Is Ignorance Bliss?

Good question.

And I'm not all that sure I know the answer, but my worldview is more in line with the two soldiers poster. Honestly, I think there are a lot of things out there none of us know about and somehow believe that, because they're unknown or never experienced, those things will never - in some way - touch on our lives.

(While writing the above, I was interrupted by a gentleman from the commercial crime unit who called to let me know he's taken over the case I opened against old numbnuts earlier.) And that's a good example.

We all know there're syndicates out there. We all know they prey on the unweary. And yet, for some sodding reason, no one ever considers themselves unweary. Rather, the crook was always "that much" smarter. I'm starting to wonder if I shouldn't actually take on a bit more of the blame than I already am. After all, my gut feel wasn't right...

Anyway, hindsite's 20:20, isn't it?

But not everything we don't know is negative.

Sometimes, you walk along the pavement, see a wad of paper. If you picked it up, it could be a crumpled R 50 note wrapped in a receipt. It could be a wad of paper. But you never know.

What if I'd moved to England? What if ES and I packed up our stuff, laugh it all off as a bad joke, and head to Europe? Or the States? We could thrive. We could suffer. After all, there's a saying the grass is only greener because there's more shit in the water.

As you can see, I'm feeling rather introspective today. Introspective and, to an extent, reserved. This promotion of mine isn't making me feel any happier - which is what I thought it would have done. Or, at least, should have done. I don't see possibilities or opportunities opening up.

Instead, it's like I'm staring down into a precipice.

I need to write again. Rekindle something creative in my head. Create something like I want it, so I can destroy it like the world's slowly destroying me. I want revenge against the unseen forces that have driven my life so far. Unfortunately, I don't believe any of that will be effective.

At the same time, though, I'm happy. ES and I are very happy together, and trust me I wouldn't change that for all the world.

It's just perverse that there seems to be a cosmic trade off we're all agreed to - whether we like it or not.

If you're happy at home, eff you, your job will suck the dripping wet-end of a donkey's nethers. If you're happy at work, eff you, your private life's about to become that Normandy Beach scene from the opening sequence of Saving Private Ryan.

Enjoy.

Now I'm faced with a Catch-22. It's a viscious cycle I've tried to rectify several times: normally to little or no success. That makes me think: there's something out there I'm not aware of. So it's time to go looking. Surely?

I tend to think there's a sacrifice being demanded of me. One of lifestyle. I need to kiss the lifestyle I know now goodbye, be prepared to take a few steps down, and find a job that'll sustain ES and I (at a somewhat lower comfort zone), but at least allow us to be happy. Hollistically happy, I mean.

Ian's still not replied, and I'll probably start chasing that answer as of tomorrow.

And on that note, I bid you Adieu for now.

AAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

Here ya go, Finni.

Now it's that kinda blog!

Both exhausts are pretty sweet, no?

*Bwah Ha Ha*

Actually, today I've felt kinda like Jamal all day. (Singing)Bring me my AK 47 - 'cos I never can bladdy remember to bring it along...

No, seriously, folks.

It's been rough. My head's tingling from the wounds I inflicted yesterday, shaving all hung over and stuff. In fact, you can actually still see the patch where I almost removed my ear from the side of my head with one deft sweep of one of those five-bladed razor things. It's a pity I didn't get it right too, 'coz the other day, the one earpiece (I don't know what it's actually called) fell off my Oakleys. Maybe if I'd succeeded, I'd be able to wear my sunglasses again.

Starting a new position in an old company... It's kind of like a sympathy lay, isn't it? Feels good for a short, intense while. But once the euphoria's washed away - no matter how brief or intense said euphoria may have been - it starts to dawn. The only thing that's really happened is you've just got fucked, is all. If you're lucky, you might see her again if she forgot her toothbrush when she pissed off over the rear wall.

I'm sure you can see where this is leading. Or coming from.

My day. A real, real doozy.

Anyone out there - anyone at all - who could use my services? Let me know. Even if I have to find out where ol' Moldova is. Buddy - let me know, man!!!

