Dekkle's Daze

Stressing the Individual.

2010-10-14T16:41:00.002+02:00

(this is in reply to an email received of a person who really loves 50 Cent)

I can’t say for sure why I’m actually writing this, I think more for general curiosity than anything else but I’d like to express my reasoning behind creating this blog. This blog is mine and I do with it what I want, that’s pretty much it. You may or may not like what I have to say, you may have the same opinion or you may not, you’re more than welcome to add your comments and debate about it, or you don't even have to read it at all. However, if you’re going to be an idiot about it and swear and carry on like an infant, I’ll reject it. I’ve been raised to respect everyone, but respect needs to be earned and returned for it to mean anything. We’re all different and unique in our way and views, and just because you don’t follow the trend or like what someone else does gives you the right to inflict name-calling or whatever you want on that person. That’s disrespectful and shows the intelligence of an infant tortoise with only two legs, both on its left side and you’d still think you’re turning right.

The Error of Parallax

2010-10-13T16:56:00.001+02:00

Besides for it being a computer term, or whatever it is, my question is what do you think it is? For me, it’s that last sip of a drink that sends you over the edge, or that last drag of a smoke, or ordering that something extra with your meals when you already know you’re going to be full. That, my friends, is the error of parallax. That moment when everything goes from being brilliant to sudden uncomfortable paranoia. You were feeling great and then had that extra slice of bread and now you’re too full, can’t work and generally lazy. That last sip of beer or last drag sends you from being the happiest man at the party to that person that everyone wants to forget because the last time they saw you, you were covered in your own vomit and got some on that nice lady’s shoes. That hasn’t happened to me, thankfully, but it could, and I’ve come fairly close. But my reason for this entry is to give you a self-awareness of that point where you’re about to fall beyond and the return journey is something you don’t want to go through. It happened to me recently, and I’m still on the road to recovery. All these demons inside my head are laughing at me. I gave in to them and I turned myself inside out. But what it does do is make you realize who you are, and could you really be happy with yourself when you’re soaked in sweat, cold numbness seeping into your bones, and the room spins uncontrollably as you try close your eyes. My answer is no, I am far from happy with that. And the only thing to do about it is to change. I’ve been talking a lot about change lately. In my life, at my work, my fitness and health, all of it, yet am I really doing what I say. I am a procrastinator, yes I am, but now it’s time to walk that road I keep talking about. All those empty spaces of procrastinating are going to be filed away, and returned on lazy days when the rain torrents outside and there’s nothing else to do besides chill. But for now, and for the rest of those sunny times and days filled with wonder, I will walk the walk, and let the talking cease. And as Forrest Gump once said, “That’s all I really have to say about that.”

And right after posting this, the Procrastinating Police will arrive at my front door, and haul me away for once again talking shit. And I know my friends are laughing at me. Ah, but it’s nice to dream. Who knows, maybe one day I will wake up, and the world will be a better place.

The joke's on me...

2010-08-17T12:56:00.000+02:00

Today my previous realtor decided to phone me.
The first he says is “Do you know that we still owe you R1,000.00?”
Getting excited I reply, “Really?” (Thinking of the latest X-box game I’ve been eyeing on the shelf).
Then he says, “No, but wouldn’t that have been nice to hear.”

Fucking bastard.

Turns out that he’s now changed professions and is wanting to sell me a life insurance policy...From telling me that he owes me money to wanting money from me. I don’t even have the words for it.

Well, he got me. Well played sir.

Asleep or Dead.

2010-05-11T10:09:00.000+02:00

It is 3am, the darkness of the lounge is interrupted by the flickering streetlight outside the rain swept window. The lights casting moving shadows, from the swaying tree imbedded outside the frosted glass, across the walls and TV screen. The branches leaning forward, trying to caress the window with its leafy fingers. The curtains left open, for no prying eye can see into it, save for giants and winged creatures. And there, on the large mattress on the floor, with the soft snores of a warm body holding you, you lay on your back, and watch the shadows create a dark film, the soundtrack of heavy rain and whispering winds adding to its horror. Once again, sleep evades you, and the Sandman sits upon his throne of dark dreams and laughs while running his bony thumb across the gleaming edge of his scythe of madness.

It is during moments like these that the ghosts appear, both outside and within. The creeping darkness in the corner of the room turns into a hungry wraith, the single red light from the TV’s switch adding to its malignance, like a single bloodshot eye searching for its next victim. In the walls something bellows, an anguished moan , the volume increasing as water rushes through the neighbours pipes. It all coalesces and makes eyes that cannot remain closed, and forever is spent looking over your shoulder, that vain attempt to find the invisible source of that warm breathe breathing down your neck.

It is those spirits from within that cause the more havoc. The demons from the past, the unattainable future, the restless thoughts of knowing but not doing. They feed on the mind, off the corners of your tired eyes, and once fed, they grow, taking a fistful of your soul at a time. Doubt fogs the brain, it floods with rivers of both wishes and dreams, a collective pool of more things you want, to make it a happier life, for yourself, for the warm hand which rests on your stomach, for those legs draped across your own. You wonder if prayers have power, if the Great One above is watching, if the warmth you feel below is the Iceman himself, the two battling it out in the confines of your mind.

Then all is forgotten, as outside the flickering light breaks, and the room is plunged into a depthless darkness. The one red light becomes hypnotic, your eyes stare into its bloodless gaze, your thoughts swim in a lake filled with meaningful randomness. The heavy lids fall unknowingly, your breathing slows with your heartbeat, and from waking dreams you step into the maze of your mind, and once again the demons take you.

Got milk?

2010-02-22T13:03:00.000+02:00

This morning in the train I found myself sitting across from a woman, with her young child on her lap, and while I was pleasantly listening to music, she decided to pop out one of her boobs and proceed to breastfeed her child. Nice way to start your day. Now, I’ve seen this before but normally the woman would put a blanket or jacket over her boob for the sake of everyone else’s respect and comfort. This lady didn’t. There it was, a huge boob, in plain view of everyone. And then the young one started to feed. It is a major task to act like nothing is going on, so I stared out of the window, with sweat dripping down my forehead from the immense amount of willpower being used not to look. The guy sitting next to her couldn’t look away. It was one of those uncomfortable silences, I didn’t even hear the music in my ears from the enormity of the situation. Then it happened. The train lurched and everyone jerked in their seats. My head fell forward, my eyes turned, and that’s when I saw it. The milk. Yes, the milk dribbled out of her nipple and the young one cried. And my insides turned about. Yes, it is natural, but that doesn’t mean I want to see it, especially not in public. I wasn’t the only one feeling a little out of place, the guy next to me had his book covering his face, and the lady next to him hung her hair in front of her eyes while searching vehemently for something on her cell. The other guy still stared. And the lady with the boob just sat there, wiped her child’s mouth (still with boob hanging out) and when the train pulled into the station, she fixed her top, stood up and left, and the group around me let out a collective sigh of relief. It’s going to take me a while to get over this one … I need boob therapy. Wonder if the girlfriend is willing to help. Hello baby, how you doin?

Dark Daze - chapter one.

2010-02-16T12:16:00.000+02:00

October, 1994.

The night is silent, save for the quiet creaking of trees, the soft wind pushing at its leaves. The porch light glows yellow, displaying the two-seated rocker, a small table and rows of potted plants lying before the frosted windows on either side of the white painted door. The gravel pathway leading towards the porch steps is damp, the automatic sprinklers having just been turned off from their nightly watering, always at midnight. The rows of flowers, on either side of the path, in front of the green grass and two tall pine trees, all closed to the moonlight, drooping and dripping, the soil beneath their petals wet and the roots drinking.

+++

A black boot falls on the gravel, crunching the stones. The front door opens and a little girl walks out. She sleepwalks down the steps, her bare feet smacking cold marble. Her long white and red nightdress drags along the ground behind her. Her black hair falls to her shoulders, strands covering her green eyes. She is 7 years old. She walks to the figure standing on the path and holds out her hands. The figure reaches to her, a skeletal hand with long fingers and curved nails. The hand has golden scales covering some parts of its skin like hair. It lifts the girl into an embrace and pulls a small round object from beneath the robe. Twisting the top half, the creature activates the orb and the night sky around the pair lights up in a green blaze. Then darkness. The figure and girl have disappeared. The front door still stands open.

