Techno Challenged.

Ever since I was small I knew that I was destined for great things. I knew this because my mom used to say “You are destined for great things” I remember she would play me the song “We are Growing” by Margaret Singana, make me sit down and tell me that the song was about Shaka Zulu. He was a great leader for his people and my mom made no secret of the fact that she admired him. Then she would tell me that I must listen to the words of the song because they are singing about me. I hated that ritual of hers, but now it is one of the things that I miss the most. So I knew that I was going to be great. I can however say with a clear heart that my greatness will have nothing to do with technology. It is not that I do not like or do not appreciate technology. I work on the latest Apple Mac and I love it. However after working on it for a few months I only discover the i-tunes buttons on the keyboard. I think it is a combination of not being the brightest crayon on the box when it comes to technology and the fact that even though I love technology, it fucking hates me. But with all of this said and done, I am very impressed by the fact that I am able to operate this blog. I didn’t know if I would be able to do and now I have. So then a friend of mine told me about freewebs.  This is a thing on the internet that allows you to make free websites. Cha-Ching!!! Me and technology goes about so well together as me and giving directions. Don't ever in your life ask me for direction. I will tell you turn left while pointing right. Although this a problem that Paul is busy helping me with. Place you hands flat in front of you thumbs outstreched as if you were wearing mittens. The side that makes a Capital L, using your thumb and Index figer to make it, is left. Yes people do look at me very funny when I suddenly drop everything and stretch my hands out to find the L, but at least I am getting there.

So here is the first website that I have ever created. It is a work in progress and I don’t know if it will ever be done. It may not be the best site you have ever seen but you know what, techno challenged me made it. So I don’t really give a fuck who thinks what about it. I managed to do it, all by my lonesome.

Mwah!!

http://notrenlimphoenixtradition.webs.com/

The Circus

People are funny things. In the beginning of the year they wanted to know what books I read as if by some osmoses when I read a book it will benefit the rest of mankind. So on facebook I made a photo album and put up pictures of the books that I read there. Now, as if they don’t know enough about me already, they want to know what music I listen too as well. Is this an attempt to emulate me or what? Is there anything else that people would like to know? I use plain white two ply toilet paper, call it a little luxury. I don’t like the toilet paper with the pictures on them even though Paul loves it. I turn my back and when I look again paul has bought toilet paper with lady bugs or lavender on it and I want to flip. I understand that sometimes you can only get the toilet paper with the impression in it but then it still needs to be plain white and you buy one that has an impression that is not upsetting to the psyche. And yes it must be two ply. Three ply is stupid and One ply, one ply is never good, it’s either too soft leaving you with more in your hands than what you hoped for or too hard, leaving your ass harder than your 5o’clock shadow beard. I believe that your bathroom is very sacred. It needs to be a place where you can just sit and relax. Our bathroom is filled with things to look at. Fairies by the lot and of course my rubber ducky. Her name is Gena, she is pink and black and wears a spike collar. But with all the fairies you would swear that you are stepping into a scene of the movie Ferngully when you walk in. I was never a fairy fan, until I came out that I was gay. Not only did I realize that I had transformed into a fairy but also that I liked fellow fairies. Back at Ferngully all we need is the crazy bat character that is not all there…….thinking about it, Batman kind of fills that role. Shame that cat is not well. It’s not that he is two sandwiches short of his pick nick. He has all the sandwiches, but he is not hungry (unfucking likely since he always fucking eats) and the basket is missing. So he is desperately holding all the sandwiches hoping that they wont fall. Come to think about it all of our animals are a bit …………. Well we have a ball python that refuses to be a ball. He is more active than the candles in a nunnery. A Dumeril boa who is Gay and Emo. He kills from behind and the first cuddles his dead food for hours on end. Batman who looks like his father fucked a rabbit and Robin who fucks his brother Batman. I look at this some nights and I wonder how I ended up in the Boswell Wilky Circus. I joke with Paul and tell him that these ……traits are from his side of the family. But in truth my family, sjoe. I would not be able to write about them because there is not enough free space on the internet, and even if they had to scrape Google to give me space, you would not have enough time in one life to read about them. The only thing that I can say is that they are very weird, and coming from me, Ringmaster of the Circus, that says a lot. I have the sort of family that makes you go home, fall to your knees and thank some or other God for the wonderful family that you have and be thankful that you are not family of me. It provides for interesting times, but that is exactly the point, too many interesting times. 

So back to the stuff that people want to know, the most recent, as I said, is that people now want to know what I listen to. I am not sure how knowing what I listen to wil enrich their lives and I have decided, because I cannot see a point to it, I will simply say that I listen too music that moves me. Music that has the power t make me shift whatever emotion I am in and make me settle into a new state of being.

I will say that the current song playing on my I-tunes is ‘Dear Mr. President’ by Pink. 

Mwah!

