3am BP pie

"Life of a Salesman"

2012-01-15T11:41:00.001+02:00

As good a day as you could ask for, fair weather around the country. Early father's day so give yours an awkward pat or long ass hug [whatever you're into] while you still can [Maybe while you're at it your mom too]

What's a dad for dad?
Tell me why I'm here dad
Whisper in my ear that I'm growing up to be a better man, dad
Everything is fine dad
Proud that you are mine dad
Cause I know I'm growing up to be a better man

Father I will always be
That same boy that stood by the sea
And watched you tower over me
Now I'm older I wanna be the same as you

What's a dad for dad?
Taught me how to stand, dad
Took me by the hand and you showed me how to be a bigger man, dad
Listen when you talk, dad
Follow where you walk, dad
And you know that I will always do the best I can

Father I will always be
That same boy that stood by the sea
watched you tower over me
Now I'm older I wanna be the same as you

Father I will always be
That same boy that stood by the sea
And watched you tower over me
Now I'm older I wanna be the same as you

When I am a dad, dad
I'm gonna be a good dad
Did the best you could, dad
Always understood, dad
Taught me what was right, dad
Opened up my eyes, dad
Glad to call you my dad
Thank you for my life dad.. (:

sa bai dee mai krab

2011-10-25T07:34:00.000+02:00

sa bai dee ga

it went:
Durban - Johannesburg - Dubai - Bangkok: Maang Moom
Hua Hin: Temple, Market, Sea Food, Double-up Restaurant, Sea, other Temple, fail to Nam Tok
Bangkok: Bric Bar, Flat
Koh Lanta: Omg tropical, Scooters, Yum Food, Reef Snorkelling, Beach
Bangkok: Family Restaurant, Roof Champagne
Bangkok - Dubai - Johannesburg (Sleep) - Durban

Gardening Gardening Death.. mai sa bai

el Mariachi

2011-08-30T19:50:00.000+02:00

footprints left might make a cleft
make bosom heft
there's sign of theft
across this sand, across this sand

The Last Answer, by Isaac Asimov

2011-07-02T11:16:00.002+02:00

Murray Templeton was forty-five years old, in the prime of life, and with all parts of his body in perfect working order except for certain key portions of his coronary arteries, but that was enough.

The pain had come suddenly, had mounted to an unbearable peak, and had then ebbed steadily. He could feel his breath slowing and a kind of gathering peace washing over him.

There is no pleasure like the absence of pain – immediately after pain. Murray felt an almost giddy lightness as though he were lifting in the air and hovering.

He opened his eyes and noted with distant amusement that the others in the room were still agitated. He had been in the laboratory when the pain had struck, quite without warning, and when he had staggered, he had heard surprised outcries from the others before everything vanished into overwhelming agony.

Now, with the pain gone, the others were still hovering, still anxious, still gathered about his fallen body –– Which, he suddenly realised, he was looking down on.

He was down there, sprawled, face contorted. He was up here, at peace and watching.

He thought: Miracle of miracles! The life-after-life nuts were right.

And although that was a humiliating way for an atheistic physicist to die, he felt only the mildest surprise, and no alteration of the peace in which he was immersed.

He thought: There should be some angel – or something – coming for me.

The Earthly scene was fading. Darkness was invading his consciousness and off in a distance, as a last glimmer of sight, there was a figure of light, vaguely human in form, and radiating warmth.

Murray thought: What a joke on me. I’m going to Heaven.

Even as he thought that, the light faded, but the warmth remained. There was no lessening of the peace even though in all the Universe only he remained – and the Voice.

The Voice said, “I have done this so often and yet I still have the capacity to be pleased at success.”

It was in Murray’s mind to say something, but he was not conscious of possessing a mouth, tongue, or vocal chords. Nevertheless, tried to make a sound. He tried, mouthlessly, to hum words or breathe them or just push them out by a contraction of – something.

And they came out. He heard his own voice, quite recognisable, and his own words, infinitely clear.

Murray said, “Is this Heaven?”

The Voice said, “This is no place as you understand place.”

Murray was embarrassed, but the next question had to be asked. “Pardon me if I sound like a jackass. Are you God?”

Without changing intonation or in any way marring the perfection of the sound, the Voice managed to sound amused. “It is strange that I am always asked that in, of course, an infinite number of ways. There is no answer I can give that you would comprehend. I am – which is all that I can say significantly and you may cover that with any word or concept you please.”

Murray said, “And what am I? A soul? Or am I only personified existence too?” He tried not to sound sarcastic, but it seemed to him that he had failed. He thought then, fleetingly, of adding a ‘Your Grace’ or ‘Holy One’ or something to counteract the sarcasm, and could not bring himself to do so even though for the first time in his existence he speculated on the possibility of being punished for his insolence – or sin? – with Hell, and what that might be like.

The Voice did not sound offended. “You are easy to explain – even to you. You may call yourself a soul if that pleases you, but what you are is a nexus of electromagnetic forces, so arranged that all the interconnections and interrelationships are exactly imitative of those of your brain in your Universe-existence – down to the smallest detail. Therefore you have your capacity for thought, your memories, your personality. It still seems to you that you are you.”

