Friday(s)

Fridays make me happy,
They entice me with their looseness.
And they are easy, too.
They prove to me that the week that was, was.
And they promise the hope, the possibility, of a good weekend.
They shine enticingly.
DO NOT TOUCH.
BUT IF YOU MUST, YOU MAY.
GRAB IT FIRMLY.
TIGHTLY.
THROTTLE ME, YOU FUCK!
JERK ME OFF!

ADSL

A
Damn
Sore
Loser

My port was clogged this morning.

So I called the Telkom Internet Broadband Support Desk on 0800375375. My call was attended to the moment I had waded through the voice prompts. Impressed was I. Muneeb seemed to be a great help. After 45 minutes the call ended. And my problems persisted. I did as told. Logged the fault on TELKOMSA.NET
And heard nothing further from my ISP.

I then called the SAME Telkom Internet Broadband Support Desk on 0800375375 this afternoon. Brandon attempted to assist me. He was very upset that Muneeb had NOT given me a Reference Number. After about 5 minutes our call ended. Without Brandon giving me a Reference Number either!

A snooze and 2 hours later of "No Luck" I called the SAME Telkom Internet Broadband Support Desk on 0800375375 and spoke with Mark. He immediately gave me a Reference Number (or REFNUM, as he called it), sent me an automated SMS confirming my logging of the fault, informed me that Telkom were attending to the fault, and wished me a pleasant life.

Approximately 15 minutes later all seems to up and running again. Oops. Spoke too soon. Another hiccup. No wait - all is fine again.

Thank you Mark. A little effort (aka Following The Correct Procedure) and I'm out of your hair - and out of you call queue.

And happy.

Not with the service, but rather with my connectedness.

Another little hiccup - and some flatulence, and we're online again.

What the problem was, no-one seems to know.

Nor do they really give a fuck about it.

People who live in White Houses should not throw shoes

DO NOT throw shoes for peace. The only profiteers are Manolo Blahnik, Jimmy Choo and Vera Wang. Maybe Nike and Adidas, too. Rather donate them to a charity of your choice.
Unless you are throwing Crocks. In that case, throw them as far away as possible. Nobody wants them. No charity needs them. They serve no purpose. Rid yourself of their burden.

Za haha did it!

I adore the designs of
Zaha Hadid.
She of Iraqi birth.
I worship the designs of
Philippe Starck.
He of French origin.
I enjoy the designs of
Tom Ford.
The American.

How, out of such conflict of nationality, can such beauty erupt? I understand that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Am I myopic? Am I in turmoil? Am I the design whore?

Behold. Me!

1st Follower

I have my 1st follower.

Thank you Alex.

I wonder if Jesus / Ghandi / Mohammed / Shiva / Buddha / Ray McCauley / Eva Duarte de Perón experienced the same thrill when they realised that they, too, had their FIRST FOLLOWER.
Or is the mere recognition of a FIRST FOLLOWER so infra dig, that I should blush at this post?

My Monster is Graceless

I am so fucking bored I should die.
I am listening to Philip Glass (Monsters of Grace). That is not why I am bored. In fact, the music that pulses through me, is my only excitement.

I am graced by my own monsters. Nay, demons.
I have developed my boredom. Bored. Become so, by my own hand. Without regret. Uncraving. To the multitude who drain me, I say: "Fuck off!"
To those few who occasionally (seldom) tolerate me, I say: "Welcome."

Scene 8: Let The Letter Read You

Why stay so long where your words are scattered
and doing no good. I've sent a letter a day
for a hundred days. Either you don't read the mail,
or you've forgotten how to leave.

The Beast

How much protection does a saviour require?

And why?


How sniper-proof is a donkey?
How nuclear resistant is a manger?
How sealed is a cave?
How liberating is a prison cell?
How accessible is one in isolation?

Let freedom rule!

The Day That Was

ATTENTION.
All the fun and fanfare has now passed. The Americans have a new President. The world has (apparently) now got new hope.

And yet we are all still in precisely the same old shit that we were in yesterday.
And the day before that.
And the day before that, too!

The megatrons have been powered down, dismantled, packaged and shipped.

Tears were shed. And yet jubilation reigned supreme. Speeches have been over-analysed. Omissions have been hailed. Inclusions - debated. To what end?

The sun still rises in the East. The moon will continue to wax & wane. Suffering will not end. Poverty, death, disease and greed prevail.

O Happy Day! O Happy Thoughts!
And so now: To Work!

Inaugu-What The Fuck?

The 20th of January. 2009.

Obama Day.
And we all (the world) sit holding our collective breath.

Hoping, desperately, for a better future. In our naivety we pin our hopes on one single individual. And we hope that that individual will change our future.

Please, do not call me negative. Nor a heathen. Nor sceptical.

I merely find it absolutely fascinating that our joint intellect will not comprehend that our future is up to us.

As individuals.

Mr Obama, I am certain, has no idea of the magnitude of his responsibility to us, the needy masses.

I pity him. And weep for humankind.