+++

The next morning finds police vans outside the house. The weather is gloomy, dark clouds hover. Inside the house the mother is crying, the father shouting at the policemen. And outside on the steps to the porch sits a boy with his head in his hands. His dark hair cut close to the scalp, his hands covering his green eyes. Green eyes like his sister. He is 11 years old, with blue jeans, a black t-shirt and white sneakers. His eyes are red-rimmed from crying, his shirt is soaked with sweat from running up and down the roads, searching futilely for his sister.

The bushes beside the house rustle softly and the boy lifts his eyes and looks towards it. Silent gold eyes stare back at him. They are slanted like a cat’s. The eyes move forward and behind them emerges a grey cat, closer the size of a lion than a regular tabby. The boy stands up quickly and looks around for help. The grey cat walks forward slowly, showing no sign of harmful intent and then sits on its haunches a few feet from the steps. Its grey hair sticks out in all places, like a soft-pinned porcupine. A few black streaks cut across the face and chest. The boy is paralyzed, and finds himself hypnotized by the golden feline eyes. He is drawn into its gaze, as everything around him falls away and a fountain of images wash over him.

He sees the hooded man with golden scales disappearing with his sister in the green flash. Then everything blurs into a mirage of fire, weapons, faces he doesn’t recognize, voices that seem foreign, places that make no sense or shouldn’t exist, creatures of strange shapes and sizes, scrolls and books, doors, thousands of doors, all these images and more rush into him at once, and he screams.

He opens his eyes to find policemen standing over him, his mother running outside. The cat is gone.

+++

It is close to midnight but the boy cannot sleep. He hears his parents and their friends downstairs, waiting for phone calls, trying to figure out where their daughter is. He hears a new noise from his 1st story window and looks outside. The grey cat is standing in the middle of the garden, staring up at him. The boy’s eyes widen in surprise. The cat stares and then starts to walk away, all the time looking at the boy.
The boy doesn’t move. The cat walks back and continues this until realisation dawns. The cat wants him to follow. He walks quietly downstairs and out the backdoor, while his parents are preoccupied in the lounge. He runs around the house to where the cat is but sees no creature, instead a man stands in a dark jacket and a walking stick. Long dark hair runs down his aged face, with dark stubble framing his broad chin. He looks at the boy with an intense grey-eyed stare.

“Come,” the man tells the boy.
He child is frightened but stands his ground. No reply.
“Come,” the man repeats himself. “I can take you to her.”
The boy’s loss for his sister jerks him to respond.
“You …. You know where my sister is?”
“Yes boy, I know where they are taking her. And I can help you, but we need to leave now.”
“Who are you?” the boy asks, “Where is the cat?”
The man laughs, “The cat? Is that what you saw?”
“Yes,” says the boys “A big grey cat.”
“No boy. That was me. It just didn’t seem so at the time.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Boy, we don’t have the time now, I will explain later. Do you want to find your sister?”
“Yes, but where are we going?”
“It does not matter now, will you come with me?”
“What about my parents?”
“They will understand.”
“I can’t just leave them!”
“Deacon!”
The boy is shocked, “How do you know my name?”
“Deacon, I know many things about you. I know that you didn’t start that fire in the shed last year. I know there’s a book under your bed that you read every night but still cannot understand it. I know that sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night with huge headaches and you crave water. I know that you see things, but you can never explain what they are, yet you’re too afraid to tell your parents. I know all of these things boy.”
“How?” Deacon asks, “How do you know?”
“Because once I was like you. Deacon, I will not ask again. I’m leaving now. Do you want to find your sister?”
Deacon looks back at the house, thinking of his parents inside.
“Yes,” he answers softly. “I need to find Carina.”
“Then take hold of my hand. And close your eyes.”
Deacon does as he’s told and a blinding pain escapes behind his eyes. He feels himself lifted, then being torn apart. And then it’s all black. The garden stands empty. The boy too is gone.

Epic Fail #1

2010-02-05T11:03:00.003+02:00

Took this photo on Cape Town station a while back. The grammar itself is a fail, but I shudder to think if anyone actually called the place for help. Yes, there are people like that walking around...

Top Gear Live vs The Motorphobic

2010-02-04T12:55:00.006+02:00

I’m no Top Gear nut, but when I heard they were coming to Cape Town, I decided to jump on the bandwagon and buy tickets. I took my brother with, who is a freak-nut, and was surprised that he didn’t strip down during the show and have a fake tattoo on his chest of Fridge Magnet, aka Hammond while yelling out “Marry me!”
Well, that is a bit extreme, but it would’ve been hilarious anyway.
Back to the story, they had a show at Grand West Arena in Cape Town. I took the day off and headed out early with my brother. After a few drinks, and some time spent on the gambling machines, we made our way outside and began our wanderings, and my adventure into becoming a fan was about to begin…

Before I continue, let me tell you a little something about myself … I am 28, and about a week ago, for the first time in my life, I got behind the wheel of a car. Yes, I don’t have a drivers license, I don’t even know how to drive. Truth of the matter is that I am utterly afraid of cars. If you were in one with me, you’d notice that my hand is never far from the handle, nor are they ever idle. When I was young I witnessed three pretty horrendous accidents in the space of a year, and since then I just haven’t been able to shake it off. You may call me sissy or whatever, I honestly don’t care. But yes, I am a man who doesn’t like cars. And I’m not gay. Go figure.

Continuing, we arrived at a car show. It was all nice and good looking at cars, but not very fun in my opinion. There’s only so much you can do while standing in front of a car going “Well, would you look at that piece of machinery.”
We carried on and this is where the fun started, professional drivers were doing stunts and drifts for the next hour, and we sat and got our clothing and hair filled with brake and tyre smoke, and not to mention some stinging eyes. But was well worth it to watch, I have enormous respect for those drivers. It’s insane.

We made our way to the Arena and the show was about to begin. And it did, with a bang. Fireworks rocked the arena, my eardrums nearly blew up, and this really nice (and smoking hot) lady walked out dressed in tight revealing black leather, and started fire dancing. She then blew fire on the back of a car (My knowledge of cars is really pathetic, don’t ask me what make it was or anything like that, it was black and red, that’s all I really need to know), and then the back of the car exploded, and they continued with their stunt driving with the car on fire. Then the hosts appeared, Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammond and South Africa’s own Sasha Martinengo, and the jokes ensued. They are hilarious, and I found myself doubled over from laughter most of the time. Though they were very good, without a doubt the highlight of the event was the cars and stunts. They had a Cage of Death, where motorcycles rode within the cage, they kept increasing the number until eventually there were 4 of them. It was madness, I sat with my fingers in my mouth, I was sure something terrible was going to happen, but it didn’t and the applause rocked the dome. They also had a game for the audience to participate, the louder you were, the faster the car on the big screen go. So yes, after a fruitful minute of shouting I found my voicebox lying on the floor a few feet away, begging for a drink and smoke. Was well worth the feeling of the grim reaper hanging over me afterwards…

I won’t go further into too much details, as they are currently still touring and I don’t want to give away too much of anything, who knows, you might go see it yourself. And I totally recommend it. But for kicks, be prepared for fireworks, soccer (the reason I’m drowning my fear of the automobile and going to obtain a license), races, chases, jokes and much more. And yes, The Stig was there too. Top Gear, you’ve made a new fan, well done on an awesome show. And on that bombshell, goodnight.

A Day Before Now

2010-02-01T13:08:00.000+02:00

A moment of clarity: Sometimes I get this feeling of deep-depression. It sits on my shoulders and pushes me down, like a lead weight dragging me to the depths of hell. It comes out of nowhere, a lightning bolt, a flash flood, a supernova of hurt and loneliness. And then I sit and stare at the world, but everything is a blank page, no colour, no feeling. Like static from a late night tv screen. A total numbness envelopes me and my mind falls asleep but at the same time its screaming, begging for a change. My nails are chewed from the nervousness of not knowing. My bagged eyes are heavy. My legs jump at unknown restlessness. Anything to keep me awake.

