Brian

A collegue that I worked with for the past four years committed suicide on Sunday. My manager asked me to say something at his memorial and to relate an episode, an anecdote, a story. Where does one start though? It is like those competitions where you have to describe something intricate like love or hate in ten words or less. 

Brian was different, a shy soft spoken guy who were always willing to travel, always willing to assist, always smiling. The one photo on our notice board shows him at the Potjiekos competition, smiling and being happy. I will forever have that picture in my head.

Susan Cain wrote in her book “Quiet” that:

“Introversion—along with its cousins sensitivity, seriousness, and shyness—is now a second-class personality trait, somewhere between a disappointment and a pathology. Introverts living under the Extrovert Ideal are like women in a man’s world, discounted because of a trait that goes to the core of who they are. Extroversion is an enormously appealing personality style, but we’ve turned it into an oppressive standard to which most of us feel we must conform.”

We wear our loudness as a badge of honour, our cynicism as a weapon, our outspokenness as a charm. It is understandable. Most of us have seen things in our lives that will haunt us forever. But in this culture of brash extrovert survival, we sometimes neglect to make a little space and time for those who are not like the rest: The quiet observers, the shy analysts.

People are quick to classify themselves as drivers. Those who get things do regardless of circumstances, regardless of the cost to people’s emotions and feelings. That is being said explicitly, but the inference is there. "I do not take no for an answer" "It is my way or the highway" "I am driver" "I will succeed".

And in all this Brian still stood out as an excellent investigator, someone who used his traits to obtain valuable information and to gain the trust of witnesses. He never destroyed a phone in anger, he never swore, he never became angry. He was empathetic and sympathetic. A rare soul in this world that we created, our fortress of noise which we build to hide away our emotions and true personalities, scared that our inner vulnerabilities and insecurities will be exposed and maligned.

And yet Brian always remained himself, steadfast in a barrage and deluge of noise.

I have been in a similar position as Brian. With just one little movement, one single breath separating one from this life and whatever it is people believe in. It is a dark, terrifying and very lonely place where phantoms and ghouls of one’s own creation dictate the way forward.

We will never know why he did what he did. Some will say that what he did was the coward’s way out. But in the end he was a very brave soul. He held out, he tried to keep going, he tried to live for such a long time, despite the excruciating almost debilitating pain which took over his whole being.

Almost with something akin to false Victorian bashfulness we skirt around terms like mental illness and depression. It is something that is a shame, a sign of weakness at best, a wallowing in selfish despair at worst. Both ends of the spectrum presuppose that a depressed individual has control over his or her moods and choices. But what people do not realise is that when you are in its clutches, you cannot choose. You cannot act. You cannot think.

In her book Night Falls Fast Dr Kay Redfield Jamison described this as follows:

“When people are suicidal, their thinking is paralyzed, their options appear spare or non-existent, their mood is despairing, and hopelessness permeates their entire mental domain. The future cannot be separated from the present, and the present is painful beyond solace. ‘This is my last experiment,’ wrote a young chemist in his suicide note. ‘If there is any eternal torment worse than mine I’ll have to be shown.”

So Brian was probably in excruciating emotional pain. And that pain cannot be eased by codeine or morphine or aspirin. How do you describe your emotional pain in terms that people can understand? You cannot point at a broken limb, a gushing wound or a badly discoloured bruise.

So please do not blame him or be angry with him. Let us rather be honest about this illness that claims more lives every year than the war in Afghanistan. Let us accept that we do not have the answers. As Dr Jamison said:

“Each way to suicide is its own: intensely private, unknowable, and terrible. Suicide will have seemed to its perpetrator the last and best of bad possibilities, and any attempt by the living to chart this final terrain of a life can be only a sketch, maddeningly incomplete.”

Let us not define Brian’s life in terms of the way he died. Let us remember him as the sensitive, quiet soul with the beautiful smile, cigarette in hand, laughing in a knowing way at our complaints, curses and shouts.

And let us use this as a vehicle to understanding. Understanding that depression can strike anyone, that it is an illness. And that if it strike, it is not a shame but rather an illness that can and should be treated by professionals.

And above all, let us celebrate life.

3 December 2013

Women in War

A couple of weeks ago a friend invited me to a social paintball game. Now the previous time I played paintball I was 10 years younger and 30 kilos lighter. I also just want to take the opportunity to inform the  people who mistook my cries of pain every time a ball hit me that it was not an Amazonian or Pict war cry. It was just me screaming like a girl.