I'm sure, once I've pulled myself towards myself, I'll get over all this hypertension and stress. And the fact I've run out of my fucking happy pills again and I can actually feel the chemicals changing inside my skull (it's a type of sleepy feeling that just seems to take over everything for a while).

But I'll get over it.

'Coz I'm a suh-VIE-VORRR.

ES and I left our maid (again, I repeat: That IS the WORD FOR a LADY WHO CLEANS professionally. DOMESTICS, I repeat, are what happen in Kempton Park between a man, sy vrou and a couple of bottles o' brandy) at home to do the ironing. All day. After all, we didn't rent the Hazmat suits for nothing.

Needless to say, it was reported broken. Time of Death: 12:00.

Is this some sort of conspiracy? Break everything around you so you don't have to work. Don't have to pull your weight?

That fucking thing's been working perfectly. It's not even five years old. And now everyone's going: c'mon! It's 5 years old!

Fuck off, it was working perfectly. I'm 29 and still going!

And on the note of going, I actually logged on to say there's still no word from Scotland and I'm going home.

Love you all for reading my rants. I'll see you tomorrow.

Yes, even you, my friend from Maldavia...

Whatever...

Chisinau, the Republic of Moldova

How you doing there, my visitor from Chisinau?

I'm going to tell you something about South African education right here, right now.

Back in the day, when I was still in school, I was given an option: Accounting or Geography.

I took accounting.

As a result, I'm broke and have never before heard of the Republic of Moldova. Maybe my head's too far up my ass, or you guys don't get along well enough with the yanks to make it into the storyline of any Hollywood blockbuster (hey, for years we were the "scaly Russian co-conspirators", so don't feel too bad about it).

I probably could just run a search on Google, but where's the fun in that?

How are you doing? What are you doing? And where are you doing it? Hope you're enjoying your visits here. Drop me a line, would you?

And I see they've got electricity in Parow, now. Congrats, bud.

Okay. Fine.

Well, ES has logged on to the blog, read the post and really wants one of the pics up. So here's one for you to all weep over.

It's a bit blurred (didn't see that on the cellphone screen, but anyway). It was quite a mission getting it up here, but I finally found a way.

So, enjoy.

Just, by the way: that is our bed in the background. I kind of like the patterns. I love the colours.

What a Weekend

So, as I've been harping on: My deadline for "The Devil's Food" is tomorrow. And just guess how much of it was done.

This weekend started with the iota of a plan: let's go for a drink. Just one.

So, off ES and I went on our little adventure and, lo and behold, turns out both of us were actually still quite thirsty. Turns out a week's worth of bullshit can dry your mouth out.

Saturday morning was spent waiting for the kind souls from Glasfit to bring me my windscreen. They arrived promptly at the time they said they would - which our hangovers said was about ten hours too early. And, in proudly SA style, they brought the wrong one.

The. Wrong. One. This after they insisted I give them my VIN number so they can check with the dealership which one (of the two possible) is in my vehicle. Unfortunately, the cure is yet to be found.

Luckily, this gave ES and I some sorrows we had to drown.

Sunday was spent in Hazmat suits, wielding flamethrowers at dustbunnies that had mutated into something that fought back every once in a while. Chloe - our three-legged wonder - was so delighted to witness the glorious restoration of her domicilium, she took herself a shit - one worthy of a Rottweiler (and I always spell that wrong), right between my bass guitar and my acoustic. I was delighted! It reminded me of an easter egg hunt - with clues to the location and more! Oh, I got joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart.

Crown it all with this second gem of brilliance: let's wash our duvet.

No problem. Sounded good, and I could finally turn the mattress.

Washed, and smelling as fragrant as the Namaqualand daisies wafting in on a crisp, coastal wind, my buddy Murphy thrust his middle finger heavenward, and turned to ES and me, a maniacal twinkle in his eye. And laughed.

How the hell do we dry it? At night?

Answer: you don't. you sleep under the duvet slip, huddle up close and let hypothermia numb the ache in your extremities.

But, one thing's for sure, we really met some amazing people over the last couple of days. Guys, you know who you are and here's to hoping we see more of you.

