Life on the farm can be quite the interesting one I daresay. It’s a perfect blend of peace and tranquillity that is second to none in this world. After a year of fighting to keep ignorance at bay, a holiday on the farm was just what the doctor ordered. However, the doctor never thought that an animal farm could be such an ‘interesting’ place to live.
I love sleeping; it’s on my list of top ten things that I love in this world. Needless to say, any interference with my sleep for reasons that do not directly affect the sustenance of my life may lead to a life long enmity between the perpetrator of such a heinous crime and I but I digress.
I haven’t used my alarm clock since I got home for holiday mainly because I love to sleep. However, of late I have been feeling a bit like Old McDonald from the famous childhood sing-a-long ‘Old McDonald had a farm’.
It all starts at the ungodly hour of three a.m. when the battle of the cockerels begins. The chief cockerel stamps his authority with a deep and long crow that would put all others to shame. Not to be cowed however, the neighbours’ cockerel is quick to respond and likewise with the entire zone such that in no time there’s an entire battle of the cockerels going on. You would have to be deaf to not to appreciate the efforts of the fowls as they go about their business of establishing who gets bragging rights for the entire day. This war goes on for all of an hour; which leaves one with just enough time to get back to sleep before the cattle take over as they begin their long incessant lowing in a bid to remind all that its time for them to get milked. Woe unto thee who forgets to milk them for you shall surely not sleep for their lowing is relentless. For sure, dawn is right around the corner when one finally gets back to lay his head on the pillow and try and get some sleep.
As if by some nasty twist of fate, at this particular moment is when the pigeons of yester tale show up and teach the attendant birds of the farm how to tap dance and sing-song on my window sill and has been proven in the past, silencing these breed of birds is nothing short of an impossible task.
So there goes an entire night, whether I like it or not, and up I have to be. Indeed, I have become Old McDonald from the famed folklore and established the answer to the question just how useful can an alarm clock be in these circumstances?
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
Of Spring and hybrid mosquitoes....
As has become custom, my love-hate relationship with the pigeons on my window sill continues; they love to irritate me to within an inch of my sanity and I hate them for trying to befriend me. The united voice choir of pigeons (U.V.C.P.) is at it again and they seem to have recruited a fleet-footed tap-dancing raven that is without a doubt as tone -deaf as a severely inebriated man. I awake to the cacophony of poorly coordinated, discordant though slightly harmonious cooing of pigeons accompanied by an inexplicable tap-dance by the newest recruit to the band. The cawing of that infernal creature I cannot stand and after running out of objects to throw at the window in a seemingly lost battle at chasing them away, I surrender to the ‘music’ and kiss my slumber away.
It’s yet another grouchy morning; not that I have anything against the morning but this has gone on long enough and besides, I haven’t really had much sleep of late and early mornings are great for this but alas the U.V.C.P. has other ideas.
Spring is a great season I daresay.
It’s apparently the season of life and love; trees awaken from months of slumber and grow some leaves to cover their bare sides; flowers bloom and fill the air with sweet scents of breed after breed that can be quite invigorating and intoxicating at a go; bees in abundance as they spread around pollen from flower to flower in reckless abandon occasionally smashing into all and sundry as they buzz around; even the fowls seem much happier with general warmer temperatures and make a point to show you as they splash around in ponds and canals all over the place.
For all these creatures of the earth, I have nothing but joy and envy save for one. I wouldn’t have a problem if they just minded their own business but they don’t now do they? Flying around, darting in and out, biting here and there and moving on as if it’s their right to do so. Yes, these are more tenacious than any I have ever seen. Sleep has become a thing of the past; counting sheep has been replaced with counting them.
They buzz, dart, bite they fly off. Hybrid too they have become, I can attest to this. They are organised, fearless and ruthless. I can almost swear that they now work in teams; some to lift the blankets and sheets covering my head and the rest to attack the top of my head. It sounds ridiculous but I can almost swear I have seen them do this, almost accidentally. I once woke up in a start only to find my blanket hovering strangely above my head but dismissed it as a confused dream and went back to sleep. However, shock on me when I awoke the next morning to find a set of bites on my forehead. Indeed, hybrid they have become and quashed they must be.
