From elevator farts to pinnoccio to pie charts: leftover signs posted

Sometimes life makes no sense. This week, I’m having a new version of an old dream at night. I’ve had it so often I’m often lucid in it at this point, but still unable to control the emptiness I feel no matter how I force it to end. So in that state of restless randomnity, I WANT to write, but I have nothing. Nothing in particular to say after wandering through my own day like a ghost.

I don’t remember who facebooked this, but I knew instantly that it belonged on this blog. What better way to introduce a post about nothing in particulars? I guess it would be time to stop looking and start living.

Pinnoccio is one of my favourite characters. So favorite that I have dated him and even married him over the years. Usually by the time he becomes a real boy, he’s someone else’s though.

The result of your actions will be an equal and opposite re-action. But this is my beef with Karma: it doesn’t seem to strike the person responsible. So for example, the people who voted for apartheid are mostly in Australia whining about SA to anyone who’ll listen. The people suffering its bad karma are in South Africa, suffering. This makes no sense, and frankly, is proof that if god does exist, he desperately needs a secretary.

Zuma is part of the bad karma. He’s not the worst president in the world, but he is ineffective, sexist, nepotistic, unable to form a coherent voice from the multitudes of voices within the ANC, and prone to obvious stupidity. This makes him not unlike Mao / Stalin, the obvious references in this satirical artpiece. I’m reading about Mao at the moment in the form of an amazing Biography/Autobiography, “Wild Swans” – the story of three generations of exceptional Chinese women. That book’s probably half the reason I’m so down on humanity at the moment.

And here’s what I miss about home. Stuff like this. This sign picture, taken by Nick Aldridge, who I hope won’t mind me using it in low res. here, was snapped at the Red Hill Shebeen. Red Hill’s a beachside community. Each of these little holiday towns has a little township next door (yeah, not much has changed since apartheid days out there) that supplies the holiday-makers with cheap labor and so on… I’ve been to a lot of them because I had this fairly dangerous habit of getting drunk and deciding to visit on the pretext of buying something. My poor, poor boyfriends…

Taken by screenwriter Leslie Rann, in the elevator of her LA apartment complex. Hilarious, how they explain the exact science of the smell moving around. It should really say “Please do not remove head from ass while in elevator. We prefer all your holes to be plugged while in public places.”

Summarizes how most people feel about pie charts. Although I’m not that into pie, here. Americans like them sweet. I miss the little individual ones you get at gas stations in South Africa. My favorite: Mutton Curry. One of those and an appeltiser the morning after a late night and you’re ready for a day at the office!

Right. Now I can finally delete all that shit from my desktop. Thanks for listening.

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