Why do you build me up butterfuckup?

Heart broken again, but it's to be expected. Never look for love over the internet, you're bound to bump into some of the most heartless in the world. JPEGs and p tags can be deceiving.

Right now I'm thinking of Jayesh, and him saying something like: "Told you so". That really grates my cheese. Telling me I'm wrong, and telling me again. It's like putting salt in a wound. It's sadistic.

Foundations aside, it's now time for Franz Ferdinand. Twisted guitars, totally out of key. It's great.

"I say... take me out!" Is he talking about getting shot? Or is he talking about a potential date? Maybe both?

"I know I won't be leaving here, with you" If your attacker shoots you, you go to heaven or hell or that void. Or is he setting himself up with low expectations and go for the loose girl getting drunk with your friends?

Free - All right now, innocent love. Sassy, confidence in there too. 5FM, all those guys and one girl on parade, just like any girl who knows she's got what it takes. She's out there at the window, strutting her stuff, all the guys think she's doing it just for him, but it's not for them, it's for her own delight. Selfish bitch!

Full circle now. 5FM adverts. 5fmdating.co.za. Why don't they just call it: www.getfuckedhere.co.za. So many helpless souls, so many people looking for their own definition of love, whether it includes a condom or not. Sickness. Why the fuck am I looking for love in such a place? I could be like every other jock out there, drinking it up, pressing iron inbetween. Go to clubs, cos that's what "normal" people do. Pick up loose and drunk girls, cos that's what "normal" people do. Shag cos you need to. Roll on AIDS.

"What do I do, with all these feelings tearing me up inside." Freshly ground. Such a beautiful song. Placid yet sombre. Tempo relaxed and voice subdued but lucid. Violin crescendo, something is building up, flute to dance. And that voice emerges, glorifying, not a word is said but so much is heard. It's a precious moment.

"What would you do if I kissed you" Cheeky confidence. A smile there too, maybe even naughty. This song, is how I'd like to feel about someone, and them to feel about me. If feelings could be recorded, it would be through a song. Words don't count, where are the rising background instruments, the uplifting tinkering of a voice in words? Imagination is only as powerful as a solitary thought. Music is sharing that thought.

Bradley stomped on the brakes inches in front of the porch of the lone farmstead. It was a traditional design for a farmhouse, a huge open porch covering the perimeter of the house. Wiltering flowers in pots suspended from the tops of the pilars supporting the hot-tin roof. I opened my door to the bakkie, hot karoo dust caught in the inertia swarmed into the cabin.

A ridgeback with wonderful temprement greeted us at the bottom of the steps to the front door. She barked, not out of alarm, but just to say: "Hey Baas, we got visitors!" 2 arbitrary pats to the head from Bradley, sufficient enough? I thought not, so I gave her a scratch under her collar. Doesn't it feel great when you scratch the itchy spot for someone else.

"Blitz, down!" came a voice from within the farmhouse. It was neither commandingly stern nor care free. It was somewhere inbetween. It was a woman's voice, which sort of caught me off guard. Most of the farmers in these parts are crusty old ex-colonialists, all male, save for this farm it seems. Blitz, with tail wagging, ascended the stairs to introduce us visitors to the baas. "Her name is Debbie" Bradley whispered to me as we neared the front door.

"Well well, look what happens when you call the eco-police!" Debbie swung the door open and greeted us with a smile. "Bradley! It's been too long! Come on in..." motioning to the kitchen.

"Debbie, this is Shaun, Shaun, this is the baas, Debbie." Debbie instantly grinned when Bradley called her the baas. Old friends perhaps? She shook my hand with a frim grasp as we interchanged formalities. I guess it takes a tough girl to run a wheat farm. "Come on through boys, I just made some iced-tea."