Just a few things I wanted to say

Howzit!?  And what a weekend!

So many people were "plagued" by strange dreams over the weekend it's almost a mental epidemic outbreak of some kind.  I dreamed of Taelons and Commonalities, my fiancé of pot roasts for birthdays, another friend of mine of Da'an...  Yes, slightly odd.  And this just includes the people I've actually spoken to about it.

So, I'm going to focus on mundane things in this blog.  Two, specifically.

1.  Julian's birthday gig:

Saturday was Julian's birthday, so to celebrate he asked people to go and support his band at Verdi's in Edgemead.  It was a truly spectacular evening.  I saw Jacob, who I haven't seen since early last year, and Justin, a friend I haven't seen since 2011 - which is waaayyy too long ago.  I need to make a point of putting these events more out there than I have been doing, maybe then I'll see more people more often...

Anyway, a very merry time was had by all, and of everyone who would usually "fade out" first, Jacob is the last person I would expect.  He stayed until roughly 11.00 before he left.  Justin stayed longer, both of us only leaving after midnight - somehow I managed to make it almost to the end of the gig (the last time that happened I can't even remember, that 's how long ago this happened).  I also got to have my first Sex On the  Beach and wow!  I do believe I'll be going back for more at some point.  I just have to check Struan isn't around, though.  After I finally managed to finish the cocktail the man tried to feed me different shooters.  I managed three in perfect health (a Jägermeister, a tequila (fuqing awful!) and a vanilla vodka - which burned but Gods, it was good!) and then forewent any others.  I know myself:  even one more and I'd have had to stay over at the restaurant.

Julian wasn't so lucky, sadly.

After they finished their gig Struan took him to the bar and fed him random shooters.  By the time Julian got home he had to knock on the window to wake me up and when he got into the room he flopped over like a limp wrist.  When his head touched the pillow, my word, he broke hi own "falling asleep" record.

All in all it was an amazing night, and I'm so glad that everyone enjoyed themselves.

2.  How to ride a scooter

So, I've been wondering what goes through people's heads when they see me on the scooter.  So many people say, "Aw! Cute!" when they see someone 40+ on a moped, but what do they say or think when someone in their mid- to late 20s uses one?  Especially guys.  Think about it.  Most guys like big machines, something that's either loud or fast or powerful.  Maybe something flashy, or something that can be flashified.  Souped up.  Pimped.  Whatever.  Catch my drift?

Enter the Nerd.  Enter me.  I'm in my late 20s and I ride a slightly beaten up scooter.  "Beaten up" in terms of wear and tear, not literally involved in accidents or such.  Also, second-hand - thus the wear and tear.  I don't much care for something big and flashy, although The Broom certainly isn't slow.  I don't really want to flashify The Broom either, although I do want to have her resprayed and a besom image painted on the one side.  Basically, I just really want to have her fixed up.

But anyway, that's neither here nor there.

How do you ride a scooter?

The simplest answer would be to go with the flow.  There is some practice involved, and anyone who tells you that you just get on and ride needs to be kicked in the [censored]!  Unless you've ridden a motorcycle of some kind on a regular basis before.

Something important to always keep in mind is to start slowly.  Once you get on, your lights and engine are on, you have your helmet strapped onto your head, blah blah blah, you need to let go of the brakes (those shiny silver levers on the handlebars) and very slowly, with your right hand, twist the handle backwards.  You'll feel your engine take as the revs climb.

Once you get moving, LIFT YOUR FEET onto the footplate!  This is incredibly important.  You want to have grip on your shoes for as long as possible, and keeping your feet down will not be a helpful maneuver.  Having good quality shoes for riding the scooter will be helpful for sudden or emergency stops, where the loss of momentum will unbalance you.  You'll then need to put your feet down as quickly as you can to maintain that balance, and in a really rough stop, putting your feet down minimises the skidding from a sudden stop.

