Winter

Winter

Fear not winter's call:

Under autumn's pall

Calls Mother Earth

Kindly to her kin

Inherent i' the soil.

No one is forgotten, no

Ground is left alone.

Call unto the world, call

Out to all

Life: It be time to rest;

Deny all toil, deny all strife.

  - Mark van Vuuren

Procreative

The other day I was walking around the shops. Not being one to stifle my curiosity, I stumbled into a business premise that focuses on procreation. It’s not so much the formal education of the process but the emphasis on lustful, salacious and puerile intent, either in oneself or one’s spouse for the consequential act of procreation.

An array of interesting goods were presented. It’s quite primitive but the idea seems to be that by looking at one person who is of lustful intent this will somehow be instilled in the viewer; so if I look at a postman long enough I too will want to post letters, one supposes. Anyway, this disposition transference is done through pictures and film. On the shelves was an entire film dedicated to the procreative process – how inventive. It turns out a number of these films have been made and continue to be made.

Astoundingly, a rather large section of the display area was dedicated to anti-conception devices. How odd: turning a husband’s attention to nether matters and then removing the entire raison d’être seems to be illogical. One such device is a sheath that fits over the husband’s erect manhood. A very popular seller, I’m assured. The idea is that with a sheathed arousal the husband will indulge in coitus with his spouse and then withdraw. Any hope of conception is thus lost. Perhaps it is a practice run. Subsequent to this he removes the said sheath, enters into coitus again, achieves crisis and thus concludes his sole contribution to mankind – another child in an overpopulated world.

One device that held my attention was a rubber ring with a contraption on it. The contraption vibrates – how novel. It’s new on the market but I suspect the manufacturers have not fully understood what they were making. The ring, although rubber, is too large to wear on one’s ring-finger; it’s also uncomfortably tight on the wrist. I suspect with time the design will change; it’s always nice to anticipate new fashion trends.

I bought such a ringed device; my lady friend was impressed by the colour and design. I’m not a fool entirely, I know what shop I was in – I shall keep this aside for that time, say about 3 years from the wedding date when we decide to ‘start a family’ and the demands of that necessary but unspoken act might be facilitated by this novelty.

- Mark van Vuuren

ABNUO

Deny your self
Remove your clothes
Take off your shoes

Deny your name, sex and identity
Deny your knowledge, language and experience
Deny your relatives, friends and foe

Deny your values, obligations and inheritance
Deny your religion, morality and faith
Deny your neighbours, tribe and country

Deny your class, status and race
Deny your guilt, revenge and doubt
Deny your passion, dreams and sacrifice

Deny your potential
Abandon your hope
Shun your fate

Immerse yourself in all sentience
For a moment, experience
The Universal Consciousness



- Mark van Vuuren
January 2009

Terra Mater

Terra Mater 

 - Mark van Vuuren

Oil
Ice
Weather
Depleted
Unwelcome carbon
Gaia cries for symbiosis



(This poem is written in the Fibonacci form, i.e. syllables per line 1,1,2,3,5,8, etc.)

If it ain’t baroque, don’t fix it*

 If it ain’t baroque, don’t fix it*

 - Mark van Vuuren

Unreliable sources insist the word Spring derives from the Latin “Awake”. I concur.

Three horribly cold and unnecessarily long months finally done. Along with it goes the daily dose of sick building syndrome, crowded lifts divided between the sneezers and the non-breathers, and the now-monotonous taste of gluwein.

The mould of Winter has melted. The Big Sleep is over.

The purpose of what you are reading is to highlight the pleasures of baroque music in Spring. Any given Spring Sunday with a picnic basket containing a collection of wines, cheese and bikkies, somewhere in the great outdoors (including front lawns) is quite incomplete without the gel of humanity: baroque music.

Baroque mirrors Spring with its grandiose openings, optimism, sprightly pace, busy cacophony of activities and enthusiastic endeavour. The following recommended collection of baroque compositions is presented in alphabetical order:

Boccherini: Minuet

Handel: Hallelujah chorus
Handel: The arrival of the Queen of Sheba
Handel: Water music – Alla hornpipe
Handel: Zadok the priest

JS Bach: Air ‘on the G string’
JS Bach: Brandenburg concerto No.2 – allegro assai
JS Bach: Brandenburg concerto No.3 – allegro
JS Bach: Orchestral suite no.2 - Badinerie

Telemann: Rejouissance

Vivaldi: Concero for lute and two violins – allegro giusto
Vivaldi: Flute concerto in D – Il gardellino
Vivaldi: The four seasons –allegro (Spring) – Nigel Kennedy recording, of course; listen out for the spinet.