And now - no points for guessing how much was done on "The Devil's Food". It rhymes with Duck Ball, only it's a little ruder.

But we had so much fun (despite the sarcasm above: sometimes it's actually pretty cool just getting down and dirty *LOL* {that's how it's done on these sort of forums, right?}) that I think I'll brutally kill those characters off some other time, for another tome.

On the note of tomes - still no word from Ian Hunter at RAW, which may or may not, be a good thing. The blessing is tonight's the night all responses are being sent out - so, who knows?

I took some gorgeous pics of ES over the weekend - she looks like an angel that fell down from Heaven (and if I use one more cliche here, perhaps I should sign up for an hour or two of Chinese water torture) - that I'll post here as soon as I've figure out how to get Windows Mobile to communicate with any other platform, let alone Mac.

But don't - do not - hold your breath.

I might just decide to hold those back jealously.

Happy Weekend, Everyone!

It's finally that time of the week: weekend.

And not a minute too soon. I'll be back on Monday, if I don't figure out how to post from my phone before then. Should Ian get hold of me now, I'll try my best to let you all know the outcome.

If not: see you Monday.

Have a good one.

And Welcome, NS

NS - otherwise known as Finn - has joined my following.

You'll notice he's the only follower with a face, thus far.

We're old varsity buddies and go back a long way: even worked in Greece together.

Welcome, Finny!

Ah, the joys of getting into the office early. Very early. So early, the frigging urn's still full and hasn't even been turned on yet. (Okay, it's on now, obviously. I turned it on. The lukewarm coffee I just had really really sucked.)

It's almost the end of the month. For those of you who've just started reading these pages (even if only to swipe the pics of the hot chicks - I still appreciate it), that means two things.

First, Ian Hunter, who's editing "RAW Terror" in Scotland, is almost done with his reading and selection of stories for the anthology. He's already been in touch with me in connection with my submission: "Harbinger". But he's held off on letting me know whether it will find a home in his book. Obviously, to be fair, he needs to go through all the submissions he's received first.

In my opinion, that's good. There was no outright rejection and, seeing as though none has been forthcoming since then, it means he's seriously holding onto that story. That's also good. The longer it takes him to reject (or hopefully accept), the better the story is in his esteem. So even if it does end up on the floor in the long run, at least I can rest assured that it's given a fair innings, and several people a run for their money.

The book will be published towards the middle of this year, as a soft-cover release in the United Kingdom and Scotland. The possible pay (on publication) is all of ten pounds and a contributor's copy (which is great, because I somehow doubt his aim is international distribution). He himself is a relatively well-known short story writer (in Scotland, that is) - so I'm dying for his feedback.

"Harbinger" is a pre-apocalyptic tale, where I drew from my personal experience of confronting a stranger in my house at four in the morning. Fortunately, my guy (and I say this with utmost affection, poor dear! Bless!) shat his pants and bailed before I bludgeoned him to death and didn't react the way the one in "Harbinger" does. That's another joy of horror: we can look at "what ifs" without any of the real risks involved in pushing the envelope in real life.

Then, of course, there's the looming deadline for my submission to "The Devil's Food" anthology. These guys already have their cover art available. Judging from what I've seen there, I need to open a can of gore and mix it with my vomit before smeering the pages.

Even though I've started on this about five or six times now, I'm struggling to focus. There's always something getting in my way: religious nuts coming to convert me; religious nuts trying to get me to make a TV show so they can communicate with other religious nuts (She wasn't too impressed when I told her I thought televangelists did an amazing job furthering the reaches of global fraud syndicates. She just smiled uncomfortably and shuffled in her chair.); people holding a Madi Gras on the road outside my window; cats scratching their asses on the back of my pen as I try to write... It's seems endless.

With so many obstacles, I believe there's something conspiring against me, trying to stop me from doing this (which is, of course, absolute horseshit - religious nuts are religious nuts and when your ass is itchy, I'm sure you scratch, too). So I'll be tripling my efforts over the weekend - tonight I have a business meeting.

(See? Fate, again. Damn you, dude!!!)