Now, once you gotten movement on the scooter conquered, you need to know how to turn a corner.  Again, SLOWLY!  But not too slowly.  You need to maintain enough speed to go around the corner without causing havoc to the flow of traffic.  I found that the best way to learn to take a corner was to change lanes on a straight (and EMPTY) piece of road.  The thing is, turning your handlebars too quickly will cause all sorts of issues, among them a loss of momentum, loss of control and possibly serious injury.  So learn to take your corners slowly.

One thing that's very important to keep in mind is that eventually you won't even have to think too hard about taking corners.  Because the scooter is automatic, you don't need to gear down first.  Just slow down, slightly if you're travelling at a lower speed (e.g., 60 kph) or more forcefully if you're travelling faster than that (e.g., 70 kph and higher).  Longer pieces of road also make curves and turns easier to handle, mainly because things like hairpin bends are mainly found on mountain passes (which you won't travel without a super-scooter in any case).  Take the beach road (Otto du Plessis) between Blaauwberg and Melkbosstrand as an example.  It certainly isn't a very straight piece of road, in fact it's more like a big black anaconda.  It has the most amazing curves to it.  The best part:  you don't need to slow down to take them!  I love travelling down that piece of tar because of the curves in the road.

You need to keep a serious eye on your mirrors, not only for watching the flow of traffic but also for shifts caused by road vibrations.  The Broom's mirrors aren't of very good quality, so they tend to shift even for the slightest little bumps.  The best way to judge if your mirrors are set properly is to check how much of the scooter shows up in them.  If you can see quite a bit of the scooter, your view's too tight.  If you have to lean too far to either side to see any of it, your view's too wide.  To fix your view, do this:

1. Put the scooter on its head stand (the big stand right in the middle of the body that stands on a for).
2. Sit on the scooter as you would when you're on the road.  In my case it's with my back straight up, secretary-style.
3. Check your left mirror.  It needs to be set upwards and either in or out in such a way that you need to see the road in the bottom half of the mirror.  Still sitting up, set it sideways that the road runs straight down the middle of the mirror.  This way you should see the traffic to your left and to your right in your left mirror.
4. Lean slightly to your left and look for the left rear edge of the scooter.  If you need to lean so far that anything in your body strains, set the mirror in, until you can lean out, see the edge of the scooter, and nothing strains in your body.
5. Repeat steps 3 and 4 with the right mirror.  I would suggest having your right mirror set slightly wider out than your left, as for the most part you should be driving on the left side of the road, single or double lane, as much as possible.

If you have any questions, ask me :)

Now for the actual riding of the scooter!

I touched on it earlier on, but I think I need to get more "metaphysical" about it now.  Riding the scooter isn't just about getting on, riding off and leaning into the corners.  It's an almost-total body effort that flows from one thing into the next.  You need to be able to feel the road underneath you.  You need to feel the way your tyres go over the surface of the road and all the tiny little vibrations that causes.  After a while your body and mind will learn to anticipate the bumps and make whatever physical adjustments you may need (like hitting one of those motherfuqers on Otto du Plessis and almost getting unseated!) 

Righto...

As you gain experience your conscious mind will stop being much of a factor except when it comes to things like red lights, stop signs and watching your mirrors and traffic.  The actual riding of the scooter will be done almost completely by your body, by the tiniest of muscle contractions or releases.  You won't turn a corner any longer.  Instead, you'll need to be around it and your body/scooter will fulfil that need.  Changing lanes?  Not a problem.  You'll see the side you need to be on and you'll be there.  There'll be times you need to make a mini-swerve for something lying in the road.  Don't be too surprised when you find your bum practically sitting on the edge of the saddle to do that for you.

I'll stop now.  Let the total mind-blowing beauty of riding a scooter (schnarf!) fill your being and make you want one as much as I love riding one.  Let the imagery of mountain scenery and forest lanes fill your mind after it's been blown.

And say goodnight and love to you all!

Ag, you know, just a little something I wrote...

They let him into the facility quite easily.  Searching him at the door, all they found was a briefcase full of decks of playing cards.  They snickered to each other (they thought) silently, but he ignored it.  He had something he had to do and he couldn't be distracted by his temper tonight.