Toilet Humour

As daar nou een ding is wat ek nog nooit verstaan het nie is dit mense wat lees op die toilet. Ek het dit die eerste beleef baie jare gelede as klein kind to ek by my oom en tannie gekuier. Hulle het in 'n groot huis gebly, wat my as kind laat dink het dat hulle baie ryk was.

Dit was a sondag in die skool vakansie en hy, my oom, het winkel toe gegaan die oggend om die Rapport te koop saam met 'n lys van dinge wat my tannie nodig gehad het. Ek het by die tafel gesit en prentjies geteken, iets wat ek nou nog doen. My oom kom by die huis, hy sit die sakke in die kombuis en verdwyn in die gang af. Na my prentjies klaar is voel dit soos twee ure wat al verby is en ek, opgewonde oor my kak prentjies, soek my oom om hom te wys. My tannie se net dat hy sy koerant gaan lees het. Ek wil weet waar want sekerlik kan hy n minuut afstaan om te kyk na my kuns en maak of hy daarvan hou. Nee, verduidelik my tannie, hy lees terwyl hy op die toilet sit en 'n nommer twee maak.

Drie duisend vra en situasies vlieg deur my kop op dieselfde tyd en my tannie mos dit op my gesiggie sien want to sit my sommer aan die werk om haar te help met die kos. My mamma lees nie op die toilet nie en sy hou baie van lees. Sy kan n boek in ‘n aand klaar lees. As kind al het ek snaakse dinge kon sien, diere wat op n snaakse manier aan mekaar vas sit boud na boud, tannies wat in koue aande met kort rokkies op die straat staan, mense wat dood is, maar iemand wat op die toilet sit en lees, dit was vir my heeltemal wilds vreemd.

So paar maande later is ek by die huis met 'n maag wat bitter kwaad is vir my en dit smaak my ek spandeer meer tyd saam met die toilet as wat ek al ooit saam met enige ander wese spandeer het. Ons leer mekaar ken en op die aandring van my maag word ek en die toilet beste vriende. Teen dag twee en 20kg later onthou ek van my oom en sy koerant lees. My klein liggaampie is swak en heeltemal ontneem van enige water. Ek is moeg oor ek te bang is om aan die slaap the raak, sou my maag ontplof terwyl ek droom. Op 'n routine kuier na die toilet kry ek toe gedagte om my skool lees boekkie saam te neem.

Nou tot vandag toe is ek maar net die tiepe mens wat nie 'n boek kan neersit tensy ek nie op die einde van 'n hoofstuk is nie. Ek moet 'n stop punt he en kannie net in die middel van 'n blad besluit om die boek neer te sit nie. Daardie dag was dit amper die oorsaak van my dood.

A small Zeo, many years ago

Soos enige mens wat iets wil emuleer wat hulle nog nooit self gesien het nie het ek reeds in my brein uitgewerk hoe so 'n kuiertjie sal werk. Ek het my boekkie laat rus op die toilet houer, my broek af getrek en gaan sit. Voette raak skaars grond. En oor ek nog 'n klein seuntjie is moet ek mooi sit anders is daar 'n probleem.  Ons praat immers van daai jare se sub A seuntjie op 'n outydse groot porcelyn pot in Duncan straat. Dit het so vir die eerste minuut heel goed gegaan. Voel steeds swak maar hier sit ek soos 'n groot meneer en lees my boekkie op die troon. Stadig bekruip daai reuk my en my swak liggaampie wil vlou word. Ek sien sterre en besef dat dit was nou nie die beste van idees en hier moet ek uit voor hulle vannaand my dooie liggaam op die pot ontdek. Maar soos mens mos nou maar is as jy in 'n gejaag is het my balans verloor en alhoewel ek net 'n klein bietjie agtertoe kan gaan het ek bewys dat mens kan en dat jy dan kan vas sit. Boek in die een hand en toilet papier in die ander spartel ek my bene in die hoop dat dit leverage sal gee om my los te maak en op daai oomblik was ek bitter bly dat ek reeds op die toilet was. Ek het so paniekerig geraak dat dit smaak my iemand het 'n kraan in my maag op gemaak en vandag spoel ek my derms ook af in die toilet se dryn. Ek het na 'n lang tyd en baie gespartel los gekom. Meer gedehidreer as ooit tevore van die storie en dan nou die sweet ook, oor bekommernis van my laaste lewendige ure op die pot.

Tot vandag toe nog kan ek nie lees op die toilet nie. Ek verstaan ook glad nie hoe mens dit doen nie. Dis vuil en onhigiëniese. Jy stap in by badkamers dan staan daar rake met boekke en tydskrifte, alles van Huisgenoot tot die nuutste Loslyf. In die een hoek is daar n beker met wat vanoggend vars gedrukte lemoen sap was. Nou verwag die mense wie se huis dit is dat jy aan daai glas moet vat waar iemand reeds het hulle kom gevlekte hande aan gewerk het. Nee sies vok man. Visse sweet nie en die toilet is nie n kuier plek nie.

Mwah!