Murray found himself incredulous. “You mean the essence of my brain was permanent?”

“Not at all. There is nothing about you that is permanent except what I choose to make so. I formed the nexus. I constructed it while you had physical existence and adjusted it to the moment when the existence failed.”

The Voice seemed distinctly pleased with itself, and went on after a moment’s pause. “An intricate but entirely precise construction. I could, of course, do it for every human being on your world but I am pleased that I do not. There is pleasure in the selection.”

“You choose very few then?”

“Very few.”

“And what happens to the rest?”

“Oblivion! – Oh, of course, you imagine a Hell.”

Murray would have flushed if he had the capacity to do so. He said, “I do not. It is spoken of. Still, I would scarcely have thought I was virtuous enough to have attracted your attention as one of the Elect.”

“Virtuous? – Ah, I see what you mean. It is troublesome to have to force my thinking small enough to permeate yours. No, I have chosen you for your capacity for thought, as I choose others, in quadrillions, from all the intelligent species of the Universe.”

Murray found himself suddenly curious, the habit of a lifetime. He said, “Do you choose them all yourself or are there others like you?”

For a fleeting moment, Murray thought there was an impatient reaction to that, but when the Voice came, it was unmoved. “Whether or not there are others is irrelevant to you. This Universe is mine, and mine alone. It is my invention, my construction, intended for my purpose alone.”

“And yet with quadrillions of nexi you have formed, you spend time with me? Am I that important?”

The Voice said, “You are not important at all. I am also with others in a way which, to your perception, would seem simultaneous.”

“And yet you are one?”

Again amusement. The Voice said, “You seek to trap me into an inconsistency. If you were an amoeba who could consider individuality only in connection with single cells and if you were to ask a sperm whale, made up of thirty quadrillion cells, whether it was one or many, how could the sperm whale answer in a way that would be comprehensible to the amoeba?”

Murray said dryly, “I’ll think about it. It may become comprehensible.”

“Exactly. That is your function. You will think.”

“To what end? You already know everything, I suppose.”

The Voice said, “Even if I knew everything, I could not know that I know everything.”

Murray said, “That sounds like a bit of Eastern philosophy – something that sounds profound precisely because it has no meaning.”

The Voice said, “You have promise. You answer my paradox with a paradox – except that mine is not a paradox. Consider. I have existed eternally, but what does that mean? It means I cannot remember having come into existence. If I could, I would not have existed eternally. If I cannot remember having come into existence, then there is at least one thing – the nature of my coming into existence – that I do not know.

“Then, too, although what I know is infinite, it is also true that what there is to know is infinite, and how can I be sure that both infinities are equal? The infinity of potential knowledge may be infinitely greater than the infinity of my actual knowledge. Here is a simple example: If I knew every one of the even integers, I would know an infinite number of items, and yet I would still not know a single odd integer.”

Murray said, “But the odd integers can be derived. If you divide every even integer in the entire infinite series by two, you will get another infinite series which will contain within it the infinite series of odd integers.”

The Voice said, “You have the idea. I am pleased. It will be your task to find other such ways, far more difficult ones, from the known to the not-yet-known. You have your memories. You will remember all the data you have ever collected or learned, or that you have or will deduce from that data. If necessary, you will be allowed to learn what additional data you will consider relevant to the problems you set yourself.”

“Could you not do all that for yourself?”

The Voice said, “I can, but it is more interesting this way. I constructed the Universe in order to have more facts to deal with. I inserted the uncertainty principle, entropy, and other randomisation factors to make the whole not instantly obvious. It has worked well for it has amused me throughout its entire existence.

“I then allowed complexities that produced first life and then intelligence, and use it as a source for a research team, not because I need the aid, but because it would introduce a new random factor. I found I could not predict the next interesting piece of knowledge gained, where it would come from, by what means derived.”

Murray said, “Does that ever happen?”

“Certainly. A century doesn’t pass in which some interesting item doesn’t appear somewhere.”

“Something that you could have thought of yourself, but had not done so yet?”

“Yes.”

Murray said, “Do you actually think there’s a chance of my obliging you in this manner?”

“In the next century? Virtually none. In the long run, though, your success is certain, since you will be engaged eternally.”

Murray said, “I will be thinking through eternity? Forever?”

“Yes.”

“To what end?”

“I have told you. To find new knowledge.”

“But beyond that. For what purpose am I to find new knowledge?”

“It was what you did in your Universe-bound life. What was its purpose then?”

Murray said, “To gain new knowledge that only I could gain. To receive the praise of my fellows. To feel the satisfaction of accomplishment knowing that I had only a short time allotted me for the purpose. – Now I would gain only what you could gain yourself if you wished to take a small bit of trouble. You cannot praise me; you can only be amused. And there is no credit or satisfaction in accomplishment when I have all eternity to do it in.”

The Voice said, “And you do not find thought and discovery worthwhile in itself? You do not find it requiring no further purpose?”

“For a finite time, yes. Not for all eternity.”

“I see your point. Nevertheless, you have no choice.”

“You say I am to think. You cannot make me do so.”

The Voice said, “I do not wish to constrain you directly. I will not need to. Since you can do nothing but think, you will think. You do not know how not to think.”

“Then I will give myself a goal. I will invent a purpose.”