This time it was different. First off I had a mother of an automatic gun. Strange how you feel less vulnerable with a massive automatic in your hands. Which begs the question does size and caliber really matter? My answer is an unequivocal yes.

For the first two games I cowered in a bunker. And lo and behold, some sniper with a gun, or maker in paintball parlance, which if I would guess shot .68 cal boomerang balls, hit me in the shoulder.

Then something happened: During the last two games something in my mind changed and it changed from survival mode to attack like a madwoman mode. I ran out, sprayed my opponents with paint balls, dived very  graciously (as gracious as a 40 something overweight woman can be) for cover. And wow, what a rush.

In the end our team lost to a very experienced team of hard core paint ballers. Age should not matter. Ok, they were 9, 10 and 12 years old. Fierce little pre teens I tell you.

But it was as if something primal came out. Being in the moment, throwing caution to the wind, enjoying a little bit of peace and quiet in such a hectic world, where racing thoughts are the norm. Such a bunch of contradictions but hey, so be it. It was just a game.

But during my research into the role of women in war (that sounds profound but I was actually looking for a name for our new paintball team) I came across some fascinating facts. If one listens to the mostly American debates about the role of women in war, one would tend to think that women's only role in combat in the past was either as nurses or as prostitutes. Strange that, women are always depicted as either saintly or fiends from hell. Another debate.

During the Second World War the Soviets had women flying bombers, they had snipers and they had all women military units. The Night Witches flew sorties and bomb the Germans and the 1077th Anti Aircraft Regiment took on a whole German Panzer Division. The women of the 1077th was all very young, untrained and ill equipped but at the Siege of Stalingrad they turned their anti aircraft weapons on the advancing German army, not stopping until their whole Regiment was wiped out by the Germans.

So besides Boudicea, Joan of Arc (who was depicted as a raving lunatic in the Mila Jovovich movie) there are a lot of examples of women fighting in active combat: The Soviet Battalion of Death, the Cuban Shock Battalion etc.

Are women more fragile than men? That debate is still raging. Are women more at risk for atrocities committed against them when they are captured? Men are also at risk for inhumane torture and even rape.

But in the end, I believe the fighting spirit is the same. Most humans will fight with everything they have to protect that which is precious to them and what they believe is right.

My experience in martial arts taught me that women are much more fierce during competitions than their male counterparts. You should see them rumble. Maybe the same is true of war. Hopefully we will never have to find out though.

Photos

I am fascinated by photography. Maybe it is the way is which a split second is captured and nuances which might be missed by the human eye, are frozen on paper (or the electronic equivalent of papyrus sheets).

This morning I stumbled across this picture of the Empress Dowager Cixi. Traditionally, as I understand it, Chinese women did not have a lot of scope to advance as they were, like the ancient Roman women subject to a fierce patriarchal system. However, Cixi managed to become one of the most powerful women in China, ruling first through her son and after his death, through her nephew. Interesting that there were in history so many powerful women "behind the throne." 

This picture is utterly fascinating. She looks like a slip of a girl but her eyes speak of determination and ambition.

(This picture was posted on http://www.environmentalgraffiti.com/news-rare-photographs-19th-century-chinese-women?image=10. There are several other fascinating photos on the site.)

The lure of imaginary demons

“I worry that, especially as the Millennium edges nearer, pseudoscience and superstition will seem year by year more tempting, the siren song of unreason more sonorous and attractive. Where have we heard it before? Whenever our ethnic or national prejudices are aroused, in times of scarcity, during challenges to national self-esteem or nerve, when we agonize about our diminished cosmic place and purpose, or when fanaticism is bubbling up around us - then, habits of thought familiar from ages past reach for the controls.

The candle flame gutters. Its little pool of light trembles. Darkness gathers. The demons begin to stir.” 
― Carl Sagan, The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark

I have yet to see anything so-called supernatural in my life. And I have been looking for a long time, in churches and temples and circles, following ley lines and spirals. But these days I am more fascinated by the natural world and nature. Why do you want to proof the existence of ghosts when you can look at nebulae and coral reefs and magnificent mountain ranges?

Our world is being overrun by pseudo-medicine, pseudo-scientists and even religious superstitions. Suddenly there is a devil behind every bush. Suddenly people are avid believers in archaic texts like "Demonology" by King James. They believe that there are evil spirits inhabiting inanimate objects; they believe that ordinary people are being possessed by spirits who then make them do atrocious things like murdering their parents or setting friends alight. People believe that if anything good happens in their lives it is the result of belief in a specific deity, but when something bad happens it is because of their own human frailties and failures (referred to under the collective, vague term "sin").