Other than that, the other stories are still with Necrography (at least they're honest and just state: you'll be hearing from us in a few months) and Big Pulp. The story with Big Pulp is an "extreme horror" (formerly called "Splatterpunk") tale, "Disturbing the Peace". It makes ES feel uncomfortable: it's a graphic and lovingly descriptive tale of the mutilation of one friend by another.

As soon as I have any feedback, I'll post it up here.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

Work ethic.

That used to be more than a misnomer at some stage. Not anymore.

I understand contraction and expansion and all that jazz - and I know there could have been a weak spot or small chip - but please tell me how some dipshit manages to crack my windscreen (from the top all the way to the bottom) while washing it? And then, more importantly, has the balls to tell ES she's lying: there was always a crack in front of the driver. Right in front. Of the driver. We just never noticed it.

Listen, Son-of-Bitch: I'm insured. Yes, I am expected to shell out R 550-00 excess thanks to you. But I know you earn peanuts, and wouldn't have taken the food from the hungry mouths of your family.

Had you just said: Missus, Ah fucked up. Sohry.

But turn around and lie about it? What? Were you conceived in a clown car during the matinee?

People like you, dear Dickhead, are a waste of chromosomes. There are several people - good, kind people - who've been robbed of full functionality by the luck of the draw. Couldn't you just become the first chromosome donor?

You're not using yours anyway.

A Lot To Swallow

Well, today has certainly been a day and a half.

I've just been released from a hell of a long meeting, garnering some significant yields: I went into the boss' office as a producer. I've just been made Head of Production.

I know when I started I said I'd avoid speaking about work things. But this is just too rich not to share.

Is that big cheese I smell, or is it just me?

Yee-ha, DeAndre! Yee-ha!

A Little Visual Glimpse Pt 2

This shot simply shows me doing what I normally do. The oke chilling at the table's AS, my assistant at the time.

That's me at the braai. Yes, I'm bald by choice.

I've got no idea who's thumb that is. I suspect SH, but that's not definite.

And, seeing as though I'm so photogenic, this is probably the last you'll see of me here.

A Little Visual Glimpse At My Life Pt. 1

My boss and me at Moyo's, along the banks of Zoo Lake in Johannesburg. It was a first: we were both actually on time for a function.

Above that, we have Estee with Tshepo Maseko, who acted in a movie I produced the end of last year. She's been following his role on "Isidingo" for years, thus the excitement on her face.

Food For Thought

I just had to share these pearls of wisdom. Hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

Ladies and Gents: You've Gotta Love Pussy!

Why?

What were you expecting? Pig.

I grew up with dogs. In fact, it's only lately that I haven't had a canine companion drooling all over the show and farting at the most inopportune moments.

And I miss them. ES and I have even considered selling up our little place in Randburg so we can get a FiFi or Bono to run around the place.

But until then, I have to settle for cats.

Admittedly, cats are like athlete's foot: they grow on you pretty quickly, and they smell funny. At least, our's do.

But each of our four terrorists has a distinct personality. And I've learned to read their facial expressions. All four could line up in front of me, and I'd be able to tell you which one (it's almost always Mica) just destroyed something.

Chloe has "naughty ears" - they look like handlebars - Mia's gives you an "eff-off-and-die" look, Rusty looks all sheepish and gets cuddly when he knows he's in trouble, and Mica's guilty. Plain and simple. He yowls louder, as if he's shouting at you.

Homosexuality: My Perspective

Listen, I'm not actually anti-gay. Sure, I don't think it's the greatest thing out there, but if that's the thing that floats your boat - go right ahead.

Just leave me out of it, please and thank you.

In fact, I don't have that huge a problem with homosexuality. And to prove it, here're some lesbians. (More than likely staged, because - in my experience thus far - most Lesbians seem to be truck drivers.)

And, of course, I don't condone stereotyping.

Them Germans! They're So Funny!

Okay, I know.

That there's a Yank. But still.

Yip, I See The Similarity

Check out this twit on the left. He reminds me strangely of old baldy above.

That's ES and me at Latinova last year. Notice the zap sign. I'm sure ES just predicted something and decided to cover up before the thing in the other hand took over.

