Takes My Hand (Revised)

A pleasurable anticipation, no great
expectations, a small white scarf pasted
with silver enlivens this big black mantle
draped symbolically about my neck, a
gesture to the universe that I believe in
goodness of life while surviving allergic
reaction to last night’s fried fish dinner

Cheesecake pie aggravated the situation
yet eased hunger pains, been working since
dawn – need a break to assemble thoughts
about chivalrous people making me feel a
lady, talking to them I’m wearing a lacy
ball-gown – darting hither, thither and yon
to an orchestra playing

In the rear black attired assassins bear
strange cases, no doubt containing rifles
with telescopic sights, exotic and deadly
weapons – shivers of excitement run down
my spine, a smiling stranger takes my hand
for the next dance…

Friday 13 April 2012

STORY OF MY LIFE

1. Roam The Stars


The Miss Lemon in me quite
satisfied, she organised getting
my colleague’s broken shelf fixed,
time now to go shopping, I’m hungry
and my head is thick, no fun sitting
here having finished my document

Arrange authorisation to leave the
office, as an incumbent I am state
property, everyone must know where
we are all the time, I wish I could send
down a message: On a spaceship going
to the Pleiades, don’t look for me

Down there in my office, I have been
appointed stellar investigator and as
an incumbent for space authority I
am expected to roam the stars!


2. More Lovable

After buying a black scarf to add to
my collection of black materials to
keep warm while being invisible, I
read Soul Music

Susan’s feelings on discovering the
skeletal rat with his scythe coming to
visit while she abhors all fairy tales –
she warned him


If he were imaginary, he should try
to be more lovable; I have a plastic
doll next to my computer, lovable
enough - but

She won’t talk, besides, if she did,
I would talk to her too much being
loath to listen to others unless the
words are

Written down - properly prepared
and edited, imparting evidence of
mysteries and other wonderful
things

Soul Music Terry Pratchett - Corgi Books –
1994, pp. 45 &46


3. Story Of My Life

After illegal pie, cheapest alternative
to starving & sweet cherry lozenges
to facilitate breathing impeded by
ingredients of aforementioned pie

My digestive system reminds me
I’m an alien from somewhere else,
eyelids heavy - gremlins injecting
lead, sitting up vertically while

Body is screaming for horizontal to
ease pressure in head, Saint Saens’
Animal Carnival not helping with
continuous piano arpeggios


Why should life always become an
endurance test in the end, why do
I always lose the feeling of vitality
suffering torpor and lassitude -

Salted snacks can pull me up but
make my sinuses contract even
worse, genteel suffocation not
exactly my favourite pastime

Already wheeze and sneeze some-
thing awful, snorting hippopotamus
manning my desk, fatigue ruining
dreams of accomplishment, oh no

Two hand arpeggions in opposite
directions, missed the enchanting
swimming fishes by jumping ahead
- this is the story of my life!

[Still in the office, before I discovered
I was nearly late:]

Restarted, found the swimming
fishes in track 8, relaxing into delight
just to be rudely awakened by the
donkey braying in track 9

I returned to the enchantment by
immediately double-clicking and
swaying again on the languorous
lines consisting of bright flashes

Of light, shimmering and floating
in one heavenly movement


4. Nearly late

Nearly late as I played with the tracks
of Animal Carnival, finally discovered
the piano piece of Swimming Fishes
on Track 8, immediately followed by

The Donkey Braying Track 9, quickly
backtracked, glanced at my cell phone
keeping time – 5 minutes late – ran
across the street, just in time

To get my lift, threatening asthma attack,
Vicks put an end to that, happily going
home reminiscing, Prof Biblical Studies
conducting an imaginary orchestra

Playing Saint Saens, Fishes Swimming
of course…

Dry, Non-Committal Reply

A nice, dry, non-committal reply: Och weelll now
Lassie, whether it means anything I dunno’ care,
whether I’m dead or alive, thriving or ailing for
summa’et, does not make a difference, I guess
we were meant to chew on stones and tins and
scale the mountain of accomplishment

With nary a comment, whether ye have a raw
talent is neither here nor there, it passes the
mustard and brings the pepper and throws the
thyme and din’t change a dollar a dime, I just
carry my cross stoically, chewing a stem o’
grass, scanning the horizon

Rain’s what life is about, surviving forty degrees
Celsius and that is the sum total of my existence
with reasonable feedback and a demonic lil sis
into the bargain – who can complain aboot that,
I want to know; it keeps the pot cooking, the car
idling, the sun shining, the beer brewing

The tobacco-chewing going well; the dog barking,
the cockatoo a-larking, so…

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

Let me just say, Sir Simon, I imagine your ears pink
with delight when I thank you for being clever,
talented and bright; trying to see you as totally
unconcerned whether you live or die or whether
I get run over by a car and never ask for your
advice again, makes me feel too queasy

To face such a terrible prospect – I respect your
ability to sound like a great-uncle from six centuries
ago – Sir Simon Montpelier himself, to be raised
as a spectre by the great Wizard of the North,
Mug the Magnificent – but I shall always believe
that deep beneath your rocky exterior