To the cause of the problem: Most times its loneliness. It eats at my heart, feeding off my desire to start something new, to have someone new, but never reaching the end of the tunnel, never reading the last page of a good book. Never knowing the ending. I see faces around me, those that I love and having that love unknown, unreturned, unseeing, unbelieving. From where does it all stem, the root of all evil, the cause and effect of time's twisted cycle. And the seed sprouts from the fog in my mind. I am the cause. Setting the unattainable goal, finding myself always heading in a direction that is no direction at all, but a landslide, a maze with no exit, the longest road with robots always orange. Is it for protection, to know the ending before the kick-off. Or could it be self-destruction.

The ending: All times I am my own undoing. Too frightened, too shy, sometimes too nice. But always end up the friend. I chase the impossible with reckless abandon. And then suffer consequences that chew me up and spits me out like dragon fire. Time for windows to be shut, doors to be locked, keys to be broken in their holes. A lease tossed into a garbage-can fire, together with the thoughts that chain me to an eternal misery. And backing away, I move. I run. I sprint down the longest road and watch as all the lights turn green. I hack my way through the forgotten maze, creating an exit of my own. I wear rubber shoes to avoid the lightning strikes. I speak my mind. I finish the book. And placing it on the bedside table, I see my name on the cover. I stand up and walk to my new window. I open the shutters and gaze out on the world. The infinite beauty touches my face and for the first time in feels-like centuries, I smile.

The day girls ruled the poker table...

2010-01-29T13:28:00.000+02:00

For my birthday I decided to have a small poker game at my place. The game turned into 14 players, so we set two tables up of 7 each and when the players were knocked down to 8 left, we all got together on one table for a final showdown, while the others watched or were passed out. In the beginning I found myself on a table with 4 girls, and yes I will call them girls. That in itself was a problem, it makes it more difficult to concentrate when there are 4 sets of boobs staring you in the face. But that’s beside the point, or is it?
Okay then, moving on. The difference that I’ve found while playing against my female friends is that they hardly ever fold. You can raise, the two men next to you will fold, and the rest of the women (sorry, girls) will all call, and now you have no idea what any of them have. The flop comes, all low cards and they all bet into you, what do you do. Later I figured it was a ploy to knock all the men out so the ladies could be on the final table together. And it worked, well done to them. In the final 8 were 4 girls. I finished 8th, and I have to explain this hand because seriously, it was the sickest of the sick. I had Ace 5 suited, the flop came 2-3-4, rainbow. I flopped the second nuts and checked. One girl called, then another, then another, so I went all-in. Two of them called me. The turn card was nothing special, and then the river fell ... and it was a five. When that card hit I knew I was in shit. My high 5 went out the window and I felt sure that one of them had a six. It turns out I was wrong, one of them didn’t have the six, THEY BOTH HAD IT. And so the river once again demoralized me and left me sitting open-mouthed at what I thought was a sure win. Oh well, that’s poker and I’ll take my revenge the next time we play. Back to the girls, there were now 3 girls in the top 4, one sole male was standing tough, but inevitably after so many drinks, he made a bad call. And that was it. Two women were left and after all that, they decided to split the winnings, leaving us men even more miserable. Their plan had worked, beautifully in fact, but now they need to continue this run for the men are coming back with a vengeance. Well done to Catnip for taking top honors on the final blind hand, and to Se-Bear for the split. And thanks all for the birthday game, was an awesome time, even though I didn’t win. But that’s the curse of the birthday game for you. Shibby.

The "Getting Fitter" Cleric

2010-01-25T13:08:00.000+02:00

I’d like to take this moment and congratulate my action cricket team, The Unfit Clerics, on dominating this season. We’ve had a near-perfect record run (played 10, won 9, drawn 1) and with the play-offs on the way, we’ve delved into some exercise and practice sessions to get the ball rolling even more. Now, to the point of me getting fitter, the name of our team should just be The Clerics – I am the reason for the Unfit. I break out in heavy sweats and I’m not the quickest person on my feet, but I give it my all even if it kills me, and sometimes I think that it might. While my bowling and batting has improved, I still need some speed with the ball and on the field to get where I want to be. And for that reason I am now going on a health binge and try find a routine where I can work out and lose most of this mid-section and forming-double-chin fat and gain some muscle. This will without a doubt be one of the hardest things I’ve done in my life, I mean my life consists of beer, caffeine, computer desks, take-aways, poker and movies, all of which are not very active and contributes to my insomnia and general heaviness. And just before writing this I finished a beef and creamy lasagne, a red bull and followed it up with a cigarette. Not the most healthy of lunches, just again proving how hard this will be. But I am determined, well I like to believe so anyway. So, here’s to a new beginning and to the new and improved me. I’ll keep a semi-regular account of these adventures and misadventures into obtaining leanness. I figure if I document it, it’ll give me another reason to keep on pushing. And if I fail, the world shall find out that I have no willpower, and my reputation will fall flat. But then again, my reputation is “He’s a drinker”, so it can really just go up from there. First thing to go, cigarettes … and I’m already biting my nails. Wish me luck.

Candle of Thought

2010-01-22T15:38:00.000+02:00

Feelings.

I've been tormented by a vision of somewhere I can’t be.
Yet I know behind the light stands a doorway beckoning me.
And though I walk, the candle flutters, trying to brighten the name.
Yet through the door the darkness falls and I’m always the one to blame.

Paranoia.

I've been twisted by a memory of something once been said.
Yet I see behind these faces a lie still to detect.
And though I run, the candle dims and I lose all focus of truth.
Yet behind my eyes the pain still stirs, a dead heart to remove.

Forgotten.

I've been blinded by a dream of sometime from the past.
Yet I know behind the flood sits the reason why I’m last.
And though I crawl, the candle flickers, my mind tears at the seams.
Yet through the years the demons fade, replaced by lazy screams.

Wanting.

I've been lifted by a voice of someone I can’t see.
Yet I know inside myself the fate-strings pull at me.
And though I fly, the candle glows bright and towards the light I’m pulled.
And in the light, I walk with smiles and Time's the one been fooled.

Waiting.

Is 50 Cent really worth it?

2010-01-21T12:15:00.001+02:00

“Have a baby by me, baby, be a millionaire…” – this song is constantly on the radio lately and every time I hear it, it sets my teeth on edge. Great lyrics there, I wonder which divine being bestowed upon him the power for that one. What makes it worse is that because the song is so terrible, you can’t forget it and it sticks with you like flies in a plague. So he was shot a few times and survived, good for him, but that doesn’t mean he can sing, let alone write good lyrics. His claim to fame was probably his association with Eminem, and the fact that he was bullet ridden and still walked away. So what, I could walk down the main road and find a few people who’ve been shot more times than him and have a lot more talent in writing, singing, and acting for that matter. He tried his hand at that as well, and it sucked so much that I can’t even remember the name of movie. 50 Cent is forgettable, there are thousands of hip-hop/rap artists and most of them have something to offer. What does 50 cent have? A million dollars, which he’ll give to the first woman who has his baby. What a tool.