Translation

I sometimes wonder why we do the things that we do. What makes the human mind tick. But one of the things that fascinates me the most is the names that we give things. Like who decided to call a tree a tree? Why can a tree not be called a sock? Yes sure the name tree now means brown thing with green leave but who decided that and why? Similarly, who decided on the translation, or is it just that some person in another part of the world also just happen to name the same thing by a word that sounds more or less the same.  Now this is where things get interesting. 

Translated words.

English is a much older language than Afrikaans, which is my mother tongue. When I look at translations from one to the other, I seriously want to know what the fuck, the founders of Afrikaans was smoking? Jesus, have you seen some of the translations? So what I am going to do here now is give you some English words, the Afrikaans word for the same thing and then translate the Afrikaans directly to English

Horse – Perd - Horse

Leopard – Luiperd – Lazy Horse

Cheetah – Jagluiperd – Hunting Lazy Horse

Dragonfly – Naaldekooker – Needle Cooker

Butterfly – Skoenlapper – Shoe Ragger

Gearlever – Rathefboom – Gear Handle Tree

Armadillo – Iettermagog – What the fuck!!! I don’t even know what that would be.

Riaan Cruywagen

On SABC 2 (which is a Television station in South Africa) we have a newscaster that reads the news in perfect Afrikaans. I hardly ever know what the fuck he is talking about. I really just have no idea what he is on about most of the time, so there is just no point. The funny thing is that this man has been a newscaster since 1976 when T.V. first came to South Africa. To top it all off old Riaan Cruywagen (born in 1945) still looks exactly the way he did in 1976. No where can you find photo’s of him without his wig and make-up. I am sure that 1, he looks so different that even if you did walk past him on the street you would have no fucking idea or 2, they cryogenically freeze him after every broadcast just to do it again tomorrow night (which seems to be pretty much what most people think). To give non south africans an idea of this mand legacy, he is our Chuck Norris. Watch, when I am 66, his current age, he will still be reading the news at age 104 and he will still look like he does today. Riaan we commend you! You Rock Man!

Mwah!

Some Riaan Cruywagen Jokes

http://coda.co.za/blog/2006/03/09/riaan-cruywagen

R.I.P. fakeness

Just before I start this entry let me state that yes this entry is sparked by the recent, yet unexpected, death of Amy Winehouse. No I was never a fan of hers. Her music, even though different was never exactly to my taste. I always liked her crazy style and look but her music never did it for me. Paul on the other hand has always liked her. It was however inspired by her death, the fact that I do not want to have happen to me, what has happened to her. By that I do not mean the unfortunate thing of her being a struggling or misunderstood musician who at age 27 dies (I am certain suicide to reach the fame of 27's club) to join the likes of Jimmy Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Kurt Cobain. I am talking about the false attitude that death always brings.

14 September 1983 – 23 July 2011

Now that Amy has shed her mortal body and has moved on to springs of acid, hills of cocaine and fountains of booze in the eternal afterlife of substance abuse, everyone suddenly has only wonderful things to say about her. I don’t fucking get it. A few months ago she was still the crazy crack whore slag who couldn’t handle her liquor. The broad you didn’t invite to your birthday party because she was gonna upstage you by all her fucked up antics and people will call her a boozed up wench the next day.

Some of thise headlines used to be:

Amy Winehouse 'Blacks Out After Drinking Sessions'

Amy Winehouse Booed At Comeback Gig

Amy Winehouse Enters Rehab...Again

Amy Winehouse Stumbles Her Way Through Russian Comeback Concert

And these were the nice things they had to say. Now the cow is six feet under and people cannot stop talking about her 'greatness'. I am sitting back and looking at them thinking you two faced cunt. A few months ago you couldn’t stand the broad, but now that she is dead you telling people how wonderful a person she was and how close you were.

Now the people are saying:

"We are deeply saddened at the sudden loss of such a gifted musician, artist and performer."

My point to all my ranting and raving is that even though she is now dead, and my the ferryman also guide her soul to the underworld, I don’t have to now suddenly like her. And that is my fear. I am a pretty outspoken individual, wonder what gave it away? I tend to stand my ground and say how I feel. I don’t like to beat around the bush and I speak from the perspective of personal experience and understanding. But a lot of people don’t like me for that reason. Ever since I was very little my mom used to say “If you don’t want to hear the truth, don’t ask him” It doesn’t bother me that people don’t like me. I am not on this planet to be liked. I am here to journey on my quest. If I can help people along the way, great. If I piss off people along the way, great. Mostly people only get pissed of with me cuz I had the guts to say what they think, or some such bullshit. So when the day comes that I join Amy in the springs of acid, hills of cocaine and fountains of booze in the eternal afterlife of substance abuse, I don’t want some slag to stand up at my wake and tell everyone how wonderful I was when in fact she hated me. If you didn’t like me, then please still come to my wake and tell everyone what a cunt you thought I was. Just because I am dead doesn’t make it ‘bad’ for you to still not like me. So until the day that I do permanently lay down my head, I will carry on to make your day or piss you off. Just remember this entry when I enter the eternal sleep.

