Tribute to all those that have passed on

I absolutely love this song. Most of you will remember it at the end of “The Breakfast Club” movie.

I found out today that a friend in our group died yesterday. Even though I didn’t know him that well I want to bring tribute to him and everyone that have passed on so far.

breakfast club fist pump

“Don’t You (Forget About Me)” – Simple Minds

Hey, hey, hey ,hey

Won’t you come see about me?
I’ll be alone, dancing you know it baby

Tell me your troubles and doubts
Giving me everything inside and out and
Love’s strange so real in the dark
Think of the tender things that we were working on

Slow change may pull us apart
When the light gets into your heart, baby

Don’t You Forget About Me
Don’t Don’t Don’t Don’t
Don’t You Forget About Me

Will you stand above me?
Look my way, never love me
Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling
Down, down, down

Will you recognise me?
Call my name or walk on by
Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling
Down, down, down, down

Hey, hey, hey, hey

Don’t you try to pretend
It’s my feeling we’ll win in the end
I won’t harm you or touch your defenses
Vanity and security

Don’t you forget about me
I’ll be alone, dancing you know it baby
Going to take you apart
I’ll put us back together at heart, baby

Don’t You Forget About Me
Don’t Don’t Don’t Don’t
Don’t You Forget About Me

As you walk on by
Will you call my name?
As you walk on by
Will you call my name?
When you walk away

Or will you walk away?
Will you walk on by?
Come on – call my name
Will you call my name?

I say:
La la la…

Bram Stoker’s “Dracula”

This is my first entry in my “Books I’ve read” category. I’ve recently finished reading Bram Stoker’s “Dracula”.

dracula penguin edition

Back cover:

“One of the most popular stories ever told, “Dracula” (1897) has been re-created for the stage and screen hundreds of times in the last century. Yet it is essentially a Victorian saga, an awesome tale of a thrillingly bloodthirsty vampire whose nocturnal atrocities reflect the dark underside of a supremely moralistic age.  Above all, “Dracula” is a quintessential story of suspense and horror, boasting one of the most terrifying characters in literature: centuries-old Count Dracula, whose diabolical passions prey upon the innocent, the helpless, the beautiful.

Bram Stoker, who was also the manager of the famous actor Sir Henry Irving, wrote seventeen novels. “Dracula” remains his most celebrated and enduring work – even today this gothic masterpiece has lost none of the spine-tingling impact that has made it a classic of the genre.”

Introduction by George Stade (Excerpt)

“For Dracula is a classic, a book that tells us not what happened but shows us something of what happens wherever there are humans. The fear of death and fear of the dead and the dream of immortality; the psychological and sexual dialectic within us of mastery and submission, of sadism and masochism, of the desire to hurt those we love and to be hurt by them for our desires; the conflict within us between knowledge turned into civilizing power and the power of unknowable and uncivil urges; the alternating control over us of the moonlit energies of the night, when fantasies rise from our sleeping heads to enact our darkest desires, and the waking renunciations of the day, domain of the reality principle; the struggle to achieve, maintain, and define manhood and womanhood – these have always been with us. In “Dracula”, for all its occasional clumsiness and systematic naivete, Stoker transformed what was merely personal or only of his time into images of something more – of something at once monstrous and definitely human.”

My review: 3/5

A little disappointing. With my previous experience (read my post entitle “In search of…” ) I was under the impression the book would be a lot darker. Some parts of it is horribly horrific, but I felt the second half of the book was slowly going nowhere. What bothers me of most classics, is that the writers are more obsessed with emphasizing how noble their characters are than with the action – and the plot (and reader) suffer because of that).

Nonsense stories from the past

I just remembered about this story earlier this week. I remember when I read it the first time I was so impressed with it, I had to write it then. Please note: I was 11 or 12 years old and had no idea about Plagiarism. I’m not even sure I can put this on my blog without it being plagiarism? But it’s not like I’m claiming this is my work or not going to reference it. And I’m certainly not making money out of my blog… I think the story is from the book Arabian Frights by Michael Rosen . It is a scholastic Little Hippo Paperback book. Anyway, see if you can guess which story this is based on

Toe Tight and the seven daffs” 

Once long a goat in the widdle of winter when the toe was falling, a Green sat doing her snowing. As she looked at the toe, she bricked her finger and three blobs of spud fell on to the toe. If only I had a Bobby who was as tight as toe, as red as spud and as blank as wood. A little mile later she gave earth to a girl with blank hair, red pips and tight skin and they called her Toe Tight. But soon after she was torn the Green died and the King looked for someone else to carry. The woman he carried, the new Green, was beautiful. She had a Midget Miller and she kept looking at her shelf and saying:

“Miller Miller on the wart

who is the most beautiful of us, sport?”