In times of difficulty, be it economical, physical, emotional, people hark back to the belief that they are being punished by the divine being that they worship. Strange that, why would you choose to worship a vengeful god? If a god is omnipotent and loving, surely they will understand the reasons why you did something. And if they knew the reasons, if they understand fully, why punish you? And should the punishment not fit the crime? And what is the punishment exactly because in none of the holy texts of different religions that I've read, is the punishment described. I would have expected at least some sort of clarity, IE if you steal a goat you will be struck by chicken pox; steal a cow and your wife will desert you; if you kill someone, you will be struck by lightning.

Do I believe? Yes, I do but that which I believe in is too big for my human mind to comprehend so I try not to label it. The arrogance of humans are staggering. Some will state that what I do is not in accordance to God's will (God being the Abrahamic deity of the Old Testament). My first reaction is, how can you know what a god thinks? How can you elevate yourself to the level of an omnipotent being who created heaven and earth and tell me what that deity supposedly thinks? And how dare you question me and my life and my choices and shower me with fire and brimstone filled hatred and judgment? Because you decided to create a god in your own image?

We are supposed to try and live a good life, not to harm ourselves or other people or the environment. We are supposed to be loving and supportive of one another, not bomb the crap out of our neighbours. And one does not need to attend a church to be a decent human being. So, to everyone who ever tried to convert me, I accept that you tried to do that out of love and concern. But it is not going to happen in this lifetime.

The power of doing nothing

So the powers that be decided to send me on a women’s development course. The thinking behind the course is that women, although good at what they do, do not have the natural ability to progress past the glass ceiling. Apparently, women are bad at networking, bad at self promotion and generally bad at blowing their own horns. (Horror of horror, the glass ceiling still exists although HR denies any knowledge of it. But they will investigate.)

This blog is not about the course as it is quite valuable and it teaches a load of useful skills. By useful I mean useful in the corporate sense. It will not teach you how to survive after you voluntarily parachuted into the last virgin jungle on earth inhabited by cannibals. Those skills are taught by Bear Grylls. (Or maybe not.) But then a lot of people will argue that surviving the Bora Kora Tribe of Cannibals is still a lot easier than surviving a supreptious knife-to-the-back attack of that career minded bitch smiling innocently at you at the coffee machine.

Part of the development course involved identifying your strengths.  And based on a 10 minute questionnaire, all humanity is divided into the following categories: The drivers, the analytic ones, the empathetic ones ....sorry, can’t remember the rest. I have always been plagued by adult ADHD except when it comes to memorising the sequence of songs on ABBA albums or the names of books written by Margaret Atwood and Jeanette Winterson.

It appears that most of the people in my development course are what the people in the know refer to as “Drivers.” Those people who in corporate jargon “get the job done.” In ordinary language people who obsess over every little detail, micro manage their teams into asylums (I still like the word. The term “mental health institution” does not conjure up the same sense of dread as the word “asylum.”), hardly ever smiles (except when they greet the client) and colour code their closets.

And then, behold, the Drivers smirked and smiled in a knowingly way, knowing that they are the chosen ones, the superior beings, the ones who will take this accounting firm to the next level of success and world domination. And the rest of us cringed, struggling to admit that our closets are a mess and that we go on holidays without booking accommodation prior to our arrival at our chosen destination.

The tyranny of the drivers and the tyranny of the morning people seem to rule this world. If you do not arrive in Johannesburg, after a 2 hour drive from Pretoria because of horrendous traffic, bright eyed and bushy tailed, you are not regarded as an asset to the firm. If you cannot function without 2 cups of filter coffee, you are not deemed to be worthy of the term “team player.” Sigh.

But is there something to be said for doing nothing. For not necessarily making things happen. For sometimes just letting go? And not worrying about the outcome? Gasp, shock, horror, exclaimed the Drivers.

I tend to fix things. I try to get dying bees to fly again by giving them sugary water in a tea spoon. (A couple probably gave me a bee zap sign, a tiny, extending, quivering bee middle finger. “Just bloody let me die in peace, human”). When my best friend and my then main squeeze decided to hook up, I tried to mend the friendship. When friends turned against me, I tried to do everything in my power to fix it. When my family became embroiled in a huge fight I arranged a dinner for everyone, getting them to make up. When my co-workers are unhappy I try to mediate and fix things. But then something happened and this past weekend and I decided to do nothing about it, despite the hurtfulness of what was said.