Mwah

I dedicate this to Paul

Sonnet #18

Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And Summer's lease hath all too short a date:

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And oft' is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd:

But thy eternal Summer shall not fade

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;

Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Mwah!

Final Flight

The first time I flew was in 2007. Since then I have flown a lot of times. This does not include in my moer flieg. I have also discovered that I simply love flying. I love the feeling of landing and I also sleep very nicely on the plane. 

In 15 days I will once again be flying. This time to Durban, a city that I have never been too but have heard so much about. Not all good things. Humid, mostly.

Be that as it may I am going to dedicate two of my students and hopefully to set up the Durban branch of my Tradition. But those are not the issues that I wish to talk about. My student in Durban, a lovely woman named Cathy is counting the days until I am there and she has planned an entire schedule of things for us to do. I am really looking forward to it and I am sure it is going to be very exciting. Visiting museums, markets, places of Indian interest, clubs and so on. Cathy is beside herself and very excited to finally meet in person.

I am flying very early in the morning of the 5^th of August. When everyone else is still in dreamland I am on the plane. Which is already a worry for me. You see when I wake up, I am not awake. My body may kind of be functioning but I am so not awake. It takes me about three hours to get there. So in theory I will be awake on the plane. ……….. You are forgetting that I love to sleep on a plane and me being still sleepy, this will not be a problem.

Now I think I may have briefly mentioned in the past that it takes quite a bit of Avon foundation and powder and various other hardware tools to make me look good in the morning. But this is in and of itself a very long process. It would be like for God to rearrange the cosmos and I do it every morning. Keeping this in mind and the fact that when I sleep I drool and I toss and turn. Normally I sleep on Paul’s shoulder and I think that he is by now used to having a soggy left shoulder. Now I have to go on a plane, so early that not even God has woken up yet, try to stake awake so that my face doesn’t stay behind on the airplane seat and look wonderfully fresh to meet this wonderful student of mine for the first time. I told her that we have to go for coffee immediately. We can do it on King Shaka airport or anywhere, where I can just sit, and have a nice cuppa coffee. All of this however I can still stomach.

Here comes the crux of the matter. Part of my love for flying is based on the adrenalin rush that is caused by the thought that at any moment in time anything can go wrong with the plane. I have never flown without someone close to me being there. The first time I flew I had my good friend Andi Graff with me. And every flight since then has been with Paul. There has always been someone there to talk to or to keep me occupied so that my mind does not have to linger on the thousands of things that can go wrong while in flight. Call it my Prozac. However this time, there will be no Prozac. I have seen movies like ‘Flight Plan’, ‘Passengers’ and ‘Final Destination’ and the myriad of other movies with airplane problems. I have just about always known someone that works with or on the airplanes and heard all the horror stories of things that could possibly wrong. From engines dropping to windscreens falling out to wheels snapping. Windows falling out, passengers holding on to their seats with nothing more than their false teeth to prevent them from being sucked out. People getting stuck on the toilet (which by the way I have never used on a plane), the list goes on. If it was only snakes, I could handle that. Wont mind actually, but people die on planes and they don’t even know that they are dead. For all you know, you could be dead right now, especially if you have been on a plane before.

The point is, I go off my rocker, I loose what little rationality I have left and I start to think of all kinds of weird scenarios of what can happen. I start to think what will happen if one of the engines fail. Can the rest take us all the way or will they only takes to the exact location of the crash. I bet you we will be there before the paramedics. And through all of this I am not thinking about myself, who at this point will be sweating like a pig on the plane while breathing into a brown bag kicking into the seat in front of me. I am thinking about the poor asshole that has to sit next to me, who has probably flown 10 000 times yet for the first time is also shit scared due to me. Not my stories, scared of me who is practically foaming at the mouth. Maybe I should party the night before, but so much so that I am still drunk the next morning. Or take some porn with me on the plane. Just something to relax. I am sure, no I hope that it wont be that bad, but you never know. So lets all hold thumbs and light a yellow candle for Zeo early in the morning of the 5^th of August. And when you see a shooting star, wish that it were not the damn plane falling. If all goes well I will meet my student not looking like an electro shock therapy victim.

Mwah!

Grateful Working

Since a few months ago I am giving thanks before I eat. No I do not pray I simply state to myself something that I am grateful for. For example I would have my food in front of me and then quietly, to myself, I would say thank you for the bed that I sleep in and that I do not have to sleep under a box in this cold winter. This way I am not only learning to re-appreciate what I have but it is also like a mental stock take of my life and it has also helped me to examine my life. I am grateful for so many things and it would be impossible to list them all but there is one aspect of life that I just simply have to share with everyone. Because it is such a rare aspect to be truly grateful for.

Work.

My Desk. 

Now when I say that I am grateful for my work, I do not mean that I have a day job and that I do it because it pays the bills. That I have to drag my ass out of bed every morning, look in the mirror and say “Dear Goddess tell me again why do I have to go to that place?” This is the unusual part of it. I like my job. I enjoy going to work and spending the day there. I enjoy the people that work with me in the office.