As he entered the main building, his phone let out a signal that froze the images on all the security cameras in his vicinity.  The guards wouldn't notice it - he was alone in the building.  After all, he was the absent-minded "new guy", always working late, rushing to meet deadlines and often coming in after hours to finish up this or that.  Three months' worth of employment here had made sure his reputation was cemented.

Once in the lift, he worked fast, emptying the decks of cards into pockets hidden in his clothing.  By the time he stepped off on his floor, the briefcase was almost empty and his mass had gone up a few kilograms.

As he'd suspected, there was a guard at the door to the office and one other employee within.  She was an IT technician and was part of a "graveyard crew" that worked exclusively at night, running diagnostics and doing minor repairs when they had the quiet to do so.  He greeted them both and took his seat.

He looked at his desk and realised how much he'd miss it.  Framed photos stood around his monitor, while instamatics covered the surface of the screen to his right.  Various little ornaments lined the back and left edges of his desk, while a ficus filled the entire corner to the side of it.  He sighed and switched on his monitor, called up the floor plan of the building and flipped a switch on his briefcase, turning it to line up with the server room in the back.  Having memorised his route, he twisted the combination lock on his briefcase once and waited.  Moments later the server and office power fizzed and died, the IT tech gave a shriek and the guard came rushing in to see what had happened.

He was out the door before the others could see him, outer clothing discarded at what was his desk.  He turned his coat inside out and it matched his black skinsuit.  He ducked into the stairwell, pulling two decks of cards out of their pockets and shoving them into the pouches on the back of each glove, and made his way up.  In a minute someone would notice he'd vanished, after finding his clothing, and a building-wide search would commence.  THEY might even send out their special guards.

Moments later he found what he wanted:  a tiny airduct access between two floors.  He pulled the grating out, climbed into the duct and pulled the grate back in behind him.  Three metres to a left turn; five to a right; up two metres after that.  His route took him to an extraction fan looking out over a room on a floor that was nowhere on the building's floor plan, a floor kept secret by the "accidental" deaths of everyone involved in its installation in the building.  It was one among thousands of gruesome facts his job required him to know.  No, not job.  Work.  A job is for a salary, work is what you enjoy, he reminded himself.  He enjoyed his work.

He disconnected the extractor's power supply from its motor and removed the fan and housing from its hole.  He took a few moments to survey the room beyond and found his target immediately:  a bulletproof glass case on a pedestal in the middle of the room.  Its contents:  the Konstantinos Codices, supposedly so old they predated Mesopotamia, painted on paper of some unknown composition.  It was his work to retrieve the Codices and return them to Greece, into the possession of a certain family.

He pulled a tiny torch from a card box and shone it at the floor.  Tiny pressure sensors sparkled like rhinestones on a drag queen's dress.  It didn't take long to work out the pattern in which they'd been laid.  From the same card box he pulled a lens which showed laser beams.  They criss-crossed the outer perimeter of the room, getting less and less dense the closer to the case one looked.  A second lens magnified the area around the pedestal and he found the last security measure he'd been warned about.

He replaced the magnifying lens, put the laser lens to his eye like a monocle and from a pocket on his left ankle drew four cards.  Two each slid into vertical slits in the balls of his shoes.  From the right ankle he drew five cards with mirrored backs, pulling a tube of acid glue from his utility box.  Taking aim and working as quickly as he could, he glued the five cards to edges of the fan's hole.  He gripped his coat's tail and dropped to the floor.

He landed in a crouch and waited, but he'd managed not to trip any alarms.  Good.  He stepped carefully over a laser beam at his feet, placing the edges of the cards between the pressure sensors.  It was slow, but by keeping his clear eye on the floor and the bemonocled eye on the trip beams, he made it to the pedestal.  He took a few deep breaths with his eyes closed.

He opened them and examined the slits around the pedestal.  If there were to be any weight changes inside the case, two sets of electrified bars would clamp down on the thief's arm and he would be killed.  Since this floor didn't exist, the disappearance of said thief would go unnoticed.

From a pocket on his thigh he pulled a card with a razor-keen edge.  Keener, in fact.  He used it to cut a hole in the side of the glass case, levering the cutout out of the hole and placing it on top of the case.  From the small of his back he pulled a deck-sized stack of plastic sheets.  A flick of his wrist and they lengthened, widened and heightened to form a codex sized carry-case.  He opened and placed it on top of the case as well, then drew two blank decks of cards from the same pocket.

