Jack Sparrow: Philosopher
Captain Barbosa: “The world’s a lot smaller these days, Jack.”
Jack Sparrow: “No it’s not, there are just less things in it.”
Pirates of the Caribbean 3. Brilliant movie. About 3 hours long. Lesson learned: Only go to previews because there are no crap ads or trailers.
Blogbuddies – see this. But only if you have seen 1 and 2.
There is an uncomfortable early moment when you think you have stumbled into Return of the Jedi, but don’t be deterred.
Man – this is right up there though, with those Star Wars trilogies.
The ending? Very suprising, indeed.
When I am not me
There is a brief moment when I am not me, a moment before all the history and facts of what I have done falls into my awareness. The building blocks comprising me lock into place and I know who and what I am. Where do these pieces of me go when I sleep? Why can’t I leave some of them behind upon wakening?
Some mornings I come crashing in on myself, but the ones when I wake up on my own, leaving behind the dream… those days I emerge slowly. A soul putting on the clothes, item by item, of its human existence. Until there I am. Full of memories, hurts, joys, fears- loves. Given a choice I would leave the fears and insecurities behind.
Most days, the blocks, the clothing, leave me feeling strong and prepared. But there are other times- When the me that comes together is not so light. These are mornings when my first conscious thought is a massive fear, or destructive self-loathing. Somewhere, in the place they went to, the blocks and garments become jumbled some days. All I can do then is try not to live that day wearing those clothes.
In those mornings I need to spend more time with God than my cursory daily ritual of ‘Your Will, not mine.’ In those days I have to do a mental gratitude list, proper prayers and maybe read something uplifting.
I work hard to clean up my thought processes, make peace with the things I have not liked about myself, or my actions, during this human experience. Yet, wherever it is that I go when I sleep, something there can rearrange them at times and make the blackness stronger than the light when I come together as I wake.
Today is such a day.
“It’s never too late to abort”
It has been one of those family evenings. Today is my dad’s 59th birthday and, because Purple Dot’s is the day before, he generally comes down to Jozi to be with family for a few days. So there we sit around the big table at my mom’s Parkhurst hovel, each of us jabbering away delighted to all be in one another’s company at the same time. I am sick, barely coherent but doing my best to ask dad to please get on blog and adequately explain my entropy/life theory to GaryM who is deliberately being obtuse. This leads to more physics, astro and meta debate while the others are talking about whatever floats their boat.
My brother, who I adore in a love-hate way, is trying to compete with dad’s ipod in the bose blasting Hayseed Dixies, by turning up some or other crap on his mp3-playing mobile. Kit is dressed in her Spanish dancing outfit having just given us a small show on the upper deck. My ear hurts.
My Artist is discussing brush strokes with my mom, who is the Ice Queen as far as dad goes, but keen to learn more so that her new hobby of oil painting can improve. My mom is frigid because my dad has finally come out of the closet publicly about the new woman in his life. This has already lead, within the first five minutes, to my brother accusing me of taking my dad’s side. Blah blah. Of course I take my dad’s side. He never quite tumbled from that pedestal. Me and my dad are two peas in a pod.
Artist’s dad is eagerly listening, he also paints. Artist’s dad is about 76 years old. His wife died four years ago. It took him a while to recover, but now he leads a bohemian lifestyle in Umhlanga and has grown a David Beckham hair style- I suspect that he has finally twigged on that a long-haired artist pulls more chicks than a computer programmer. Better late than never huh?
Purple Dot has glued herself to the couch in the TV room. She has long held the view that I should have been reported to Child Welfare when I got rid of it.
Sister in law is discussing work. She frequently does. Then money and spirituality.
Then the discussion turns to movies. We all agree that Sin City and 300 are excellent. Talk about V for a bit ag the usual agreements/disagreements. But I have learned better than to try and debate certain things with my brother. He, for example, spews venom when I talk about how I love Shiamalan. I don’t have the energy to communicate in a confrontational way tonight. The pain in my ear has taken over my entire existence.
This then leads to discussions around TV series. I throw in a comment: ‘I would love to own every episode of Dallas on dvd.’
*silence*
My brother, looking pointedly at my mother: ‘It is never too late to abort.’
This caused far too much general mirth at table for my liking.