I am a personal assistant to one of the bosses, for a company that imports planters from Germany and then we sell them here. Not only are these planters extremely stylish but also they are smart. I know that sounds really fucked up but let me explain. The planter has a sub-irrigation system with it that does all the thinking for you. I do no have a green thumb, as a matter of fact I don’t have a green anything. My lavender always dies. I cannot seem to just keep the damn stuff alive, but with these planters I look like a damn pro the way my plants are growing. I know that to the average Joe it still seems like I have the most boring job on the planet.

So let me explain a bit more.

First on the list and this is probably one of the most important things, so long as what I am neat, and clean my boss really doesn’t mind what I wear. I sometimes look at myself and think “Jesus, did you really have to wear mesh to work” but bless his soul, he has never said anything negative about the way that I dress. When I started to wear the bindi every day, I at first thought that maybe I am pushing it. Never been a problem. Let me explain why this is so great for me. The previous job where I was a temp the boss after one month called me in to do an evaluation. One month ………. Really? So he sat me down and gave me three hundred things that I could not yet do, in an industry I have never worked before. He proceeded to tell me (even though I dressed pretty normal for that job) “What is the point in you looking like a rock star when you are just a cunt” I think for the first time in my life, I had nothing to say back, I was so shocked. So now being in a work were I can dress like me, is just the best thing. I have however not yet tried to wear a corset to work, that I think is really pushing it. Maybe one day! ;)

Planter called Delta 15

Secondly no one that I work with has an issue with my spirituality. My boss is a Reiki Master himself and it is so refreshing to be able to work for and with people that gets you or at least try to get you and when they really don’t just fucking lie and say you do. When I came for the interview he told me “I don’t care what you believe in, as long as you don’t make altars in the office.”

Both of the bosses are gay men. This of course makes my sexuality a non issue. The previous dick I worked for was such a homophobe. Here in the office we are constantly joking with each other about the one being a slut or the other one drooling too much over the gorgeous man from some or other company. It is a fun place to work at and there is never a dull moment.

Besides for all of this, my boss is generous, compassionate and human. He doesn’t have a “my shit don’t stink” attitude. The man just gave me a Apple Mac, Dishwasher (not for the office, but for my home) and about 30books for our Temple library. Where on this planet do you find another boss like that? I have worked for many places and only once before have I had a great boss like this. I consider myself lucky that it has happened twice to me now. He would bring me dvd’s to watch or cd’s to listen to. In many ways just by talking to him about things and taking his advice he has guided me to make the right choices and in many ways I consider him to be one my mentors that life has decided to put on my path. I am grateful.

I am not bragging about my work. I am simply being grateful that I am lucky enough to have met people that are real people and we work together and I realize that there is not many that can say the same.

Mwah!

Rae, an unforgetful person.

I was raised in a normal home in suburbia. Oh whom am I kidding? Nothing about our home was normal. You walked in to find the Triple Goddess statue staring at you. Adorned with flowers and a candle burning at its base. To your right was a black lounge and to the left was the Dutch decorated dining room, in which the Cockatoo was also kept. His name was Sam and we never saw eye to eye. He now lives with my brother. We always had more animals than any other sane person would have. That’s because my mom would say “normal is boring”. Ranging from dogs, cats, birds, fish, snake, mountain tortoises, rats, hamsters and bunnies. It was labeled the local zoo. We didn’t really have any mayor pentagrams on display as we just simply didn’t have any. We had small things that told the average person that these people were different. Well besides for my mom’s collection of witches, we had small things. Like the Egyptian statues in the lounge, The Hindu items throughout the entire house. The fire pit in the back yard. People also knew that come end of April there would be a dress up party at our house. Neighbours knew that we had rituals of some sorts in the back yard but no one seemed to be curious enough to ask. And it seemed like my mom and I only wore black. This wasn’t the case but most of the time we wore black, sometimes we also wore brown or other earthy tones. Black is slimming. We were well liked and were always invited to the local gathering of the street. We got along with everyone and to this day I am not sure if it is because they knew that we could brew for or against them or if it was because they simply liked us. Neighbours never complained about our late night parties or chanting or dogs or ……..anything now that I think about it. We were pretty much left to do what ever we wanted. We looked like a normal family, …….sometimes. We had a sailboat  (a catamaran) and a normal car and our house looked pretty normal from outside Even during Christmas, even though we were so not Christians, my mom loved to decorate the entire house. I used to say to her “Mom we are not Christian.” She would say that she knows but that it doesn’t matter. That it is a festive season, one for giving. I would say “Mom our house looks like Santa’s workshop” and she would say, with a child like grin and giggle, “I know, isn’t it cool. “ and I would just shake my head.