So yes I love spring and all the attendant life it brings along but I still stand by my assertion, hybrid mosquitoes must be quashed and I shall lead the campaign. Feel free to join me!
It’s yet another grouchy morning; not that I have anything against the morning but this has gone on long enough and besides, I haven’t really had much sleep of late and early mornings are great for this but alas the U.V.C.P. has other ideas.
Spring is a great season I daresay.
It’s apparently the season of life and love; trees awaken from months of slumber and grow some leaves to cover their bare sides; flowers bloom and fill the air with sweet scents of breed after breed that can be quite invigorating and intoxicating at a go; bees in abundance as they spread around pollen from flower to flower in reckless abandon occasionally smashing into all and sundry as they buzz around; even the fowls seem much happier with general warmer temperatures and make a point to show you as they splash around in ponds and canals all over the place.
For all these creatures of the earth, I have nothing but joy and envy save for one. I wouldn’t have a problem if they just minded their own business but they don’t now do they? Flying around, darting in and out, biting here and there and moving on as if it’s their right to do so. Yes, these are more tenacious than any I have ever seen. Sleep has become a thing of the past; counting sheep has been replaced with counting them.
They buzz, dart, bite they fly off. Hybrid too they have become, I can attest to this. They are organised, fearless and ruthless. I can almost swear that they now work in teams; some to lift the blankets and sheets covering my head and the rest to attack the top of my head. It sounds ridiculous but I can almost swear I have seen them do this, almost accidentally. I once woke up in a start only to find my blanket hovering strangely above my head but dismissed it as a confused dream and went back to sleep. However, shock on me when I awoke the next morning to find a set of bites on my forehead. Indeed, hybrid they have become and quashed they must be.
So yes I love spring and all the attendant life it brings along but I still stand by my assertion, hybrid mosquitoes must be quashed and I shall lead the campaign. Feel free to join me!
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Chronicles of a timewaster
It has been claimed in the past that the sunrise has got to be the single most beautiful and breathtaking events on this earth. The promise of a new day, a new-lease on life, a new set of dreams, hope and expectations casting away all disappointments and failures of yesterday. A dawn to new life and new hope. But alas, this phenomenon is but for a few to witness.
A discordant yet harmonious sing-song and incoherent beat wakes me up with a start. I do not dare look at the time for I know deep down in my bones it is yet too early to awaken. It has been like this for days on end; a discordant yet it persists; you would think the repeated threats would have taught them by now but alas. The United Voices Choir of Pigeons with inexplicable pecking on my windows is not the ideal way to begin a day but apparently it is to them. As has become our fair tradition, the pigeons and I, I find some object to hurl at the window and away they go; the games have just began.
I roll back into bed and face the wall in my struggle to return to sleep. This can never reach the ears of the president of the association of couch-potatoes, malingerers, posers and layabouts (A.C.M.P.L.). He should never know that a co-founder of this exclusive club was awake at the time of the birds. In time I disappear to a land of dreamless slumber in pursuit of the ideals that this exclusive club has tried to impart upon me.
When I finally awake, a little past the hour for any normal human to be asleep, the day is well into its development; having just run right by teenage and fast headed toward adulthood. Awake though far from alert, I stare at the ceiling and mind-numbingly count and recount the boards that make up my ceiling. I just might have to eventually leave my bed but in that light maybe I should stay a bit more; the census on my toes is yet to be completed for the umpteenth time.
Breakfast is a meal I have failed to indulge in for quite a while now. With rules set forth to live up to by the order it was hard not to. To the kitchen indeed to cook up a storm; yes this is the life of a malingerer. Eat, sleep, eat some more, sleep a little more then just be. Brunch once done, I was ready for all sorts of activities time wasting. As is stated in the creed of the ACMPL, I turned on the television and flipped through here and there. It was standard procedure, irrespective of all other activities time wasting.
It was time to switch off my brain; mental activity was against all that was adhered to in the A.C.M.P.L. had to find something to do that involved time wasting thorough and through; something that would make the president of the A.C.M.P.L. proud; something that would put me back in the good books of the A.C.M.P.L.; then I saw him.