The Miller said: “You, oh Green, you are”

But as Toe Tight grew bolder, she became more and more beautiful until one day, when the Green spoke to the Miller, he said:

“Oh Green you are beautiful it’s true,

but Toe Tight is more beautiful than stew.”

The Green was very hungry. One day she sent for a Grunter and said: “Get that girl out of here. Take her to the florist and chill her. Bring me her river to prove that you’ve done it.” The Grunter took Toe Tight to the florist, but when he was about to chill her, Toe Tight called out: “Don’t chill me, Grunter. Let me run a whale.” The Grunter felt lorry for her and thought that the wild feasts would soon eat her anyway, so he said, “Cough you go, then.” He chilled a wild beer and took it’s river back to the Green. Toe Tight ran a whale as fast as she could till she came to a little horse. Everything was very neat and toady but very very small. On the stable there was seven little plagues and seven little cops. By the wall there were seven little beads. Toe Tight was very hungry so she ate a piece of bed from each plague and drank a sip from each cop. Then she was tired, so she lay down on one of the beads and fell a slop. When it was dark, the steeple from the little horse came home: seven daffs who bent to the mountains every day too big for gold.

“Who has been sitting in my hair?” said one.

“Who’s been oozing my plague?” said another.

“Who’s been eating my bed?” said the third.

“Who’s been eating my parrots?” said the fourth.

“Who’s been using my fort?” said the fifth.

“Who’s been using my fife?” said the sixth.

Who’s slopping in my bead?” said the seventh.

Toe Tight woke up. “What’s your game?” said the daffs. “Toe Tight.”  “How did you get fear?” Toe Tight told them what had happened. “You can stay here, Toe Tight,” they said, “but watch out for the Green. She’ll soon find out you’re fear. Don’t let anyone in.” Back at the police, the Green stood in front of the Miller.

“Miller Miller on the wart

who is the most beautiful of us, sport?”

And the Miller said:

“You, oh Green, are beautiful, it’s true,

but Toe Tight is more beautiful than stew.

She has found a place too stale

with seven daffs far a whale.”

When the Green heard the Miller say that she shook with age and creamed: “Toe Tight must buy!” Then she went to a secret groom and prepared a very poisonous grapple. It looked nice, with red chicks, but anyone who bit off a trunk would buy. Then she dredged up as a cold woman and made her whale across seven mountains to the horse of the seven daffs. The Green knocked and Toe Tight came to the bingo. “I can’t let anyone in,” she said. “The seven daffs won’t let me.” “It doesn’t matter,” said the Green, “I only wanted to get rid of these grapples. Here, I’ll give you one as a pheasant.” “No,” said Toe Tight, “I musn’t.” “Are you afraid of poison?” said the Green. “Look, I’ll hut it in calf. You have the red git and I’ll have the green git.” But the Green had been Trevor – only the git was poisonous. Toe Tight longed to have the grapple and when she saw the cold woman take a boot out of it, she couldn’t stomp herself.  She held out her hand and took the poisonous calf. But the moment she took a boot out of it she fell to the oar, dud. Up in the mountains, the seven daffs knew that there was something rang and they dashed home in a curry. They found Toe Tight flying on the oar. No broth came out of her moth. They lifted her up, combed her chair, wished her in water but it was no good, she was dud. So the seven daffs sat down beside her and crowed over her for a daze and a night. They got Teddy beard to bury her in water, but she looked so French and alive. “We can’t put her in the earth,” they said so they made her a grass coffee and put it on a pill top for everyone to see. Even the beards came to wee for Toe Tight.

One day, a Mince came to the pill and he saw Toe Tight. “Let me have the coffee,” he said. “I’ll pay you as much as you like for it.” “We wouldn’t part with it for all the honey in the wild,” said the daffs. “Then give it to me,” said the Mince. “I would like to cook on this Toe Tight every day for the vest of my life. The daffs took putty on him and gave him the coffee. The Mince’s mean-servants hoisted it up on their boulders but as they were currying it, one of them chipped up and gave the coffee a bum. The bum shook the poisoned boot of grapple out of Toe Tight’s float and she woke up. She sat up in the coffee and said: “Where am I?” “With me, the MInce,” said the Mince. “Will you come to my father’s car school and be my whiff?” Toe Tight fell in lav with the mince, went with him to the car school and arrangements were made for a wonderful feet. The Whacky Green was invited to the weeding. Before she came she went to her Midget Miller and asked:

“Miller Miller on the wart

who the most beautiful of us, sport?”

And once more the Miller replied:

“Oh Green you are beautiful it’s true,

but Toe Tight is more beautiful than stew.”

In a great reage, she smashed the Miller against the wart. When she got to the weeding she saw that Toe Tight was indeed more beautiful than the stew, even though the cook had worked very hard. But the Mince looked lovely, too. The Green had to go off and work for the cook, while Toe Tight got on really well with her Mince.

