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George Rodrigue Art at http://www.georgerodrigue.com


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Thursday, January 12, 2006

OCCASSIONAL

GIDDINESS



I keep állowing myself to be súrprísed and people around me are starting to notice my occasional giddiness and it ís only occasional, the rest of the time I'm confused or laughing, even crying. Not sure if I Do away with it want to stay here but I do. I dó. As afraid as I am, I dó! How could I say nó? Sometimes, I want to hide inside of myself. Déép inside. Speak to no one. I do not want to know what they'll say or ask or do. But I dó, I dó. As afraid as I am, I dó. Ểlégantly wasted? Heheh! Hardly....


▫▫▫▫
No more masquerade
For the mask
Has become too small
It crumbles and breaks
Leaving the world to see
Who he really is
Face the ugly truth
No more is he
The beau of the ball
Stooped and cowering
Hiding
The pain is apparent
Undeniable
No longer
Will everyone be fooled
He was merely playing the part
An actor of life
It was all a fantasy
The mask always smiled
Never revéáled the pain
That lay just beneath it
How he will continue
Is unknown

Without his protection
For it did more
It was a shield
As it surrounded him
From the world outside
He had deceived them all
Until now
As the mask shattered
And shards fell to the ground.

▫▫▫▫

No person has ever given me a reason to care, except for a select few. These are the people that see my flaws in their natural form and appear to accept me for myself. I tend not to question their views, but when I do, I'm usually quite negative. Maybe I am just different. Maybe I just don't belong. But then, maybe I do S*I*G*H*


▫▫▫▫

Lucid, yes. And the images dancing in my eyes are drawn from my dreams...not what stands before me..yes...i dreamt again last night..and i woke with that..feeling..that bitter realisation that you are awake...and the dream is over. There were no fingers running through my hair... there was no warm body beside me..resting in my arms..there was no warm breath on my neck..there was...nothing...just....the dream....that moment...was the emptiest moment of my life. that hollow ache in my chest...it was just a dream...but..it was a beautiful dream...my dream...so I close my eyes.



A natural vertigo. My head is spinning my balance a pace behind my motion. I put a glass to my lips and miss. Yet all is so clear. I perceive and sense it all. What a wonderful feeling - this drugless intoxification. This Occassional Giddiness. OK- so at first my mind took me to a peaceful place. Grass and leaves rattle in the wind like a thousand soft raindrops. A freckle on my arm burns my eyes. (I have a freckle?!) I can see every hair, thin wisps like blades of grass, knuckles pink and cracked. I begin to tap my pen and write my name on the white desk where my PC watches in detached amusement. "I'm fine!" I say. I make a big show of being fine, patting myself down then peering at the back of my hands which drip with spilled tea. The screensaver sips its fucking Anfy and gawks in horror when my cheeks puff and I wretch all over the my keyboard. The comprehensive electronic device wrestles me to the ground but I have the strength of a Monk in religious ecstacy, biting the toes off of a patron Saint, whirling into the mass-candles, guzzling holy wine through teeth mashed shut. I have a vision of how I will spend the rest of my life: I will raise the dead, squeeze jewelry into my navel, build the hydraulic pump-lungs of cyborgs, and mechanoreceptor decks for virtual reality, ... guiltless and free, onwards and upwards until I pass out and collapse under the weight of my own mania. I struggle free, kiss the cyber-house (my PC wallpaper) and marvel at the wonderful smell of bitter breath on its glassy surface...


▫▫▫▫

I'm humbled by this splendid sight...
Is it only now in the dead of the Night that I can face the truth about myself? In this blank silence, I finally probe for the source of this remorseless unease in mind and body.
What is the true cause of it?
It is a longing as keen as the most bitter wind a heat, a skin-crawling, vein-itching infection.
Am I harbouring a plague, I wonder? I fear that what lies inside me is too Dark to bring to the light...


▫▫▫▫

Thinking: There's so much more I could say, if I only knew how. The nature of beauty is in your attitude and in what you think of yourself - that much I know at least :) "You look handsome," she said to me the moment I stepped into her office It wasn't flattery, or gaping, or teasing. It was simply a statement that escaped from her lips almost too early, without missing a beat, maybe even before the beat - before I'd even had time to say hello. She was right. I am beautiful, especially today. And it's incredible! I have never been beautiful before, never even tried to be. And I'm not trying now, either. But it's all coming together, somehow. The look, the attitude, the happiness, the sense of purpose. But it's the inner beauty that creates the outer beauty. I was never happy and confident before. Now I am. So now I am beautiful heh!
I know how gods begin, you know... We start as dreams. Then we walk out of dreams into the land. We are worshipped and loved, and take power to ourselves. And then one day there's no one left to worship us. And in the end, each little god and goddess takes its last journey back into dreams, and what comes after, not even we know. I'm not going to dance again ever now, I'm afraid...but I can still shout out! ☺