But as silly or crazy as what she may have been from time to time, sometimes for entire days, she was my biggest teacher, mentor and guide. We could debate the mystery of the cosmos while sitting in the Wimpy with a coffee and a smoke and in the next instant we would laugh over what some woman has done with her hair as she walk into the smoking section. We understood each other and could communicate without having to talk. We were banned from being in a team at any game we played because we never lost when playing in the same team, because it was just like we were in each others minds. We were so alike, she used to say to me “The only thing you got from your father was your schlong” I look like her and I am the only one that got her blond hair. Gods she was pissed off with me when I coloured it black, yet she helped me to touch it up once a month.

She would come home from work on a hot day and announce that she went to go buy supper. We would get to the kitchen and there would be three big tubs of ice cream. She never understood why would want cooked food over ice cream, insisting that other kids would kill for a supper like this and that she even got us three flavours to choose from or mix. We were always up to something or getting into some mischief. She refused to get old and I would look at her and say to her “I look at you and at some of my other friends mothers and I cannot imagine you getting old like that”

She never did.

She was always in contact with her inner child, her younger self. From abducting clowns so they can entertain her kids to making fairy costumes. Oh don’t get me wrong, she had a temper that would start an ice age and a look that would make even Hitler stop what he is doing. But through all of that she remained a young girl.

She never went out late at night. One night she tells me that she is just quickly going with my older sister to my older sister’s then mother in law. She told me that they won’t be long because she doesn’t like the old bat in anyway. Well at two in the morning more then 5 hours later, I am sitting in a dark lounge smoking a cigarette waiting for her, which is the same thing she would have done. She quietly unlocks the gate, slips into the house and she walks past the lounge to go to her room in a normal tone of voice I say, “is this the time to come home?” She got such a fright and her only response was “who’s the fucking parent here?” Of course then we laughed and I went to sit with her in her room where we had a smoke before we went to bed.

On a Saturday morning she would knock on my door, and all she ever had to do to wake me up was to say my name. I would go to her room, get under the covers while she makes us coffee. We would have coffee and a smoke. She would go shower and I would make the beds. I would go shower while she packs her bag. Then we are off to my older sisters house where we would have a menthol cigarette and coffee. All three of us would there smoke a menthol, even though my sister and I didn’t smoke menthols. From there we would be on our way to the shops, because my mother understood the desire and need for shopping.

She moved from this world, into the Summer Lands at age 50. It was a heart attack that finally took her from here. She never got to be that old woman with the grey hair that I could never see. She remained that young vibrant person until the end of her days. It is a belief of mine that she is currently a guide for me. I can smell her and at times I just know she is there. Or maybe it is just wishful thinking and my inability to let go.

These blogs wont always have a nice point to it or a lesson. It is my blog and I put on here what is on my mind. Today, for some reason, I am thinking a lot about her, more than usual. The most unforgettable woman I have ever had the privilege of knowing. They say that it is not easy for a parent to loose a child. Thankfully I will never know that pain. But I can tell you that it is not easy for a child to loose a parent either. Maybe one day we will talk about that day.

Mwah!

Fuck It!

I have to just share this one thing with you. One of my friends contacted me to tell me that her work had to unblock this blog for her as it was filled with too much ‘cussing’. Firstly I thought it was hysterical. I could not stop laughing. But I went home and I told Paul and he responded by saying “there is no profanity on you blog, or am I just desensitized?” This made me think. Have I just become foul-mouthed bastard? So I try to read through the blog with an objective eye. Sure as shit, there is a lot of cussing. Fuck this and fuck that. To someone who comes from a well to do home this may all seem a bit much.

So I start to think that maybe I should just tone it down. Maybe I should start to find alternative words for fuck and ass and cunt and dickhead and all the other colourful metaphors that I use. Maybe I should say something like “oh Flowers” or “Flowers you”………….

It just doesn’t have the same intensity to it that “Fuck You Buddy!!” There seems to be so much passion in that simple three word sentence. The people that know me personally will know that it is not put on. This is how I speak. I type things here exactly the way I would say it. And yes I do use the F word a lot. But is that really that bad? I don’t lie, I don’t steal, people always know where they stand with me. So do a few fucks really matter all that much in the bigger scheme of things? I am a good person, I do charity work out of my own free will, I give of myself constantly to students, my door is always open to someone in need, I take of my family (which includes not only my wonderful man, but my cats and snake and plants), I earn a honest living. Okay sure I dress like I am part of an experiment but that is about the weirdest thing about me. So in between all of those things that I do, do a few profanities really matter?

I asked a lot of people if I cuss to much and everyone that I know seems to say yes, except for good old Beverly, she thinks that I can be rather foul-mouthed. So now I wonder why one person can see it and no one else. I begin to agree that we have become desensitized. In Germany or England you read a story in the newspapers about a rape or murder and it is headlines. Here is South Africa it might make page 5, other wise it will be at the back. Not because we hide it, but because it is just such a natural part of living for us. We have become accustomed to people hurting other people. And saying it here I realize how sick that sounds. It is disgusting actually. Someone gets killed and we almost don’t even bat an eyelid. One less mouth to feed seems to be our only attitude. That’s terrible!!