And it set me free. I realised that I do not have to fix everything, make everything better for other people, try to understand why they act in a certain way. Not only because of the mere impossibility of succeeding in my endeavours and in the process setting myself up for perpetual failure but because I am just so tired of doing it.

That one moment of not reacting, not fixing, not doing, set me free. It was the most amazing liberation since the day that I decided that I am not a Christian anymore and that I do not have to set my foot in any church, ever again.

Does the act of trying to do something act as a way to ignore the true facts of the matter? Does doing something delay the onset of that realisation of the heart sinking, painful inevitable truth of things? Until you've stopped trying, you do not have to deal with the outcome of a matter. So even the most futile efforts is better than facing what is inevitable.

That is why people pray, that is why they sign useless online petitions. Then they do not have to deal with anything because, in their thinking, there is still the opportunity for change.

Maybe it is time that I should stop doing things, stop trying to fix things. And it is not necessarily a bad thing. Only when you stop will you be able to contemplate and deal with the truth.

Sword of Truth..the saga of the Evil Chicken

I also posted this on Goodreads

Terrible book, I just could not finish it.

(Spoilers ahead: But if you still want to read the book, you are on your own)

I loved the Sword of Truth series in the beginning. It was different and exciting. But then the series started to get weird. First it was the weird sex that Richard was having with the red clad dominatrix, then the Sisters of the Dark had that strange session with the statue/demon in the forest etc etc.

And after a while, I started to feel about the series the same way as about Grey's Anatomy. How many tragic events can happen to the same characters? In the case of Grey's you just know that the finale of each series will involve murderous killers, bombs, people dying all over the place. Ditto for the Sword of Truth series.

Then, after a year or three I picked up where I left off and started reading the Soul of the Fire.

Richard and Kahlan is back at the Mud People. I always liked the Mud People and that scene in the first book with Kahlan and the apple is still one of my favourite non-sex sex scenes :)

But then people start dying and they realise something is wrong. Enter the Evil Chicken. Amongst all the chickens running around the village, the Bird Man identifies one as a chicken who is not a chicken.

If it was a fleeting reference it would have been fine but for the first quarter of the book, Richard chases after the flippen chicken and most of the conversations he has revolves around "Is it evil...yes, it is. No it is not."

For Pete's sake. Surely one of the warriors in the village could have taken a spear and shoved it up the suspicious chicken's arse. Or someone with magical powers could have blasted it into oblivion. But no, the chase continues. And worst of all, the chicken just ogles them in an evil way most of the time.

Enough with the bloody chicken already.

Then there is a conversation about magic disappearing and then...you guessed it...they go chasing after poultry again.

Then Kahlan is outside running around in the rain. I can't even remember why. So she goes into the building where the tribe kept the bodies of recently deceased. And she is then trapped inside with...you guessed it...the Evil Chicken. The all powerful Mother Confessor is so scared of the damn thing that she cowers in the dark. Still the Evil Poultry does nothing else than stare at her in a menacing fashion. Oh, she also witnesses the same Feathery Fiend from Hell pecking out the eyes of a corpse.

At that stage, it became too much and soon after that I stopped reading.

I still don't know what happened to the bloody evil, satanic chicken. And I do not care. If it turned into a giant ostrich and trampled Richard and Kahlan I could not care less.

I was just waiting for them to be stalked by an evil goose or a satanic butterfly.

The one star is out of loyalty to the first three books.

Lady Gaga, Satanism and the Illuminati

Lady Gaga, Satanism and the Illuminati

This morning I read that Lady Gaga is on her way to South Africa. Then I thought: Here we go again.

A year or two ago I received a couple of chain emails about her. The first one stated that she is a “Satanist” and the second, which contained almost identical pictures to the first, read “Lady Gaga is an Illuminati Puppet.”

Scrolling down the comments on News24, I found the references to Satanism and threats to boycott her concerts. Then I thought that maybe I should give the idea that she is a Satanist/Illuminati Puppet some thought and I pondered the possibility for a while.

Now according to what I know (which is a lot less than those intellectuals who study conspiracy theories) the Illuminati is secret society consisting of about 7 people who rule the world’s economy, religion and politics with a series of secret handshakes and dodgy initiation ceremonies. Seeing that they rule the world, I guess the ceremonies take place per email these days. Who has time for lengthy initiations when you are trying to sort out the Euro crisis?

