The ground you're walking on is not really there.

Met 2 new interesting people today. Had a chat, well, tried, lets just say TV got in the way. I'm so boring to chat to, that other people would rather watch TV than listen to me waffle on about bread and pumpkins. :(

In other news, its time for the weather.

My bad brain

The binary thinker, on and off, black and white. No inbetween. Hardline: like being shot for raising a gun.

Had a great waffle, coffee and chat with "the wisest man I know" again. So sporadic are our meetings, its like we've got the world to talk about, all pent up.

We talked about past experiences, mistakes, judgements and just plain-old-human-nature. I think I mentioned it a while back that I operate in a very black and white way, its either for or against stance. Seems thats gotten me into trouble, burnt a few bridges too.

How does one shift a mindset, or a predisposed way of thinking into a new state? How can one unlearn something as intimate as your own thought processes? I meam to, but its gonna take time. And patience.

I was thinking the other day about the perception of time. A fly always manages to escape your slap, no matter how fast you move your hard, no matter how hellbent you are into seeing fly-splatter on the inside of your palm. They seem to have lightning quick reactions. Now, is it because their nervous systems are engineered for quick response (like a reports driven datasbase is architected to give speedy results), what if the Fly sees life a lot slower?

How many of you think your weeks are flying by faster than they used to? Is that because the neural pathways are getting pot-hole ridden? Our perception of time is worsening? Or its just another monday to sunday? I'm sure routine fits in there somewhere.

What if martial arts training (or any other quick reaction sport / game) is also training in slowing down ones perception of time? Is bullet-time even perceivable within ones existence? I'd like to think so.

Had a great round of mashie golf with my colleagues today. I love that buzz you get from hitting a ball with the perfect strike, it goes exactly where you intended. That's what keeps you coming back to the golf course. Sometimes I see that in life. Little idiosyncracies (sp?) that let you know you're human. Laughter, a smile from a stranger, being complimented, feeling appreciated, falling in love. I live for that.

You look more delectable tonight than ever before. Hair neatly tied back with one strand of your rich brown hair danlged over the left side of your face, angling down to your sultry mouth. Eyes half closed, cute little nose (Maxi Jazz says it best). Fire behind your eyes, burning for me. Your healthy skin from your exposed shoulder seems to glow, all the way up to the base of your ear, your neck surely defines the best lines ever conceived. You're exuding confidence tonight, professional, the queen amongst the drones, a wave along a beach teasing the sand in your wake. You move through the people with a flare, I can read your inner passion. I smile, knowing that you can read mine too. You are mine and I am yours. I want to be selfish, I want you all to myself, but such beauty caged is criminal. You are that drifting-on-the-air bee-eater, perched on my hand. I want to take pictures, but there is no need. You'll always be in my mind, so vividly fetching.

Tonight, unlike any other night

Tonight is now, so different, so unique. I'm here now, thinking about tonight. Thoughts coursing, each on its own voyage, its own destination. Thinking I can dance among the stars with the moon. It shines so bright. A voyage applicable to a date, defined by the moment, time-stamped with an identifier. Moments captured, held down like a wild animal, the want, the need to escape. To escape and to be free, to roam, to be free. Free at last, free for now. Wind running through your hair, tickling your essence like a playful child with a smile, a smile that makes you wish you were that child, an inferno, burning inside, a baseless passion for life, interest, seeing fun in learning the ropes of life, not knowing all the pain, the evil. Only good. Uncorrupted. Innocence is beautiful. Innocence is candy, sweet, live-for-the-moment, but ultimately bad for you. Cancer tablets, but they taste so good. Engineered to taste good, engineered to suit you. Pop your pills, instinctual. Numbers and letters, useless without construct. Useless without a plan, and plan to succeed. Succeed where others have failed because you have planned. Suceed because you breed it, offspring flourish in your sun-shadow. You're a point of reference, Your name is Chloro Phil. You're a catalyst. Water to a seed, medium for its roots, the sun that gives life. Encouraging, always smiling, the provider. I am just a plant, I rely on you and your friends. I am your slave, Je suis a toi. Reliant, yet a provider in my own right. You would be my parent and I would have my own children. A cycle of life. Even when I die there is growth. A legacy, maybe even a legend. Hopefully not a myth. Record me, I'm glowing.