Like Phil Collins: I can't dance.

An ex-girlfriend's dad once pointed out that I'm the kind of guy who knocks the ladies right off their feet - literally. Because it's dangerous to be in the vicinity when I let loose.

Anyhow, I'm here. Waiting. Again.

So, I've found a couple of motivationals I think are fantastic: so I'll be posting those over the next couple of minutes. The last post was a bit of a "downer", I think. So this is to counter-act that and just lighten the mood a bit.

MW has had a glance through here at last. Welcome, Buddy!

I've been holding back on letting him know about this, considering that it's like asking a Grand Master to take a look at a stickman. NS might also grace these pages soon. Have mercy on me, Dude. Remember, I'm hardly qualified to operate a calculator.

Why Writing?

I was just having a cup of coffee and thought that maybe I should explain why writing is so important to me. This is not meant to earn brownie points or score on sympathy cards or anything like that. I just think that maybe the apparent schyzophrenia of this blog should be put into a bit of context, is all.

Let's start by saying this: I've always been a bibliophile, burying myself in books. Works of fiction - particularly horror or anything else of that "supernatural fantasy" persuasion, although I've also had an affinity for fast-paced action / suspense novels, too (think "Velocity" by Dean Koontz).

Since I was small, I used to hole up in my bedroom, scribbling away - illustrating where necessary - and stapling the pages together, proudly presenting the work to my folks.

By the time I was in Standard 6, I had already consumed the setwork books up to matric, as well as a vast amount of other material (including things on demonology and witchcraft I'm sure the Kimberley librarians weren't aware graced their shelves). The only book at my disposal I hadn't read was the Bible. To this day, it still graces my shelves (I have four different versions, to crown it all, from different eras) untouched beneath a fine veneer of dust.

During my first year of university, I actually wrote a novel and, thanks to Marguerite Poland's advice, submitted it to a reknown SA publisher. The manuscript made it all the way through to the ghost readers, where it was finally shot down and returned before hitting the press.

The words were encouraging, and I was actually requested to rework and resubmit the book. However, by that time (and what with my low levels of blood in my alcohol levels at that period in my life), I had actually lost all the electronic copies of "The Club".

So I left it.

Life was looking good back then - I was on my way to becoming a media mogul - so I pushed the dream aside in favour of a goal (and extra drinking time).

Now, there's another factor that's plagued me all my life, but fully reared its ugly head only twice thus far (thankfully).

I don't want to go into details, because it's intensely personal. But, try imagine you know someone's coming to kill you. But not with a bullet - nothing that clean or fast. They're after your blood, and to get the most of it, they're going to hamstring you, hoist you up by a rusted chain looped around your ankles and slowly peel away layers of your skin with a butter knife.

Now imagine that you have no idea where they are, but every now and then you hear their patient breathing right behind you: you feel the air tickling the edge of your ear. Sometimes, when you finally think they're gone, they whisper your name. And their voice is instantly recognisable - it's someone you love and trust. You're attracted to them, even though when they speak, their voice sounds like they're gargling pieces of wet tar.

If you can put yourself in that type of situation - if you can imagine knowing that you're out to murder yourself (I say murder and not suicide, because you strangely don't want to do it, but for some reason have to do it) - then you're on your way to understanding my condition.

And I'm not saying I'm special because of this. Not in the slightest. I'm not alone in this torment. I'd like to believe I'm special despite it.

Funnily enough, my road to recovery the second time around, was through writing. I had to diarize everything: note everything I had seen or heard, record everything that pissed me off. My shrink was the only one other than me with access to my journals (I wrote three a week). She read them, and something she said to me rekindled my dreams. As an aside, she told me how lucid and "real" my writing was; that she found it engrossing despite the content (which were records of the visions I was having: so blood-soaked and gruesome, I sometimes cried while writing them. Central character: me, of course).

But writing, I believe, saved my grasp on reality. It gave me a way to face my fears retrospectively - to grapple with the issues and confront what was happening in my life; in my mind.

