On Surfaces Pt.III: The Thinly Veiled Agendas of the Self-Proclaimed

The Great Hall is an intimate venue. I'm standing in line for drinks that I don't want. I get the drinks and find my seat. The Two Girls are sitting right in front.

There sits a girl, further down the row. We've spoken before. We've spoken on MySpace. I sit in my seat and watch the stage.

Harris Tweed are opening. It's only Cherilyn and Darryl on stage. Cherilyn's selfconscious. The things that they do move me.

There's an intermission. I make a single-serving friend. Jose comes on.

Jose's voice is firm and the guitar is forceful. It strikes me like a wall of conviction. There is so much to take in and with every word he sings I want him to say more. A curtain call later and my appetite has only grown.

The promoter takes us backstage because She handed out pamphlets for the show. Jose is quiet and gentle. He signs Her CD sleeve, Her poster, Her ticket and Her backstage pass. I ask him about Zero 7 and he says thanks us for coming to watch.

The promoter kisses Her twice. Says he's starting a company. Says he wants to use her skills. She's only 1st year design and the skill he's talking about works just as well with his eyes closed.

I'm glad that it's no longer my problem.

[EDIT]

I hate having to explain the intentions of something that I write but I now need to. The capitalised letters of She and Her are intended to identify a particular person. This person is a huge fan and had many things signed by Jose. The promoter seemed slimy from the moment I met him and the second last paragraph is inteded to show his thinly veiled agenda. This post is a record of my experience of the night and in no way represents any unhappy feelings towards any single person.

Thank you to the anonymous person that reads what I write.

On Surfaces Pt.II: Blinded by Proximity

She did invite me along. I'm just glad that I'm going with people that know who he is. Three months isn't such a long time until you consider it to be a quarter of a year. She told me once that sometimes she can be aloof. I'd just call it cold.

Tonight isn't about anything other than the music. She asks me if I'd mind driving. I don't. I'm running on my end-of-the-month Salty Crax and I pay for petrol.

I watch the show from outside my body and I watch myself from deep within it. While we got along so well, I couldn't feel her heat and I have always been too good at conducting emotion.

It came time to be friends I thought that we'd at least be able to relate. It turns out that we related a lot better when it was related to her. The depth that I saw was just another surface, one that I don't expect to see again.

On Surfaces Pt.I: Putting My Preface on

I have a ticket to see Jose Gonzales tonight. It's going to be an interesting night. Many of you might know his work on the Bravia ads (left). Veneer is a pretty album. I'm just glad to see the guy from the new Zero 7 album.

I've come to terms with the selfishness of people. The fact that any person I meet will let me down can be pretty infuriating. The best thing for me to do now is not to expect anything and treat it as "one night to speed up truth".

On Flashing Lights and Wandering Eyes

I was horrified when I stumbled across the TokyoFlash website. I had been working on a system of representing time using as few LED's as possible in an intuitive way. The watches on TokyoFlash are so far more advanced than where I was when I found the site. So while I'm still networking in order to develop the system - first into a clock and then into a watch - I decided to get myself one for the meantime.

I was checking the my statistics expecting to see dismally low, or more accurately missing, visits to Divination. I'm surprised to see that there are quite a few regular and seemingly silent readers. Please indulge me. I'd like to find out about who you are if your system matches the following:

1. Firefox on Mac OSX in (Possibly) Johannesburg (I think I know who this is)
   
2. Opera on unknown OS in (Possibly) Randburg
3. Firefox on Windows XP in (Possibly) Johannesburg
4. Mozilla on unknown OS in California - Inktomi Corporation (I've noticed your visits since the beginning of Divination)

It's funny how the title of this post seems to describe my social life at the moment.

On Innocence and It's Being Wasted on the Dead and the Dreaming

At times I hate that I never have anything interesting to post about. The upside of that is that it more often than not means that life is not all that complicated. The next time I lament that nothing interesting is happening remind me of this post and I'll remember to mind what I wish for.

Being weighed down as I am by studies, relationships and miscellany, I'm only posting now to stop any rumours passing from the lips of the statcounter people as they remark about the lack of traffic on my site and come to the conclusion that I am, in fact, dead.

Things to look forward to in future episodes: Internship and the traffic it slapped me with; Relationships and the false hope bubbles of mine they've burst; Student[ship] and the selfdoubting fight-or-flight truck it continually runs me over with. By my calculations I can only start Wincing the Night Away in a week or two.

On the Absence of Presence

It's been an interesting few weeks. Water supply issues, without any poisoning problems. The new lady has returned from Kimberley on Wednesday. I'm seeing her tonight again.

Exams have started. They're taking longer to get through than last year. Which suits me because I visited the campus pub more often than I attended Art History lectures and I need some time to catch up. In my defence the last two modules were South African Art themes and Contemporary South African Artists.