It was pretty amazing that I actually saw him. It’s not everyday that one gets to enjoy the sight of sheer elegance and patience so when it does happen all one can do is register interest and remain in awe. I watched him attempt to do a crossing of the veranda, which in my opinion to him seemed like the impossible task but then again only he could tell us. I decided to name him Pete. In the true spirit of the A.C.M.P.L. I began to wonder how a conversation with Pete would go.
“Good morning Pete” I would go and he would respond:
“I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-am we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-well”
“Crossing my veranda I see”, I would proceed to which he would respond:
“I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-am t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-tr-tr-tr-tr-tr-tryy--tryy--tryy--tryy--tryy-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ing…..trying to.”
You see, Pete is a chameleon and it’s pretty obvious that it takes quite a while for the great crossing to be complete and by the time this happens, the day has crossed mid-life and is on fast track to old age. Indeed it was a day for the record books. The A.C.M.P.L. shall be very pleased to learn of this but that too would involve work and that cannot be. Alas, its time to eat again and then sleep. Oh the life of a timewaster.
A discordant yet harmonious sing-song and incoherent beat wakes me up with a start. I do not dare look at the time for I know deep down in my bones it is yet too early to awaken. It has been like this for days on end; a discordant yet it persists; you would think the repeated threats would have taught them by now but alas. The United Voices Choir of Pigeons with inexplicable pecking on my windows is not the ideal way to begin a day but apparently it is to them. As has become our fair tradition, the pigeons and I, I find some object to hurl at the window and away they go; the games have just began.
I roll back into bed and face the wall in my struggle to return to sleep. This can never reach the ears of the president of the association of couch-potatoes, malingerers, posers and layabouts (A.C.M.P.L.). He should never know that a co-founder of this exclusive club was awake at the time of the birds. In time I disappear to a land of dreamless slumber in pursuit of the ideals that this exclusive club has tried to impart upon me.
When I finally awake, a little past the hour for any normal human to be asleep, the day is well into its development; having just run right by teenage and fast headed toward adulthood. Awake though far from alert, I stare at the ceiling and mind-numbingly count and recount the boards that make up my ceiling. I just might have to eventually leave my bed but in that light maybe I should stay a bit more; the census on my toes is yet to be completed for the umpteenth time.
Breakfast is a meal I have failed to indulge in for quite a while now. With rules set forth to live up to by the order it was hard not to. To the kitchen indeed to cook up a storm; yes this is the life of a malingerer. Eat, sleep, eat some more, sleep a little more then just be. Brunch once done, I was ready for all sorts of activities time wasting. As is stated in the creed of the ACMPL, I turned on the television and flipped through here and there. It was standard procedure, irrespective of all other activities time wasting.
It was time to switch off my brain; mental activity was against all that was adhered to in the A.C.M.P.L. had to find something to do that involved time wasting thorough and through; something that would make the president of the A.C.M.P.L. proud; something that would put me back in the good books of the A.C.M.P.L.; then I saw him.
It was pretty amazing that I actually saw him. It’s not everyday that one gets to enjoy the sight of sheer elegance and patience so when it does happen all one can do is register interest and remain in awe. I watched him attempt to do a crossing of the veranda, which in my opinion to him seemed like the impossible task but then again only he could tell us. I decided to name him Pete. In the true spirit of the A.C.M.P.L. I began to wonder how a conversation with Pete would go.
“Good morning Pete” I would go and he would respond:
“I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-am we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-well”
“Crossing my veranda I see”, I would proceed to which he would respond:
“I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-am t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-tr-tr-tr-tr-tr-tryy--tryy--tryy--tryy--tryy-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ing…..trying to.”
You see, Pete is a chameleon and it’s pretty obvious that it takes quite a while for the great crossing to be complete and by the time this happens, the day has crossed mid-life and is on fast track to old age. Indeed it was a day for the record books. The A.C.M.P.L. shall be very pleased to learn of this but that too would involve work and that cannot be. Alas, its time to eat again and then sleep. Oh the life of a timewaster.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Studentlife 101 - I
It’s a beautiful night out;
Half moon shining her heart out; a movie-scripted sky with stars dotting its already freckled appearance and a nice warm breeze. I should be out perhaps, enjoying a drink with friends or just randomly enjoying the randomity of creation but alas I'm pinned to my desk with the ghosts of exams past haunting me and the books eagle-spread on the table calling out to me in feigned embrace of a lover.