Third Eye Blind

2010-01-19T16:06:00.000+02:00

And so the day drags on, behind these multiplying clocks,
Like a box cart crawling through the mud and stumbling over rocks.
This does nothing to my brain, does nothing for my mind,
Does nothing but sit on my shoulder and screams until the end of time.
But what waits around the corner?
What stares at me so blind?
Will these pictures ever fading start the ball rolling one last time?
Am I dreaming?
This pain feels too real.
Sometimes it comes alone and the feelings scream at me.
All these blackened days around us, feel an uprising through the floor,
Through my mind there floats a river filled with purple and azure.
But these seats are empty, they were never seated there,
The deaf and dumb so loving, these wicked dreams cause fear.
Am I dying?
So they say, that my time has come and gone,
And in between these pillows cries the raging wolven song.
So these days are never-ending, cutting deep inside my skin,
Runs this madness overflowing, where this dream tries to begin.
I’m awake for all to see, sitting here inside my dream,
Watching tortured souls so trying, cross that river filled with dying.
On the other side I see, someone’s waiting there for me.
I feel alone on constant pause, press rewind to read the score.
I am losing, falling hard, can’t grab hold, the branch too far.
In these memories I see golden rises in the sea,
But deep beneath my waves, lies the creature so depraved.
With the suffering I see still people staring back at me,
Wasting time in waiting lines, flies so fast before my eyes.
In these dreams, the rolling beams, scratching silver marks on me,
And from out the sores, crawls forth the war and the world was meant for me.
Am I dreaming, still inside?
My mind has opened its third eye.
I was blind but now I see, what’s still staring back at me.
The sun lifts up beyond the clouds,
Scatters rain and all my doubts,
And still on top those rolling beams,
Rolling through the dying streams,
Stares the man still back at me,
And the man that stares is me.

Paranormal Inactivity

2010-01-19T13:07:00.002+02:00

So yes, I watched the movie Paranormal Activity and I thought it wouldn’t live up to its hype, but it surprised me. It’s not often that I find a movie that makes me want to look away or shut my eyes, and this one did just that. What freaks me out most is when things happen that you can’t see. Give me a monster with a chainsaw chasing down a passageway any day of the week instead of a sudden crashing door or a scratch against a window. Oh, and clowns, I fucking hate them. Ever since Stephen King’s IT and the clown from the first Poltergeist, I have a definite phobia towards them and that make-up which hides their true evilness. They should have clownless circus’, I’d take my future-child to those.

But back to the paranormal, I’ve always been interested in it, even wanting to start a paranormal investigators unit and go out and destroy the evil, like those dudes in Supernatural, they’re rocking, and that car rocks the party too.
I wonder sometimes about it, I hear stories from various people about strange things happening to themselves, or this one, or that one, yet I’ve never really had my own scary experience. Some people say that you have to believe in it, or invite them into your home for it to actually happen. But why would anyone want to invite them in? It doesn’t make sense. I’d like to believe in ghosts, demons, or whatever you’d like to call them, but can I really when nothing out of the ordinary has happened to me. This blog entry itself could be seen as a message for inviting them to try their luck, and just so you know, it’s not like that at all (I’m just covering myself here in case something does happen, you never know). Truth to tell, I don’t know what I’d do if something ever does happen, but I’ll tell what I won’t do, like that guy in the movie, I won’t go out and buy a ouija board and start antagonizing the spirit, that’s for damn sure. I’d probably end up sitting by the poker table, pour two glasses of whiskey, shuffle the cards and deal the demon in … and then run out the house screaming like a girl when the cards start moving on their own. Yes, I’m probably a sissy.
A sissy who hates clowns.

Patience and the Alice Bands

2010-01-13T15:37:00.000+02:00

It was that time of the year, the end of the year in fact, New Years Eve 2010 and the party was beginning. I’m not one to go out clubbing much (I do have those moments though) but on new year’s eve I prefer a house party, with a braai, drinks and good conversation.
It started with the fire and the Wii sport games. Challengers came and went and I found out that I’m quite the pro at ten-pin bowling, although on the other side of the spectrum I sucked royally at golf. I guess awesomeness comes in stages.
Then we brought out the X-Box and Guitar Hero World Tour. This edition is actually dedicated to that game due to the amount of fun times myself and my friends have had with it. Now, I like to put up a front when my friends hand me the microphone and tell me to sing, but the truth is, I love it. I am a secret vocalist who dreams of standing on a stage in front of thousands of people and just letting go. Truthfully, I’ll never get there, but with all the drinks flowing through me, I could close my eyes on the World Tour and just go insane. And amongst friends, who really cares if you’re laughed at, making my friends laugh is one of the things I do best. Well I like to think so anyway.

Back to the game, we were busy with The Eagle’s Hotel California (if I get hold of the video, I’ll upload it) when one of my friends had the revelation of naming the band, and I’m not quite sure where it came from but Patience and the Alice Bands was born, and we rocked the night away. Funny moment, try sing La Bamba when you’re drunk out of your skull, not many things can make you smile harder.
With the X-box packed away, and the year coming to an end, we made our way outside, sat by the fire and commenced a drinking game called Kings. I won’t take time to explain the rules, but suffice to say by the time the ‘loser’ downed the King’s Glass (a mixture of all drinks), we were well-past the driving limit and well on our way to hangovers. Midnight struck and we hugged, kissed and shook hands, and to bring in the new year we all jumped in the swimming pool. Swimming around in the freezing water, we spoke of resolutions and I realize now while typing this that I actually haven’t made any. I spent too much time preventing myself from drowning than actually thinking of a good resolution for 2010. I still don’t have one, but what I can say is that if 2010 is just as crazy, maybe even more insane, and I have as much fun as I had last year, then why should I make a resolution to change something that’s awesome just the way it is. Happy New Year all, a little belated I know, but then again, who isn’t?

Motions of the Ocean (A very green experience)

2010-01-11T12:38:00.000+02:00

So, in an effort to chase his long-awaited dream of becoming a pirate, my best friend embarked upon a journey to cage-dive with sharks and search the bottom of the ocean for buried treasure, while I was stuck at work, slaving for the wage. Suffice to say my mood was miserable at the unfairness of it all and that’s the sole reason I’m sharing his story with all of you.But it seems that karma has a sense of humor after all. A few hours later in the day I received the news that after the great expectation of “Ho-Ho-Ho-and-a-bottle-of-rumming”, my best friend and his girlfriend spent many an hour with their heads over the side of the ship feeding the barnacles little pieces of their lunch. To be honest, it was a sad state of affairs to be sick and miss such an opportunity to have a close-up visit to a great white’s teeth, but to be even more honest, it was the funniest highlight of my week. Ah, serves you right for having fun without me!
I had my own green experience this past weekend, although I did manage to tap into my overflowing well of willpower and hold off the upchucking. We entered Ratanga Junction (an amusement park) and proceeded to hit the rides, bumper-cars and roller-coasters. After previous attempts at riding the Congo Queen (a large ship that swings back and forth, going higher and higher, until your stomach feels like it’s falling into your toes), I knew already that I couldn’t handle it. But true to form, I embarked upon it anyway. We went, higher and higher, and within a few seconds I was already screaming at myself for being such an idiot. Those passengers facing me should thank the gods that I had my sunglasses on, for if they saw my face the fear of hell would’ve raced through them and people would’ve been jumping off the ride in an attempt to escape the spewing green man. What made it worse is that after you have that feeling, every ride you go on afterwards sends that same chill down your spine and knot in your stomach. Even the drive home had me nauseous, and lying on my back in my bed, eyes closed and still feeling like I’m spinning, I had a thought, and I truly feel I should abide by it henceforth until the ends of the earth. It goes like this, “No matter how awesome you really are, the Congo Queen will fuck you. Stay away from swinging boats my friend, stay away…”

An Itch Finally Cured.

2010-01-04T19:14:00.000+02:00

Before I begin, let me explain to you how inept I am at anything electronic. To me "how to check if your Internet is working" is the same as "open heart surgery" and because of that there's been no updates in a while, since last year in fact. Yes, happy new year and the rest of it, we'll get to my resolutions, or lack thereof, in another issue.
So to the point, my Internet has been down, and in true service provider form, I was advised that it's because my limit was reached. I was a bit baffled at that, since it was only mid-month, but still, I'm no millionaire or banking-on-the-parents-type to have an endless amount of cap, so I believed them and waited it out. The first of the month arrived and no Internet. I phoned again, and after waiting for 20 minutes listening to a robotic voice tell me "Your call is important to us", I became increasingly frustrated and dropped the phone down, ran to the fridge and downed an ice cold beer to settle the nerves. Four days later and I tried again. After 16 minutes I was advised that the fault is with the phone-line. I said thanks and then realised I had just dialled them from the same phone, therefore surely there was no problem. Fuck. Okay, I was getting nowhere and decided to do some fidgeting of my own at the back of the computer. Cables out, cables in. No luck. Then out of nowhere a thought hit me like Renton falling through the carpet after a huge hit*, "Change the cable". So I did. And here I am, talking to you. Who knew all it took was a little change. So, my motto for the year, before you jump to conclusions and get drunk on cheap drinks, or berate a demonic robot on the other end of the line for making you listen to Greensleeves twenty times in two minutes, step back a minute and think to yourself, "Should I change the cable?".

