View from the Treetops ~ 24 Feb 13

Puts you There Where Things are Hollow.

Reeva Steenkamp

As a South African I am well aware of the implications of the ugly drama unfolding there.
There are many things about my disowned homeland that disturb me deeply, not lease how little the mentality of the average white South African has changed over the 20 odd years since the end of Apartheid.
Sport remains the closest thing to religion and sportsmen, especially winning sportsmen, remain in the realm of godlike adoration.
The sports minded, indeed the sports mind, is something I have never understood, believing as I do that the crowd, the audience is a mindless fool and those who take part do so in order to evade their own thoughts – since physical and mental exercise are mutually exclusive.
All this aside, the Pistorius circus only relates to sport in the minds of its South African audience who are, no doubt, having a difficult time coming to terms with the accusations against their hero.
Sport, for Pistorius himself, has been, I hazard, merely a vehicle for achieving his ambition to be famous; to beat everyone; to win every race.
The first indication that his fallibility came during the Olympics after he was beaten by fellow ‘blade runner’ Alan Oliveira and then claimed that Oliveira had cheated by using none-standard blades.
Ignoring for now the huge white elephant that asks us to judge whether he is guilty of murder or not – I think we should not forget that he did in fact kill Reeva Steenkamp on Valentine’s Day.
Could it be that the very demon that drove him to turn his disability into ability has now caused him to cross the line that is drawn between the excesses of money and fame and the reality that no man can own those around him?

The Most Beautiful Story Ever Told

Fifth Avenue 1959 ~ Leon Levinson

When he signed his name in DNA on the smooth page of her belly, he left behind a ghost that would haunt him forever: A benchmark for future expectations.

Tales for the attention-span deficit reader

I Have Questions (No.1071)

Arrows Let Flown ~ Sail

Are the security fences around military barracks there to keep the enemy out, or to keep the enemy within...in?

View from the Treetops 03 Feb 13

Just Shoot Me

Then We'll Come from the Shadows...

Cycling in winter requires some practical dress considerations. Your outfit has to keep you warm while at the same time alleviating the effects of exercise-related body heat.
My research into the ins and outs of achieving the above quickly led me to realise that, besides the practical, there are sartorial obligations to be considered.
That’s right folks: there’s a uniform available.

At the end of ‘The Little House I Used to Live in’ on the Burnt Weenie Sandwich album, when notified there were "cops in uniform" in the audience, Frank Zappa responds: “Everyone in this room is wearing a uniform, don’t kid yourself”

I must have heard that for the first time in the mid-70s and it resonated with my dislike for the school uniforms I was being, and had been, subjected to.
By the end of the 70s it got worse as I was subjected to the brown uniform that the SADF sported in their fashionable war against the communist threat – uniform aside, conscription into the Afrikaner army was a privilege this white boy did not appreciate. Two years in brown almost broke my head; I came close to getting old and succumbing to conformity.
The 80’s rescued me in the guise of ‘the new wave’ - a subtle uniform adopted by a minority who knew better – or so they (we) thought. In those days I was obliged to wear a week-day work uniform (including tie) which I would shuck the minute I got home – a weekend New Romantic indeed.

And while we’re talking about ties – what the fuck is that all about?
A conformance checker?
A penis extension?
I hate wearing a tie and have not done so, even to formal occasions (gasp, scandal), for many years.

So we herd together for warmth; for safety; for a sense of community.
But why do we have to all dress up the same?
If I conform* to the mountain bikers uniform (see here) will it keep me warm while allowing me to have an adrenaline-fueled time on the hallowed trails, splashing through lovely mud and whooping as I jump over dangerous roots and rock outcrops at high speed?

If I wear your uniform, does it mean I have to act like you?



*not bloody likely

...and Step into the Light

Photos by PISCES January 2013

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Breton ~ Edward the Confessor