He took a breath and held it, aimed, and flicked his wrist.  One of the decks went spinning into the case and into the edge of a codex, taking its place on its pressure sensor.  He reached in for the codex, placed it in the carry-case and repeated the process.  Only once both codices were in the box did he breathe again.

He sealed the box and shoved it into a pocket running down the spine of the skinsuit.  As he turned back to the extraction duct the laser beams disappeared and a section of the wall behind him slid open.  A smoking canister hurtled into the room and without thinking he kicked it back out.  There was a series of surprised grunts and a muffled "woof" as the canister exploded.  He pulled out a deck of cards and dove for the extractor.  He hit the floor of the duct rolling, fanning out the cards as he rolled and forming a bulletproof seal behind him.  Some papery "thwacks" told him the wall held and he scrambled back to his entry point.

At the door out of the stairwell he paused to catch his breath and listen for the sounds of pursuit.  None so far - nice!  He opened the door a crack and almost lost an eye as a bullet zinged in.  He pulled out a deck of razor cards and a deck of shield cards.  He cut the shield deck and fanned the cards to form a dinner plate-sized circle of the cardboard.  He took a few quick breaths and burst into the passage, hurling razor cards at whatever guns he saw and deflecting those he had yet to get to.  The force of the bullets hitting the cards started numbing his arm, so he hurled the disk at a guard, catching the man's cheek and knocking him backwards.  Still flicking cards at guns, he ripped out a deck of glue cards and started flinging those at the guards' eyes.  He bought himself enough time to break through their ranks.  As he passed the corner he threw a special card at the wall, where its edged lodged in the plaster.  A timer counted down on its face.  He kept running, ripping open pockets for easy access to his cards and took the first lift he found to the basement.

As the lift dropped he set up a wall of shield cards with gaps in for throwing razor, glue and "flash" cards at the "enemy".  Poor things were only following orders, it wouldn't do to kill them because they're following orders.

His precautions proved founded.  As the doors slid the interior of the lift was filled with bullets.  He gave them a few moments to empty their clips, fanning a few glue and razor cards in his left hand.  As the first clip emptied, he reopened a slit in the wall and started hurling cards at guns and eyes.  Every few cards he threw at them was a flash card, sparking of tiny magnesium flashes before they hit anyone.  He dislodged the central section of his wall and used it as a riot shield to storm the guards.  Those who'd avoided the flashes rushed him and he resorted to punching and kicking to defend himself.  He shifted his gloves slightly and the cards in them slid over his knuckles, creating boxing gloves that he used to great effect.  He just made it to the door when he heard a gun chambering a round behind him.  He froze, turned slowly and looked straight into the most beautiful blue eyes he'd ever seen on a man.  He raised his hands as instructed and waited for the man to twist his head to his shoulder mic.  A moment later the man dropped, knocked out by the deck of cards that hit him in the temple.  The thief put his hand back up, the cards sliding back into his glove like a paper laser.  He sighed, saddened that he'd never get to know the blue-eyed guard.

From the basement, his escape was almost too easy.  He encountered two more guards, both of whom he snuck up on and knocked out with his glove cards.

Two weeks later he disembarked a Greek plane at Athens International Airport.  His pick-up driver was already waiting for him and they were soon on their way to his client.  Just outside of the city the tinted windows rolled up and lights and airconditioning whirred to life.  He knew precisely where they were going, having worked it out and looked it up the last time he'd met his client, but said nothing, sipping a tiny glass of ouzo as they travelled.  Half an hour and another ouzo later they pulled up to a mansion.  The driver offered to carry his luggage, but he declined, keeping the Konstantinos Codices and case of cards with him.

He met the old man in his study, a room decorated with Greek Orthodox iconography and lined with books in display cases.  The deal was concluded quickly, him exchanging the Codices for the second half of his payment.  Before he left, he asked, "Mr Tatoupolis, why did you want these codices so badly?  Simply to add to your collection?"

