in the interest of...

I could have

2008-01-24T22:38:00.000+02:00

I could have said, "I don't mind being squeezed in next to a pretty girl." Could have. Except, I mustered a clumsy "Ha! Jthe jjekdi huh." and proceeded to smile sheepishly like when you have an inadvertent bowl movement while rug shopping.

Being away from home screws with all the systems. The its-time-to-sleep-system and the its-time-to-wake-up-system have union meetings, and decide that its better that they both have a day of roast chicken in a park somewhere. The only system that seems to work is Standard Bank's Credit Card division.

I could have gone over to her. Think it was warranted. She was reading. I was reading. Out of the 47-odd (OCD again) empty benches, she picked the one across me. She was eating Marcel's Frozen Yoghurt (even though I think I was the only one who saw the connection, albeit a freaky one). And she pretty mcuh resembled Samaire Armstrong. But I'm pretty sure my "Hi" would come out something with many more syllables and a lot less meaning.

I think I fell in love. With Cape Town. It feels so much more... normal. Like, where I'm supposed to be. Clifton changed my mind though. So many beautiful people. Suntanned a coppery brown even on those parts of the human anatomy exposed to the sun only when assuming a pose like trying to reach the last cookie in a jar on the top shelf.

Being alone for three weeks in four cities was pretty amazing though. When I wasn't working I just drove around. With the radio-less and aircon-less car (which I'm pretty sure had a quadruplegic donkey under the hood), I got to know places. Sampled a multitude of little restaurants with certificates on the wall. Drank wine from the cask. Listened to live jazz. Read half of Terry Pratchett's Discworld series. Overcame flying sickness. And pretty much became broke.

The purpose

2007-02-24T23:45:00.000+02:00

This is the part in the movie where bits and pieces from the build-up comes together.

The first question I asked when I started blogging was "Why do people blog?". I think I've found the answer. In my case at least.

Sometimes people say "It helps to talk about it.". Even if I know that only one person reads this blog, it does help.

I said goodbye to a good friend today. She took me from boy to man. One that made my knees weak. In more ways than one.

She did it one last time.

Eulogy

2007-02-18T00:11:00.000+02:00

Ever imagined doing one for someone? What would you say? Is death an easy topic? Is life?

One of the saddest things in the world, is when a man, a father, a husband, a pillar, collapses. His knees realize that they cannot stand the loss, so they give way. And then he weeps on his knees, the mask of "man", "boss", "provider" removed.

Crime is real in South-Africa. Even if our president announces that there are more police officers, we still wonder "When will it be me?".

And then sometimes, it's not you, but you have to do a eulogy. And your knees can't hold it.

All work and no play

2007-02-11T23:46:00.000+02:00

I just swallowed (or rather, tasted and hastily spat out) a bug that flew into my coffee (it wasn't a coffee bean after all) (and he didn't fly into it, he... well, fell) (but he was flying) (a flying bug).

When someone says "bug", you usually think about those that hit your windscreen with a dull *thud*. This one wasn't one of those. One of those little buggers that illegally squat and set up camp on your screen at 2AM. This post is wasting time I don't have. Time I have to spend working on a project for the Queen of Prima Donna's, the Duchess of Pain-in-the-asses. Her and her minions, that stand hands-rubbing in the corner, waiting to fly (fall) into everyone's morning coffee.

I'm easy going. I don't get irritated quickly. I don't get mad quickly. I feel like... Ernie Els. When you see him playing golf, you can sort of imagine that even if a junebug fell in his coffee, he'd still just smile, tee off and win another million.

But this woman... She's the Jurie Els to my Koos Kombuis. The Patricia de Lille to my Casper de Vries. (Don't worry if you don't know them. Generally the latter doesn't like the former. Couldn't think of an international example. Maybe ...) The Homer to my Mr Burns. (...) Eh.

(This paragraph took me the longest. I had to make bug-free coffee, took a shower, watched an episode of Friends, and eventually settled on...) Sharpish.

*thud*

Unique

2006-08-12T23:45:00.000+02:00

A recurring theme.

I read some other blogs. Because my basis of comparison has broadened, I now believe that I may be the second most uninteresting person (The first whom is of course, wait, maybe I'm not second...). I feel like Steven Seagal's range of facial expressions. But this post certainly isn't about my self-image. What is it about? Why do I do this? So spammers have another place to advertise on?

I bite my nails because I can't just do one thing at a time. I also started shaving for the first time in a long while. It sucks. I look like a kid again though. I also got the newest razor from Clicks; with 36 blades (which vibrate...) and a built-in 2M pixel camera. Pffft.

How do you become different? Should one be different? Everyone is unique; so everyone is different. Are there varying degrees of different? How much is good? Bad? Where does good end, and bad start? Where does interesting start? Boring? Hope is a bitch.