However killing and raping people is a far way from a few foul words. They say that’s how it starts. “How what starts?” I ask. “How most serial killers start, form here you start to torture your pets”

Now not that it is anyone’s business, but my cats get a very nice, very expensive food that is just about the best, The also get raw chicken breasts once a week and they drink only filtered water.  They have their own pillow and blanket and at night sleep under the blanket with me. Even their bum gets wiped, and I am being very fucking serious. After all of that, why the hell would I want to hurt them? 

So this entry is not as long as the previous ones but it just to make sure that those that have an issue with my foul mouth knows that it is not gonna change. If you don’t like it, then don’t read my fucking blog!

Have a wonderful weekend everyone

Mwah!!

Pure Intentions

I spoke to a woman Saturday past whom I met for the first time that day. We poke about many random things like her cat and the Tom it has decided to take as a boyfriend. We spoke about camping and then we started to speak about intentions. I have thought about it a lot since then and I am kind of struggling with exactly what she had to say. It’s not that I don’t agree. I agree completely but I just don’t know how to apply it or rather how to condition myself.

She explained to me that everyone is doing something for someone else on a condition and that this should not be the case. That when we do it should be unconditional.  We took the example of helping a friend who is in need.

You see we helped someone in need. Took her in and helped her to even find a job to get back on her feet. None of that happened. She just ran again and now is sitting in the same boat. Now according to this theory, our cause may have been noble but it was still conditioned. Our conditions were for her to get back on her feet, even if it was from our point of few a thing that would help her. According to this theory it may not have been what she was planning for or what was part of her soul contract.

Ok I can handle that.

A Purity Mandala

So this then leads me to think that one should help someone out, take them into your home and not expect them to ever leave? Is that person then just allowed to feed off of you until they get tired of it? I can’t agree with that. So this very interesting woman from Klaver (a small town in South Africa) explains to me that one should have boundaries on your sand pit (proverbially speaking). This will stop you from becoming a doormat. This I like of course because it protects the person that is doing the good deed. But only after much thought and when I had already left for home did I think about it again. If you create boundaries when doing things for others, is that not a condition. If I take you into my home and I tell you that I can only help you in this way for two weeks, is that not just me saying, “You can live with me on the condition that you move out it two weeks”? And if I do not set that boundary and I am eventually forced to ask you to contribute in some way because I simply cannot afford it anymore, is that not just me saying “you can carry on staying here on the condition that you contribute”?

I am starting to think that nothing that we do is without condition. Why do you work? On the condition that you get a salary to live. You can lose weight on the condition that you eat correctly and do exercise. It seems like everything has a condition but that maybe we should look at the purity scale of the condition instead of the fact that it is a condition. But this then brings a new issue of, pure according to whose standards? Take my friend that I helped out. To me it was a pure intention to help her out. To try and get her a job and get her back on her feet. She clearly didn’t see it like that because she didn’t want a job and thus saw me as trying to put my nose where it doesn’t belong. When I think about it, she didn’t ask me to help her find a job. I suggested it and maybe she just went along with it out of being polite or not being sure how to say no.

I have to be honest that I do not know how to think, feel, deal, or handle the situation and the future situations from here on. If you think about it, even borrowing a cd to someone has that silent condition that they do not fuck it up. Everything is conditioned and I am starting to think that if it wasn’t then we could just do whatever we wanted without ever having to face consequences for our actions. Is condition then not just a modern day term for Karma? Maybe, I don’t know.

Well so far as what I can think there is no condition to you reading my blog out of your own free will. So until tomorrow, happy reading.

Mwah!

Hail Satan, Hail Gaga!

There have been a lot of mails doing the rounds on the dangers of listening to the music of Lady Gaga. This blog is my response to those mails. So if you are all love, light and healing (not only do I think you are pretentious, due to the suppressed shadow side) you may not want to carry on reading today’s blog as it may get out of hand.

You were warned!

In the last few weeks I have received so many emails warning me, parents, young people, fucking everyone about the dangers of listening to the music of Lady Gaga. I myself only became a fan after hearing the song ‘Bad Romance’, before that I was not really interested, but I have come to be fan. Thinking that she is a modern day mix of Madonna and Cher, two of the best artists of our time. Who at some point or other have also been ridiculed for being in league with the devil.

I have to also state that as a Pagan I do not believe in the concept of the devil. To me, HE DOES NOT EXIST. It is a lame excuse that was invented by people of a certain faith that did not have the balls, guts or courage to take responsibility for their own actions. So lets blame it on the devil!

I have read how listening to Lady Gaga music will invoke the power of demons, not only into your child’s room, but into your entire house and if you do not REPENT, then also into you. This is said of course by the same people that won’t allow a divorced person to take the Holy Communion or to go to confession. So if you are divorced and you listen to lady Gaga, well then you are just fucked. Never mind the fact that you come from a relationship where your partner beat the living shit out of you everyday. No you were supposed to be the better person and stick it out. So sayeth the Lord.

