Thursday, 30 June 2011
Tuesday, 28 June 2011
Too beautiful to burn
I know I'm insane.
Looking back
Some of my older photographs can be found on FLICKR.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/journeyalonganordinarylife
http://www.flickr.com/photos/journeyalonganordinarylife
Monday, 27 June 2011
Knitwits, seeking good homes
Disclaimer: No experiments were conducted on the Knitwits while in quarantine. No Knitwit was forced to eat their vegetables before their lemon creams. No Knitwit was judged for having lived a pretty shallow life. No Knitwit was required to sign an indemnity form, a confidentiality agreement or apply for a passport nor will they be tagged before leaving the safe house. At no time were they exposed to any Country & Western music. At all times they were allowed to hug and embrace the help. Any thoughts and opinions expressed are that of the individual and not necessarily the philosophy of the Akilam clan of Knitwits.
•+••=:....•* episode 1
So, yes, Samuel (yes, we anglicised our name, like you did to those poor people in the bible) and I, Edward, traveled through space in a bucket and landed on EARTH. In a home in XYZ, where all is quiet and uneventful, the ideal place to carry out our work.
‘What work?’ OMG, listen to take tone, filled with superstition and angst! Yes, plotting the invasion of earth, mwahahahahahaha! Oh, grow up! What’s left anyway, the landfills?”
Story continues next Monday.
Honestly, I bought these soft toys at a sale at MrPriceHome, thinking they were so ugly, no-one else would take them. But let’s not burst their bubble.
Friday, 24 June 2011
Hand on my heart
I wrote this years ago and I still love it.
I use my hands to rub sleep from my eyes, to throw back the duvet and push myself off the bed. I use my hands to grasp the toilet paper, brush my teeth, turn on the taps, grab the soap. I use my hands to lather up my hair, to rub my body dry with a towel. With my hands I fasten my bra, pull a t-shirt over my head and apply lipstick. I use my hands to cup the head of my dog and kiss him. To fill the kettle. I wrap my hands around a warm mug of tea, and use them to bring its sweetness to my lips. I use my hands to open the door, to scatter seeds for the birds, pick a flower, and feel the temperature of the water. I rub my hands together to keep them warm, rub them on my jeans to clean them, rub them over velvet to feel its smoothness, and rub lotion on my face. With my hands I steer my car to work, type an email to a friend, order a book from Amazon. I use my hands to eat that delicious burger, rest my chin upon while I think, point out something to a colleague. I raise my hands to greet a friend in a crowded restaurant, or wave goodbye at the airport. With my hands I carry my shopping, and pack it away. I ruffle my dog’s coat, and can keep someone distant or bring them close. Hold a lover, cuddle a child. Wipe a tear. Blow my nose. I remember, as a child, my mom held my hand when we crossed the road and my dad scooped me up with his when I was scared. With my hands I push the child forward on the bike, on the swing, into a new school. I tie their shoelaces, hold their ice cream, wipe their mouth. I use my hands to change channels, to grasp a handful of popcorn, to page through a magazine. My hands open jars, packets, books, drawers, cupboards and just as easily close them. I use my hands to hold on tight during a rollercoaster ride, and to clap with delight during a performance. I can soothe a hurt with my hands, give a gift, pay for a chocolate, strum a guitar. I reach out my hands to gladly accept a present, a letter, a plate of food, a drink. I use my hand to stifle a yawn, to hide a smirk, to pluck my eyebrows. With my hands I write you a note, draw a picture, sign my dissatisfaction. I put my hands over my heart when there is bad news, but on my head when I don’t know what to do. I place my hands firmly on the ground to do a cartwheel, on my hips to stress a point. With my hands I gently touch your face to say I love you, pull you to your feet when you’re feeling down. With my hands I tell the story.