And G’day Mate accent there is a real human spirit
alive and well and breathing with delight about the
wonder of life - no need to reply, unless you can
make it sound like a romp and a jig danced to a
tune in the mind…


Sir Simon Montpelier and Great Wizard of the
North, Mug the Magnificent: Characters in my
favourite book “Which Witch” by Eva Ibbotson

Wants An Adventure [Revised]

The little alien clings stubbornly to rafters
in my mind demanding attention; even
considering attempts to ignore him pays
foully in painful headaches – I close the
official files, look warily into its warped
little mind, ask what it wants so I can
continue with my work

I am bored, he replies, need adventure,
give me the lead role in a fictitious show –
but my characters are gone I remind him,
we need a new crew who’ll do our bidding
we must read a new book, enter into the
spirit of intrigue and dream big – Yes the
little pest says, so let’s get on with it

I wish I could dream a tale about glories
of doing my duty with feelings of peace
and content; I complain sotto voce, can’t
finish anything because you want to play
when I should work – insouciant brigand
replies, Who cares, Samson was a bad
guy and he’s revered for all time

Being virtuous gains you zero accolades
and no place in history, though you might
die in your chair, killed by the toxic fumes
of your despair – Good grief yes, walking
the straight and narrow is not exactly a
feat, I had better get on with something
evil to make living worth dying for!

A New Charm That Delights

Long ago, almost forgotten in the winds of time
a wonderful story fired my mind: a kind, lovable
old soul preached how legends and myths told
of strange portents

A hero, sensitive and strong, was cast as Lodi,
the Spirit King who came down a mountain and
was met and helped by a young Prince to
establish a new reign of peace on earth

Ever since I have been searching for more such
imaginative themes to add to the lovely tapestry
these colourful strands weave in my mind, the
latest sparkles of silver and gold

Were added by an Internet author mentioning
the mythical Giorgio de Santillana & Hertha von
Dechend theory that characters of ancient myth
are to be identified with the planets

That gods are really stars - the characters and
adventures of mythology explain the balance
of power among stars and planets - this
enables me to read the wildly immoral

And totally improbable Cuneiform clay tablet
stories and myths of the ancients with new
enjoyment – without this focal point, these
myths and legends seemed

Just a waste, the impossible psychological
and physical prowess ascribed to the actors
made it seem like the ravings of madmen
without any redeeming features

But as allegories and symbols of heavenly orbs
all fall into place, enacting the tale of precession
and the cataclysms unleashed when these bodies
are struck by meteorites; undergoing

Inevitable polarity changes – suddenly these
stories acquired a new charm that delights…

Keep The Dream Alive [Revised]

I used to dream as the damsel in distress
saved by a knight in shining armour,
until my vision faded into boredom

Then my twin expressed delight at what
I brought into her life, old scenarios changed
I became Knight in Shining Armour myself

I dream of helping everyone I love - my twin
especially; she bought me things when she was
earning a nurse’s salary and I still studying

I envision all-consuming activity that removes
feelings of boredom from our lives, busy all the
time - she shall be the public face

I am in the background, no need to leave my
private space, my brother and sister taking care
of business while I keep the dream alive

Beauty and Magic

Totally bemused I followed the raging debate
between Sitchin’s followers and his detractors,
I realise everybody has a place to be right in
quantum physics’ infinite universe, therefore

Impossible to choose between the claims of
veracity; I chose to use the only criterion that
has meaning - Feeling – how do Sitchin’s
theories make me feel in comparison with

The rendition of scholars claiming Tiamat a
real person and everything about cosmic
cataclysm just a myth by ignorants writing
poetic renditions for unknown purposes

Reading Zecharia Sitchin’s books makes me
feel good - I have fun and am entertained
while the raging debate makes me feel
bad – even sad – that others feel

They should destroy the beautiful images he
created, pointing out flaws in every enchanting
creation he constructed from the same building
blocks used by his commentators to attack him

Learned scholars only manage to make previously
interesting things seem boring - when I look at the
shining images Sitchin created in my mind versus
the boring grey pictures drawn by his critics

I turn away from what they tote as reality and enjoy
the beauty of Sitchin’s surmises without bothering
to say anything about veracity – who cares when
Beauty and Magic are the only criteria?


1, Zecharia Sitchin – “Genesis Revisted”

2. Internet Debates

[A poet’s viewpoint differs from that of the pedantic
scholar and pedagogic instructor – I cannot accept
that being grey, boring and depressed is the right
way to survive life – I want to have fun, dream of
great things, sing a song, jump in the air, shout
and yodel and stick out my tongue at everything
that bores me to death!]