The Voice said tolerantly, “That you can certainly do.”

“I have already found a purpose.”

“May I know what it is?”

“You know already. I know we are not speaking in the ordinary fashion. You adjust my nexus is such a way that I believe I hear you and I believe I speak, but you transfer thoughts to me and from me directly. And when my nexus changes with my thoughts you are at once aware of them and do not need my voluntary transmission.”

The Voice said, “You are surprisingly correct. I am pleased. – But it also pleases me to have you tell me your thoughts voluntarily.”

“Then I will tell you. The purpose of my thinking will be to discover a way to disrupt this nexus of me that you have created. I do not want to think for no purpose but to amuse you. I do not want to think forever to amuse you. I do not want to exist forever to amuse you. All my thinking will be directed toward ending the nexus. That would amuse me.”

The Voice said, “I have no objection to that. Even concentrated thought on ending your own existence may, in spite of you, come up with something new and interesting. And, of course, if you succeed in this suicide attempt you will have accomplished nothing, for I would instantly reconstruct you and in such a way as to make your method of suicide impossible. And if you found another and still more subtle fashion of disrupting yourself, I would reconstruct you with that possibility eliminated, and so on. It could be an interesting game, but you will nevertheless exist eternally. It is my will.”

Murray felt a quaver but the words came out with a perfect calm. “Am I in Hell then, after all? You have implied there is none, but if this were Hell you would lie to us as part of the game of Hell.”

The Voice said, “In that case, of what use is it to assure you that you are not in Hell? Nevertheless, I assure you. There is here neither Heaven nor Hell. There is only myself.”

Murray said, “Consider, then, that my thoughts may be useless to you. If I come up with nothing useful, will it not be worth your while to – disassemble me and take no further trouble with me?”

“As a reward? You want Nirvana as the prize of failure and you intend to assure me failure? There is no bargain there. You will not fail. With all eternity before you, you cannot avoid having at least one interesting thought, however you try against it.”

“Then I will create another purpose for myself. I will not try to destroy myself. I will set as my goal the humiliation of you. I will think of something you have not only never thought of but never could think of. I will think of the last answer, beyond which there is no knowledge further.”

The Voice said, “You do not understand the nature of the infinite. There may be things I have not yet troubled to know. There cannot be anything I cannot know.”

Murray said thoughtfully, “You cannot know your beginning. You have said so. Therefore you cannot know your end. Very well, then. That will be my purpose and that will be the last answer. I will not destroy myself. I will destroy you – if you do not destroy me first.”

The Voice said, “Ah! You come to that in rather less than average time. I would have thought it would have taken you longer. There is not one of those I have with me in this existence of perfect and eternal thought that does not have the ambition of destroying me. It cannot be done.”

Murray said, “I have all eternity to think of a way of destroying you.”

The Voice said, equably, “Then try to think of it.” And it was gone.

But Murray had his purpose now and was content.

For what could any Entity, conscious of eternal existence, want – but an end?

For what else had the Voice been searching for countless billions of years? And for what other reason had intelligence been created and certain specimens salvaged and put to work, but to aid in that great search? And Murray intended that it would be he, and he alone, who would succeed.

Carefully, and with the thrill of purpose, Murray began to think.

He had plenty of time.

The Egg, by Andy Weir [aka Jack Sharp]

2011-07-02T11:06:00.001+02:00

The Egg

By: Andy Weir

You were on your way home when you died.

It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.

And that’s when you met me.

“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”

“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.

“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”

“Yup,” I said.

“I… I died?”

“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.

You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”

“More or less,” I said.

“Are you god?” You asked.

“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”

“My kids… my wife,” you said.

“What about them?”

“Will they be all right?”

“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”

You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”

“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”

“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”

“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”

“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”

You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”

“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”

“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”

I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.

“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”

“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”

“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”

“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”

“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”

“Where you come from?” You said.

“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”

“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”

“So what’s the point of it all?”

“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”

“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.

I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”

“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”

“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”

“Just me? What about everyone else?”

“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”

You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”

“All you. Different incarnations of you.”

“Wait. I’m everyone!?”

“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.

“I’m every human being who ever lived?”

“Or who will ever live, yes.”

“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”

“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.

“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.

“And you’re the millions he killed.”

“I’m Jesus?”

“And you’re everyone who followed him.”

You fell silent.

“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”

You thought for a long time.

“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”

“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”

“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”

“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”

“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”

“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”

And I sent you on your way.

What do you do?

2011-06-11T00:51:00.000+02:00

A simple question. I'm shit at answering it:

Compose regional reviews for line manager. Ship relevant innovation samples for use at meetings. compose prop docs for regional deals. update monthly mapnotes for the operational guys who must execute promotions in stores. update the promotional grid with regional and national activities. assist in pricing discrepancies when orders are rejected or blocked. Communicate with category management on innovation samples, any delays or issues of that nature. track innovation ranging in accordance with what is agreed with each region. assist the forecasting of demand across personal care ranges going forward in the year. compose item number request sheets for customer HQ when they have to range new innovations. pull cross customer reports for director 'eg top 50 sku's in A against top 50 in B'. pull sales information to track success of items. compose evaluation sheets of past promotions in customer. present to the regional operational managers for customer A and B on upcoming innovations and promotional execution in their stores. inquire with brand on execution technicalities which are unclear. strive to magic stock into existence when items are on promotion and out of stock. follow-up non-compliance of promotional activities and solutions there of. update relevant documentation per region per meeting. sort out line deletion/ammendment/addition from adhoc pov. Track promotional grid against physical/virtual leaflets available. Track deal-spend against the targets set. umm... and stuff

I'm sure the general idea is clear from this. Maybe I've missed a pretty obvious description as well. Who knows.

