to
edit my own messy writing already scored points within
my emotional life….

Fireworks (C2)

I had a premonition that things would work out
badly so they have, my life turned to mush and
flat, plain-weave, 1-dimensional, bleak, brown
hessian - no colours, no shine, no interest, and
the voice keeps talking - raising & falling with a
charade of staging a show of love on my behalf

Trying to pretend to fool themselves if not only
me – and we’re all caught up in this, I watched
a comedy show with them - in which loud mirth
was unleashed upon us in which nothing struck
me as deep and real – finally the boys went off
& peace descended, voice & dad watching TV

Discussing cars and cricket - without room for
me, causing confusion bordering nothingness,
now things are winding down and a dark mist is
lifting, if only just; finally chaos is replaced with
repose and I can talk to my changeling child to
find that love truly lives in her heart; I’m content

She’s planning a beach wedding such as I’ve
dreamed about, this is my prayer: Lord, please
keep her safe and give me the wisdom to offer
support in the way she needs; thank you for the
marvelous opportunity to have her to myself for
a short while; thank you for providing the perfect

Mate to take her to the Cape, thank you for the
Portuguese challenge awaiting at work – thank
you for the bad time I’ve had up to now ‘cause
the moments of colourful joy, fireworks in the
heart afterwards make up for the problems we
face every day, thank you for the opportunity

To have children teaching me what life is about…

13 July 2016

Not looking forward to the day of tomorrow fighting
against a blocked nose and the stench wafting up
from downstairs then my cell phone whirred with a
message left – Mme Pompadour texting that our
building will be closed until cleansed – good news,
couldn’t stand life in that trench totally lacking in
oxygen, the past few days were like a spell in hell

Hoping after this respite we shall sit tight without
sewage spills to contaminate the air – freedom to
read in peace tomorrow, living in the pearly glow
of the golden sun on kitchen walls & enjoying the
funny remarks of my son holding a mirror up to me,
playing the same kind of games in his head I used
to play - his characters are a lieutenant and a

Commandant and soldiers - while mine used to be
Mr Coulibac & Mme Sarawak – it’s strange to find
our kids carry the same games and thoughts

[Writing my journal, Wednesday 2016]

Meagre Two Hours

The only thing I did is to come to work, tired,
struggling for breath - colleagues complain
about strong smell of sewage in reception &
on the stairs, the probable cause of losing
consciousness & waking up when my chair
rolls back, tired I read my text just to find

Cotton wool or cobwebs swelling inside my
head, the culprit - the Benstra Building next
door is spilling sewage into our parking area;
I switch on the portable air-con and fight the
anxiety about leaving my post as it’s my wish
to fight and remain at the side of my brave

Colleagues manning the trenches in spite of
the smell and parking hazards - my beloved
counsels ‘Go home and rest’ but I’m too tired
to make such a momentous decision, aching
ears while brain switches to emergency mode,
I’m breathing again - hoping I can stay longer

Than just a meagre two hours at work

Sink Down

Why am I so sleepy - the office feels like an
incubator with a roost of clucking hens as all
are talking vigorously - Bert Kaempfert does
his best to energise me playing ‘That Happy
Feeling’ but still I feel like a tired bear at the
threshold of my cave for hibernation far from
everyone until spring comes, sprouting grass
in emerald green and then the turquoise pool

Becomes my crocodilian refuge from the hot
sun; until such time my only wish is to dream,
my mind floating above the clouds in resonant
sounds forming a safe place within millions of
bewitching spirals above the earth combining
everything I ever liked, I’m sinking ever lower
on my desk and seek refuge in my lively Ivan
Rebroff’s song - Kosaken mussen reiten, but

It only serves as counterpoint to my increasing
fatigue, I give up and sink down on my arms –
carried on Bach’s Harpsichord Concerto No.5

Flowing Forever [Rev]