Also, from what I know, there are different kinds of Satanists: Le Veyan, deistic, theistic, atheistic...blah blah. Some worship an entity called Satan, others do not believe in Satan (although they use the word “Satan” when describing their religious dogma...confusing I know). But in South Africa the term “Satanist” usually refers to 13 year old girls who dress in black, steal their mom’s eyeliner and apply it generously, refuse to converse with people older than 17 and listen to horrendous music such as “Rotten coffin metal”, “Death skull rock” etc. They also refer to their “powers” which actually consist of irritating people, causing people to involuntarily make slapping movements in the direction of the young ones’ faces and causing sane people to run screaming into the night. So when I refer to Satanists, I will refer to the 13 year old school girl type as they are the really evil ones the churches fight against in SA.

Terminology aside: I personally believe that the inclusion of Lady Gaga in the league of minions of the Illuminati is a clear indication of the demise in political and economic power of this secret organisation, who everyone talks about. More about this later.

When discussing the very serious subject of the Illuminati Puppets (not to be confused with the Gepetto Puppets or Martha and the Muppets) one has to make a couple of assumptions. The reason being that the recruitment process usually takes place at crossroads, in alleys, basements and antiquated laboratories and we only have anecdotal evidence of what transpired. The assumptions that I will be using are the following:

1.   The Illuminati and Satanism are often referred to being in cahoots according to learned writers such as South African Occult Experts and David Icke (for more info see http://www.randi.org/site/index.php/encyclopedia.html). So I assume, for the purposes of this debate that they kinda do the same thing when recruiting new puppets.

2.   According to scant and anecdotal evidence we have about interaction between humans and the Evil Ones, one can assume that there is always a contract involved.

a.    In terms of evidence we have the records of the medieval witch-hunts (the very accurate babblings of so-called witches who were sleep deprived and then gruesomely tortured by the Church), the rather inaccessible and very complicated rituals described in the Lesser Key of Solomon, the stage play (I know, we are scratching) Faust and various stories and folktales (Van Hunks, the guy in Spanish Train etc etc).

b.   The word “pact” is often used and the mere word conjures images of fire and brimstone. But I prefer the word contract as it denotes an agreement between two consenting adults. (As a side note I may then mention that 13 year old girls cannot, in terms of South African law, make a pact with the devil or in legal parlance conclude a contract with the devil as they are not yet legally competent....never mind, another debate).

c.    But from the available evidence it would seem as if a contract or a pact is a conditio sine qua non if you want to obtain immortality, fame, fortune, unheard of riches etc from an Evil One. So one has to assume that Lady Gaga sold her soul in return for everlasting fame, since Dollars and Euros are from what I understand, not legal tender in the underworld.

3.   Since there are thousands of Satanists lurking around according to so-called occult experts, there must be a lot of people queuing up in front of Evil’s Door to conclude an evil contract and to be rich/famous/intelligent/beautiful/ have a gorgeous derriere. One may then  assume that:

a.   The Evil Forces of the World employ or enslave shrewd and brilliant businessmen and champions of enterprise. (This is a valid assumption since they control the world's economy). One can also assume that the Evil Ones employ legions of attorneys. The attorneys probably work there on a volunteer basis.

b.   There must be some kind of vetting process in place to determine who the Evil Ones want to en-puppet.  Common sense dictates that there must a return on their investment.

Now onto the sad case of Lady Gaga and her en-puppetment.

The following reasons are compelling enough that one can conclude she is not a puppet:

1.   First of all, if you are looking for someone who will sway public opinion and spread the secret messages of the Illuminati discreetly, one would try and recruit a person who is respected internationally, who is preferably a great orator, who has the power to sway even the most dubious and unbelieving minds towards the Illuminati. Great names spring to mind: Stephen Hawking, the Dalai Llama, Bishop Tutu, Barrack Obama, Maya Angelou or even, because she is so good with publicity, Oprah Winfrey.

But who do they choose? Lady Gaga who composed the following profound lyrics to her songs:

·    P-p-p-poker face, p-p-poker face
(Mum mum mum mah)

·    Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah-ah!
Roma-roma-mamaa!
Ga-ga-ooh-la-la!
Want your bad romance

·    Let's have some fun, this beat is sick I wanna take a ride on your disco stick

2.   The woman wore a meat dress...Not exactly the kind of outfit that will fit in with the hallowed halls of the centuries old Illuminati.