As an extra, Albinoni’s Adagio is included; although solemn it is still baroque, and quite magnificent.

In conclusion, one can talk of passion or one can experience passion; Spring is here, the time is nigh (no pun intended, perhaps).
- fin -

* Title used with kind permission from Albert de Klerk

The Martians are coming!

 The Martians are coming!

 - Mark van Vuuren (1999)

The following is a parody. Not to be taken seriously. If you don’t have a sense of humour then turn the page and don’t come back!

It’s about time the Martians pitched. The time wasted in man hours watching made-for-television dramatisations of alien sightings and alien abductions exceeds the life span of a small nation. The number of trees cut down to put this drivel into print is enough to cover Paraguay twice over. And I’m sick of thinking to myself, “Mrs Joan Koruski of Tampa Arizona would never lie, like the other 10 000 annual bona fide sightings.” The Martians owe it to us to pitch en masse. The Millennium would make a good entrance. The once-in-a-thousand-years Millennium party is on a Saturday; so Sunday is definitely a no-no; Monday we find out about Millennium mainframe bugs and how long our Mastercards are out of action for. Tuesday? Yes, Tuesday’s good. So they pitch and the government denies it. “You didn’t see nuthin’. Ten million people are seein’ thangs.” Four days later Bill Clinton grips the podium and hesitantly acknowledges the Martian presence to the nation: “Yip.” He knew about them for quite a while but kept quiet because of concerns regarding fundamental changes to economics, ethics, communication skills and medicine. Here’s why:

On economics, have any UFO sightings described a saucer shaped object with “SHELL” or “Marlboro” printed on the side of it? These guys don’t advertise. They don’t need to. Not because they have enough money, but because they have no money. If they landed here and registered as voters some Liberal klingon is going to sell an idea like “Let’s share the world’s wealth. If we can share everything, earthlings can too!” The debts are offset from all the cash and what’s left is divided by the number of people on earth. To prevent currency arguments payment is made with food. So we each get a loaf of bread and a Coke and the day after this is announced the price of Coke shoots up.

If sharing the wealth won’t show the benefits of a cash free society the Martians will then identify the particular gene which makes us so very profit oriented. Once removed it leaves us without that hell-bent urge to make a buck. It also leaves one with communistic tendencies, i.e. unable to read a balance sheet. Our typical year begins with the vision “This year we just gotta make another 10% on turnover!”; the government has the same vision in terms of higher taxes. The year hasn’t even started and you’re 10% overworked, overtaxed, still in the same income bracket and making less. But if nobody had the urge to work for money and only worked to satisfy one’s daily needs, which included intellectual stimulation, we’d work less, stress less and enjoy life more. Now just to convince everybody to have their genes altered...

Regarding ethics, the only celebrity not seen in Reeboks, wearing designer denims, a whoosh T-shirt and Raybans, is a Martian. They don’t do fashion. In fact, they don’t do clothing. Being naked, they save a fortune on clothing. Fashion is nothing but a cruel marketing ploy. Are side-burns and bell-bottoms innate representations of our psyche? If fashion is defined as the mating apparel of the nation it’s astounding any population growth took place in the sixties. The Martians come, and clothing manufacturers and a great deal of shopping angst goes. One particular niche of clothing manufacturers will be grateful for the change: those guys who make bright blue and bright green crympolene drip-dry wash-n-wear double breasted suits will finally have a decent night’s sleep. As the suit was introduced on April 01 1948 as an April Fool’s joke, these guys have been praying for the day they could stop production without embarrassing the populace!

Regarding communication skills, for a group of space travellers who don’t have any money and wear no clothing and yet can find their way to earth, they’re doing pretty well. The secret: mental telepathy. Not only can they hear without you speaking, but a practising telepathee can also identify the disposition of the telepathor. He can sense if you’re lying, immoral or just plain nasty. Why would we need a court of law if we can sense intuitively if a person’s actions are of disreputable intent? And the phone bill will also become a thing of the past.

