Showing posts with label Characters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Characters. Show all posts
Friday
Sunday
Lei รจ arrivata
Our beautiful friend Serena has come to visit us for the first time in two years. Sere used to live in Cape Town; initially came to visit for a month and ended up spending four years. Perhaps we can get her to stay longer this time round?
She lives in Parma, Italy, and facilitates creative events and gatherings, curates exhibitions and vintage fairs. She also has the most impeccable taste - in true Italian fashion. She has arrived with a massive suitcase full of European-smell clothing, detailed dresses and shoes stuffed in pouches bearing impressive brand crests on them. With every garment she pulls from the surplus of suitcase, breath bating, I realise how desperately I must make my trek beyond where I am now. The clothing symbolic of the texture I am craving, the inspiration and the fibres I must gather to make up my bigger suitcase (if you will). Pack suitcase, soon.
Serena is here. The timing could not be more perfect.
Tuesday
Frivolity for the win
So here I am.
After almost a year of absence and/or neglect of this blog, I have reinvented its look and decided to revive its potential. 2010 was a turbulent year for me and I felt my writing drying up as the year progressed. Distractions and a short coming of inspiration.
Alas, 2011 promises adventures and more play. I am a free agent. Chose to pursue a path of 'what I like doing' rather than 'how to keep climbing'. How this approach will pan out, time will tell, but for now I am happy to be writing again. At least. These days there seems plenty of time for introspection and assessment of self, yet it does seem like I am too distracted to really follow the latter through. Perhaps life is too good - frivolity for the win.
I hope that I will regain your readership, captivate your bored asses at work and have you reading, well, whatever my bored ass feels like writing about. For now. Also, Das Hasen Ohr will decisively be less about naked bums and naughty nuns and more themed and streamlined. How so, I have yet to decide. I am contemplating, for one, character profiles on those individuals who I find particularly entertaining (read: Khimmal); intriguing, fascinating and inspiring. A way to sharpen my tools, and share with you the most subtle nuances and details that captivate me everyday, thus keeping me from keeping the focus. Too much attention to detail, sooo much to see. It's my friendly foe.
Nice to see you again. Keep squinting at the sun. At least you're looking up.
Friday
Will you stop sighing. Please.
Time again for a bit of the written word, this is after all a showcase space for it (not for glorifying behinds):
Although I am not quite sure what it is am to write about, as the click-clack automatically strings one letter to the next on my dirty keyboard. Suppose that is what this indursty is doing to me. Automated literature. I am at work, sitting inside a cubicle-like construction, facing a white semi-wall supporting many post its reminding me to keep things in perspective, whilst the art director sitting to my left will not stop sighing. It seems intrinsic to his being - he doesn't even take the slightest of notice of my irritation as he expels yet another long and heavy groan. Sighing is a mild description of his variant. His is a unique amalgamation of growling, old-man moaning, vocal-chord grunting, all packaged into a noteworthy exhalation. He sounds unlike anything I could possibly describe. No metaphorical parallels. It's his own. He is a young man, younger than me, of statuesque build - self-important air. He freelances here. On other days he crafts at his entrepreneurial fortune. His girlfriend is the weather girl on TV. They phone each other many times a day, and he always answers the phone with a feeble 'hey hey'. He wears heavy leather shoes, sometimes more refined and pointy, but he is sure to move his feet with such vigour as he strides through the agency that, regardless of the nature of his soles, his footwear is sure to make a bold sound of announcement.
Ahh - he just sneezed! Imagine the sneezing version of groaning guy. It's loud. and projected, no question. Although he has enough etiquette not to route his guster in my direction. Whop, there he goes again. Groooowalllnnnffff...hhhhm. Evidently the man just really can not help it! Does weather girl take notice? Although, 'hey hey' leads me to believe that honeymoon period is still well-dumbing to what is bound to become worse with age. Only 24! Poor girl. Given, I don't mind the guy, in fact we actually get along rather well. I wear headphones most of the day.
I have adjusted, as has she I am sure. Adapt or die. Death by aural harassment of another man's exasperating habit.
Sigh ...
Although I am not quite sure what it is am to write about, as the click-clack automatically strings one letter to the next on my dirty keyboard. Suppose that is what this indursty is doing to me. Automated literature. I am at work, sitting inside a cubicle-like construction, facing a white semi-wall supporting many post its reminding me to keep things in perspective, whilst the art director sitting to my left will not stop sighing. It seems intrinsic to his being - he doesn't even take the slightest of notice of my irritation as he expels yet another long and heavy groan. Sighing is a mild description of his variant. His is a unique amalgamation of growling, old-man moaning, vocal-chord grunting, all packaged into a noteworthy exhalation. He sounds unlike anything I could possibly describe. No metaphorical parallels. It's his own. He is a young man, younger than me, of statuesque build - self-important air. He freelances here. On other days he crafts at his entrepreneurial fortune. His girlfriend is the weather girl on TV. They phone each other many times a day, and he always answers the phone with a feeble 'hey hey'. He wears heavy leather shoes, sometimes more refined and pointy, but he is sure to move his feet with such vigour as he strides through the agency that, regardless of the nature of his soles, his footwear is sure to make a bold sound of announcement.
Ahh - he just sneezed! Imagine the sneezing version of groaning guy. It's loud. and projected, no question. Although he has enough etiquette not to route his guster in my direction. Whop, there he goes again. Groooowalllnnnffff...hhhhm. Evidently the man just really can not help it! Does weather girl take notice? Although, 'hey hey' leads me to believe that honeymoon period is still well-dumbing to what is bound to become worse with age. Only 24! Poor girl. Given, I don't mind the guy, in fact we actually get along rather well. I wear headphones most of the day.
I have adjusted, as has she I am sure. Adapt or die. Death by aural harassment of another man's exasperating habit.
Sigh ...
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