Turning the corner

Last weekend, a few mates and I went to the old high school to smack the cricket ball around a bit. I ended up with a still-sore-and-bruised big toe after receiving a full pitched ball on the foot.

While my toe is still-sore-and-bruised, there was something else about that saturday morning that got me thinking about South Africa as a whole.

The primary cricket pitch was occupied by the First Team, and its saturday competitor. The away team was fielding first.

We glanced with interest from the nets everytime the sound of willow resounded through the grounds. Our home team was showing who was boos. Pride sweltered like the hot highveld air.

(Life at and after school wasn't always about pride. This was the same high school that was marred with editorials and main-stream news articles about its racial intolerance. I recall going to school on days where you could cut the tension in the air with a knife. Heck, I jumped on the bandwagon too.)

We carried on playing in the nets, feeling like old men trying to bowl a ball like we used to. In the nets alongside us, the first team captain or coach was pitching a few balls to the next batsmen, a black student.

It wasn't long before a wicket fell and the next-in-line batsman waddled up to the pitch. At the crease were two black students now, something I never saw in my 5 years at high school.

That same tension I felt at school, I could feel again, even from the sidelines of the pitch. The away team taunted the batsmen with overly zealous and out-of-line "HOWZZAAAAAAAAATT!"'s ringing out, ball after ball from the fielders. The batsmen were visibly uneasy at their creases.

We went on with our own smacktalk in our nets, laughing at our own batsman who probably hadn't batted in about 5 years.

The sound of willow continued to pour out from the pitch, much to the delight of the home team cheering on their batsmen from the clubhouse. That sense of pride came over me again for my old high school. I smiled.

Anyway, the purpose of this entry was mostly about hope in SA. Every year students and pupils get better integrated. In a few generations or less, we'll see a remarkably different South Africa, guided by its children (who as we all know, know better.) :)

While this is a simple story about a weekend's worth of cricket anecdotes laden with heavy and potentially flame-baiting messages, I'd like to re-inforce that I hope you see it the same way I see it: "Things are improving".

Getting <order><mylife /></order>

2-3 hours more than normal: the time it took for me to actually doze off last night fighting the effects of a stoned cold fever. All my joints were aching, I was cold, felt stoned as everything was taking way too long. Shivering. Yet I hadn't done anything dubious. :/

This morning I dreaded going into work, something that's been developing this year like a malignant growth on my enthusiasm gland. Partly because I had a review session with one of my managers. I was also feeling guilty about having to deal with my irresponsiblity around thursday's drinking debauchery and the subsequent friday truancy due to excessive hang-over symptoms.

The review session started off really bad. (Let's just state 2005 has not been a good year so far, in terms of my work ethic.) I took it in my stride, sucked it up, I deserved to be told off. Once that was out the way, the next 30 minutes were as they always are with our Business Development Manager: Inspiring. I left the session with a head full of responsibilites and a renewed passion for my work. 2005 looks to be improving.

That said, time to get my own life in order. No more pissing around - I've got a career to build! As for the personal side of things, that comes second.

Upgrade time?

I've been mulling over a much needed PC upgrade. R6000ish for a new PC, maybe a nice LCD monitor too. This laptop is great, but its also a work laptop. Getting a PCI-E chipset is just ridiculous in terms of cost, I can't justify spending an extra 4 grand just to get a PCI-E Gfx card.

First, a decent table and office chair for the home-office-corner is in order.

All these ideas, and no scrapbooks.

I've gotta start getting things done. I've got a ton of ideas with regard to work, my hobbies and persoanl issues. Now I just need to turn them into realities. One such idea was having a blog, with a photo per entry, call it: "Mental Images". Then having a list of thoughts around the photo. A good example was something I saw the other day in the office...

We have a partner company that pretty much sells nothing, it is a fledgling company with a great idea and no implementation. They have all the flashiest marketing and awesome office decor. Anyway, they had a whole host of coffee mugs embossed with their logos, nice looking mugs. We happened to acquire one within our office, which we use as the dirty spoon cup for all our coffee needs. The handle is broken on this mug. I thought: "Hey, that's a metaphor for the company itself! It might hold water, but its not very useful.". Of course, this idea would have to be incorporated in my own site, running on my own box at an ISP.