3.   Some of her shows in Asia were cancelled...so clause 28(1) (a) (iii) of her contract with the Illuminati in terms of which the Illuminati undertook to provide her with: "unlimited success in the promoting, execution, appearance and performance at all concert  venues, both nationally and internationally, including but not limited to providing stage lights with a slimming effect....” were not complied with and the Illuminati will thus be in breach.

4.   She is a bit old to be a Satanist. And she does not wear black.

5.   Individuals who are the most influential in the sphere of politics, economy and religion tend not to take so-called pop stars and their garbled messages seriously (with the exception of certain French and Italian politicians). So clearly Gaga would be the wrong choice to try and influence the world- as- we- know- it.

So all in all, she was a bad choice to en-puppet. Alternatively, it may indicate that the power of the Illuminati is on the decline. Maybe they went to Obama and he told them to go cast a circle in Iraq, maybe they went to Angela Merkel and she told them she is too busy with the Greeks, maybe they went to Madonna and she said she already has fame, fortune and immortality...

Or they may be experiencing financial problems. It is perhaps cheaper to bankroll Gaga’s tour in South Africa than to bankroll one of Oprah’s shows where she showers the audience with gifts.

Who knows?

But all I know is that all is not well in the Recruitment and Enslavement of Really Important Individuals who can Influence the World Department of the Illuminati.

New book: Rose\'s Will by Denise DeSio

Review of Rose\'s Will by Denise DeSio

Some books grab you from the word go and by the second paragraph in the book I was hooked by the words that the author strung into such beautiful sentences. There is word to describe that ability: wordsmith.

I am not one to give endless synopses of books. In short the story deals with a woman, Glory, who has to deal with an extremely painful childhood and who, despite horrendous abuse, tries to reconcile with her aging and belligerent mother, Rose. Her mother is still in denial and this leads to a series of confrontations between mother and daughter. Add to that Rose\'s hostility towards her daughter\'s lesbian relationship and you have an extremely volatile situation.

There are no car chases, no murder that needs to be solved...what there is is a brutally honest narration of dysfunctional relationships. Years of abuse left its mark on everyone, including on the brother Ricky. While Glory chose to leave the house, he chose to stay and look after Rose and he still resents Glory for leaving him to take care of Rose.

It is easy to paint characters in a story like this as either good/the victim or bad/the aggressor. The author side-steps this brilliantly and instead of a one -dimensional child abuser, you have Rose who struggles with her own inner demons. And her boyfriend Eli\'s narration is used as the voice of reason. Like Cicero that he is so fond of quoting, he is the one that approaches life logically. He brings out Rose as she was before the trauma ---the caring, laughing, jovial woman who is fond of dancing and whose laughter filled the canals of Venice.

But this is a multi-layered story. What is striking is that everyone knows that the daughter was abused but still they remain apologetic. As if they are trying to by either trivialising events or by furnishing reasons for the mothers erratic behaviour eradicate the past. This in itself, instead of alleviating the pain of the victim, causes more trauma as it appears as if they do not understand what the person went through. Then the self-doubt returns: Maybe if I acted differently I could have avoided the abuse and the pain. But that of course is a fallacy, you cannot expect of a child to somehow, by behaving differently, stop the avalanche of abuse.

So Glory is not only fighting her painful memories, she is also fighting for the right to be heard, the right to be believed.

In the end, Glory finds solace in the stories of Eli of a mother that was happy, content and caring. He shows her the other face of the monster who brought her up.

The book is an emotional tale and the author\'s layering of perspectives is wonderful. It is seldom that a book with such a theme is such a page turner. The author also manages not to turn it into a sulking, melodramatic "O woe is me" book.

This has been one of the best and most enjoyable books I\'ve read in a long time. I can\'t wait for the second one.

The Immortals and the Brazen Bull

My partner and I just came back from the movies, having watched The Immortals 3D. It was probably one of the most gruesome displays of gratuitous violence I've ever seen. I do not have too much to complain about though. If you choose to go and watch a movie which is loosely based on the exploits of the mythical Greek King Theseus and the battles between gods of Olympus and the Titans and the Greeks and the Hyraklion Kingdom you should expect a certain degree of violence, blood and gore.

What was really disturbing was the depiction of the Brazen Bull. In the movie three of the Oracle Priestesses are put inside a Brazen Bull and roasted alive while their screams are channelled through a series of pipes, to mimic the painful cries of a bull.

Initially I thought that the concept of the brazen bull was something thought up by a very disturbed screenwriter. (In other words: WTF, what kind of sick person thought of this?)