It is the eternal struggle of student vs. books; a fight no sane man was destined to win but alas we try; for what would be without the hope that perhaps if we try again, we just might succeed. Yes it's that time of the year again; lecturers are sharpening the knives and students, like sheep being led to the slaughter house, are 'eagerly' queuing outside exam halls oblivious of the evil schemes that have been hatched inside by conniving lecturers in a bid to shame them to the whole world and prove once again their superiority.
Yes, 'tis exam time once again and woe unto thee student; whether you have studied or not. It must be something in the books they make that make you believe that you have no knowledge of what it to transpire in the exam hall; or a spell cast on individuals to make their minds go blank when exam papers are placed before their eyes; or an elaborate scheme to ensure that questions posed cover only the topics that you have not studied. Either way, exam time has never and will never come at a good time in life; if it did then maybe perhaps pigs would fly and umbrellas would be the order of the day for all and sundry but I digress.
Irrespective of all this, yes it's time to sacrifice ones' life yet again at the altar of vindication of ones knowledge by the unforgiving, uncaring, illogical exams. Like a spiteful lover, they use you then leave you by the roadside, gutted and disillusioned. 'Tis exam time yet again student believe it or not and once again, they shall have their way with you, like it or not. So fight not their wily techniques, but embrace the energies of years of sharpened experience. Here's to another painful exam session.
Meanwhile the books beckon...how foolish of me not to respond…
Half moon shining her heart out; a movie-scripted sky with stars dotting its already freckled appearance and a nice warm breeze. I should be out perhaps, enjoying a drink with friends or just randomly enjoying the randomity of creation but alas I'm pinned to my desk with the ghosts of exams past haunting me and the books eagle-spread on the table calling out to me in feigned embrace of a lover.
It is the eternal struggle of student vs. books; a fight no sane man was destined to win but alas we try; for what would be without the hope that perhaps if we try again, we just might succeed. Yes it's that time of the year again; lecturers are sharpening the knives and students, like sheep being led to the slaughter house, are 'eagerly' queuing outside exam halls oblivious of the evil schemes that have been hatched inside by conniving lecturers in a bid to shame them to the whole world and prove once again their superiority.
Yes, 'tis exam time once again and woe unto thee student; whether you have studied or not. It must be something in the books they make that make you believe that you have no knowledge of what it to transpire in the exam hall; or a spell cast on individuals to make their minds go blank when exam papers are placed before their eyes; or an elaborate scheme to ensure that questions posed cover only the topics that you have not studied. Either way, exam time has never and will never come at a good time in life; if it did then maybe perhaps pigs would fly and umbrellas would be the order of the day for all and sundry but I digress.
Irrespective of all this, yes it's time to sacrifice ones' life yet again at the altar of vindication of ones knowledge by the unforgiving, uncaring, illogical exams. Like a spiteful lover, they use you then leave you by the roadside, gutted and disillusioned. 'Tis exam time yet again student believe it or not and once again, they shall have their way with you, like it or not. So fight not their wily techniques, but embrace the energies of years of sharpened experience. Here's to another painful exam session.
Meanwhile the books beckon...how foolish of me not to respond…
Friday, March 13, 2009
Ngeli ya Baiskeli V: The Haunting...
Last we heard of St. Blackie she was confined to some basement somewhere in Delft; and truth be told she is sorely missed. I see her everywhere I go, at parking bays, going around a corner only to go and check and confirm that indeed she is still lying in state in that basement.
Sometimes I wonder how things would have turned out if I had stayed with her; if we hadn't had that public split and if she hadn't tried to kill me; how far would we be now?
I have a new one now (henceforth reffered to as Newbie); still stuck on the name to append to her. She hasn't come up with any spectacular character traits worth appending a name to. She is lithe, fast, in good conditioning but of late I have noticed small traits that may be associated to her predecessor.
She has recently picked up a noise! Yes people, St. Blackie lives on. I was riding behind some miscellaneous individual and his transport medium was emitting a sound comparable only to a banshee in pain. In the spirit of the whole moment, I had a bit of a laugh that was short lived because it took all of a couple of seconds for Newbie to figure out just how to emit a similar sound; the only problem is that if this had been a singing contest, Newbie would be one of those who's clips are scorned for eternity because all she could muster was a raspy screeching-like noise emanating from somewhere near or on the chain that has successfully managed to stick up to date.