Nothing I thought or said made sense, the world
remained empty - bereft of purpose and feeling:
I ran away with Anne Fine’s “Up On Cloud Nine”
and then funny scenes of mock séances brought
the lost magic back, turning me into a genie-like
‘Shimmer & Shine’ - while infusing reality with a

Virtual spark securely based on the finely crafted
author Fine’s cameo of an imaginative protagonist
whose fantasies entertained as well as enriched
his mates - I realised then the reason WHY I write

Is more important than desire to help someon, or
learn something myself; & WHY’s more important
than the who, where or when of my dream:

My main objective’s to learn how to evaluate and
appreciate the shimmering shine of the mind, to
express the experience, beauty & pain, in words
left in public spaces to be freely used or ignored

By fellow human beings - I’m free to concentrate
on the sacred cathedral of my mind, since there
is no mountain to climb or problems to solve, at
present, the only question is what to read next

Where to find an inspiring text by which to keep
thoughts in hippopotamus mode - following the
positive channels which will keep the river of
inspiration flowing freely in my head…

Have A Son (R)

A weekend of soft golden sunshine & blue skies,
an old table and chairs for the sunroom - having
an argument and clearing the air, then finding a
perfect gift for my son turning 21 on 15 July; I’m
amazed his being such a wonderful young man

Great sense of humour, self-confident and truly
a dedicated student - where’s the little one who
cried nobody loved him; I rubbed his back to try
help him sleep at night, changed his diet to get
rid of the angst - how is it possible to miss

The little boy that he was while appreciating his
presence as a young adult; I do miss mothering
someone, I miss small faces filled with wonder
in reading “Which Witch” to my kids, tiny voices
joining mine singing “Because God made you,

That’s why I love you” - now my son makes fun
by exaggerating my attempt at doing exercises
‘til I laugh uncontrollably - I think it a wonderful
privilege to have a son…

[Sunday 10 July 2016]

Phantasmagorical Reality

Do you know the magnificence of overpowering
narcolepsy when you are asleep with your eyes
open, when sitting down means head lolling and
eyelids closing and the world turns into this deep
dark tunnel pulling you down, then by a stroke of

Luck you drink pure cold water and suddenly you
wake up and gladly pick up all overturned boxes,
mounds of books and papers overturned by your
jerky movements moments before, taking control
of life & feeling ready to climb back up to the sun

To find the friends you left behind are still there &
they are the sweet creatures you remember from
before the narcolepsy and alienation behind dark
glasses which clouded your perspective until you
found the magical cure in ice-cold water; if this is

Not your experience - you won’t know the joy of
living a contrast between before and afterwards,
now I have woken up it feels as if I returned from
the dead - thank heaven that water revived me
before the feeling of sinking into the river Styx

With no ferryman around to take me over to the
other side, turned into phantasmagorical reality

Inherited Eternity

Picking up the pieces is never easy - makes you
wonder why bother to blow beautiful glass objects,
fragile and delicate - easily shattered - when these
fall there is such heartbreak, you set up the scene
for suffering when blowing glass, breaking brings

Such sharp pain - why not let go of these ideals &
live in a world of practical realities with its wooden
utensils, metal objects and ornaments, unbreakable:
yet the reason glass appeals is its delightful, delicate
fragility constituting ethereal beauty; though broken

Shards pierce the heart, it passes quickly & blowing
starts the joyful process yet again, just listen to the
tinkling glass harmonica in Saint-Saëns Aquarium
in Animal Carnival, in this world the creative life
process never stops and make-believe “as if”

Manifests everything to make me ecstatic & after-
wards peaceful & resigned - not quite sure of any
possibilities given my limitations, I go to a dream-
world with infinite scope; I am The Little Mermaid
who received an eternal soul by refusing to kill

The prince who scorned her love after she acquired
legs painfully, she was required to spill his blood with
a long, sharp knife to save herself and return to the
sea existing as a mermaid without soul - though so
lively and alive - her death after many centuries

Would be forever, but victory was assured when she
so loved the Prince she saved his life – her sacrifice
giving up her own being & embracing eternal night
brought enough light to bring a soul to her so she
inherited eternity, great compensation for misery…