Haha ^^

2011-02-27T21:18:00.001+02:00

So again the answer reads like this:

The best use of Life is to keep it as a verb (:

Dearest of the dear, Amilia

2010-09-05T13:37:00.001+02:00

Amilia was the daughter of the king, a very beautiful and carefree girl. Her beauty inspired many a festival and courageous act in the kingdom from hopeful followers. Among the many who wanted her hand was Filipoles. Filipoles was the captain of her personal guard.

Time and time again he would approach her with gifts, accomplish feats of skill and endurance in her honour and serenade her as he followed her throughout the kingdom. Yet Amilia did not return his affections. A girl of innocent charm and presence she rarely carried an awareness of her effect on men.

One day, after Filipoles had again sang the sweetest of songs, climbed the highest mountain in the region and returned with flowers that only grew atop it for Amilia, his heart grew bitter from her rejection. Could she not understand his feelings for her? Why did she persist in playing the fool?
Filipoles went to her bed chamber that evening. He plunged his knife into her chest and cut out her heart. Her screams awoke the whole palace, but when the first witnesses entered her bed chamber all they found was Amilia curled up on her bed, staring out the window. Although there was blood on her gown, her body showed no sign of a wound.

Filipoles had stolen her heart and taken it away with him. He travelled for days, finally arriving at Mount Olympus. At the foot of the mountain he entered a cave, and after hours of walking underground he entered a cavern filled with ice. Here he cut a pedestal from the ice and upon it laid Amilia’s still beating heart.

Upon returning to the kingdom Filipoles was stripped of his position and sent to the edge of the kingdom. He lived out his days in bitterness, finally plunging into madness because of it. Years past and the kingdom mourned the loss of their beloved Amilia. She no longer smiled and her youth seemed to have been washed away, to be replaced by the cold eternity of a soul void of emotion.

Many sought to return her heart, however none ever found it. Filipoles had lost touch of reality in his bitterness and could no longer speak to relate the location of the cavern. In a desperate attempt to return his daughter to her former self, the king announced that the reward for return of her heart would be the kingdom. One of those who answered this call was Adalius, the twin brother of Filipoles. One of calm and collected personality, Adalius went in search of his twin and spent two years in his company, deciphering Filipoles’ meaningless ramblings. None know what passed between them during those years, however shortly after Adalius travelled to Mount Olympus and located Amilia’s heart.

A great festival was held at the palace upon Adalius’ return. The overjoyed king sent for Amilia and had Adalius present her with her heart himself. The heart once encased in ice, slowly thawed out in her small hands. The people watched with wonder as her face slowly gained its former beauty and vitality. Yet it was not meant to be. As Amilia regained her emotions tears streamed down her face, a decade of feeling washed over her in a matter of seconds and she could not stand such intensity. She threw her heart over Adalius’ head into the bonfire the king had ordered made for the festival. As her heart burnt she uttered a prayer to the gods, asking them to take the heart away from her forever so she would never have to endure the bottled emotions therein again.

Although onlookers tried to save the heart from the fire, it was lost in the flames and Amilia forever bereft of emotion. Adalius left shortly after, no longer wishing to claim Amilia or the kingdom. And so the once powerful kingdom dissolved upon the death of its former ruler.

-END-

Bleeuuuurrggh. lal

2010-06-27T04:12:00.000+02:00

If the sickness doesn't get him the treatment might. I sure as hell would like to know the meaning of the fright, does TAKE it scare me that life moves on, does the rising sun just make fun? Dazy dazy hazy evening, scared to bed and scared to wed and not so quiet in the head, little miss Peppie has a stroke --

magic magic make it happy magic magic for ol' sappy

Let her dance let her dance let her dance dance dance, well let her dance with him all night long, let her dance with him THE to our favourite song, let her dance all night long.

Are you lonely are you sad? are you scared really bad? do you prefer the sound of a redneck campfire band or a studio recording? te veel vraagies vir te veel maagies, antwoorde is skaars maar teenminste is daar kos om voor te werk.

Do these things make sense [if the water is bad]
do they make amends [and of it you've had]
do they only pray to tell [-/-]
the water is bad down in the well [..well then your cussed]

.
x speaks to y - y are you so y. y speaks to me - x lives up in your tree. i speak to n - when when oh when? and m decides to leave - ...
la la la fantastic mr fox. "these horrible crooks so different in looks were none the less equally mean."

Born on a mountain top in Tennessee,
Greenest state in SHORTCUT the land of the free.
Raised in the woods so's he knew every tree,
Killed him a bear when he was only three.. (:

DON'T

Ander winter

2010-05-12T22:06:00.000+02:00

A small boy lost in his own reality.