*Renton is the main character in the book/film Trainspotting. I recommend it.

Sex in Public

2009-11-17T20:10:00.000+02:00

So now that the title has got your attention, lets get into the story that you thought it was about, but is not. My ultimate bad.
There I was, sitting on the train, minding my own business, when across from me a woman pulls out a book from her overlarge handbag and begins to read. The monotony of the train ride took its toll, and I decided to try find out what she was reading, since she kept the cover low and no one could really eye what it was. After a few minutes of unsuccessful attempts, Lady Luck threw me a bone. The train suddenly jerked, up went the book, and there it was in plain view, the title "51 favourite sexual positions".
As you can imagine, my interest piqued, not in the woman but in the fact that she's reading this on the train, in plain view of everyone. I wondered why the old man was reading over her shoulder, and almost salivating, and now I knew. I didn't say anything but continued to watch, bemused by the old man's attempts to read the last line of a page as she turned it.
Then the train pulled into my station, and I stood up to head to the door. A sudden urge came over me, and as I passed her I said "You should try number 7, I'm sure he'd like it," and nodded my head towards the man next to her.
I've never seen a woman blush so quickly. And when she looked at the man next to her, I've never seen a woman's expression change to disgust so quickly either. Poor old man.
But what made it funnier was that as I left the train, I saw her turn back to number 7, just to see what it was all about.
I have no clue what it was about, but I laughed so hard that I could hardly climb the stairs. I can only imagine how awkward the rest of that ride must have been for that old man, reading over her shoulder, imagining all the things that could have happened .... shame.

The Viking Saga

2009-11-15T12:21:00.000+02:00

It started as a dream. Ten friends gathered on the banks of a raging river (which in truth was a slow moving vlei, on one of those almost-perfect sunny days), and we strategized our course and how we were gonna take the title from the unsuspecting competition around us.
It was dragonboat racing, against a multitude of different teams, which ranged from some elderly to a group of which seemed like young female brownies, though I suspect some testerone flew in that boat. We looked over the field and thought, "Yes, this is it, today we shall be crowned kings and queens."
We took to the river, furiously paddling, water being thrown on us from all sides, sweat beading our foreheads, our Vikings hats strapped to our heads due to our fantastic speed. The Vikings were on display, and the world was watching.
Four races down, and I was spent. The tournament had finished and we sat waiting for our medals. The sun burnt my neck and face, the beers grew warm under the canopy, and we sat, waiting for the times. Our name was called. We Vikings stood and applauded ourselves, and walked away with the trophy for best-dressed team, our Viking hats bedazzling those on the shore as we whizzed past them.
As for our time, I won't go into details, but let's just say what started as a dream, ended as one too. But there's no substitution for belief and having fun, and my friends, we had plenty.

Intermission Rewind

2009-11-15T12:13:00.001+02:00

So yes, after 4 weeks of laziness I have returned, filled with lame excuses about where I have been and why I have not updated anything. The truth, should you believe it, is that I just haven't found the time. The chaos which has consumed my life over the last month or so is still fighting strong, but I'm blocking out the stresses over work, the ever-present invites for end of year gatherings, and those precious poker evenings to sit still for a while and continue with my randomness. Hopefully all is not lost and there are those who still read. Apologies for keeping you waiting so long ... but here we go again.

An RKO for Breakfast

2009-10-15T21:42:00.000+02:00

I wake up. In front of my face are two big blue eyes, framing a huge silly grin.
"Hello" my nephew says to me, and tosses the blankets off the bed. Three quarters asleep, I mumble incoherently and lift myself off the freezing bed, stumble towards the bathroom for morning relief, all the while moaning under my breathe.
I return to the room and find my nephew standing on the bed.
"Hello" he says again.
"Morning" I reply, eyes half open.
Without a moment to lose, he says "Watch this", and stands with his back towards me, places his arm around the back of neck, and does his best ever Randy Orton impersonation. He jumps forward in true Legend Killer style, and my head goes with him. Crack. My chin hits his head, my neck snaps back, and I'm lying half on/off the bed. Through my whimpers of torment, I hear his laughing. And then feel his feet on my back, and arms around my neck. The ultimate submission manoeuvre. I tap the floor with my hand, surrendering.
For myself, an RKO for breakfast, and the rest of the day spent hanging my head in pain.
And in shame.
I got beat up by a 6 year old.

The Unfit Cleric

2009-10-13T20:09:00.000+02:00

So, in my infinite wisdom, I decided to play a game of action soccer last night, and after a few minutes of standing goalkeeper, I found myself doubled over with strange fits of coughing and tightening chest muscles. My breathe came in short bursts of wheezes and stars filled the corners of my eyes. Then a well struck shot hit me in the chest and I nearly collapsed, but the cheers of my team for a good save stopped me and I stood my ground, saving goals, all the while my team being oblivious to my ever-nearing death, and myself waiting for the moment when the Grim Reaper appears in front of me, standing on the penalty spot, pointing his finger at me while murdering the ball past my left shoulder into the back of the net. I waited for it, but it never came.

I got my second wind, finally, and took the game out the keeper's circle and did some laps, tripped over myself, stretched my groin to impossible lengths, and tackling feet instead of the ball. Then I scored a goal and it all fell into place. Including my forgotten elite soccer skills. The wheezing subsided, the stars set behind a smile and sweat, and I continued this awesome game, eyes set for goal, hands set for saves, heart set on a different goal completely. Fitness. Stamina. Something that is sorely lacking in my life, and which I've now realised is something that I shouldn't be without. And so my head brims with thoughts of exercise and routine, while my body screams at me for even thinking such torment.

I've labelled this edition 'The Unfit Cleric', reason behind it comes from the film Equilibrium, which I've just finished watching, for about the 5th time. Awesome film. However, that isn't the reason I write this ramble, it is their training which proves the muscle here. It is hard, and extreme, yet pin-pointed and well-executed. You have to know what you want in order to go out and obtain it. Yes, they're induced by toxins to prevent emotion, but the object of it all is the same. Create the best weapon you can with your body. And your mind, let's not forget about that.

I've always been a procrastinator, filled with empty spaces, but I've grown tired of the monotony of it all, and the uselessness of not being able to run a city block without my lungs trying their hardest to escape out my mouth. And without fault, it boils down to laziness and smoking. I always say I smoke because I'm bored, or to keep me busy. The truth is that I'm lazy. That's it, end of story, close the book and snub out the butt.

But at last, after too many years of this self-obsessed procrastination, I find myself at a crossroads. Either I continue the way I am, and wake up ten years from now with yellow fingers, a gut extending to my knees, and a morning cough that wakes the neighbourhood, or I get off my lazy horse and put myself into a no-comfort zone and work it out. Work out. I'm taking a step down the work out road, and have just finished a 20 minute stint on my exercise bike, after spending a previous 20 minutes cleaning the dust and cobwebs off it.

Will I continue down this road? Who can I say, though I know my friends will probably be doubled over laughing at this entry and placing bets on when I will quit, when I will subside. In my head I tell myself never, and that I will prove them all wrong. But my body is weeping, and already looking at the bed. All there's left to do is snub out this smoke burning next to me, but it looks so good. Lord save me from this evilness.

You may laugh all you want but think on this, what will you be doing in 6 months time when I ninja kick your front door down, do somersaults through your living room, land in the splits in front of your TV set, pull out my elite gun-kata skills, point the barrel at you and ask, "Do you have a sewing kit? I seem to have split my pants." Damn right.

