Youngest kid of six with an inferiority and black sheep complex, but determined that God saves not just his soul to heaven but the remainder of his manic-depressive life, so others won't say he became a Christian and remained a jerk.
i won't be transparent before i'm opaque. and you'll get to know me starting from the small things: who my favourite bands are. what kind of movies i like. who are my heroes.
I’m convinced that when confronted with sincere, real love, the Jesus factor will become obvious. But let’s not plant the cross before we carry it. I’m not trying to con you.
Some dreams are meant to be achieved. I know that. But maybe other dreams are meant to drive us, privately. Never known to anyone but ourselves.
It is a sadness that, when choosing between crying and sighing, will choose sighing. I'd almost say that melancholy is being sad about sadness itself.
On memory and nostalgia
It saddens me when life moves forward and people decide that certain things are worth forgetting.
I've learnt that the word irregardless is filed as a non-standard word in the English language. That's a lexicographer's way of saying it's not a real word.
Crowds are fickle things. So when we stand in the thousands and cry against the present government, do we know who we're actually crying for?
People always want the best for themselves. But I want to sometimes take second or third or fourth best, just so that the loser down the road doesn't always have to come in last. It must feel like shit to always come in last.
On growing old
Leasehold property make me feel sad. It doesn't matter how old the family photos are that you put on your wall. It's your family but it's not really your wall.
I ask you, if God loves everyone, and if God is also incapable of loving evil, how can there be such a thing as an evil man?
On a daily basis
One line quips, like this.
Monday, December 04, 2006
This is my retirement dream.
I want to leave the city and have a nice sprawling house in the country. I'll have a lime orchard, and i'll plant chillies and tomatoes and other produce. I'll make sauces and bottle them and give them to friends and family, and maybe sell them to the nearby folk.
In the weekends, my grandkids will come to my estate and run like crazy. And i will walk them through the orchard and tell them about limes and trees and gardening. We will have big barbequeues and cookouts. I'll have eggs and bacon on toast every morning. I'll have a collie, a cat and there'll be tons of birds in the trees, chirping in the morning to wake me up.
In the afternoons, i will read. I might take up painting. And once every few months, i'll give my high-flying city publicist a call and haul him to my farm, and we'll cook him a big meal in our country kitchen and talk about art and film and poetry. And after that, i'll hand him a manuscript for something to bring back and work on.
I'll have my friends over and we'll play poker late into the night, and drink port, and talk about old times. We'll be too old for boardgames but we'll have fun trying anyway.
In the evenings, i will write profusely. And when i'm done, i will tell stories to my wife, the same stories i'd have told since we were young, but she would enjoy hearing them again. I would rise early and fish in a lake on the edge of the orchard. I would reel in some beautiful fish and we would later have it for lunch. In the mornings, we would harvest limes and chillies and tomatoes. In the afternoons, we would work in the kitchen. And in the evenings, we will cook nice big dinners.
9:58 am ]