So maybe the spirit of St. Blackie has moved on and possesed Newbie or maybe colonised my mind to the point of believing so. Either way, Newbie has picked up her first sound...and so it begins...
Sometimes I wonder how things would have turned out if I had stayed with her; if we hadn't had that public split and if she hadn't tried to kill me; how far would we be now?
I have a new one now (henceforth reffered to as Newbie); still stuck on the name to append to her. She hasn't come up with any spectacular character traits worth appending a name to. She is lithe, fast, in good conditioning but of late I have noticed small traits that may be associated to her predecessor.
She has recently picked up a noise! Yes people, St. Blackie lives on. I was riding behind some miscellaneous individual and his transport medium was emitting a sound comparable only to a banshee in pain. In the spirit of the whole moment, I had a bit of a laugh that was short lived because it took all of a couple of seconds for Newbie to figure out just how to emit a similar sound; the only problem is that if this had been a singing contest, Newbie would be one of those who's clips are scorned for eternity because all she could muster was a raspy screeching-like noise emanating from somewhere near or on the chain that has successfully managed to stick up to date.
So maybe the spirit of St. Blackie has moved on and possesed Newbie or maybe colonised my mind to the point of believing so. Either way, Newbie has picked up her first sound...and so it begins...
Thursday, January 08, 2009
The real world
“Welcome to the real world!” she said to me condescendingly. “Take a seat; take your life plot it out in black and white”. This conversation I have had with Mother Nature morning after morning since winter officially began sometime in December. One would think that experience teacheth fools but alas this is one fool who has refused to learn.
I have dared to dream as our forefathers taught us to; I have dared to dream of a holiday paradise every single night; I have dared to dream of lush foliage in jungle that winds up at the sea shore; I have dared to dream of warm, sweat infested sunny days crashing through the said jungle and winding up at the coast; I have dared to dream time and time again about endless white sandy beaches; I have dared to dream about azure skies obscured by the occasional fluffy cloud crossing the path of the ever-smiling sun; I have dared to dream of clear sapphire waters into which I dipped my feet in and enjoyed the flow of wild fishes as they swam aimlessly about my feet; I have dared night after night to have this dream of sun soaked days and warm breezy nights by the sea whiling time away with coconut drinks but alas its been proven yet again to be but a dream.
Thus this morning again we had that chat, Mother Nature and I. this morning when it was too foggy to think; this morning when it was too cold to leave bed; this morning when the elements conspired to eliminate all sorts of resistance whether passive or aggressive; this morning when a heater and hot chocolate were no match for the viciousness of Mother Nature’s elements; this morning when I woke up from one of those ‘happy-weather-dreams'
“Welcome to the real world!” she said to me very condescendingly. “Take a seat; take your life plot it out in black and white”
For now you win, but tomorrow is yet another day and I have faith and that you cannot take away.
I have dared to dream as our forefathers taught us to; I have dared to dream of a holiday paradise every single night; I have dared to dream of lush foliage in jungle that winds up at the sea shore; I have dared to dream of warm, sweat infested sunny days crashing through the said jungle and winding up at the coast; I have dared to dream time and time again about endless white sandy beaches; I have dared to dream about azure skies obscured by the occasional fluffy cloud crossing the path of the ever-smiling sun; I have dared to dream of clear sapphire waters into which I dipped my feet in and enjoyed the flow of wild fishes as they swam aimlessly about my feet; I have dared night after night to have this dream of sun soaked days and warm breezy nights by the sea whiling time away with coconut drinks but alas its been proven yet again to be but a dream.
Thus this morning again we had that chat, Mother Nature and I. this morning when it was too foggy to think; this morning when it was too cold to leave bed; this morning when the elements conspired to eliminate all sorts of resistance whether passive or aggressive; this morning when a heater and hot chocolate were no match for the viciousness of Mother Nature’s elements; this morning when I woke up from one of those ‘happy-weather-dreams'
“Welcome to the real world!” she said to me very condescendingly. “Take a seat; take your life plot it out in black and white”
For now you win, but tomorrow is yet another day and I have faith and that you cannot take away.
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