The old man smiled.  "Not really," he said.  "My grandfather found them in a cave in the Tigris Valley and was forced to sell them when his fortune was taken from him.  I'm simply reclaiming what belongs in my family."

The thief nodded.  His suspicions confirmed, he shook the Konstantinos' hand and left.  He boarded the first flight back home and once boarded, settled in for a long nap.  His kitchen needed some remodelling, and he could think of a few orphanages in the City that needed help.  There were also some shelters and animal rescue organisations who needed new facilities...

He passed out making his list before the plane had even left Greek airspace.

Lost time

Hello, boys and girls!

I just listened to Fever Ray's "If I had a Heart and as it always does, it zoned me out quite nicely.  As described by others, it's soft and melodic, with multiple voice layers to it that just send the most delicious tingles down your spine.

Mm.  Nou't ek skoon hoendervleis!

There's been so much over the last while that I've wanted to blog about that I have literally been unable to keep track of everything.  I've had a few majors disappointments recently, but since I'm still alive and still able to read my cards and interact with the folks in my life, I am trying my best not to complain too much.  I'll start with a rundown of some of the events in my life and maybe throw in a thing or two.

In September the shop I worked for and did quite a bit of my blogs from, Smart Planters, shop 26 Cape Quarter Lifestyle Village, closed down.  Out closing day was 30 September, while our last day of official employment was 1 October.  We loaded up our last stock and sent it all back to the warehouse, and then locked the glass doors behind us for the final time.

Since October, I've been simultaneously looking for work and doing weekend promotions for the product at the Milnerton (and very occasionally Bellville) branches of Stodels Garden Centre.  I won't lie:  it has been really horrible at some points (especially when it comes to having to justify the hours I've worked with the person who pays my invoice) and the near-complete boredom I struggle with over Fridays and Sundays, plus missing out on the family activities that can only be arranged for weekends.

On the other hand, I've had some really good times there as well.  Chief among these are the times I get to speak to and interact with the Stodels customers that take the time to have a look at the Lechuza stuff, or just stop and chat.  Then there are the Stodels staff.  Kashif, the assistant manager, is and odd one, but when it comes to the customers and helping them he goes out of his way.  Then there's Raymond, who's in charge of the section my pots are in.  Always ready with a daily joke or some advice or another (which reminds me, I have to pack the "Chop-chop Chakra" in for him), he really tells stories that are worth it.  Carol, a "new" member of the Milnerton branch.  Tracy J, the little Lifestyle lady.  Jo-Ann, the branch general manager (and secret "in the office" smoker).  Romero, who grabs my attention and asks advice on plants and such - like I know that much!  Samuel, or Sam, who loves spiders as much as I do (can anyone believe...)  And the other staff, too, who I won't even try to name.  They're all there, and each one helps me make it through the weekends on my feet in some way or another.

The next thing that happened, and one of the chief things, is that J and I got engaged on the 23 November.  I've never seen that man so nervous before, it was almost funny.  I think that's what tipped me off that something was going to happen that weekend (in terms of our relationship), besides the fact the he was rather insistent that I come through to him that weekend, specifically the Friday of the 22nd.  We have a set of matching rings, plain silver and they look like wedding bands.  I was so shocked, but I'm happy we've finally managed to take that next step.  Now, if only I could find a job that'll pay me enough so that we can move in together and be a "real" couple...

There's quite a bit I still want to say, but I think I'll wait until such a time as what I have the mental capacity to blog it.

For now:  I love you all, and have a good night!

What the Hell is Paganism?!

A number of friends and family have been asking me what Paganism is really about.  So, going through my notes for our final exam tonight, I came across one of the entries in my notes on what Paganism is and how it's defined, so I'm going to try and give a breakdown of it so that these friends and family members can have a look and then ask me about it.