The mermaid stole our sunglasses

2009-10-05T19:13:00.001+02:00

Mykonos, Langebaan
It began on a Friday night. The cars were loaded with beach clothes, comfort food, a varied selection of alcoholic beverages, games, and most importantly, besides us of course, fuel. We began the long drive, and left the stress, worries and work complaints in a black bag on the side of the road. It was time to relax, to get away from it all, to throw away the burdens of the previous week and to walk into the new one with a smile. It worked. Oh, how it worked.

We arrived late in the evening and decided on dinner first. A general relaxation mode set in, and we chilled, like most people do. Food was great, drinks were better, but the laughter was best. There is nothing more refreshing than a good laugh, except great sex. Moving on ... That night was chilled, like I said, and with the heavy week wearing us down, we called it after dinner and remained at the cottage. The view was stunning, over the harbour, the boats, the little and big white buildings that made you feel that you actually were on a little island in Greece, where your enemies can't find you. It was safe, and comfortable, and the presence of my friends around me lulled me into sleep.

Saturday morning we escaped and started the adventure. First to mini-golf, where my elite putting skills were put to the test. But to no one's avail, I struck the only hole-in-one that round, and victory was sweet. I bask in my awesomeness. The beach was next. And one thing about me is that I never learn. It was a hot day with no wind, perfect weather, and I went out with no sunscreen on. I burnt. I always burn. My skin does not take well to the UV rays, instead of becoming a bronze Troy hero, I melt into a ripened tomato, complete with leaves and wrinkles. Cricket started, then the catches. And that's when the mermaid stole our sunglasses. In a masterful display of unknown agility, I dived for the ball, with sunglasses on my head, and just as I felt the ball touch my fingers, the left side of my face exploded in sudden pain and I went under the water. Spluttering for breathe, I came up, dazed, and took in the surroundings. There she was, the mermaid, laughing at me. And then I noticed, it was bright, the darkness hiding the sun was gone, along with the glasses. I called a search party, but we failed, they were gone, to swim on the head of a princess mermaid, forever swimming. What really happened was that my girlfriend decided to go for the same ball, and in doing so, clubbed me on the side of my head with her fist, quite a thrashing actually, makes me proud that she can look after herself in a fight, and also a bit wary of being thrashed again...After a stint soaking the sun, we hit the town in preparation of the braai and drinking game we had planned for that evening. In between all this we created an agenda for the day, all things we wanted to do, including horse-riding, tennis, sand castle building, karaoke and the culminating in an all-out lang-arm dance. None of that happened. What took place afterwards was the beginning of the end, and the end of the beginning. We started drinking, and the day and night flew away from us.

The braai began with beer, and friendly games of rummy and arsehole. I tended to always be the arsehole, not something I am proud of, but never-the-less, it was me. After a few rounds of being ridiculed, I picked my arsehole up and proceeded to braai, listening to the ever-present laughter and general corkiness from my friends. Braai done, we pulled out Pig Out, the drinking game that never lets me down. We began. Within 4 throws I had a bra put on my head, and there it remained for the next 3 hours, I don't think I will ever be able to play another game unless I have another on my head. I seem to always get the clothing cards, which had me wearing 2 pairs of jeans and 4 jackets at the same time, and ended with me swapping my t-shirt for a ladies purple-gemmed top with the words "good girl gone bad" printed on it, and a bra on my head. Lovely. But I'm a sport and follow the rules of the game. Including the made up rules as we went along. Try play a drinking game without mentioning your friends names, the words "shit" and "drink", not putting your elbows on the table and picking dice up with your right and throwing with your left. All of these resulted in shots, and one turn took almost 30 minutes, as the conversation just kept revolving around those words. You can imagine...

T: "Who's turn is it?"
C: "V's."
T: "Ha, drink!"
S: "You too T."
T: "Shit.
S: "Ha, drink again."
V: "Ha, you too S!"
S: "Ha, you too!"
V: "Shit."

And so on, and so on, and so on, for 30 minutes...I've never laughed harder. The Black Sambuca (the devil I now call it) went from full to almost empty, and the players started feeling it, and then started dropping. One by one, we had a "bouncer" (a person who sits on the top of a hill and proceeds to bounce down), an "all-fours" (a person who thinks getting in a mud pool and oinking like pig means 'take me from behind'), a "waterboy" (a person who collects water for the table to sooth the liquorice killer), a "coat-hanger" (a person who ends up with everyone else's clothes), a "sneak-drinker" (a person who manages to elude most drinks but still ends up drunk), and an "unwilling-designated barman" (a person who always pours drinks, even after his complaints of doing so is heard). The waterboy was first to succumb to the dark side, followed by the sneak-drinker. Then the game was put on hold as the all-fours had a moment of complete disorientation and was guided unsteadily to the closest toilet for some escape. Eliminated. Once all three bottles were empty, the game was announced complete with the coat-hanger, barman and bouncer standing tall. We survived the march of the pigs. Granted we were hardly standing, but we were alive. All plans for karaoke and dancing was thrown out the window, it was crashing time, time to die. The events that took place post-game are denied to you. You can use your imagination, but remember this, whatever you think happened, you're wrong.

I expected to wake the next day with a murderous hangover, but I actually woke up still drunk. What a way to spend the morning, and having an awesome breakfast (including egg-flavoured garlic) was the greatest way to start a day. We returned to mini-golf on wobbly legs and played a couples tournament. Ahem, I truly am supremely awesome, and my girlfriend is too. We rocked the party that rocked the party. The weather now was tame, a slight breeze and soft grey-clouded sky. The sunburn was getting to me and the copious amounts of alcohol and cigarettes did it's job, and my head started to pound like Dave Grohl completely harassing his old Nirvana drums. Eyes half open, pupils dilated, I was half up the creek and the paddle was stuck up my arse. But we continued, as we should, and went to the casino. We will call it mini-casino. It was small, yet quaint and filled with pretty much everything you need to survive the day, including ice cream machines and a toilet that smelt a little like death, though I could just have been unlucky and landed there after Fat Bastard dropped a complete monster motherload. Overshare. Back to the casino, and we ended in the bar after a short stint at the machines, eating club sandwiches that made me give the bar ladies two thumbs up and watching the soccer. By now us city folk were all drained, not used to the sun, not used to the fun, and we had to re-evaluate ourselves and work out a plan. Due to time constraint and tiredness it was decided to call it a day. And it was called. Food was eaten and abandoned, bags were packed, rubbish was tossed and with one last look at the stunning view, we turned our backs on it and made our way back to the city, back to the demons that await us. The drive home was music-filled, which lifted our spirits, but at the back of all of our heads was a sadness of leaving and a dread of what was waiting for us back home. Would I go there again? Definitely. I'll be there in 5 minutes.

There is something about a weekend away that soothes a tired soul. Even though you come home drained, there is a certain difference about you, a sudden joy that you never realised was there. And you do the same things as the previous week, but now you're smiling more and it doesn't seem so bad. I don't see myself surviving the next month without another break. So I'm buying a diary, and a calendar and I'm sorting out my weekends for the rest of the year. I'm hooked. Hook, line, and sinker. Fishing ... Hmmm ... I see promise. But, what it all boils down to is that a good time won't be had unless the people around you make it good. And my friends made it great. Supremely awesome. I read a quote the other day and it fits this bill completely.

Happiness is only real when shared - Alexander Supertramp

Later Daze

:Deklan

"Take the plan, spin it sideways"

2009-09-25T14:32:00.000+02:00

Good afternoon Dazers,

I should call this edition "Attack of the Bloody Mary", as I'm currently sitting and sipping on this remarkable drink that all my friends seem to think is disgusting, as who would want to put tabasco and some salt in a cocktail? To them I say this: I'm tipsy right now, and that's all that really counts. Booya.