I officially hate you all: Mike is constantly travelling. Karen is almost Dr. Karen. Anni is more absent than I am. Arcadia is touring restaurants in Pretoria and I suspect Neko is finished with exams.

Thankfully it's nearing that time of year when everyone wants their books giftwrapped. And they'll all expect us to know the title, author and subject of every book they intend to buy as a gift. I'm so looking forward to everyone making jokes about fanaticism that I haven't heard since the last customer, who incedentally asked why we don't sell airtime or pens or suppositories...

On Passing the Time

My last deadline was a week ago. My conscience is lighter, my back is straighter and my hair is shorter.

The more endearing of my flaws rest in the department building. One lies inbetween others like it. It keeps to itself and speaks when spoken to. The other hangs on the wall for all to see.

There, watching, she stands for a moment. She'll look up at an image before looking into it.

Five days since I first met her, this is the fourth night that I've seen her. The only time that I run out of things to say is when I watch the words fall from her lips.

On Incomprehension

As it turns out, Percy seems to be a defence mechanism. I know that they do, and I know why they do but I struggle to come to terms with how people play games. They start of pain and they come to pain.

On Piggy-back Rides

This monkey, he sits on my back. He looks a lot like me. His hands are over my ears and they point my head in the direction he wants it to look. His eyes see what I see but his fingers plug my ears. He hears everything and only reports on things he believes that I need to hear. He interprets for me all of the things that he lets me see. He whispers things to me. When I'm alone with my monkey, he convinces me of things. Things that I know cannot be true, or that I wish could be. But with his silver-tongue and soothing tone, my doubts disappear.

I have a hole at the base of my neck through which his arm fits. When his arm is inside this hole, his fingers operate my tongue like a sock puppet. At these times, I have no more control over what I say than over what colour the monkey's bare backside is (bright blue). His other hand plays my spinal chord like a harp. My limbs move around and I shake. I always change my stance and position, sitting or standing. My head bobs, my hands writhe and drop things and my feet tap sporadically. I call this dancing.

This bastard monkey is a jealous bastard monkey. He doesn't want me to meet new people or make new friends. I know that he's in charge, and he knows that I know. Occasionally he acts up and throws his toys around. Often these tantrums coincide with public speaking - such as project presentations and crit sessions - or other times when making sense is most important.

The worst thing about the jealous monkey is that he is very perceptive and quite talented at reading people. If he sees anyone with the slightest interest in me, he ties knots in my tongue and thrashes on my spinal chord like he's Marty McFly playing Johnny B. Goode in Back to the Future Part 1. Being adept at reading people, he reads me like a Johannesburger reads designer labels. When I'm speaking to a potential love interest, the degree of comparison reaches five notches above "worst". I can't pronounce words, what I do say only makes sense to me, my mouth dries up and the fish that has replaced my tongue does not go well into that dry night.

The only relief I can find is to tranquilize Percy (the monkey) with copious amounts of alcohol. He usually dozes off while scratching his monkey sack. At this point I have turned control of my personality over to Captain Morgan (who is entirely too social compared to Percy's hermit-like demeanour). This is great for the duration of the good Captain's time at the helm, but the Cap'n is a restless, irresponsible leader. He eventually wakes Percy up and sets sail on the porcelain express one way or another. It's at this point that Percy goes ape. Using broken sentences and digressing at length, he wastes no time in making me feel both paranoid and guilty at letting such a vagabond take the control and confused at the nonsense he screams into my ears while jumping around on my back and pulling at my hair.

On Waxing Lyrical Pt.IV: Nostalgia

Clearly my experience with music, like most peoples, is inherently emotional. This emotional connection inspires interesting behaviour. It was not exclusively my guy friends and myself that experienced the Feeder concert. I was in my first long term relationship at the time and it the concert coincided with my better-half's birthday week. I wanted her with me when I saw the band. I used my entire months allowance to gift her a ticket.

Nostalgia plays a rather important role in my collections and it has at times affected my judgement. The relationship came to somewhat of a close when my gap year began. Struggling with closure issues and being affected so much by the girl, I made a few unusual CD purchases. The girl was not only interested in rock and alternative, but she had an affinity for r 'n b and hip hop aswell.I found familiarity in Dido, Alicia Keys, N*E*R*D and, sadly, Ashanti.

This extended to my Pukkelpop experience aswell. It's interesting how some songs can only begin to mean something when my emotional state matches up with the themes of the song. In contrast to my experience with Feeder, Pukkelpop was slightly more sombre. Travelling alone seems to have that effect, but it was the fact that I needed to share the experience with someone that contributed to the melancholic sheen on the experience. So much so, that during Staind's performance of It's Been a While, I became vulnerable enough to let tears mingle with the raindrops that rolled down my face.