But 5 minutes on the internet and I found out that the Brazen Bull was a torture device designed and used in Ancient Greece. So this time it was not Hollywood who thought of this, it was the Ancient Greeks.

According to the information on the public domain (i.e. Google which referred me to Wikipedia and a host of other sites. This was not really an in-depth study of reputable academic sources) a metal worker by the name of Perillos of Athens designed the Brazen Bull. Excitedly he ran to Phalaris, the ruler of Akragas, Sicily and suggested that Phalaris use the Brazen Bull as a new way of executing criminals. One of the selling points he used was that Phalaris would be able to hear the tortured screams of individuals put inside the Brazen Bull.

According to some sources, Phalaris was so disgusted by the device that he instructed that the Brazen Bull be tested and that Perillos would be the test subject. Perillos was put inside the Bull and a fire was lit underneath it.

We do not know how long Perillos was inside the Brazen Bull. One can only imagine what  thoughts went through his head, but the major ones probably had to do with Karma and what a bitch she can be .(This was Ancient Greece though so Karma most likely had a different name or was personified as one of the plethora of deities that were worshipped.) After a while, we do not know how long, Perillos was taken out and became one of the few to survive this method of torture. Phalaris then threw Perillos from a hill, killing him.

Perillos should have known that fraternising with tyrants usually leads to unpleasantness. Not that I have a lot of sympathy for either of them. It is good to know that when Telemachus overthrew Phalaris’ rule he executed him...in a Brazen Bull,

The sterile words of history leave the casual reader of Wikipedia with a couple of questions:

-     What moved Perillos to design such an inhumane and gruesome way of executing criminals? What happened to him to make him descent into probably the darkest caves of human depravity to design the Brazen Bull? It sounds as if he was a lone crusader and a mad inventor.  A man on a mission to right real or perceived wrongs. Did righteousness motivate and inspire him?

-      Why was Phalaris, who according to some accounts was a tyrant, so disgusted by this invention? Surely a tyrant would welcome new ways to torture criminals or political opponents or enemies? And if he was so disgusted, how did it happen that the Brazen Bull became a widely used torture device in the Mediterranean? Or did some of the scribes of ancient history have a soft spot for Phalaris and tried to portray him as a tyrant with a heart of gold, in a manner of speaking? Did the scribe add this story to garner sympathy for a devil?

But even more interesting for me is the need for humans to be so utterly cruel? Although some may argue that humans have become more civilised, more tolerant and more compassionate, one only has to look at the news to find enough evidence to dispel that argument: A woman shot dead on the way back from dropping her child at school, people set alight in their houses during a farm attack, suspected "witches" stoned, burnt and killed, corrective rape and the rape of toddlers, genocide, concentration camps. The list goes on and on.

We as the human race do have to admit that we are not really that different from the ancients who committed such horrendous atrocities. But we have better PR and publicists and in the end that makes a huge difference in how our deeds will be perceived by historians in the year 2064. Or not. Who knows?

School reunions

So about 5 years ago I received a very friendly email inviting me to the 20 year reunion of our matric group. I must admit, I lost contact with almost everyone from school. The only person that I see very occasionally is a girl that used to be one of my colleagues while I was still employed by the Department of Justice, yonks ago.

I went to the reunion, I saw people that I went to school with, I went to bed. Somehow all the best intentions to go for lunch and keep in contact went astray.

There is a very good reason why certain people, like me, are not friends with people they went to school with. It is because we changed and the past is, it is said, a foreign country.

During the last 5 years I thought about the reunion occasionally. It worked almost along the same principles as a sokkie at University, except that no-one gets laid afterwards. You go up to people that you vaguely recognise, exchange pleasantries, ask general questions, you smile and you move on to the next person.

The questions I faced were rather intrusive though:

- Q: Are you married? No...(Startled silence from the Questioner/Inquisitor. The woman is 40 you know.)

- Q: Do you have children? No... (Startled silence from the Inquisitor...What happened to her eggs then? Did she sell it on the black market? How come she did not procreate? After all, her best days are over and women over 40 who have children usually give birth to babies with five thumbs and three heads, a Zaphod Beeblebroxian creation)

....oh...

- Q: Who do you work for? I do forensic investigations.

- Q: Oh, like CSI. That must be very interesting? No, like accountants, we read through a lot of documents and draft many affidavits. Kinda boring sometimes.

....oh....