And, with ES's unwavering support and understanding (for which I'm eternally grateful), I've also realised that giving up a dream in favour of just doing what I need to to get by knocks me down about five steps on the ladder of evolution. Ants do what they need to to get by. Dogs, cats, apes. We have the capability of dreaming and the ability to pursue our aspirations.

So, I'm taking my healing process and my dream - following it.

Because that's what people really ought to be doing.

At What Cost?

Last night I knuckled down and started thrashing out the first few pages of "The Hunter" when, out of the blue, there was just a stronger image I couldn't shake. Three people, huddled together in a rickety old shack, arguing over whether shoving a hammer through their attacker's skull would have killed it. One is adament it's worked: the other keeps pointing out the fact that it was dead before.

So, out of curiosity, I found myself scrapping my original plans all together to see what Zane, Adrienne and retired defense attorney McQueen would do to get out of a tight spot - both to their attacker, and to each other.

And I think I've given away too much already, but let's just say I'll let you know how it turns out. I'm not even sure which of them are strong enough, or sly enough, to avoid becoming the devil's food.

My heart's set on this story now. All that's really important is that it's out before the deadline (next week Tuesday). Guess what I'm up to this weekend.

Got It!

Hah!

The chick in the black and white "Mind Fuck" pic: she's got an extra finger. Check it out!

GREAT SUCCESS

To quote Borat, that is.

I've finally found a counter that doesn't require the highest of IQs to post (which makes me doubt myself to no end - but I eventually got it right). I'm now able to monitor where my visitors are from, so I'll know if this blog's serving its purpose or not.

Worldwide communication? Global domination? I seriously doubt it. But Rome wasn't built in a day, you know.

So, clap those hands, guys! Ye-ha!

Playing with Format and Screaming for Help

I, for one, am not saying a thing.

Just a pity they normally look like they could kickstart a boeing.

Ok... The Microsoft one was easy. The one to the left here: I still don't have the slightest clue what I'm looking for...

Maybe there isn't anything. Or maybe it's a dude? Don't know - if you spot it, give me a holler!

I'm still trying to accomplish two things here: Learn to format the pics so they go where I want them to be (this might actually provide context for when I start posting relevant stuff) and insert a hit counter. If anyone reading this has any idea how to do that, remembering that I'm a complete nitwit when it comes to this stuff, please let me know The Secret?

The one on this site says something about html. I know what that is. And that's where it ends. So if there's a way to just click a button and make all my problems a thing of the past, I'd love to hear about it.

But, then again...

I can't believe it's taking me so long to figure this business out. Oh well. It's fun, anyway.

My call I've been waiting for for quite a while finally came through. Now there's an impending email threatening to be sent my way. Hopefully it arrives before I'm forced into retirement.

Africa's not for sissies, boys and girls. Not by a long shot.

Wet 'N Wild

Hi Honey!

That's right, I'm sitting here waiting for quotes and calls to be returned. Month-end is always an absolute bliss. Sometimes it takes so long, I'm sure those other okes have already found Godot.

Great. At least someone's getting somewhere.

These pictures I'm posting are incredible. I have a whole collection of them - all sent to me by ES (before anyone jumps on their high horses). The tongue-in-cheek humor gets me every time. Also, I thought I'd theme this post and tie it in with the one from this morning. I also think it might get more people interested in reading - or at least, looking - at this blog. Sex sells and the whole world is buying, after all.

It gets incredibly lonely posting up here and not hearing from anyone - on the blog that is. I'm trying to get a little community going here, people: work with me!

"The Hunter" is still nothing more than a schematic of a hunting cabin, a few pages of scrawled character sketches and a very rough storyline. Tonight I'd better start with the damned thing - I'm dying to read it, myself! And, of course, there's the issue of the deadline swooping in on me at a hell of a speed (next Tuesday). Naturally, the fact that I insist on writing everything at least twice before submitting doesn't make life any easier.

Still no word from RAW. Possibly a good sign. Or just symptomatic of an editor who's swamped under a huge amount of submissions. But that's supposed to come through soon. If it does, and it's negative, I'll post "Harbinger" up here for your amusement, unless there's a market that screams at me, of course.

After all, you can't catch a fish if your line's not in the water.