Another Metaphor - Apology

I complained a lot I’ll have you know, but oh, I
love you so, when looking for houses for sale
in Jeffreys Bay, you found a list with beautiful
homes on which I can dream, you provide the
nourishing roots on which the blossoms of my
imagination can grow, you are the safe anchor
to save the kite of schemes blowing in the wind

You offer practical friendship and help along the
way – thank you, I’m glad you are my colleague
but more than that, a friend who never falters in
her step, a rock on which the house of friendship
can remain steadfast in all storms, a lighthouse
when the threatened ship of adventures meets
loss and pain – I apologise for my earlier wrath

It was misplaced as you are the kind of person I
admire and try to emulate even when it’s clear I
can’t make the grade, temperamental people like
me suffer through inconsistency working harder
to remain tethered and direct the wild electricity
in our hearts to reality, not frittering time away in
dreams, thank you for your time and help, I shall

Remember that your understanding of reality is
just what our world needs to make it flow without
heartbreak and hypersensitivity to the fluctuations
in the fearsome weather of life’s terrible storms &
the carousel of unfounded flights to the deceptive
fictions of our skew perspectives leading us astray...

[Reconciliation]

Another Metaphor

I don’t expect much – just play the game with
me, when something is absurd or like a pretty
fairy, don’t tell me the facts – reality is clear &
I need no information on it - if a sharp sewing
needle went right through my finger – as it did
this morning, I say like  Sleeping Beauty I’ll be
out for a hundred years; don’t tell me it wasn’t
a spinning wheel, saying three drops of blood
lead to an injury-at-work-compensation claim
form, don’t lecture me on what claims entail –

Don’t belabour the point; can’t you allow irony,
sarcasm and absurdity a place, will you even
correct Alexander Pope’s Rape of the Lock &
Molière’s Le Malade Imaginaire & what about
Ilse Aichinger & Kafka’s Das Schloss, not to
mention Terry Pratchett; now you’ve got me
doing it too, belabouring a point also – what
about the joy of symbolism - everything I see
can be a symbol of a beautiful thing it evokes
in my mind, in make-believe the needle was

from a spinning wheel, capice? Can’t you let
your guard down and play along? When I say
I’m donning a Peruvian skirt or now I’ll be the
fairy Dewdrop, it’s MAKE-BELIEVE, no lesson
on reality needed, no derogatory remarks will
stop me from playing as if, there’s such scope
for the imagination in the great bureaucracies
of modern civilisation & by the way, I’m a sky
elf and Irish goblin combined today due to my
blue blouse and green sleeveless top, I won’t

be the same thing continuously, when wearing
black T-shirt - I’m a pirate - don’t you ever sing
and jump up and down with joy, feel your heart
blossom into a perfect love which encircles the
universe, why protest when a dreamy twist will
colour the fabric of reality as if trying to stop all
lovely dreams from taking off by growing wings
and starting a merry-go-round of fun to turn for
all eternity? “The Windmills Of My Mind” -Frida
Boccara doesn’t literally have mindmills in her

Head & saying the Cathedral of MY MIND with
its sacred silence, it’s is a figure of speech - a
metaphor, no tautology required, just enjoy an
image in the bioscope of your mind; oops, this
is another metaphor, I must stop before really
great hyperboles lead to nervous ticks in some
of my esteemed colleagues…

Even If…[Rev]

I am confused tho’ I’m sort of in tune with what
I’m doing - before falling into an Alzheimers &
dementia hole - and as I correct my translation
I can’ trecall which page came first and where
the original is - I’m definitely in need of the

Mysterious ICP protocol to restore my mind or
I must fast-forward to eternity through death by
default as the electrons in my head spin out of
control; the repetitive words in my text give rise
to a variety of almost-right renditions - but I

Know the clever word analytics can shred it and
rewrite in a better way which will make life seem
smaller, more contained, less open to innovation,
and completely closed to infinity exactly as they
think it should be - as we never get to see the