Staring

Staring at Audrey Hepburn’s ball gown worn in My
Fair Lady, I realise the best approximation of a
dress made of shimmering crystals formed by lacy
sprays of fine water drops

has already been created, this leaves my fantasy
intact: Wearing a dress made of water splashing
from a fountain then running down, is the only
way to materialise my original vision…

Dreams

Oh, to fly high on a breeze
catching your eye, my focus
gone, my soul in a song

I waft in a dream, dance with the
wind, twirl within Boccherini’s
Minuet, laugh with delight

Light-hearted words whispered
just below hearing, making up a
story, living on the edge

Joyously alive…


Jane Austen and Terry Pratchett
will have them blushing, so will I

While Mr Darcy’s hauteur keeps his
face immobile, Elizabeth looks away

The moment frozen to be replayed
whenever needed to reenergise

I can refresh my memory any time,
sow the seed of dreams again…

Opera Or Ballet

Oh joyous delight, finally reached the end of
my lovely Agreement, it should be an opera
sung to the music of Carmina Burana; if a
ballet, danced to the courtiers’ march in
Romeo and Juliet, the climax amazing

The tenant should fund the bill for drafting and
signing the serious contract , the self-satisfied
landlord can inspect and evict as he likes, the
effacing tenant had better beware - I see two
men in Victorian clothing - fencing

About the nefarious terms, no favours shall
nullify the terms by which the landlord can
pocket the deposit, any wrong step made
by the tenant shall render beneficial
occupation impossible - Should the

tenant improve the premises, no advantage
shall accrue to him, should the place burn
down - it will be seen as a scheme and he
shall be held responsible, the end to be
perfect: The angry tenant

shall kill the overbearing landlord with one
blow, then enjoy exercising his right to
beneficial occupation indefinitely - at
least, in the opera or ballet…

Budesonide – A Fragment

Mr Budesonide asked his wife, Mrs Formoterol
Fumarate Dihydrate: Would you like to use the
Symbicord Turbuhaler? No, she replied, I much
prefer Corticosteroids and Analogues in order to
write about them on Blogspot - because of that

Mr Budesonide nearly had a glucocorticosteroid,
his wife had to play an anti-inflammatory role to
calm him down, just then their son, an adrenergic
agonist who frequently causes relaxation of the
bronchodilating effect leading to pharmacokinetic

Interactions between parameters of monoproducts,
sauntered into the room, looking for his magic broom
so he could zoom into the wide blue sky flying on to
Hogwarts to join Ron, Harry and his friends….


Translation Theory – Prof Ilse Feinauer

Attended a course in Translation Theory
today and wrote this fun-piece afterwards

Twice As Much Life

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

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...

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

Ocean Of Words

Floating in an ocean of words, stormy and turbulent,
sometimes completely meaningless as poets try to
impress without meaning or feelings to back up their
fluttering, winding, intricately twisted images

Thank you for feeling so much because without truth
behind them, words are empty vessels without cargo,
with the allergy, the cargo sometimes seems empty
also, when feeling autistic, only lines

Conveying feelings meant for me only have the ability
to fill my empty mind, touch and heal my heart; there-
fore I appreciate your poetic presence in my life
more than I ever can say

Yet She Wished

Alice wondered all Saturday long
where Shere Khan had gone, she
is resigned to life, knows everyone
is free to come and go

Learnt from mystics and spiritualists
never to expect anything, enjoy won-
derful things then let them go, she
learnt from the Judaic Bible

Wisdom is the only thing one can retain,
only insight and knowledge are worth-
while to seek - yet she wished Shere
Khan would say hello

When she found a message from him,
she felt the joy of happy surprise and
vowed to thank him for not forgetting
her already – thank you

Sweet Shere Khan…

Viva the Gift of Thought!

As usual I could withdraw into my shell and
replenish my batteries with Terry Pratchett
one guy stopped me from leaving demanding
to see the book that had me laughing, apparently
everyone was watching me laughing my way
through the book…

The boss has an expensive rubber cushion on
her chair, one of our coven took it down to jump
on it to see what it could do, both senior witches
were test-driving the new cushion and declared
it completely unsuitable, together we three
witches seemed like such clowns

Then I read a description of a love scene that
would require at least twenty athletic women
in the prime of their life and taking hormones
to boot, testosterone by the gallons, to execute -
I loved it as a wayward fantasy, totally unrealistic
but definitely proof of a great imagination:

Viva the gift of thought!

Razzmatazz

Dearest Shere Khan

You are adorable
do you know that

I never expected
a wild tiger to
know the limits
of his own power

Or to control his
big claws, I love
the interaction
and the learning
and widening of
my horizons, I
love your honesty
and passion, you
are wonderful –

You are pure
razzmatazz!

Alice Dreams

Alice dreams of Shere Khan, sees his bright eyes, hears
his soft growl, even dreams of his plaintive call in the
darkness of the night, in the daytime Alice's eyes are
bright, her lips curling in a smile, as she recalls the
beautiful soul of Shere Khan, his good intentions
and his wild spirit, his gamboling playfully about
and she sighs - I love him so much, the lovely,
mischievous rascal...

A Mystery Play

Unpacked Nativity scene figurines, a desire for
ethereal beauty made the drabness intolerable,
placed them on a crystal platter, pasted silver
and white butterflies on them to symbolise the
halo of holiness, the luminescence has a stylized
effect just as I dreamt, the most unique Nativity
scene ever seen, scientists emphasise the lack of
authenticity of the Nativity event, I am happy with
the fantasy as an allegory of man’s aspiration to
goodwill and love, striving for peace and the sublime,
if the characters simply enacted a Mystery play in a
symbolical life to illustrate godliness,
I dream with them…