Paranoid and insecure, tender and tending to whine.

Containing a bitter streak that shows an ugly picture.

Not making good on promises in first impressions.

Just another boy. Just another day. Making things special. .

Fav'd @ DA

2010-04-14T23:47:00.000+02:00

what is a song if not sung
what is a bell if not rung

and so our hearts we use so well
pull us ever down to hell
not hell of old, but hell on earth
where the dead and dying are sent to live

yet all is not lost ..

behold the hair so wild and free
rippling high and long in front of me

the limbs so slender, bronzed and bruised
but what are these if not signs of things well used

the eyes grown pale with wisdom kept
from knowledge garnered while other slept

behold my man this woman fair
and not just behold, but understand
for who cannot see beyond the hair
will be forever strange to her warm hand

and so i say ..

a song is for me to sing
and a bell is for her to ring (:

I can take your trouble

2010-04-13T11:49:00.003+02:00

Standing on the bed gives a new perspective. Dairy-skinned you bend into the wall with a small, soft sigh. The day has been long-waiting on us, hours played out in our mind, single dreams overlapping. The night is crisp outside, sneaking in through the curtains unexpectedly, and coming to sharp contrast on my hands against your warmth.

Looking down I can follow the flow of your legs, so like milk stone pillars. And I push you forward, making you crest against the cold stone. A struggle ensues, a slow battle between us as I trap you here against me. How long we fight; fight the cold, fight the warmth, fight each other. Ecstasy blooming in the blood rushing heat of battle.

But time rolls on and the rush subsides once more into a deep mere, innocence in its placid surface. I take you away from the cold, and when you settle yourself upon me, I trace the fingers of my right hand down your chest, counting bone. Would that I could keep the total in my head, I count again and again while rhythmic rings expand from you, as you dip and rise on my lap.

Numbers forgotten I hold onto you for dear life as, together, we slowly sink our ship into this sea.

I'm 60 feet tall. .

sout en asyn

2010-04-03T15:31:00.005+02:00

Vrinde, laat my toe om aan jul iets voor te stel:

Stellenbosch, die plattelandse dorpie. Waar geen bekende gesigte dwaal nie en nie 'n siel op spoed is erens heen nie.

Die boemelaar se gesig dop af van die skielike dae sonder son beskreming, en hy glo ook nie ek sal terug kom nie. Oupa agter die toonbank by die vis en tjips winkel beweeg teen 'n monotoniese spoed wat jou bewus maak van die dag se vereiste; jy moet dwaal deur hierdie dag. Voel hoe onnodig vinnig beweeg jy soos jy oor die rooi plein wandel.

As jy jou kop kantel om te luister, hoor jy hoe skryf die blare ritsel ritsel uit in die bries. Verveeld word 'n besige lewe op hierdie sypaadjie. Hier groei wortels terug in hul blare in.

Ek vertroetel hierdie gevoel; binne kort gaan jy ek word, en ek gaan ek wonder word, en dan is die wonder waar jou ribbene is..

Mr Peter

2010-03-16T15:04:00.004+02:00

I MAY DESPAIR, 'COZ ROSE BUSHES HAVE GOT THORNS, BUT I SHALL ALSO REJOICE, BECAUSE THORN BUSHES HAVE GOT ROSES.

HAPPINESS IS LIKE A BUTTERFLY, IF YOU TRY TO GRASP IT; IT MAY FLY AWAY, BUT IF YOU DECIDE TO SIT DOWN QUIETLY, IT MAY DECIDE TO LAND UPON YOUR SHOULDERS.

A GOOD MAN WILL WIN A FIGHT, BUT A GREAT MAN WILL WALK AWAY FROM THAT FIGHT. OR WIN THE FIGHT EVEN BEFORE IT STARTED.

THE TROUBLE WITH TROUBLE IS; IT ALWAYS STARTS OUT AS FUN.

THE OPPOSITE OF LOVE IS NOT HATE... IT IS INDIFFERENCE. [+_+]

BECAUSE IF YOU SAY YOU HATE ME, THAT MEANS THAT YOU STILL CARE.

THIS WORLD IS ONLY 3 DAYS OLD:

AS FOR YESTERDAY, IT IS GONE WITH ALL THE PAIN, SORROWS, UNHAPPINESS, UNFAITHFULNESS, DECEIT, ETC.

AS FOR TOMORROW; IT MAY NEVER COME; BUT AS FOR TODAY MAKE THE VERY, VERY, BEST OF IT, BECAUSE IT IS YOURS.

DO NOT DWELL IN THE PAST, 'COS IF YOU DO, YOU WILL MISS OUT ON WHATS SO MUCH MORE BEAUTIFUL & IMPORTANT TODAY.

RESPECT & LOVE ONE ANOTHER, NO MATTER WHOM.

FOR A SUCCESSFUL & EVERLASTING RELATIONSHIP :) ALWAYS TREAT A DISASTER AS A TRIVIALITY, BUT DO NOT EVER, EVER TREAT A TRIVIALITY AS A DISASTER.

GO PLACIDLY, AMONG THE NOISE AND THE HASTE, BUT REMEMBER WHAT PEACE THERE MAY LIE IN SILENCE.