First off, I need to clarify the title of this post:  It's just an expletive.  In Paganism, we don't believe in Heaven nor Hell in the "traditional" sense.  Yes, we have a version of the afterlife that we call the Summerlands, or Elphame, or any of a variety of other names.  We see it as a stopping point between one life and the next, not a permanent home to the Soul once the body has died.  Hell is what you experience on Earth, during your lifetime, either by your own thoughts or actions or those of others.  Innate sin and ultimate evil?  These concepts are as alien to a Pagan as what emotion is to a grain of sand, or in modern terms, a computer.  Sin is what is used by the leaders of other faiths to strike fear into the hearts of their followers (and this is, I hope) the only bit of religious lambasting I will do in this post.

Paganism is defined as a positive, nature-based based Spirituality (or religion, or set of religions), usually polytheistic, in which we work towards brotherly love and understanding between people and the world around us.  Honestly, in general terms, we have no qualms with other religions, despite what individual members of the Pagan community might say.  It's very much like the Native American Spirituality in that we try to maintain or rebuild the connections Man has with Nature and the World around us.  We understand that religion as we know it developed out of the Animistic faith of the Caveman, in that natural phenomena we assigned a Spirit or Deity, and that these Animistic Deities developed and "evolved" until there was one main God or Goddess of Nature. Yes, in polytheism there are multiple Gods or Goddessses, but even polytheists recognise that they are all part of The One, Primeval Deity, Universal Deity, however you want to name it.

Let me explain.  In the "Mists of Avalon" film and book Viviane and Morgaine both say, "All Goddesses are one Goddess and all Gods are one God and both are One."  Look at the facets of a diamond.  The diamond as a whole represents Deity, The One, etc, while the facets of the stone represent the names and faces we ascribe to Deity to understand the truth and nature of the Divine.  No, there is NO way in this lifetime that any one person can understand the whole nature of the Divine - but we try, through the use of names and faces.  I know, it sounds a bit roundabout, but this is the best way I have of explaining this, and before my teacher put it into words for me, this is how I saw Deity anyway.  That said, we don't pray to statues and images for guidance or help - that's a fallacy created by our opponents and persecutors - but rather to what that image or statue REPRESENTS.

Am I making sense here?

I don't pray to my statue of Athena for help and guidance or wisdom, but to the Face of Deity that she represents, that spark of the Divine within me and my direct connection to Deity.  I pray to that aspect of Deity that I understand for guidance, help or wisdom.  No matter how you break it down, I'm still praying to Deity.

Now, magick.  Yes, I know, the media has (once again) been filled with stories of Satanism and Satanic cult activities, and since 1985 it's been that kind of propaganda filling people's heads, but magick as practised by many Pagans and Wiccans has nothing to do with Satan.  Once again, this is an alien concept to Pagans.  It started with the early Church saying that whatever wasn't in the Bible had to be demonic, and it's sadly a piece of thinking that's stuck in the minds of the general public for the last few hundred years.  We use magick actively in our connection to the Divine to bring about the changes we want in our lives.  The best way I've ever heard it described is as "praying with props".  And yes, we do pray, even if it isn't always in the way's people will recognise.  We don't need to stop and be silent to pray.  We go about our daily activities and speak to God/Goddess/The One constantly, keeping up the relationship between the spark of Divinity inside us and the source of that spark.

Ah, yes:  These reports and fears of "black magick" people so badly like to go on about should never bring Paganism to mind.  Pagans, including Wiccans, wouldn't practice "black" magick.  In general we aren't too fond of the sight of blood, and since we're working towards a deeper connection between Man and Nature, what would be the point of destroying and hurting Life?  Seriously.  These little kiddies who "practice" black "arts" only do it because of a sense of supposed glamour, a sense of breaking the rules and for the thrill of things.  Dumb-asses.  [Thrice around the Circle's bound...]  Real black magick is used exclusively for destruction and pain and the causing of nightmare "realities."  Most Pagans can't even stand to see a child crying in a photo, so NO WAY could we deliberately cause harm.

That said, we do protect ourselves and others.  It would be stupid not to, since there is still so much fear and propaganda associated with Paganism and Witches.  It'll take a long while before people get over their own narrow-mindedness and the things poured into their ears by society and religious institutions' members and actually start asking their own questions and thinking for themselves.  There's a reason I don't like mutton:  it reminds me way too much of people!

