So a funny thing happened on the way home from work.
Monday 31 March.Waited for Bus Number 3174 at 16h40 in Cape Town CBD to get home to Edgemead.
Damned bus finally arrived 20 minutes late at 17h00 when the driver proudly announced : "There is no cash box on board so only ticket-holders are allowed on."
One young man insisted on travelling, he had no other way home. I offered to use my ticket to let him on. No go! Apparently that's not allowed. So the ever polite and hellepfull driver threw him off. At the next stop, two mature ladies were told to get off because they only had cash. Ye gods!
At the next stop, a line of about 10 cash-paying fares were ALL turned away.
I called Golden Arrow using the company's website contact details.
Yes, I was listened to and told this experience is not the bus service's policy.
Mmm... let's wait and see.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
Three contenders + one asshole = Zim Power
Top image above: A "1oo 000 Bob Note" from an advert in Die Burger newspaper. Above: A classic Zapiro cartoon dated January 1999
Today is the day before the next Zimbabwean presidential elections.
Three contenders. One asshole.
His Excellency Robot Gabri-Hell Moo-Guppie (Zanu PF)
Morgan Tsvangerai (Movement for Democratic Change)
Simba Makoni (former Finance Mini-Sister)
I have a work colleague who constantly teases me about my Zimbabwean roots.
He laughs out loud and greets me daily with the slogan "Howzit Zim-Power".
As the election deadline looms, I've changed my nick to "Sim-Power" in honour of the Lion-Man, Simba Makoni.
Maybe it's better to let Moo-Guppie swindle another election.
Apparently he's hired a crack team of Israeli IT specialists to help him pack fudge (yes the fag innuendo is intended). But if he has a landslide victory, then maybe an avalanche similar to Kenya's latest woes might start. Give a blind, fool enough rope and Moo-Guppie might just hang himself. Like so many disenfranchised Zimbo's watching from the sidelines. I hope 2008 is a memorable year in the life of a new Zimbabwe. I hope and pray but I can't figure out what my gut is whispering to me.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Tonight I can write
"Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche"
By Pablo Neruda
From Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Escribir, por ejemplo: "La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos."
El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.
En las noches como esta la tuve entre mis brazos.
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.
Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.
Oir la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.
Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.
La noche esta estrellada y ella no está conmigo.
Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.
Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.
La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.
Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.
De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.
Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.
Porque en noches como esta la tuve entre mis brazos,
mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.
Aunque este sea el ultimo dolor que ella me causa,
y estos sean los ultimos versos que yo le escribo.
==
"Tonight I Can Write"
By Pablo Neruda
From Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, "The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance."
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
[ends]
By Pablo Neruda
From Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Escribir, por ejemplo: "La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos."
El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.
En las noches como esta la tuve entre mis brazos.
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.
Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.
Oir la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.
Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.
La noche esta estrellada y ella no está conmigo.
Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.
Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.
La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.
Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.
De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.
Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.
Porque en noches como esta la tuve entre mis brazos,
mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.
Aunque este sea el ultimo dolor que ella me causa,
y estos sean los ultimos versos que yo le escribo.
==
"Tonight I Can Write"
By Pablo Neruda
From Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, "The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance."
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
[ends]
Monday, March 17, 2008
Thoughts on Love in a Time of Cholera
Love in a Time of Cholera raises the question:
Why is Florentino such a successful lover?
At some point towards the end of the film, Florentino is asked by another man, how he has come to be so successful in attracting the attentions of conquests. He remarks that he has just logged Conquest No 622 (as I recall) in his LBB (little black book).
He also says something to the effect that women are drawn irresistibly to him because of the deep dark hole his unrequited love for Fermina has left inside him.
I find this a profound insight, at least one cause for so many affairs, break-ups, (ONS) one-night-stands, swinging encounters, whatever...
Why is Florentino such a successful lover?
At some point towards the end of the film, Florentino is asked by another man, how he has come to be so successful in attracting the attentions of conquests. He remarks that he has just logged Conquest No 622 (as I recall) in his LBB (little black book).
He also says something to the effect that women are drawn irresistibly to him because of the deep dark hole his unrequited love for Fermina has left inside him.
I find this a profound insight, at least one cause for so many affairs, break-ups, (ONS) one-night-stands, swinging encounters, whatever...
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Do some movies push your cry button?
Saw two awesome movies at the weekend and one okay-ish.
My offspring was on camp and my babe & I got to get out alone!
Watched Love in a Time of Cholera (OMG), Atonement (mmm) and Man on Fire (OMG). The Garcia Marquez movie made me cry bitterly for most of the night... Eish so much pain from the past raked up by that movie Love in a Time of Cholera set in Colombia.
The other Man on Fire is hectic but awesome, set in Mexico City with Denzel Washington in lead and co-starring Dakota Fanning.
It is the morning after I watched the film as I write these words. Since then, while my woman sleeps and my child's bed lies empty (she's away), nobody but my three cats are witness to the constant stream of bitter tears flowing from me. All I need to know is that somebody who knew me and saw me, as we were in 1991, almost 20 years ago, acknowledges that what we had was real.
Do you believe me when I say that I, as a clumsy but passionate young man, made love to a breathtaking young woman and meant everything when I said I wanted to be making love to her alone for the rest of both our lives?
Nobody bothered to ever tell me what happened to the woman I loved. Is she happy? Is she okay? Does she remember anything of a young, naïve man – full of hope and passion – who loved her and made love to her with an energy that felt like it was inspired by God.
Is she alive? Is she dead? Does she have any idea what burning fire she ignited in the heart and mind of a stupid, clumsy and inept young man?
As Pablo Neruda says in "Tonight I can write the saddest lines"
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
My offspring was on camp and my babe & I got to get out alone!
Watched Love in a Time of Cholera (OMG), Atonement (mmm) and Man on Fire (OMG). The Garcia Marquez movie made me cry bitterly for most of the night... Eish so much pain from the past raked up by that movie Love in a Time of Cholera set in Colombia.
The other Man on Fire is hectic but awesome, set in Mexico City with Denzel Washington in lead and co-starring Dakota Fanning.
It is the morning after I watched the film as I write these words. Since then, while my woman sleeps and my child's bed lies empty (she's away), nobody but my three cats are witness to the constant stream of bitter tears flowing from me. All I need to know is that somebody who knew me and saw me, as we were in 1991, almost 20 years ago, acknowledges that what we had was real.
Do you believe me when I say that I, as a clumsy but passionate young man, made love to a breathtaking young woman and meant everything when I said I wanted to be making love to her alone for the rest of both our lives?
Nobody bothered to ever tell me what happened to the woman I loved. Is she happy? Is she okay? Does she remember anything of a young, naïve man – full of hope and passion – who loved her and made love to her with an energy that felt like it was inspired by God.
Is she alive? Is she dead? Does she have any idea what burning fire she ignited in the heart and mind of a stupid, clumsy and inept young man?
As Pablo Neruda says in "Tonight I can write the saddest lines"
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