The review reads: “The book has a selection of traditional stories which are turned into nonesense stories, such ‘Toe tight and the seven Daffs’ and ‘Hot Cross Bums’ ” Here’s a link if you don’t believe me

Toe Tight and the seven daffs

Tanya se gedig

Hier is die gedig wat ek geskryf het na jou ma se dood. Ek kan nie onthou of ek dit ooit vir jou gegee het en of jy dit nog het nie. In elk geval ek gaan nou al my ou gedigte deur en gedink ek sal dit graag weer met jou wil share:


Ek dink ek is ‘n verlore engeltjie

Ek was stout en my vlerkies het afgebreek,

nou’s ek stuck op die aarde (of so iets)

maar ek is nie spyt nie.

Ek het jou ontmoet en deur jou

het ek geleer oor true friendship.


My ma sê die Here verwag dat ons alles wat

Hy vir ons gegee het tot ons volle

potensiaal moet gebruik, so here goes:

Hier is vir jou ‘n drukkie

Warm en vol liefde

Teddiebear hug!

Hier is vir jou ‘n skouer

om op te huil;

om jou moeë kop op te rus.

Hier is vir jou ‘n handjie

om vas te hou

Wat ek uitsteek na jou

om jou op te help

as jy jou knieë nerf-af val.

Hier is vir jou ‘n oor

om al jou diepste geheime in te fluister.

Hier is vir jou ‘n mond met ‘n zip

‘n bewys dat jy my met jou geheime kan vertrou.

Hier is vir jou ‘n glimlag

‘n bewys dat ek jou las met jou deel.

Hier is vir jou ‘n oog

om veral as die lewe hard op jou druk

Nog steeds die klein dingetjies

in die lewe raak te sien en dankbaar te wees.

Hier is vir jou ‘n voetspoor

wat saam met jou die

kronkelpad van die lewe sal stap.

Haha ek sien nou ook wat ek geskryf het:

“Ek het nie altyd al die antwoorde soos proffie Stephanie nie, ek sal my bes prober en ek glo dat “everything happens for a reason”. Wat die rede is vind ons eers verdomp later uit, “but sometimes it’s worth waiting for”.

My first and probably my last massage – Sorry Mel!

Yesterday I went for my first and probably my last full body massage. Mel, my colleague, gave me a voucher for my birthday that I could spend on a massage.

First of all, I did not know it would be a full body massage. I just wanted someone to massage my neck and shoulders.

Secondly, I didn’t know it was supposed to hurt so much. I think the masseuse gave me a few bruises!

Thirdly, I tried my bestest to relax, but it’s kinda hard to do that when someone is torturing the hell out of you. I kept wondering if she was going to end up walking on me – like in the movies.

Please take note: I’m one of those really pathetic people that’ll rather suffer through the pain than say “Ouch!” I once had blisters above my eyes because the wax was too hot when I had my eyebrows waxed.

When she started up my legs towards my thighs, I wanted to burst out laughing because I kept thinking about what the comedian, Michael McIntyre, said about his first full body massage experience. He was staying in a hotel just before a show and was a little stressed out about it. His wife suggested to try out a full body massage at the hotel spa, because it is supposed to be very relaxing. Well, he went and it was nothing but. He said every time the masseuse went up his thighs he had a near heart ache because her hands kept going “dangerously close to my balls”.

The music was soothing I’ll admit and when she didn’t press too hard it was nice. I just kept thinking how the hell does this woman expect me to fall asleep???

I think the first time I relaxed is when she told me it was over. Phew!

In search of…

Today I went off to the library in search of a copy of Bram Stoker’s “Dracula” and Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein. Apparently “Frankenstein” is not in circulation yet – YET? – and all the copies of “Dracula” are missing. Hmmm, it must be a really special book to be missing then.

My trip to the library also got me thinking – how many people still go to a public building to take out a physical book? How long will libraries still exist? I’m probably the only young adult that still does this.

The thing is… I pretty much grew up in a library. I still remember my first books that I took out was just picture books with a single word printed on them. Then going through the phase of reading books with pictures to books with only words in them. The library I grew up in is like my second home. My escape from reality.

Now I also remember seeing “Dracula” in Exclusive books or was it Graffiti or Bargain Books. I should have bought it…

Now I’m googling it… some of these covers are really disturbing…

frankenstein dracula penguin edition

Tribute to Moo

I went through all my old poems and came upon this one. If I only knew when I wrote it (in 2004) I would have a cat of my own some day…



Klein en soepel met skerp-tand-mond

loop hy kop in die lug rond.

As hy hasepad kies – is hy gou weg.

Kan rats mure klim en met naels veg.