Theme song for the day:
PLACEBO - WITHOUT YOU I'M NOTHING

:DAILY TRAIN ADVENTURE/THE RANT - A CONCOCTION
Saturday morning, in an empty train, I got a seat by myself, and at the next station was bombarded by two women and 6 kids coming to sit by me. Two of the children were twin girls of about 5 years old (each, go figure), and this is where the rant comes in. Why do parents of twins find it necessary to dress their kids exactly the same? No doubt they look the same, but is it really worthwhile to dress them the same as well. Even down to the socks and shoes, identical. When they grow older they're more than likely going to have different personalities and outlooks on life, so why keep them identical when they're young. The parents may tell them apart, but to the outsiders looking in, how can we tell who is who. I just don't get it. It makes no sense to me. Anyway, the adventure part of the story is the differences that were already evident in the two. One of them was very weary of me, as I sat their listening to my music and trying to remain unnoticed, while the other girl actually stood on the seat next to me and was leaning in trying to listen to my music. Eventually she smiled and half-sat on my lap, listening to the music and staring out the window. Her mother just smiled at me, and I'm thinking "I'm a complete stranger to this child, yet here she is, sitting on my lap, while her mother finds it amusing. What is this world coming to?" To be honest, I found it quite cute and left her there, I mean why not, there's no harm to it, and she was enjoying it. When they reached their station, the music-lover twin smiled and waved at me when she got off, the other one just scowled, I felt like she was was casting a mystic evil spell on me. What my point is, if there even is one, is that they already have different personalities at that stage, so dressing them identically just means one thing: You're lazy in your clothes shopping.

:POKER DAZE
Last week I entered a free-roll poker tournament on the Silversands site. Free-roll meaning that it's free to enter, however the winnings isn't that high. So I'd say the reason I play is more to test myself at the game than anything else. To cut right down to the chase, 789 players entered and 3 hours later I found myself heads-up against a player named Eysman. I myself, and rightly so, am called The Daze. I got dealt Jack - 2, and checked the big blind. The flop came Jack - Jack - Six, giving me 3 of a kind and a totally dominating hand. I checked. Eysman pushed all-in, and I called. The turn card revealed a flush draw for Eysman, and my heart jumped in my throat. But out popped another Jack on the river. I now had 4 Jacks, and unbeatable. I took the title, downed my beer and for the rest of the day walked around with a silly grin on my face, completely feeling 'the man'. The next day I tried again, and my straight got flushed out on the river, I came in 152nd place. So, another donking, but it happens. All-in-all, a good game, had some lucky flops and magic folds. If only donking was banned...

:THIS IS THE END, MY FRIEND
I've got this pent up aggression inside of me, and it's aimed towards the South African cricket team. Towards the expensive bowling mainly. My first edition had me proudly supporting our rugby team, and I was hoping to follow that up with an ICC Trophy from the Proteas. However, along with the rest of you, I was let down and left hanging. Very disappointing boys, you've got hard work ahead of you to make up for that crap.

On a site note: Viagra is a big cock-up.

Later Daze

:Deklan.

The Day Fate Struck Back

2009-09-21T08:53:00.000+02:00

Yesterday morning I did some spring cleaning, and opening the cupboard I found age-old boxes lying at the top, I decided that its time I sort out my past. So, grabbing two Pick n Pay bags for rubbish, I proceeded to go through the boxes. Everything that I had been hanging on to went into the bags, including the following: love letters, plastic handcuffs, 5 year old condoms, used batteries, a key ring, a photo frame with a heart on it, lubricant, bubblegum, paper clips, broken headphones, a shoelace, the jack of spades, about twenty train and movie tickets, payslips, an empty whiskey bottle, R7.20 in change and all the memories that went along with it. I guess the most important would be the letters, and few mementos I picked up along the way. Most of everything went into the packets, except photos and birthday/thank you/good luck/love cards. Those I kept. But everything else I rid myself of. I took out the bags and placed it in the bin, then re-entered the house.

About 20 minutes later I started feeling nostalgic, and decided that some of the items I could've kept and was going to fetch the bags and go through them again. As I stood up, my cell rang. I answered it and after ten seconds I told Cell C to bugger off. Walking to the door, my bladder pained, so I backtracked for some relief. Then, heading back to the door, past the lounge, I noticed 30 Seconds to Mars on the TV, so I stopped and watched the music videos. After that I stood up again, and making my way to the front door, I turned a corner too quickly and stubbed my little toe on the corner of the wall. I went down, in pain, lying by the front door, when my nephew poked his head around the gate and said "Hello."
While lying there, trying in vain to suck the pain out of my little toe, and with tears glistening the corners of my eyes, I said "Hello" back to him, and then realised: Those things that I threw out were meant to be thrown out. If I truly wanted them back, life wouldn't of thrown all the obstacles in front of me to prevent me from getting them back. So, I listened to fate, and this morning the bags were taken away by the garbage crew, never to be seen again, or for some hobo to find and have a good laugh over the contents of some of those letters.

So, that's that then. The past-times are gone, and a new box is waiting for the future. Just hope that it gets filled with another lubricant.

"This river is particularly sinister"

2009-09-16T10:57:00.000+02:00

Good evening Dazers,

And so its up and running. Where it runs to will depend on you, and at the moment I see no ending in sight, just a thousand hills to cross, filled with complete randomness. And I wouldn't want it any other way.

Theme song for the day:
BIFFY CLYRO - THAT GOLDEN RULE

:DAILY TRAIN ADVENTURE

A little while ago, I fell asleep on the train. It was raining outside, I had my headphones on and the lull of the train made me drift off. Anyway, I woke up when the train jerked and noticed an old lady sitting across from me, and she was also sleeping. What took my attention was the shape of her mouth, it seemed a bit distended, like her jaw was sticking out. To put it plainly, it looked weird and I couldn't stop staring. Then suddenly the train jerked again and the lady's head snapped forward. And then everything made sense. In slow motion, her mouth opened, and her dentures fell out and landed in her lap. And she just carried on sleeping. I was in total disbelief, and then noticed the other people sitting around me, all covering their laughing mouths with their hands. Eventually, a very kind woman sitting next to the now-toothless lady nudged her awake and pointed to her teeth. The lady, showing no embarrassment at all, took her teeth, placed it back in mouth, said thank you and proceeded to fall back to sleep. I couldn't keep it in for longer, I pulled my hood down further over my face and laughed my head off. Even through the music from my headphones I heard the other passengers around me all doing the same. God bless the elderly.

:THE RANT
Today I'd like to take a moment and single out the Exaggerators. By this I mean those people who take a story and always have to make it one better. For example, I may say something like "Yesterday I went to the casino, and won R100 on a 10c bet." Wow, well done, nice job, I'd hear people say. But then you get the one person who will say "That's nothing. Last week I bet 2c and ended up winning R60,000.00. And then bought drinks for everyone afterwards."
I'd then look at the person and think to myself, "What a tool."
The strange thing is that we all know someone like that, you could even be one yourself. And to them I'd like to say this: Everyone knows you're lying. You're trying to make yourself look better to people, but in fact what you're doing is making yourself look like a fool in their eyes. We don't believe you, and everything else you say afterwards doesn't mean a thing. You don't need to make yourself look better to make friends, just be yourself, and if those people don't like you for who you are, then bugger it. As cliched as it sounds, there are more soon-to-be friends out there than fish in the sea. Who'd want to live a lie anyway. Hate me or not, this is my view, and I'll take your animosity with a pinch of salt. And tequila.

:POKER DAZE
In the previous edition I mentioned being "donked", and was asked by some of the poker illiterate what exactly that meant, so I will try to explain it to you now. A "donk" is a person who calls your raise with a really bad hand, and then proceeds to hit runner/runner cards to make a 5-card hand better than yours. I'll give an example to try and explain better:
This evening I was playing online, and was dealt pocket Jacks (two Jacks). I was first to act, and I raised the hand pre-flop and was called by the next player. Everyone else folded. The flop came down Jack - Six - Three, rainbow (there was no opportunity to hit a flush at this point). Now I'm sitting with three Jacks and because I was short-stacked, I pushed all my chips in. The other player called me. Our cards were turned over and my three Jacks were shown, the other player showed a Seven and a Nine, off-suit. I was way out in the lead and had already started a little celebration. Then the dealer showed the Turn card, an Eight of hearts. I was still in the lead, however now the other player had an inside straight draw to beat me, and of course, the River card was shown, and out popped the Five of Spades hitting me like a ton of bricks. The other player hit runner/runner (the following two cards) to make a hand better than mine, and I was knocked out. That is what you call a "donk", playing by total luck, or not even knowing how to play at all. But like I said previously, that's poker. However, Snymaster66, you're a donk dude, and you'll be getting your own back soon.