Medically-speaking, mental telepathy exists for blatant messages but also for subliminal messages from one’s body, like an ache. The aching Marshy doesn’t have to explain to Doc Martian how and why his ache was gotten: the Doc just knows, and treats it. And the patient doesn’t pay since he’s got no money. What incentive would Doc Martian have for curing his fellow pals? For Voyager miles? That’s just a rumour. Two double by-passes and he scores a light year is a lie. He does it for free. Any malady is seen as an opportunity to identify and destroy disease which is a victory for “the People”. Diseased Marshies are in demand! Suppose Doc Martian was only interested in Voyager miles his patients would recognise that particular shade of purple in his psyche and boycott him. Way to go, Comrades.

Economically, a world without money means less work and less stress. As for fashion, the Martian school will appeal to all tastes, affordably. That a phasing out period will raise the demand for fig leaves is not the issue. Ethically, why wear clothes if we’re born naked? If we’re to practice telepathy a lot more would be done with a lot less rhetoric. Alleged politicians may find themselves in a dilemma. Medically-speaking, here’s yet another argument against treating the symptom and not the cause. The future is looking roses: I’ll have no money problems and still have my health, so just who is this government protecting?

Thirty years on: Most of today’s telepathic messages are 3D adverts for holidays on Mars. Going for a fifteen minute spin around the globe is all the rage, and looking cool is defined by hanging out el nakedo. No more language barriers, no more junkmail and no mortgage. Did we really have to wait so long in order to enjoy the good life? That’s the last time I vote for an earthling!

The little roller that could

 The little roller that could

- Mark van Vuuren

In the grounds of my complex, against a Willow tree, leant a rusted old roller. It had served its purpose on the local cricket pitch, and, like fifty years ago, still weighed 500 pounds. Visitors to the garden noted how it added character; I noted how it had never been stolen.

The problem with an old roller is that it should only be used in conjunction with a comprehensive medical aid, which I did not have. The garden didn’t need rolling either, so how best to get rid of it but through an incentivised approach: Would you like to buy a roller? If you collect it today we’ll give it to you at half-price.

Cedric always wanted a roller; he came around, gardener in tow, within the half-hour overly prepared in a 1976 1200 Datsun pickup.

We stood around the roller, which stood alongside the pickup: 600 mm ground clearance was required but we couldn’t pick it up. We couldn’t pick it up, we agreed with each other, as the roller didn’t come with adequate handles, nor with an instruction booklet.

So, imagine the following factors from which to draw up a strategy:

- The roller is alongside a Willow tree.
- The Willow tree is alongside a cement driveway.
- The cement driveway dips half a metre every three metres.

Strategic options that come to mind:

1. Keep the roller.
2. Hire a crane.
3. Let the roller roll down the driveway, onto a ramp and into the pickup.
4. Tie a rope to the roller, throw the rope over a branch of the Willow tree, pull the rope to raise the roller and swing the roller onto the pickup.
5. Tie the thingy to the goodie, transmogrify the whatsisname and McGuyver the chappie onto the pickup.

Using the HP19Bii problem solver and a crystal ball, the results were as follows:

1. The body corporate wanted to get rid of the roller so badly they brought a new trustee into their circle to only action this request; me.
2. The crane came along, picked up the roller, dropped it onto the pickup from 1600mm above ground level, and bent the chassis. Cedric lost his pickup, but the roller was fine.
3. The roller rolled down the driveway, cracking the cement; P=MV (i.e. Momentum equals Mass times Velocity) so you’ll understand as I explain how the ramp into the pickup snapped and the roller got wedged under the said vehicle. We could not pull it out as we were pulling uphill, and we couldn’t drive the pickup away as the rear-wheels were in the air.
4. The branch snapped, the roller dropped and sank into the bowels of the earth. With only part of the roller showing we concluded this would be the basis for a new rockery.
5. I tied a few lengths of rope to the roller, put them through the first fork in the tree and tied these to the back of a SECOND vehicle, accelerated forward (well-aware that the only force keeping the chassis attached to the bodywork was the power of prayer) to the point where the roller was 601mm in the air; the pickup reversed to the correct spot, and touchdown!

This was an achievement in itself, but only half the job done. I plied the new owners with beer, told them there would be no cost for the roller, and wished them on their way. The second part of the job was getting the roller off the pickup but I felt I had tempted fate sufficiently for that day.