Dimensions of Eternal Thoughts floating around
for evermore according to modern spiritualists -
who believe that hallucinations offer portals to
these places but I wish the fog in my head would
clear since it feels as if I’m falling into a whirlpool

Turning prayer wheels, winding out time before
turning back to catch the slack & preserve time
again yet with no chance to get to mental feet
as life swirls in these transcendental pinwheels
converging wherever we human beings come

Together - a flickering behind my eyelids indicate
it’s time to break & drink yak-butter soup, my only
link to Lobsang Rampa’s spiritual Tibetan world,
even if the butter didn’t originate from a yak…

A False Promise

The Times of Israel as well as the Catholic
online site use religious connotations for the
purpose of selling, requesting contributions
as if the immediate environment of readers
does not count at all - must be neglected in
favour of their HIGHER religious causes

Payment demanded to learn Hebrew – I
could not even if you paid me, much less
paying YOU for unwanted lessons – and
the Catholic online selling books & beauty
products, the sale video takes hours on
brainwashing readers into believing they

Must buy secret cures for an Alzheimer’s
patient with starving brain cells – sounds
like some more fraudulent Scientology –
after listening till I was going mad with
irritation, the selling point is that the ICT
protocol must be bought, no sharing

The secret with sufferers who already lost
their money by forgetting, this technique
is followed by all marketing strategists and
leaves the reader in a murderous mood -
peppered by nonsensical fictitious case
studies just to be told BUY THE BOOK

It’s cheap - hah! - accompanied by the
wonder cure in 2 different bottles - pay
a king’s ransom for a false promise life
will be better - and it will - dying earlier
from financial distress after throwing all
money away like this will lead to earlier

Passing over to the other side to become
consciousness in a new form, safe from
this world’s quacks and charlatans; what
an improvement, freedom from marketing
makes life after death heaven indeed! –
but where salespeople go, they will keep

Forcing false products on each other and
exist in marketing hell until deciding they
had enough, time to move, do something
else – hopefully repenting in sackcloth &
ashes for all the pain they caused the still
innocent and the already suffering…

[Tuesday 5 July 2016, Pretoria]

Dancing Dewdrop (R)

Getting back into the swing of things after leaving
with a rush of adrenaline, isn’t as easy & obvious
as it seems, the subject ‘water meter reading’ isn’t
the height of delight and the dear complaining lady
attached reams of old statements claiming they’re
all wrong: it’s her good right to do this - but why

did the universe inflict this on me, don’t I carry my
own cross & struggle in my own way, why this when
I only ask a merry yarn by a good conversationalist
or a comedian like Spike Milligan, maybe a moralist
like adorable William Topaz McGonagall, I know the
troubled lady bemoaning the water-reading-mistakes

made to date does not mean harm - but, oh, the bore-
dom of it, tying my mind down while forcing it to note
the reason why she dotes on sending endless letters
to the Office of the Premier and State President, why
doesn’t she know a Zulu King doesn’t care about the
little people out there, only about his big income and

cronyism, many wives and innumerable kids, the ANC
is a dog devouring the country quite innocently as they
think this is what the Europeans did & can’t see where
financial troubles originate as Africa’s rich in diamonds
& gold - arguing the term ‘corruption’ makes no sense
while slaughtering the goose laying the golden eggs &

closing teachers’ colleges, now there are less than the
few left after Apartheid’s evil Nazi pogroms, destroying
hope & morale by scourging the county from all things
African in their hallucinations, luckily culture survived –
but rural communities have even less access to basic
education as Zuma tries to keep people as simple as

possible - to be malleable, he learned from Apartheid,
you see, people imitate their previous masters in order
to also be masterful: ah, back to this letter making me
feel like hara-kiri right here, I must convey her sorrow
to get help with her mounting debts - thus I began by
singing old Dutch hymns going up & down the stairs

to wake up my brain, proving I’ve no dementia as yet,
if only I were the ballerina dancing Dewdrop en pointe
to the Waltz of the Flowers in Tchaikovsky’s heavenly
Nutcracker ballet…