Apparently Lady Gaga is also part of the Illuminati. ……………..Really?...................

Hell I have been phoned by some crack head early one morning claiming that I am in collaboration with the Illuminati to over throw Paganism. What the fuck!! Besides for it being one of the oldest gossips in history, cuz even Ghandi was part of the Illuminati according to some people, so what if she is. Who gives a fuck. When Madonna came out with her Kabbalah faith people were up in arms. Does it really matter what people believe in or what path they follow. Are they forcing you to listen to them scream from the pulpit? If you don’t like the music, don’t fucking listen to it.

People complain that it is in poor taste, yet they sit and listen and if you ask them to change the cd or radio then they say ‘No, it’s okay, I will try to live through it’ Bullshit, it’s because secretly you are imagining what you would look like in those heels swinging your ass like that.

Oh here is another one. Lady Gaga is part of the Anunnaki, come to take over the Earth. People that say this, may I just ask you to listen to what you are saying? Can you not hear how fucked up that sounds? No apparently not cuz when Gaga met the Queen (Her Majesty Elizabeth the second) it was said that she met her superior in the Anunnaki. They are conspiring together. I almost don’t have words to explain just at what level of fucked up that is.

Billy Graham

Further more, her sense of dress is unique, out of the box and inspires so many people to become designers, to better themselves. No not according to the fanatical idiots that would slap you over the head with a bible at any opportunity. Apparently her dress code, her entire closet is designed to make a mockery of Jesus Christ. Why the fuck would anyone want to base an entire wardrobe on that. Let’s say that she has a few items that are blasphemous. I tend to think that people are way to serious. I am sure Jesus, a prophet who has been dead for a few years, had a sense of humour. I am sure he is seeing some of her outfits and going: “Nice one Gaga!” He was after all a man of the people. Is Gaga not a person? Oh no, sorry I forgot, you believe she is a lizard/reptilian/alien come to take over Earth. I keep on forgetting that technicality. You want to go off at someone’s clothing? Have you seen the ugly ties that Billy Graham owns? Lord in heaven, call the fashion police and have that man locked up for life.

Personally I feel that the people who write these fucked up articles about Gaga has way too much time on their hands. Go on holiday, read a book on meditation or go swim with the sharks. I remember many years ago when I was in high school, a man came to speak to us about the dangers of listening to the music of John Lennon. Can you fucking believe it? If you listen to John Lennon you are going to go to hell. The man who chanted for hours on end “Give peace a chance” will lead you to hell.  God will bitch slap your sinning ass straight to hell. And why, because John said that the Beatles were more popular than God.

1.     How many of you watched the movie ‘The U.S. versus John Lennon’? Then you would know that, that quote was taken completely out of context.

2.     The truth only hurts when it aught to.

The other reason for John’s sinning ways was the hit song ‘Imagine’. In it he sings a line ‘imagine there is no heaven, it’s easy if you try’. What they tend to neglect is that he carries on to say ‘No hell below us’ No fuck that we will just use what we like. Fucking tunnel visional Hypocritical asses. Well I walked out of the assembly.

Lastly does the big black book not also say something about everyone being a sinner? So how about you focus your judgemental ass on your own sorry fucking life before you try to blame other people for the ‘wrongs’ of their lives. I also know that the good book does say something about removing the boulder from your own eye before trying to remove the pebble from someone else’s.

Please do not misunderstand me. My issue is not against that book or the faith that goes with it. My issue is with people of that faith that seems to think that they can just do whatever the fuck they want to and judge who ever they want to. And it seems that this time around the flavour is Gaga.

She is a visionary who has claimed her own path in life. She set out to make a name and career for herself and that is exactly what she is doing. I realize that this blog will probably also buy me a one-way ticket to that supposes hell. Personally I can’t wait, would love to see all the live shows that they have there by all those amazing artists.

Mwah!

Prada, Vitton & Choo

I will never have your fancy glasses
How it draws attention away from big asses.

I will not have them glistening on my head

Rather I have something else instead.

I will never have your gorgeous wallet,

But that can’t compensate your ugly mullet

I cannot feel that leather that’s real

I realize though I have the better deal.

I will never have the lovely stiletto

That can’t change that you come from the ghetto

Boots that run up my calf

My secret is, my better half

You have your money with all of its friends

Not even your home, your heart can mends

I have no job, no home, no car

But my true self at least is not far.

So keep your Prada, Vitton and Choo

For all I care, flush it down the loo

I am richest man alive

True love, for me, has not taken a dive

To you I am nothing but failure and bum

But my emotions, at least are not numb

I am the wealthiest person on earth

And my heart is filled with joy and mirth

So fuck you and your riches

You pretentious big fat bitches

I don’t need that crap at all

Cuz your money could never buy me a Paul.

My love and I at a Party in June 2011

I wrote this poem about two years ago sitting at a friends house at a very bad time in my life. To this day I am not sure who I am addressing in the poem, is it myself, a friend, a enemy, society....I don't know. All I know is that it was how I felt.