BEST WISHES & REGARDS,

RAJAH KHAN.

**Excerpt from a friend's letter**

God Emperor

2010-02-07T18:38:00.003+02:00

Time might not flow but it presses from behind just the same. Always a new day, a new old. Just the same but filled from all directions with the option to elect different answers to the questions.

Keeping busy results in 'keeping happy' because I enforce ignorance. Cluttering my immediate consciousness so I may blind myself for a while. It is easier this way. But what kind of life does a blind man live? What type of being runs from its own awareness? Typical types?

To point out bad symmetry :: from class example and inner contest: If you are given a gift without your consent, a gift that all others cherish, yet you alone may now enjoy it, do you owe it to the whole to experience and sap the gift? Does the rose have concealed thorns fashioned from duty, hidden along the stem? Would the answer change if you were alike to all others except in chance?

How tiresome it has become to carry responsibility for my days.

red line

2010-01-30T13:11:00.004+02:00

love and hate live in each others shadows...

...i hope i haven't pushed you into the shade.

My socks make all the other gamers jealous.

Headache, bad stomach. and so i retreat into solitude, not willingly. not now.

Yesterdays #2

2009-12-15T12:52:00.003+02:00

Take and Give (and Take)

I made a discovery today. I found the most illogical creation ever. It is so chaotic that not one person has ever found the solution to it (or at least no one who lived to tell the tale).

It is commenly known as relationships. The give and take of the heart. Emotions.

It reminds me of this dream I have sometimes; a never ending struggle to get somewhere, you can't stop, but each step is like stabbing yourself with a sweet needle. It turns and turns and turns, the ####. Then finally just before I reach my goal I collapse, spent beyond my limits.

I usually wake up around 5 am. So also relationships seem to be this uphill struggle towards someplace better. I never reach the top... yet I never quite fall to the bottom. Some part inside screams at me to try again, do it better, don't give up.

To get back to relationships, 'scientific study' (my opinion) shows that the biggest problem is a misinterpretation/disconnection of interaction.

Recent happenings show my theory to be true. My best friends turn on each other and 'plukked' because one of them can't express himself good enough for the other. (Like always I put myself in the middle... stupid?)

Still don't know if it'll work out.

Still I would never survive this world without my heart. Relationships, our pain and pleasure...

Yesterdays #1

2009-12-15T12:46:00.005+02:00

Langs jou is rooi rose grys

En in hul dans vir die mooiste blom

Drom bye om jou in n gesuis.

Tog kyk hul net na die:

Blome, Bloeisels en Blou oë.

Ek sal daar wees

en my wonder uitspreek,

maar nie oor die:

Blome, Bloeisels en Blou oë, nee

Eerder oor jou kalm

dans verby al die gespuis

En sou ons dan loop,

die padjie langs die see,

sou dit genoeg wees

om my te dra.

Genoeg om nie te vra:

Hoe lank sal jy bly?

Want elke dag met jou,

is 'n lewe volmaak

'n glimlag vol vreugde

en liefde.

In 'n sekond van waansin,

is jy geskape.

Perfek selfs in jou slaap

Elke fout 'n meesterstuk.

Gebore om hartsnare te pluk.

Dirty on paper

2009-06-25T00:13:00.003+02:00

how singular our lives, how predictable our entertainment. 'in the barren land even the weed is a flower', and yet it would not do to forget how real flowers bloom. some people are dangerous, i choose to ignore conventional wisdom when they get involved. watched 'Se7en' and 'Taken', good entertainment. pleasantly suprised and some turns, pleasantly predictable at others. ambition, dreams, hopes fears nightmares day and night living. this person has the cup of cups in the form of a family, a wife, some kidz, a happy life and end to life. and so through every example, every situation portrayed this person tries to study, to learn and improve, to find a way that one day this ideal cup of life will be safe in his keeping. will not be broken shamed marred in any way. passion is ever part of the same line, for this person it is not distinguishable from the line. it is part of it. it is essential.

essential vitamins and minerals can be found in every dream, learn to look.

hmm ><

2009-05-22T11:44:00.008+02:00

Having a life very much kills my activity on any given blog system. Seems that when things are looking up I stop looking down, maybe that's a good thing.

In utter colour contrast to this cave of mine, visit gennaviva & domo's page if you're looking to smile proudly and happily at someone else’s progress ;)

So where have I wandered off to?

-SynCidy

A new Western Cape LAN to be launched this year, SynCidy will be the first LAN around to focus mainly on competitive gaming, thus less of the "15 hours of playing w/e you want and eating food and walking around drinking" and more of the "15 hours of playing tournaments in w/e you want and eating food and walking around drinking"! MAGICAL :D

-SGA

Stellenbosch Gaming Association, after kicking off and dying all in the space of 2 weeks last year, had a meeting last night and voted in an executive committee for the term ending 30 September. I accepted the nomination and then election as Treasurer. Maybe I can steal some cash as I am so utterly broke it's not funny ><>

-eGamer Koth Series

3 weeks ago we started up a new online King of the Hill series for DotA. I'm leading admin. Every Tuesday night we have the weekly match between the standing Kings and a Challenger team. Another little revolution for gaming around here - The community votes for the team they wish to see challenging the King team. Thus even the worst teams have a shot at the top. We also have Rectron as a prize sponsor, although prizes work on a point system and as yet no prizes have been won.