Spinning New Patterns (R)

The titles say it all - Hamburger’s House of Horrors,
A Kettle Full Of Magic, Worlds Apart, The Ghost And
Bertie Baggins, The Emma Dilemma & The TV Time
Travellers; no detective novel with graphic, shocking
descriptions of crimes too gruesome to contemplate
such as delight our translators, books - not crimes

as such; no acclaimed and prescribed prize-winning
novels by prestigious authors without morals whose
attitudes I don’t wish to examine nor experience as I
respect people’s rights to like whatever they want &
honour their decisions to make war, commit crimes,
gossip & be nasty - but I admire beauty and people

scaling new heights… Emotions - curiosity; desire,
anger & hatred land people in exciting, challenging
situations - whereas the laid-back attitudes of calm
philosophers lead to routines & administration, so I
prefer stories for kids that strengthen faith in – and
attract – goodness: reading indiscriminately led

me to sad times & places - I adore fantasy books
spinning new patterns with shining, dancing terms,
never again to be caught in the snares of cynical
authors mocking their readers…

No Personal Feelings

I feel miserable – as bad as the characters in my
book with a headache which firmly puts me in a
medieval torture rack; now the main protagonist
is forced into athletics & maths though he wants
to write stories while his classmate who’s doing
great in sports, is forced into music and reading:
and here I am also ruing the fact of my lacking the
ability to become interested in dry words and drab
descriptions; I so admire my colleagues reaching

A frenzy of pedantic excitement over rewriting a
translation quiz to determine why we translate in
a specific way - my way is to get it over with as my
enthusiasm for parroting other people’s words with-
out freedom to change things, quickly wanes - may
not make a line sing nor conduct a rhythmic dance
of words into a flowing symphony - the screeches
of legal geeks must be conveyed literally, without
improving text or melody – no personal feelings

May be left, nothing to pique interest or invite one
to do one’s best, and all my colleagues put me to
shame - they’re in heaven while I must suppress
a dream of being a dancing princess at the ball of
the King of the Universe - keeping the little alien
in my head occupied by eating and testing every
word, phrase & paragraph against the standard
texts on the Internet - surveying my kingdom in
this work-station with all the flowers bundled into

One corner, dictionaries heaped in the opposite
space, a yellow dishcloth simulating sunbeams
and I, a secret spy, imitating being a translator
while planning to destroy the enemy’s lair across
the street where they lie in wait to blow us up first –
but victory is mine and the explosion destroys their
den in a spectacle of red flames – until I see the
Health Safety document waiting like an obedient
child for my guidance to lead it into expressing

What people should do to export to the Congo…

Jump Like Popcorn [Rev]

After enjoying the beautiful little faces of the genies
Shimmer and Shine, it was time to be enchanted by
my new storybook, No Beasts - No Children by one
Beverley Keller, chosen for a brilliant start in chaos

Launching straight into the most chaotic scene which
is my favourite beginning - when children & animals
are the main characters, I’m perfectly happy, the dad
a psychologist with 3 young kids, a prim housekeeper

Who’s never heard of Mary Poppins, 3 shaggy dogs,
a mule and a mouse and an aunt nobody knows any-
thing about and who destroyed a wedding when her
gift of a portable TV scared the guests out of church

A retired captain and a rich landlord whose only son
is unhappy, no  pets of his own, running away to the
zoo, mud cakes in the first-aid container so wrapping
a cut finger in gift wrap, the captain and aunt getting

Married; dogs slobbering the bride’s sleeves so it’s
dripping at the wedding, a possible - if improbable
parallel universe - where there is space for endless
series of alternatives, giving my mind a break from

Ordered legal sequences too boring to contemplate,
making my thoughts jump like popcorn in a warm pot
coated with scrumptious caramel making me delirious
with its crunchy tastebud-fantasies….