But I have a couple of tattoos and I have a 3rd Dan in Taekwon-Do. And I've seen the Pyramids and the Great Wall and the Eiffel Tower and the Tsar's Winter Palace...and, and I have dived with sharks and swam in the Blue Hole...and, and I am in love with the most amazing woman on earth.

.....oh.....You just have not met the right man yet.

And I really, really wanted to tell her that she and her friends made my life fucking hell for 5 years of my life....and... that I was really wondering why on earth we were having this conversation...and...who was she to still judge me, albeit in a friendlier way?

But I didn't. As so many times in the past, I turned around, cursing my cowardice for not saying anything, and walked away.

The realisation dawned that so many things have changed and so many things stayed the same.

In the company of my long lost school friends (and I used the term lightly), I realised that the Queen Bitch was still alive and kicking, albeit with a husband, three children and a standing appointment with her Scrapbooking class.

And her antithesis, the ghost of the girl who always wanted to please everyone was also there, hiding in the shadows. No one wants to be unpopular.  La Reine est mort, viva La Reine. 

A couple of months I received an invitation to our 25 year reunion. For a moment I doubted myself, thinking that maybe I was oversensitive it will be a good idea to go and reminisce about old times.

But after I while sense and sensibility kicked in. Ghosts which were exorcised are not supposed to be invited back for dinner.

Tori Amos - Johannesburg - 12 November 2011

Tori Amos

Tori Amos

It happens, every once in a while that you come across a piece of music or a painting or a photograph that somehow drives away the accumulated ice of a lifetime of cynicism and make you gasp out in surprise..and then the raw emotion takes over and makes you cry, as if for the first time in your life.

We are living in an age where we are spoilt for choice regarding the creative arts. But too easily do we attach the label "classic" or "art" or "unique" to whatever the commercial machine is throwing at us.

A person like Van Gogh was only honoured post mortem but nowadays teenagers with two cd's under their belts bring out autobiographies and try to convince an already gullible audience of their immortality.

About 20 years ago, I was listening to radio when I heard the following song for the first time, Crucify by Tori Amos. The song still strikes a nerve, using its religious imagery to describe a very human experience.

I've been raising up my hands
Drive another nail in
Just what God needs
One more victim

Why do we
Crucify ourselves
Every day
I crucify myself
Nothing I do is good enough for you
Crucify myself
Every day
And my heart is sick of being in chains

During that time, our collective psyche was ruled by church and state and family. I thoroughly believed that the norms that were prescribed by the christian nationalist misogynistic state, buoyed up by the flaming sermons of hell and damnation of the Dutch Reformed Church, were written in stone. They created God in their image, a vengeful, cruel god who, despite his omnipotent and omniscient nature, did not bother to understand the reasons why it was so difficult for individuals to follow his so-called written word. A god who created two distinct classes of people: A man who had to rule over the whole world and nature and a women who had to serve the man and be obedient.

But clearly I did not conform to what was expected of me. If I asked questions about the bible or christianity, I was told that it was the devil that made me doubt or that the "spirit of rebellion" took control of me. I was told that being a lawyer was a man's job. I was told if I did not conform to the rules regarding sexuality, that I was either possessed by the "spirit of Jezebel" or that I would go to hell.

And when people tell you often enough that you are not good enough, that you fall short of "their" standards, that you are weird or different or too tall or too short, that you do not dress as you are supposed to, that you are lazy and unappreciative of what people are trying to do for you, you start to believe it. And then you start to despise yourself and no matter how hard you try, you crucify yourself every day.

So when I started to listen to Tori's music, it just felt as if there is someone else out there who feels that they are not perfect according to society and who also struggles to speak, to breathe and to exist in their truth. I always thought I was the only one...

Twenty years later I had the extreme privilege to meet her in person. We had a brief conversation; she gave me a hug and signed my cd's. So surreal. And then I watched in awe as she sat on the stage, with a magnificent Bosendorfer piano and a keyboard, and took the audience on a magical journey. The passion was amazing: She sang Me and a Gun as if she was telling the story for that violent assault the first time; I felt her fear when she sang the words "He is gonna take my name"; I felt the sorrow when she sang "Sometimes I think you want me to touch you. How can I when you build this great wall around you".

Her music touches my soul in so many ways and always will.

Thanks Ms Amos. You are brilliant.

In the beginning...

Everyone needs a soapbox, a place to rant and rave. But to do it in public? Why does our words need to be heard before it mean anything.

It is the Icarus dilemma: I want to fly but why does heights scare me? Now I am starting to sound like Erica Jong.

Let's fly and see where we end up...