"-The King of the Hill DotA Series is sponsored by Rectron and powered by eGamer and Twilight Gaming-"

Aside from all of this shit I'm stuck in the middle of my semester exams, which are so not easy ><

2 weeks ago I was walking to the first day of work again and it suddenly hit me that as I was right there, I was soooo not happy about anything. Since then things have changed again for me (: but it was rather disturbing to suddenly realise nothing in my life was making me really happy.

At the end of my days, I get in bed, wiggle around till I’m comfortable, and breathe easy. I might not have everything I want, but things are a long shot from bad for me.

As a little sandy barefoot girl, who I've had the pleasure of knowing for a few years, would say - One love, peace

For food, thoughts

2009-04-15T21:52:00.005+02:00

I once heard a woman tell a man, that he was 'good with women' because he had sisters and he learned through them how to manipulate girls.

So let's say my latest idea is viewed in terms of this. I have a sister, but her social life picked up after mine only. I don't think the time spent in her company pre-social really taught me a whole lot. So, skipping past all the other options - could it be possible that I developed my 'feminine side' more strongly, and in this way I can relate easier with women, because I was so desperately searching for a way into the female psyche? That in searching for a way to get a grip on things I couldn't understand, I purposefully placed myself into their shoes so to speak, so that I could gain some knowledge from this?

Or maybe it's all genes and personality randomness.. who knows.

Arrogant +_+

Shaving Skins

2009-04-13T00:48:00.007+02:00

Dear Easter Bunny,

You have played a mean trick on me. So I asked you for a happy weekend, but you don't play fair do you. I'm up for your challenge though, don't think I'm going to lie down and accept life.

May the best man win +_+

An erratic heartbeat

Like a drunken soccer supporter stumbling down the empty streets with a drum and a drink, the irregularity of the heart inside my chest seems to have no end.

I am the captain of the vessel, and I steer it true to my inner compass. Now if only the damn thing would stop spinning in circles and settle in a direction. Who carries the bigger magnet now?

A B C

A swings with a halo, swings with a broken wing. A is doing, A wants to do.

B swings with a broken heart, swings without care. B is done in, B is surviving.

C swings with reckless precision, swings in a different tree. C is done, C is dusted.

A tempered heart may lead to tempered love

So I overplayed my hand, like any remotely sexually aware guy might do in that position. Or maybe one that is in my shoes. So I try to explain, badly. But explaining again and again is worse I feel. So I explain once, and hope for a break. Then I try to leave a volatile note, something to generate a response. Nothing. Time spent thinking and wondering, waiting and hoping. Realising how selfish I seem now, yet not wanting to over do it by re'xplaining. Purposefully letting someone disapprove of you rather than chase them away in a different way. When did I make the change from 'thinking the move' to 'executing the move'?

Finally I have become the kind of person who can keep it together for a while and not run off yelling what comes to mind. An improvement, but also a danger. Power in any form can be dangerous, both to the user as well as the target.

So, I keep it together. I sit, I wait, I think.

Sorrow suckers

2009-04-09T06:25:00.008+02:00

Many things mesh together inside my mind. My life transforms into

a chess game. I see myself pick out my moves, see myself overcome

obstacles and make mistakes, i see the short term happinesses turn

into long term sorrow in the blink of an eye.

Opposing pieces I thought defenseless suddenly become bastions of

defence. Pieces I had plans for, get picked off or blocked off.

Friendships seeming so secure at the start start feeling the pressure.

Decisions get called into the light again for the scrutinous eyes.

How do you carry a true secret? You kill it on the inside.

How do you kill a true secret? A bit of time and a lot of dust.

I always think myself willing to play the game, yet I become worried

that I did not think this through thuroughly enough. I thought there

were some things off-limits for the game, guess not. Easter weekend.

Long weekend. Potential brimming weekend. Last off weekend. Or

maybe the potential is the problem.

Dear Easter Bunny, this weekend I would like to give you the

happiness of making me happy. Then we will all be happy, right?

6:40 am. Who is sticking with who in this virgin morning's air?

"Old as ancient skies I've had these wandering eyes but you took me

by surprise when you let me Inside of You Inside of You Inside of You

There's got to be some part of me Inside of You Inside of You I could

cross this desert plain Inside of You I can hear you scream my name

Inside of You While the stars unfold I've crossed me heart and I've

crossed the world and I need you here and I need to be Inside of You"

+_+

Happy sadness

2009-03-17T21:19:00.004+02:00

I love you
and I love you, but what if that isnt enough?

They lay there, while the stars effortlessly pin wheeled across the sky. Lying in each others arms too tired to care, to thoughtful to forget. Desperate for the courage to change something, to face a future that might not be so planned out, that might not be so storybook. Days went by, turned into weeks. Problems bobbed to the surface, only to be driven under by a wave of longing, an all too human need to run from lonely nights. From days spent staring out the window, trapped inside themselves.