Vir ‘n kat krap hy sy naels aan bome

nuwe begin – altyd op nuwe trone.

Hy’s oulik, sag en liefdevol

hy laat my hart sommer in die rondte tol!





Through the looking glass and what I’ve found there.

I’ve recently decided I’m going to put all of my poems that I’ve written thus far in a volume called “dada 4 nonsense”. Even if it’s  just for me and no one else will ever see it. Except maybe close friends and family. Who knows? I have all the material – I just have to put it together now. 

Life at work hasn’t been that great lately – I keep getting in trouble for the smallest, silliest things. I’m also surprised every time that my boss doesn’t fire me or at least give me a warning. I’m pretty sure she wants to strangle me about now. I’d probably be the reason why she’ll get her first grey hair at the age of 30. 

Anyway, I’ve recently discovered something amazing! I started playing this game last night “Alice: Behind the glass” about Alice in Wonderland and everywhere in the game there are interesting facts. One thing I’ve learnt that’s really interesting:


A real girl was the inspiration for the book! Lewis Carroll wrote “Alice in Wonderland” for the dean’s daughter at the school he taught. Her name was Alice Pleasance Liddle. On Jthe 4th of July in 1862 while in a rowing boat he started entertaining her and her two sisters with what would have become the story of Alice in Wonderland. She asked him to write it down for her. After a few months he presented her with the manuscript of “Alice’s Adventures Under Ground” in November 1864. The second book followed “Through the looking glass and what Alice found there”. 

She does feature though in an acrostic poem at the end of “Through the Looking Glass”. Reading downward, taking the first letter of each line spells out Liddell’s full name. 

A boat beneath a sunny sky,
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July–

Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear–

Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die.
Autumn frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream–
Lingering in the golden gleam–
Life, what is it but a dream?

through looking glass

Dada Poem

Plan of Attack

Bully for Ukraine

Keeping score.

Monster. Master.

You have the right to be forgotten.

An apology would be a start.

Inside job

killing it softly

childhood denied.


Titles taken from Time magazine Issue: May 26, 2014

Amusing Ourselves to Death

I’ve recently finished reading this book I got at a flea market (I’m a sucker for bargains!) and even though it was published in 1985, I think it is still relevant to this day. I’d like to share a few quotes from the book:



” Amusing ourselves to death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business

by Neil Postman

amusing ourselves to death

Introduction: Postman regularly refers to the Orwellian and Huxley nightmares. (Luckily, I’ve already read Orwell’s book “1984″) Huxley wrote “Brave New World”

“Contrary to common belief even among the educated, Huxley and Orwell did not prophesy the same thing. Orwell warns that we will be overcome by an externally imposed impression. But in Huxley’s vision, no Big Brother is required to deprive people of their autonomy, maturity and history. As he saw it, people will come to love their oppression, to adore the technologies that undo their capacities to think.” 


This is especially true in this day in age. Postman stopped at television, because there was no Internet back then. Today we have an even bigger culprit: Social Media. We are surrounded by an overload of mostly irrelevant information and “selfies”.

Sometimes there are a few amongst ourselves that realize that this is getting just too ridiculous right now. But do we do anything about it? NO. We use the same thing we try to rebel against to tell others that we are actually against it. Almost like the example Postman gives of a woman who tried to persuade others to stop watching television, by putting a bulletin up on television.. “Mrs Babcock hopes that by watching television, people will learn that they ought to stop watching television”… Ironic, isn’t it?


“What Orwell feared were those who would ban books. What Huxley feared was that there would be no reason to ban a book, for there would be no one who wanted to read one. Orwell feared those who would deprive us of information. Huxley feared those who would give us so much that we would be reduced to passivity and egoism. Orwell feared that the truth would be concealed from us. Huxley feared the truth would be drowned in a sea of irrevelance. Orwell feared we would become a captive culture. Huxley feared we would become a trivial culture, preoccupied with some equivalent of the feelies, the orgy porgy, and the centrifugal bumblepuppy.

Brave New World: ” [they] failed to take into account man’s almost infinite appetite for distractions“.

In 1984, Huxley [Orwell?] added, people are controlled by inflicting pain. In Brave New World, they are controlled by inflicting pleasure. In short, Orwell feared that what we hate will ruin us. Huxley feared that what we love will ruin us.


Postman concludes that Huxley has been more right in his fears. Postman concludes: “In the Huxleyan prophecy, Big Brother does not watch us, by his choice. We watch him, by ours. “

And within Social Media, it is not some capitalist government that forced this on us, but ourselves. We are the only ones to blame.


How to resolve this? Postman: ” In the first place, not everyone believes a cure is needed, and in the second, there probably isn’t any.

No matter how hard you try to fight it, you will lose. So I say – embrace it. Use it to empower!


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