The moon's rays have gone from my bed. The same moon that shines in Japan, Australia, Cambodia, Madagascar, Florida, Spain, Egypt, Italy, Germany, France, Belgium, Belarus, Venezuela, Brazil, Scotland, Vietnam, Angola, New York, Sydney, Tokyo, London and Cape Town.

I still may be the second most uninteresting person...

Here's lookin' at you, kid.

2006-08-02T00:29:00.000+02:00

I like to shower.

When I take a shower, I can go anywhere I want. I turn on the tap and the water fills my ears. I turn off the light and darkness fills my eyes. Without eyes and ears, I'm severed from the constraints of this world, and my imagination drifts off to places where magic exists and fairy tales come true.

I like to sleep.

That is, once I am asleep. I stay awake as long as my willingness to stay awake exceeds my willingness to not sleep. I hate to go to sleep, because when I wake up, there'll be another day. One more. Once I'm asleep, dreams keep me there, until I can't possibly push the snooze button again. Even then, it's hard to say goodbye to a world without inhibitions.

I'm tired.

I miss the sea.

The two fires

2006-07-20T16:22:00.000+02:00

Sometimes I feel I'm to serious. Then I wake up the next day, and think that I was immature the previous. Is this bipolar? Happy... sad. Irratable... content.

What pictures do you put on a blog? Something that fits the profile or the message? Or something totally random... like my toughts? I think pictures are a bad idea. When you browse through blogs, you don't read. You scan. And what do you see? Pictures. Picture = 1000 Words. For lazy people.

That's just like life, come to think of it. Judge by appearance, rather than by content. Take the time to read. Except if the content sucks.

I feel judgemental today.

That's the first time I blogged about how I feel. Should there be more?

Uniqueness.

Where dreams fear to tread

2006-06-12T02:23:00.000+02:00

I've found a Place. Re-discovered rather.

A Place where I said "Let there be light", and it was illuminated by the light of a million candles mixed with a pinch of moonlight. A Place with an ocean, a forest, snowcapped mountains and streams running through valleys. With stained glass and shadows. Winters and fires. Tea and coffee.

A Place with one room. But two chairs.

With my rules. My agenda. My script. My ideas. My questions.

My posts are linked to emotions. Current emotions. A "To be continued..." would be hard. It won't be the same.

In this Place? To be continued...

We

2006-06-04T22:18:00.000+02:00

We.
We together.
One being.
Flow together like water,
'till I can't tell you from me.

This is it

2006-05-28T01:03:00.000+02:00

When do you come to that point in your life, when you realise "this is it"? The end. The way things were, won't be so any more.

You don't like change. Conservative. Change means people thinks differently about you. What if you don't want to change? What if your life is taking a direction, that you didn't intend, but still is the result of your own actions? You've relied on what you know. It's secure. What now? What will happen? What will you do? Start over? Quickload F5? What about money?

You're excited about this new journey that your life is taking. Change means meeting new people. New experiences. A New World. Like Gerard Depardieu in 1492. Time is change. Tomorrow will worry about itself.

Which did I think most about? If content is anything to go by...

When do you come to that point in your life, when you finish preparing for your life, and start living? Stop learning, stop looking for work, a car, a house, and start working, driving, and being at home?

Commitment is a problem. Life would be so much easier without commitment. But, isn't commitment knowing what's going to happen? If you have a girlfriend/wife, you'll still be with them at the end of the month (hopefully). If you have a Woolworths account, you're going to pay it at the end of the month. The border is blurred.

"Tell all my friends that I'm dead. I'm leaving you, this time it's for good. Tell all my friends that I'm dead. Won't be long before you forget my name." New Found Glory. You'd think that people who achieved success such as them, would be happy about it.

How do you measure success? How do you find one thing to blog about?

"Table for one, please"

2006-05-13T19:34:00.000+02:00

A table for one. Is there a statement that says "I'm lonely" more? However, I've just decided to change the message of this blog. Does my blog need to have messages? Lessons?

Instead of going for boring "I'm lonely" route, I've realised why I am lonely. And yes, I am. I'm lonely, because I still need to experience that first glance. The first eye contact. The first of everything in the relationship with The One. No, not The One that kills all his counter-parts in the parallel universes, and then becomes unfathomably strong (or implodes). That One that you become a part of, to form a new entity. When people stop referring to you as "Him and Her" and start referring to you as "Them". That One. The One that Liz Phair to "Why can't I breathe whenever I think about you? Why can't I speak whenever I talk about you?"

Does my life revolve around this search? Should it? Shouldn't it?

And then, when I find The One, when does it fall into the everyday "Good morning honey. Goodbye honey. Goodnight honey."? Is it destined to be like that? Is it ever different? Is it still worth it then? Can't it always be like those first few weeks?

What should The One be like? Funny. Clumsy. Clever. Formidable, but not. Must cry easily. Independant. Physically? When possessing these, The One will be perfect.