▫▫▫▫

Die ou oom en tannie het geboer hul hele lewe lank, maar al die kinders het getrek van die plaas af en nou is dit net hulle twee stoksielalleen. Eendag se die ou vrou vir die ou man, 'Ek dink ons moet trek stad toe'. So verkoop hulle alles, plaas, trekkers, bakkies, vee man sommer lock stock and barrel en hulle koop 'm meenthuisie in die stad.
Na so 'n maand in die stad sê die ou vrou vir haar man: Ek dink ons moet vir ons 'n klein motortjie koop. Ons kan nie net hier sit nie, ons moet darem kan rond gaan en dinge sien. Die ou man was 'n groot Ford fan en hy maak die koerant oop by die advertensies. Hier voor hom staan escort agency en hy skakel die nommer. Die man antwoord en die boer vra hom of hy enige escorts het en wat prys hulle. So antwoord die man hom: Ja meneer ons het, en hulle wissel so tussen R200 en R250.
So tune die boer hom: "My ou maat,wie het hulle so in hul móér in gery?"


▫▫▫▫

Estelle...I've come to realise, my sister is a down-to-earth magician, who loves gritty reality far more than the glittery fantasies I so effortlessly create..haha! She acquires people so effortlessly! Her playfulness and ability to keep her feet flat on the ground makes her special...and precious. Well, Stellie, vivé lá différence!
Hmmm...The knowledge we have in this life of others is fragmentary, and even the knowledge we have of ourselves is not a direct grasping or vision of the soul by itself, but rather, a reflection on its acts. In death (the change of Worlds), however, we will have a deeper and more penetrating kind of knowledge. It will be a knowledge from within, a knowledge not of parts, but of wholes. We will fully grasp ourselves...I cannot wait!! You?


▫▫▫▫

Until you’ve kept your eyes and your wanting still for a myriad of years, (In my instance that's nearly 49,) you don’t begin to cross over from confusion. The comfort of a plush is- it-velvet(?) clad seteé. Through my shattered yellow smoky eyes sweet candlelight beams fall. This man looks outward with his mouth shut afraid that when he makes the sound of speech he won't find his own voice, so overcome is he with sheer and extravagant delight.
Our 2nd Hand X-mas Experience with you and Wayne and Ty was sheer magic and delight, Nini. Your wit is awesome, your intellect balanced and developed into a fine art but best of all...your heart beats beautifully, Sister-mine,...a great act for anyone to have to follow...heheh...Vlamp**s has a place of honour in my little house.


▫▫▫▫

Have you heard music in your dreams? A nocturnal orchestra so strange and beautiful that its tunes could never be duplicated in the waking world, can never even be remembered? Have you woken up in tears, crying for the music you've lost? It was I, your fellow leo-brother playing first violin for YOU in that orchestra, Annette my sister...


▫▫▫▫

All the evil karma, ever created by me since of old on account of my beginningless greed, hatred and ignorance born of my conduct, speech and thought, I now confess openly and fully.


▫▫▫▫

Esmé, sussie, you have the world at your feet, my sister...captivated and mesmerised by your strength and inner-beauty, your straight-forwardness. Swim in your waters of joy, and dance under your heart's moonlight and always be happy.


▫▫▫▫

A lóng time ago, in primary school, they made me write a poem with blanks for the words I chose. I think... "compare a colour to an emotion" was the assignment. Dáring I, bráve I, threw out the pretty paper with the blanks for the words I chose and just wrote. Boredom is Beige. And I mention this because my world is beige. I go out sometimes and I take pictures of colourful things, in my mind. I surround myself with colourful things. Perhaps enough of them will drive out the beige, but it doesn't. I live a ticky-tacky life in a ticky-tacky cottage (not on a hill,) isolated and safe and caged, innoculated and protected and hermetically sealed inside a life I did not choose, a place I did not choose, a body I did not choose. I can dress the body, decorate the place, and perhaps perturb the life slightly, but in the end I am only filling in the blanks...and suddenly I understand, why the way I look and am, can be a problem...but to be honest, much as I deny it all, I chose these things for myself long before I entered my Mother's womb spiritually...and one's chóíces you must live with.


▫▫▫▫

The flesh I inhabit seemingly seeks instant gratification, always. I must persist to develop intuition and logical thinking. I'm constantly being put to the test as I promised myself before coming here to Earth. I must accept the things that have happened to me as my karmic debt. That way I can tolerate them. I'm suffering here! Suffering takes some people to the heights of mountain peaks and into the depths of the deepest valleys - I've séén it! But whó would prefer a life as level as a plain, an unending circle in a featureless desert? [Not I] Facing the storm, the flower glows against the mountain's steep slopes...and the cactus defies sun and sand, living on for many years in the desert. As all things die to create new life, so hope, I think, springs from despair? Aah, I'm acting all wise and old. A real 'krimpie' heheh!