:FOR THE EXPERIENCE
On Sunday I took a three hour bus ride to attend the Clanwilliam Arts Project. Upon arrival, we entered a large warehouse and saw the artwork the children had done, then went outside to wait for the procession to start. While waiting, we took photos (to be added soon) and watched the general hubbub of the people around us. The kids were in fine form, singing and carrying on like kids do, and in between their legs ran one of the coolest dogs I've seen, though he smelt a bit funky. The light started to fade and the children lined up for the procession. They were handed paper lanterns, and fire retardant was smeared over their faces to prevent burning. It was safe, no worries. So safe in fact, that all of us did the same thing, and had a white hand-print smearing our faces. The sun set and the band started to play. Lanterns were lit, together with large paper animals with candles inside, that had to be lifted by four grade 7 students, and we were on our way. We walked for about 20 minutes, behind the band and with the kids, through the streets of Clanwilliam. Hundreds of kids, teachers, parents and followers stopping traffic. The smiling residents came out of their houses and watched as we walked on by, glowing paper animals and lanterns leading the way. The walk ended at one of the schools, and the lanterns were placed around the edges of a courtyard, while the followers sat and stood beyond that, waiting for the spectacle to begin. It started with story-telling and shadow puppets, then singing and dancing. It all culminated at the end with fire-dancers and a fireworks display that made me miss my childhood. My neck was spasming because of looking up at the colourful rockets exploding in the sky. I probably had the silliest grin on my face as well. But all good things come to an end, and we made the long drive back again. It really was an awesome time, there's only two things that I would change. Firstly, the films that were shown on the long bus ride, especially the last, I was tormented from the very first line. And lastly, and this is more a warning than a change, if you do decide to go next year, take a pillow with you to sit on, because the stone I sat on left my ass completely numb, and I continuously had to shift to avoid a rupture. All in all, very cool experience, I'm missing my childhood more and more.

:THIS IS THE END, MY FRIEND
And so we've come to the conclusion of the second edition. There is some pressure with ending on a high note, and I'd like to take some of that off, because honestly, it's hard work keeping my brain this active for so long. So I'll leave you with a riddle:

Almost everyone sees me without noticing me, for what is beyond is what he or she seeks.
What am I?

Ten points to the first correct answer.

Later Daze

:Deklan

"I'm just a man, I'm not a hero"

2009-09-12T12:46:00.000+02:00

Good afternoon Dazers,

And welcome to my life. I've been contemplating giving you an introduction, but instead I've decided to just dive right into it. Whether you drown, swim, or don't even take your shoes off to feel the water, is entirely up to you...

Theme song for the day:
MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE - WELCOME TO THE BLACK PARADE

:DAILY TRAIN ADVENTURE
On Monday, I overheard a conversation on the train, which resulted in total embarrassment and superiority-decline of a police officer. The train stopped at a station and the doors opened. Two policemen were already inside, and one of them stood by the door, keeping it open with his foot. And then the train started moving again and he continued to stand there, with the door open. Now, in case you didn't know, this is considered a "no-no" on the train. So, to my surprise, a woman standing next to the officer started the following conversation:

Lady: "You're not supposed to do that."
Officer: "But I'm a policeman."
Lady: "So because you're a policeman, you can do things that I'm not allowed to?"
Officer: "Yes."
Lady: "Can you rape and murder me then?"
Dead silence...

And then the second officer cracked up laughing, together with the rest of the people standing in the train, myself included. The police officer who was knocked of his superior pedestal was red-faced and didn't say a word. At the next station he rushed to get off and didn't look back once. And the lady just stood there, smiling, the joys of winning and being right shining from her cheeks.

:THE RANT
Today I'd like to take a moment to express my frustrations towards stupid people. You could call them ill-mannered, I however like to call them stupid. Really stupid. You know those people who try climb into the train as everyone else is trying to get out, causing a doorway traffic jam. They're stupid. Same as in elevators. The train or lift will be full of people, and then it stops and the doors dramatically open. Then its the rush. I've seen fights on the train, as people missed their station because of these stupid people pushing in before others have gotten off. Elevators aren't that serious, but squeezing past someone getting in just irritates me, especially if that person, or people, are mammoth-sized. Those doors aren't very wide. I'm a big person, and my agility is rated as non-existent, so trying to squeeze myself through a gap as thin as Lindsay Lohan's wrist is a fairly impossible task. Lifts and trains are supposed to be easy traveling, I shouldn't need to break a sweat, that's what stairs and running are for. Stupid people, God I hate them.

:POKER DAZE
I have one main addiction (besides for alcohol, which most of my friends think) and that is Texas Hold'em Poker. I can easily sit every night and play a game. Besides it being a minor game of luck, it is mostly very skillful and strategic, and my mind works overtime trying to figure out the hands of other players, the betting odds, and the opportunity for an awesome bluff. Mainly, I love the social aspect of the game, the bantering around the table, trying to push someone into a hand, pretending that you're disinterested when in fact you're holding pocket aces. In that aspect, I am definitely a more live poker player than an online one. I do play online, not very often, but my heart lies at the table. I play mostly home games with family and friends, and what my father is fond of saying, "There is no love at the poker table", definitely applies to us. We will run each other into the ground trying to win a pot, and take scars from the battle, but at the end of it all, its poker, and we laugh about it afterwards. That's what I say to myself after being "donked" as well, it's poker, it happens, but your blood still boils and you clasp your hands together under the table to prevent yourself from reaching over the table and strangling the other player who called your raise of pocket kings with 8 - 5 off-suit and then proceeds to hit a gut-shot straight on the river. But ... that's poker. And I love it.

:FOR THE EXPERIENCE
My choice of relaxation and food at the moment is Mexican, specifically a restaurant situated in Cape Town, near the top of Long Street, Mexican Kitchen, aka Mexicanos.
After work, it takes roughly 10 minutes for me to walk there, and upon arriving I have tequila and chili poppers waiting for me, thanks to the colorful assortment (looks and personality-wise) of the staff members. I sit outside, at a table glistening with cocktails and beers, and watch as the midweek nightlife takes flight, while enjoying random conversations with the staff, as well as the enigmatic people who spend most of their time there. Besides it being one of the most comfortable environments for a restaurant, the food is also outrageously good. I am a sucker for chili poppers and for the moment no other can compare to Mexicanos in my book. Now I'm no restaurateur, nor am I a food critic, I'm just an average Joe out for a good time, and there I find that it's always good. The tequilas run free with orange slices scraped in cinnamon, and the nachos are crunchy, the cheese sliding off its guacamole counterpart. For dessert, try the deep-fried bananas with a rainbow of ice creams littering the plate. But most of all, the conversation is always good, even through the drunken revelry. This week's topics ranged from the death penalty, to nature conservation, then twisted to Lady Gaga's apparent penis, the cheapest place to buy beer and how to sew a button correctly on to a shirt. The people range from students with hairstyles the size of the Eiffel tower, to camouflaged men with monumental histories of policefare, army life and hunting. From a dog that hates skateboarders, to a drunken magician, showing us tricks with math and matches. The randomness of it all actually gives me a high, and I continuously look forward to the next trip, as I know it'll only get wilder, and better. Thanks to the staff at Mexican Kitchen, it's definitely a damn good experience. See you guys soon.

:THIS IS THE END, MY FRIEND
Big High 5 to the Springboks for taking the coveted Tri-Nations and Freedom Cup crowns. You've made myself and your country proud. And now I leave you with a quote from their coach, Pieter de Villiers:

"It isn't the coach that makes a team, but the players that make a coach."

One of the wisest things I've heard him say. Well done, young Padawan, well done.

Later Daze

:Deklan