How will we meet? Fairy talish. Not the usual be friends for 10 years and then gradually decide to hook up. Like, bang. One look. One touch. Never be apart since then.

Is this a tall order? Maybe La Cosa Nostra couldn't even have this happen. Maybe it should be like that. Improbable, though not impossible. It makes it so much better when it does happen. Sort of like when my father thought that his rugby team wouldn't make the semi's. But they did. They did.

Area 51 = Classified

2006-05-05T08:32:00.000+02:00

I have the memory of an elephant. So to speak.

Once, in grade 6, we had a parent-get-together at school. Needless to say, we (the schoolchildren) had to go too. This was to be the night of change. Of epiphanes. Of 180's. The night I grew up.

The evening steadily progressed to the part where the children decided that the parents' conversation wasn't for them, and hence started running around the school grounds, girls chasing boys, boys chasing girls, fighting over whom should kiss whom.

And then, smack bang, I saw. I saw the difference between a child and a man. While having this revelation (being deep in thought while doing so), one of the children came up to me and said :

"Why you standing around like this?"
"I don't want to be a part of this."
"No man. Just get one of the cool guys to hang around with, like me, then everyone will like you."

What? So my social success as a grade 6 depended on someone else?

Then, I decided. I decided that I will NEVER be classified. Classified as the smart kid, the dumb kid, the popular kid, the sporty kid, the rich kid, the poor kid, the lazy kid, the weird kid, the smelly kid, the snobby kid, the leader, the follower. I would change constantly.

Change.

If I were a superhero...

To indulge, or not to indulge

2006-04-28T23:03:00.000+02:00

Music has a profound (to say the least) impact on my life, my wellbeing and my emotions. Why is music so powerful? The power to shift mood with a shift in beat.

That's it.

If I were more creative...

2006-04-22T23:05:00.000+02:00

Mr Hyde, enter stage left.

When do you accept something as feeble? When do you give up? Or do you keep hoping, even when the possibility is minute? When is a dream realistic? Aren't dreams supposed to be hard to achieve? How many people actually achieve their dreams? Isn't a dream doomed from the start, seeing as its so improbable? What good is hope then? If your dream is to come true, its unnecessary, because it will happen. If its not to come true, its unnecessary, because it won't happen. Hope is an illusion.

Queue Dr Jekyll.

Can it be? This fixation... Is it possible? Can it ever happen? Maybe... If I just... This asks something of me. An inset, a commitment. I have to make a move. I'm scared. What if it doesn't work? What if I'm embarrassed? What would everyone think of me then? What would she think of me?

Would she even notice me? Is it ridiculous to hope for a fairy tale? Hope.

It's the question that drives us

2006-04-19T23:42:00.000+02:00

Why do people blog? Is it a need to be recognized? A "nobody around me cares about my thoughts, so I'll let the world see them"? Or, "I'll never be able to write a book, so I'll blog"? An opportunity to moan?

How do you measure the success of a blog? Can a blog be "successful"? Who decides whether a blog is successful? Is it judged by the number of views, comments?

Or is blogging a vent? An outage? Like poetry? I suck at poetry.

"let the world see them." (when do you start quoting yourself?). The World, filtered by 1. those who have computers, 2. those who have internet access, 3. those who use the internet for purposes other than email and porn, 4. those who know of blogspot, 5. those who give a shit about what other people thinks. Kinda narrows it down, doesn't it?

Cunning is as cunning does.

I feel like that first time in the gym, when you walk around ticking of stuff that you notice. A beginner. A novice. A newbie. A noob. A virgin. Genesis. Alpha. Numero uno. When does that feeling go away? When do you start being a regular? After a couple of blogs? A couple? How much? Is there a rule? Who made the rule?

Rules.

Inhibitant. Constricting. Controlling. Conspiracy.

Who make rules? The government? Parents? Superiors? Who gave them the power to make rules? Me? The people? If I have the power to grant someone the power to be able to make rules, shouldn't I be able to break them? Yes. Without consequence? No. "Fight the war, fuck the norm."

Fairy tales.

Is belief wasted? "I do not believe it to be a matter of hope... I believe it to be only a matter of time." When do you use someone else's words? When your own sucks?

Love.

Hormones? Oxytocin and vassopressin? Even cows have hormones. Does every conversation have to include love? Every blog? Is it a wish? Is it a force of cicrumstance? Watch this space.

I love to create. I love to make. I love to restore. The first personal statement. Should there be a lot? Should I tell what I am? The Me? Am I being judged?

I like to count. 42 questions so far. Paramount Pictures has 22 stars. My kettle takes 84 seconds to boil water. Wors has 8 whiskers on each side of his nose. My burglar proofing has 8 bars. Obsessive compulsive? 43.

Can I be a prisoner of me, Mr. Hyde? Duality is a bitch.

If I were a little more sane.