Gosh, I hope I've managed to get my message across, guys.  Really, don't go and read up on the internet and only stick to the sites don't know what they're talking about (which an entire group of my friends have done!)  Come to me directly and speak to me and ask me questions.  How can you really learn if you aren't going to speak to someone who's actually in the thick of things?

WAKE UP!!

It's been a while once again, hasn't it?

Faithful readers, new readers, come-and-gone readers:

Hello.

It's been a while, and for once I can't really blame it on being too busy.  Well, not all the time.  In fact, since my work period ended with Smart Planters in October, I've mostly been home, cleaning up house as I go along, watching TV (couch potatoing), finishing my assignments for class (one of which I completely couldn't do at all - numerous reasons) and generally waiting for my "turn" at the PC.

Yes, you read that right.  My PC's monitor connection on the back of the box has been non-functional, but since the network cable's always been those last two metres too short to connect me to the World Wide Web, it hasn't bothered me until now.  So, yes the thing switches on, but there's no power from the box to the monitor.  I can't even put any porn on my PC!  depressing!

In conversation today a few things came up, and one of those was diseases.  It's a totally random thing to switch over to, but I felt I had to post about it.  We tend to take for granted that our partners are safe (Goddes be thanked J is!) and have complete confidence that it can't happen to us.  Well, too many of us, anyway.  But it can, and it does.  K and I had it in conversation today and two very good friends of mine have both gotten hurt because of something happening - a third friend was raped and almost picked it up as well.  I know, "disease" and "picked up" are not very nice ways of putting it, but it's weighing so heavily on my mind I can't pull together the brain power to put it nicely.  It's made life difficult for so many people out there that I don't think we can actually keep up with the actual number.  And I'm not the only one with friends who've been hurt through picking something up - we all have at least one friend with something they don't share with the rest of the world.  I feel we can get over our own fear and closed-mindedness to offer at the very least some kind of support.  I will not lie, I can't get myself to help at a shelter, and my reasons are simple:  I don't have a strong enough heart for it.  It really is as simple as that.  I see the people who work with the elderly and with the bruised and battered animals brought into the animal shelters - there's so little care left in their hearts that they come across as incredibly hard-handed, and I never want to become like that.

UGH!!

Of that topic.  I'll talk about it some more another time.

It's been a while, hasn't it...?

I haven't posted a new blog in a while.  Not because there haven't been some exciting things happening, but because for the first time in a while I didn't have that burning need writers get to write down.  While I don't consider myself a writer, I love writing.  It practices not only my vocabulary (which I don't get to use much at the shop), but also my handwriting.  One of my hobbies, and especially for my assignments, is Calligraphy - can you imagine what a bad name I'd be giving myself with ugly calligraphy??

What got me thinking about this post is one I read originally on Single Dad Laughing.  I'm not re-linking the page, so Google it, or go digging in one of my previous blogs ("Read My Stuff!" much?).  And I hereby apologise if it's something I've spoken about before, but I feel I need to write about it.

Although I'm not a screaming queen, I am gay.  I'm the "passive" partner, and that's all I'm saying about it.  I like to date slightly older guys (even if it's only a few weeks or months) and I have been in a relationship with J for almost five years now.  He's eight years my senior.

When I came out, things were a bit more difficult.  It was still in the lower half of the early 2000s and we lived at that stage in a little town in the middle of frikking nowhere (almost literally - the only way to find it on a map is to look for Umtata and then follow the line of the R56 to the west).  Amma was the manager at the local Pep at that point and as such saw most of the townspeople regularly.

in 2001 we came to Cape Town to visit my uncle and his family.  While we were here I opened up to my cousins about being gay (I'd told my mom a few months before that I was bisexual - a sad thing is that most gay teens say this to try and make it better, myself included.  I mean, you're still loving someone of the opposite sex, aren't you?).  Anyway, at some point before my mother was appointed I posted in a pen-pals request to the People magazine, and then almost immediately I forgot about it.

Again, if I've blogged about this before, please ignore this post.