▫▫▫▫

Freddie, you are potentially a genius. Perhaps not in the same way that Einstein and Beethoven were, but still: You possess sóme brilliant capacity or set of skills that is exquisitely unique. You are a masterpiece unlike any other that has ever lived in the history of the world. As a LEO, I know... cosmic forces are conspiring to boost my physical energy and mental agility to record levels...so why am I so...DOWN??? (Well, you're not well, you know. Also, you are getting on a bit in age? And you are far too damn cynical yet act all positive and peachy...)
It is time... to elude, outwit, and overthrow the educated idiots who preach the bizarre doctrine that cynicism is a supreme sign of intellectual vigour. There is no longer any need to buy into the well-crafted hallucinations of the ruling fools who take everything so damn seriously and personally...(Fools like me.. *sigh* Funny, your peptalks you so easily give to others, have never worked for you, hmmm.)


▫▫▫▫
.....playing in the sand

Life is. That is, there exists a thing called life. That is, there exists a set for which the state of being alive is true.
What other attributes this set might have is up to the observer.
Life is. Life is short, for a fly. Life is long, for an elephant. Life is short for flies and elephants when compared to the life of a star. Stars are véry múch álive. We are stardust you know...
It is said that the difference between life and non-life is the presence or absence of the ability to make more life. Bah! There are problems with this: those who are sterile are most certainly alive, at least by any humanitarian definition of the word, while irradiated chemicals in a scientist's flask most certainly lack life, at least until a spark is applied.
And yet, cannot a star make more of itself? True, the star has to die first. Still, the gasses given off by a dead or dying star have the ability, as much as any inanimate object can be called able, to form a new star. Is a star therefore more closely akin to the one who is otherwise sterile but yet has a slight, slight chance of conceiving, or the chemicals, which will arrange themselves and copy themselves if a spark is applied?
Does it even really matter? Should there be more to this definition of 'life' than the ability to reproduce? We often speak of "trúly líving." What is this? Can a fly "truly live," or is this the sole domain of us upright apes monkeys and baboons?
As it is necessary to ask ourselves, in order to get a definition of "truly living," and since these definitions vary wildly (I'm cértain that Louise, Estelle, Mandy, Wayne, Annette, Johnny, Flint and Esmé and each and every nephew and niece of mine will answer differently,) it may well be that this question can only be answered by polling the flies haha!
Since I never allow ány fly into my place or allow them to live a second longer if they DO gain access (yep, I DOOM them!) I think it's not going to work - the polling - sorry.


▫▫▫▫
Polling The Orcas?...bríght... and shímmering.

I open my eyes to the grey naked shapes outside my window. I watch them caressing each other's skeletons, grey fingers, some wearing diamonds, sparkles of crystalline fluid the sun gave them. Some sway gently gently. Some wear shreds of yellow cloth that rattle in the dead air. Some still live.
Today feels just the same as yesterday. Tomorrow things will change, but nót today. Yésterday and tóday and all the days before blend together, and together they ignore the division I make. Today is profoundly different from yesterday, says the calendar. Yesterday was just the same, declares the Sky. Sun and Moon spin in their orbits, and I can almost hear them laughing at me as I count each revolution as if it were something precious. They múst be laughing as I clutch my numbers as if they are something precious, some life-giving order for my world.
My days are numbered, yes!
They wóbble to spíte me, you know, like the Piet-my-Vrou calls incéssantly after its mate... ;-)


▫▫▫▫

Now, if you want to know how to avoid the devil of gluttony - that horrible, clawed, hairy devil with fearsome horns and long ears, and a massive tongue moered thin as a wafer by Louise my swaerie with her hammer...or rather nó...I'm hardly the good example heheh! Let's eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we diet?
Sorry but dieting...brings about....

Occassional
Giddiness


and I for one, do not like that...you go right ahead if you wish to but me, moi, ék...I'm going to eat until I die...hopefully nót from eating itself heheh!


Because friends reckon that I powerfully propel them, like a tidal wave would, by my vivid imagination, to disregard reality and dream their days away and although I take thát as a compliment, since they LIKE it - they get too obsessed about being in my life and living off my energy. Because of this I try to avoid getting too involved with people, excepting my family. But... "I'm just a daydreamer, walking in the rain, chasing after rainbows you'll néver find again..." And yes, my face will never do duty for my heart.


▫▫▫▫

Sadly, or maybe júst as well, we are all rationed. There are only só many heartbeats...
I often wonder, what will we, who complain so about life, say of death? No! I do not [yet] stumble outside in the middle of the dark night to howl at the stars...but an association with The Du Plessis Family álways ensúres there is sómething in the air. And my Occassional Giddiness is often the result of happiness or at other times maybe because I'm unwell, true. But mostly it is because my heart pumps so proudly to be a part of this great, wonderful family!


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