I use my hands to rub sleep from my eyes, to throw back the duvet and push myself off the bed. I use my hands to grasp the toilet paper, brush my teeth, turn on the taps, grab the soap. I use my hands to lather up my hair, to rub my body dry with a towel. With my hands I fasten my bra, pull a t-shirt over my head and apply lipstick. I use my hands to cup the head of my dog and kiss him. To fill the kettle. I wrap my hands around a warm mug of tea, and use them to bring its sweetness to my lips. I use my hands to open the door, to scatter seeds for the birds, pick a flower, and feel the temperature of the water. I rub my hands together to keep them warm, rub them on my jeans to clean them, rub them over velvet to feel its smoothness, and rub lotion on my face. With my hands I steer my car to work, type an email to a friend, order a book from Amazon. I use my hands to eat that delicious burger, rest my chin upon while I think, point out something to a colleague. I raise my hands to greet a friend in a crowded restaurant, or wave goodbye at the airport. With my hands I carry my shopping, and pack it away. I ruffle my dog’s coat, and can keep someone distant or bring them close. Hold a lover, cuddle a child. Wipe a tear. Blow my nose. I remember, as a child, my mom held my hand when we crossed the road and my dad scooped me up with his when I was scared. With my hands I push the child forward on the bike, on the swing, into a new school. I tie their shoelaces, hold their ice cream, wipe their mouth. I use my hands to change channels, to grasp a handful of popcorn, to page through a magazine. My hands open jars, packets, books, drawers, cupboards and just as easily close them. I use my hands to hold on tight during a rollercoaster ride, and to clap with delight during a performance. I can soothe a hurt with my hands, give a gift, pay for a chocolate, strum a guitar. I reach out my hands to gladly accept a present, a letter, a plate of food, a drink. I use my hand to stifle a yawn, to hide a smirk, to pluck my eyebrows. With my hands I write you a note, draw a picture, sign my dissatisfaction. I put my hands over my heart when there is bad news, but on my head when I don’t know what to do. I place my hands firmly on the ground to do a cartwheel, on my hips to stress a point. With my hands I gently touch your face to say I love you, pull you to your feet when you’re feeling down. With my hands I tell the story.
Thursday, 23 June 2011
GOOSEBERRY
Well, they are home all day, and I'm at work. Enjoy!
act 1, seen too
2011 DAILY BOXED CALENDAR
calendar © 2010 Sellers Publishing, Inc.
text & images © 2010 Ephemera, Inc.
a cuppa tea
Her Majesteas Salon @ The Victorian Guest Lodge 67 HF Verwoerd street Heidelberg 079 334 7579
Tuesday, 21 June 2011
this morning, on the way to work
I had to recreate from memory.Not these two planes (which are the same) but that moon.
On the way to work two planes crossed in front of the moon at the same time. Wow!
just finished this book
page 10: I saw a real dead person. it was where i used to live, at the market in Kaneshie. An orange lady got hit by a trotro, nobody even saw it coming. I pretended like all the oranges rolling everywhere were her happy memories and they were looking for a new person to stick to so they didn’t get wasted.
page 26: Every time somebody shuts their door too hard my flat shakes. You can even feels it. When one person shuts a door everybody else feels it as well. It’s even brutal, it’s like you’re living in the same big house. You can pretend like it’s an earthquake. Mr Tomlin said an earthquake only happens in parts of the world where the rocks are too ticklish.
page 172: Papa held my belly up, I just had to kick my legs. It was even easy. I loved making waves. It felt like the waves were pulling us together so we wouldn’t get lost. Every time I thought I was going to fly away Papa just turned me around towards him and I was safe again. Asweh, the sea is even bigger than you can fit in your head. When I looked to the end of the sea it wasn’t even hutious anymore, it was like looking at the place where I came from. Every time one of the fishing men jumped in the sea he made another splash that added to ours. They didn’t stay apart like I thought they would, they all got mixed up like fingers in holding hands. They all became each other and the sea stretched back to the same shape it always was.
Copyright © 2011 by Stephen Kelman
Illustration © 2011 by Holly Macdonald
page 26: Every time somebody shuts their door too hard my flat shakes. You can even feels it. When one person shuts a door everybody else feels it as well. It’s even brutal, it’s like you’re living in the same big house. You can pretend like it’s an earthquake. Mr Tomlin said an earthquake only happens in parts of the world where the rocks are too ticklish.
page 172: Papa held my belly up, I just had to kick my legs. It was even easy. I loved making waves. It felt like the waves were pulling us together so we wouldn’t get lost. Every time I thought I was going to fly away Papa just turned me around towards him and I was safe again. Asweh, the sea is even bigger than you can fit in your head. When I looked to the end of the sea it wasn’t even hutious anymore, it was like looking at the place where I came from. Every time one of the fishing men jumped in the sea he made another splash that added to ours. They didn’t stay apart like I thought they would, they all got mixed up like fingers in holding hands. They all became each other and the sea stretched back to the same shape it always was.
Copyright © 2011 by Stephen Kelman
Illustration © 2011 by Holly Macdonald