A few months later, completely out of the blue, my mother storms into my room and asks me, "WTF??"  Apparently, People Magazine HADN'T forgotten about my posting and had published it in that week's issue.  If the neighbouring shop's owner, Adie, hadn't asked her about it, and if she hadn't gotten an odd phone call about it, she'd have been clueless a while longer.  Anyway, they new it was me by the name I'd used (my middle name) and the post box.  Silly me, I'd thought nobody read the People and that I'd be safe a little bitty longer.  Anyway, she gave me the number left by the caller, and Adie seemed OK with it, and then other people asked and such and such.  I didn't deny, I just kept deflecting the attention.

Amma spoke to Appa about it not long after that.  I asked her to tell him because I'd seen how he went on when gays came up on TV.  There was a fight.  The "pastor" was called in not long after that.  It became a little bit of a joke.

What I'm trying to get at is how much lighter I felt having been "exposed" like that.  Now people knew about me in one way or the other, and I didn't have to carry such a weight anymore.  No, Appa didn't like it one little bit, and there was a point where we couldn't have a decent conversation with each other.  No, no fighting, really, just a bland, empty series of conversations that never did anything to our relationship.  But we made up after I'd been in the cape a few years, where we got to the point of actually being able to say to each other that we love each other.  It's amazing to me how much better he and I get along now than we did when I was at home, in those years when children and their parents are usually supposed to be closer to each other.

I'm grateful for it, and will always be.  With all the ups and downs, being gay is probably the best thing that could have happened to me.

How to learn things; or, Just let it Frikking Happen!

As shocking as it may seem to people, I am not a very happy person.  Or maybe it isn't so shocking.  I'm not sure.

I stress and I worry, nine times out of ten for no reason than the possibility of danger.  I get so caught up in what MIGHT happen that I forget that, nine times out of ten, nothing actually happens.

So, that said, I have been working on latting myself be more positive.  It hasn't been easy, and I want to sit here and blame my childhood and all the moving around that we did and where we stayed and and and.  In fact, I made my 37th move two weeks ago and the stress has been killing me.  Up until the move I was making stupid mistakes in the shop, my memory's been shot to scheisse and I haven't slept properly, as in, waking up feeling fully rested.  Add that to how quiet the shop has been and increased travelling costs and all in all, you have one VERY stressed out Leo.

But you know what?  I have a roof over my head.  I have the means to get to and from work.  I have clothes to wear for my work, and I work.  I earn the money doing something.  As it were.

It's difficult to explain exactly how the change started happening, the "happy" one, I mean.  I tried the Secret approach for a while and nothing happend; I took Postulancy classes, and yes, they helped a little bit, but not as much as I'd hoped.  Rephrase:  not too well on their own ( I'll explain lower down ). My cards, and using them to help others, were always a huge help, but even they stopped helping.  Or rather, Life, real life, this long, terrible, boring thing in which we work for peanuts, terrible bosses ( or just terribly disorganised bosses ), odd hours of the day and in some cases little to show for it, got in my way.  The corporate world, in so many ways, is just one big giant leech to make other people, often people you've never heard of, rich.

And, by Goddess, I let that get in my way?

Well, forget that.

My name is Dieter.  It comes, by slight change, from the 5th Century Germanic Theodoric.  Do you know what it means?  Ruler of the people.  And by the Mother, I will be a ruler of people.  Mayhap not a literal ruler, but I will lead by example and try to improve the world around me with smiles, real ones, not the ones you wear when your world crumbles.  I've been wrestling with my emotions for a while, and I'm making the concsious decision to be more upbeat about life in general, more trusting in the ways that matter, and more open to happiness.

I say all of this because it took a random tarot reading to get me to see what was wrong.  The long and short of it is that I have to let go of the old ideas I have aobut myself.  I have to shake off those bonds and let myself rise like the Phoenix does and burn my way forward.  I'll Transcribe the reading as soon as my line at home is up and running, but suffice it to say it really made sense.

I asked the Reader, a proper tarot witch, what I had to do to get started on that path, and she flat out told me, I need to be more confident in myself.  Time I am, eh, what?

So:  SMILE, BITCHES!!  It gives your face something to do and will affect your mood for a while.