(written 30 July 2010)
At the little weird cafe downstairs from work they will sell you coffee with out milk
So from what I can tell, either inadvertently, while putting on his pants or bathing or whatever, or on purpose, by turning around and pulling down his pants and going MNNNAAARRRGGGPTTTHHHHT!!, William shows me his butt-hole once in each day. The method cap classique for putting on pants is to roll back onto the bed with the legs in the air and then thread the underpants on from the top, so he's "showing the money" for that manouevre. At least he doesn't have a crazy butthole - like the ragged bottom of a dark unfriendly loch, or an Indonesian werewolf salesman.
Get dressed:
Unless you have something really - reeeeeally - like it has to be way frikken up there - good to lay on the table, I win the Annual Spoonerism of the Week award for the following early-morning gem:
"Shit man - I told you to put your clothes on. Give me that lego."
"O-kaaay. Jeepers."
"Come. Pants............ and now your shirt. OK, now get your susan shocks and bring them through to the lounge - we can put them on after you've had breakfast."
The car door:
Like from a frikken movie: William clambers across from the passenger side to get out of the driver-side door, which is standing open with the car parked at the side of the road just in front of the happy lamp-post outside our primordial soup of a new house - this is actually a fine description of the last few weeks: The house has not "come together". That suggests a stage further down the wire of time and space where solid objects with gravity attract others with less and form big, sufficient objects such as planets and bit of rock. Our house is still in the pre-bang phase, where possibility forms for a morning and fades by the evening, locations for domestic interactions shift and warp and reappear in one of the many rooms - I stopped trying to count them. Tables, floors, walls, cutlery and microwave ovens are like Higgs Bosons - they are fleeting and become improbable as soon as you start heading towards them with intention. But wait - like a photon passing within range of a stellar cluster, I digress:
So William clambers across the seats and knocks the handbrake loose and so the car starts a slow but considerable roll backwards down the road. On its way it's drift is slowed only by the car door being folded open backwards on itself, after which it picks up some pace again. So but now the car door is completely fucked - not like it's got a ding or a scrape - it is fucked (or, as a labourer from some old family anecdote would have it: "It is fuck").
The Taiwanese:
By happy coincidence I landed up at the opening screening of the Taiwanese film on this year's Durban International Film Festival, and it appears that every year the entire Taiwanese community of Durban visits at the Cinema Nouveau to watch the Taiwanese movie. There are about 85 of them. They had a number of bains-marie with deep fried stuff on sticks at a get together before-hand, and the Ambassador of Taiwan stood up and proclaimed that he is proud to be Taiwanese! which was cool. Nashen has a buddy named Jack who is an English/Mandarin speaker who assisted him in giving thanks and happiness to the Taiwanese presence on the festival and for all the folks who had come.
I discovered that the Taiwanese word for a Q&A session is "QandA". Also that the ideogram for OK is "OK". Knowledge is power people. On a previous night at 10:30 Gareth & I went to see a Lebanese movie shot entirely inside a tank.
Poem:
This poem suggests that I may be mixing up the films that I’m seeing with my real life.
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The dog ran away and the fucking guy called
To say that he can’t come today
The shoes that I ordered – they got the wrong size
And the other shop ran out of stock
The car-repair people want both arms and legs
And the dish ran away with the spoon
The aliens came took the kiddies away
The spaceship had big purple lights
We found a sea-monster right under the lounge
It writhed and it swore as it died
Welcome to my day, bring a big spade
He stares at the corpses (and... fade...
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I wanna be a biwionaire so fwikken bad,
Tom
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