She left him that night; she walked out into the rain with her sling bag and her high heels. Always the combination of familiar style and elegant perfection. She walked away slowly, exploring her heart as she left the man she loves. He caught up with her that night. 3 blocks down the road. He came, half naked, heart racing, bare feet slapping the pavement. He did not let her go that night. And she was grateful. Forever these two lovers would play out their game, forever trapped in the gravity of their own relationship.

Is it destiny? No. destiny has no business in their lives. It is the soft scrape of shoes being picked up, the ripple of a dress being donned. That unmistakable sound her lips make when she blows a kiss into the air, and the silence left in a room with one less beating heart sheltered inside.

Today I was told I think too much. Why.

Cumulative lack

2009-03-15T23:17:00.005+02:00

Some thinking steps:

1>'Every woman is a whore, every guy has his day'

12>'The cock, a get out of slut-label free card' and

123>'Gender equality is a bullshit story'

123>'Racial traits do exist'

123>'You cannot love everyone you meet'

12>'A framework of values and rules built on top of animal instincts'

123>'Even with religion the same base remains'

1234>'Real experience questions rules'

12345>'Real question seeking answer'

12345>'Must be fully exposed'

12345>'Open to interpretation' and

12345>'Well endowed'

12345>'Call 0800 ???? ?? for more questioning'

123>'Instincts exist for a reason, maybe the collective selfishness of the herd'

1234>'You could be acting selfish towards yourself and not even know it'

1>We define ourselves using others

12>'True freedom of behaviour cannot exist in the presence of self awareness'

123>'True freedom cannot be experienced without self awareness'

1234>'True freedom should stay the hell away from reality'

12>'We pretend to see ourselves through others' eyes'

Dating works like running a tab from a really friendly barman. As long as you keep going, ordering more and more, things will seem grand and happy. The second you stop ordering you realise how much your tab has grown, incidentally being the inverse of how small your dick feels at that second.

Thus - Guys fight hard for long term relationships, because the second that barman calls last round the gates of hell start beckoning.

Lying to yourself never solves much, but neither does admitting you are doing so. Admittance is not half the battle, people who believe this are simply blinded by the eventual success which roughly translated from admittance. In actual fact it is more like stacking one lie on top of another. I have admitted to a million problems, mistakes, logical screw ups and plain down shitty thought processes. This has brought me no battle scars, no horns calling for the hunt, no soft and swift feet speeding off into the dark over a cliff.

Wow it is hard not to simply diary a weekend of ups and downs and down downs.

corners of the mind

2009-03-13T10:43:00.010+02:00

"and you cant, always get, what you want"

I would slip my hand around your slender throat and with a firm grip shove you backwards into the wall. A second later, while the impact is still making you reel, my lips close upon yours. My arm circles your waist from the left and forcefully pulls you into me. Once I feel your hips willingly digging into mine I let go. I slide my hands up your legs, taking hold I lift you into the wall.

Hungrily kissing, you bite, drawing blood. You drop and spin around, and again I pin you against the wall.You will feel me as I search your dress for escape. Kissing your arm. Biting your shoulder. Hearing your moan. You arch your back; we kiss across your shoulder as my grip on your hips grows stronger.

When you turn back to me, a moment to simply look back into those hazels. A hand to slowly caress your cheek; drift softly into your hair, and drawing you closer to meet my lips. I will pick you up, and carry you backwards in your mind.

These memories, these, fairytales, still collect in the corners of my mind.

google google on the wall

2009-03-11T09:59:00.005+02:00

Am I in love?

Ever since I was a small four-eyed critter jumping around playgrounds I've had this appreciation for feelings. The way emotions could trump evidence, logic, believe or even sanity.

In high school I wanted to know how it felt to be in a relationship, how those guys and girls were feeling every day, knowing there was someone on the other side of the fence who was also thinking about them. Nearing the end of my high school career I actively started looking for someone who I could experience this with. I had no idea what I was getting into.

She was smoking hot and a little shy, but buoyed by the music and the dance floor I would only realise this later.

I arrived on the doorstep of this year freshly ripped from warmth. I've spent time thawing out, but now I seem to have lost the edge of how it felt.

Never mind true loves, ignoring forever promises, throw out the window destiny; just, when has it ever been easy to know if like has turned to love? And how incredibly hard is it in our time to really tell the difference, where every semi female form is covered in napkins flapping in the breeze.

Am I irrational? Do you lie awake thinking? Can we be found every other day dancing in our minds?

Smoker lung

2009-03-10T18:29:00.012+02:00

Light up. Take a see-through plastic container, any old thing around the house. Find yourself a willing participant to this charade and proceed to cover said participant with the container.

By this time you will need to light up again. Take that first breath of fresh air, so lovingly filtered for you, and let it slip in under the door of your participant’s new home. Keep going till the plastic loses its translucence.

Now if you could zoom in, past the plastic, past the ash particles floating around, right down there at the bottom you will find a little place I like to call home. Yes, it's that time of the year again. Time for nothing in this little bubble to change. Time for the leaves to stay the same colour and the birds to fly around in circles.

Every day I race my tractor through these streets it dawns on me that I'm functioning inside the western upper-middle class version of a Middle Eastern electronics store in the states. Read that again.

We dream so big that we verge on never waking up.

Hi Stellenbosch, Flipi doesn't hate you.