On Waxing Lyrical Pt.II: Self Exploration

Music became the most powerful and prominent way in which I could identify myself. With a guffaw and a slight snarl, I shunned all genres that fell outside of rock's influence. Music was my religion, alternative was my sect and Tuks FM was my all day mass.

A friend of mine was housesitting for a relative and a small group of us stayed over a lot. There was a feature on Tuks called the Request Explosion. Every hour on the half hour, the DJ would take three calls and play the callers' requests. On the first night at the house, we managed to phone through every hour for seven hours straight. Once we even got through twice in one sitting.

At the time, Hatfield was the regular hangout. Every weekend, one of our parents picked all four of us up and dropped us off. Every weekend we would decide which fine establishment we would most likely have a chance at not being bounced from in the attempt to fuel our underage drinking habits. I had been 18 for a full three years before seeing my 18th birthday. When things didn't go our way, or when the night turned out to be a bust, the four of us (sometimes with an extra person - a girlfriend or a schoolmate) would take a walk over to the radio station on campus. After chatting with the DJ we listened to our request in the lounge before heading back to Hatfield to be picked at up around eleven o'clock.

The extraordinary means that resulted in Feeder reaching South Africa was one of controversy for me. They were the headline act for the all day music festival that was 5FM's birthday celebration. I was not about to let that stop me however. I refused to refer to the event with its official title, opting instead to call it "the Feeder concert". The same group of friends that made the unbeatable run on the request line were present at the event. Surrounded by limegreen t-shirts, we would make our presence known with the name of our regular place of praise written on our cheeks with eyeliner.

On Waxing Lyrical Pt.I: An Introduction

The first proper music purchase I made was No Doubt's Tragic Kingdom. I became aware of the band through when their single Don't Speak began doing the rounds on 5FM. I was 11 at the time and already I felt like I was skirting the fringes of the commercial scene. I was not as interested in the things that other people were. I wouldn't experience the minefield of social interaction and peer pressure for a few years yet. It would turn out to be a time I'd rather leave in the dark.

Feeder's Echo Park is the most notable album from the beginning of my collection. This album's first single was Buck Rogers and received a lot of airplay time on radio. I remember playing the album as soon as I got home and paged through the sleeve to read along to the lyrics. I used to listen to the album in my mother's car while I washed it every Sunday (and also on the way to being dropped off at my girlfriend's place). It made my year when the band came out to perform at SuperSport Park in Centurion. The carwash experience paid off when I realised that I was singing along to every song that they performed.

On several separate occasions I have been moved by music and for a variety of different reasons. Decisions were made concerning my music interests where the influences where anywhere from the trivial to the profound. A high school crush turned me into a dance music refugee. I met a rock-chick and the infatuation inspired in me a passion for integrity and truth in music. It was from here that my interest in the honesty and depth of rock and alternative took root. First stop on my migration: Tuks FM.

As the harbingers of alternative/punk, The Pixies seemed to dwell in my unconscious for a long time before germinating into an explosive compulsion that pushed me off the charted musical plane. Where is My Mind, easily their most recognisable track, is timeless (despite bordering on being overplayed, even today) and instantly recognisable. However brilliant the track is, it in no way represents fully the style and outright guts of the band and their tremendous body of work. Countless hours of listening on a CD Walkman and repeated inspections of the CD sleeve turned me into the biggest and most die hard Pixies fan in South Africa. I knew that I would complete this collection.

Music commands a large amount of my attention. It is the most precious of my collections. I have gone to a lot of effort and expense in its creation. I set very high standards for myself in most things I do and this is no exception. It, quite naturally, has become an overwhelming compulsion to collect the original CD's and the covers and sleeves that come with them.

Currently in my collection are the complete catalogues of The Pixies, The Foo Fighters, The Shins, The White Stripes, Portishead, Zero 7 and Skunk Anansie; there are a number of soundtrack albums, a number of Best of's and a couple of singles that I bought when I was much younger. In all, I have over 70 full length albums and counting (keeping in mind that many others have been removed from my collection for reasons of embarrassment or changing tastes.

Music's effects are many and layered. As such, the different aspects of my life that it has touched are as varied. I don't see how a person can describe the feelings that music inspires. Nor how to relate the memories that music evokes. I don't believe there will ever be something that can communicate as music does, even without words.

On Miscellany

The trouble with girls is, if they like a boy, no matter how big a bastard he
is, they'll say he has an inferiority complex, and if they don't like him, no
matter how nice a guy he is, or how big an inferiority complex he has, they'll
say he's conceited. Even smart girls do it.

- Holden Caulfield

I'm physically sick, missing my deadlines, inspirationally willing, practically stunted and obsessively disinterested. At least I still have all of my teeth.

OnMidafternoonInebriationBrusheswithPromiscuityandGoingAWOL

I arrived back in Pretoria a fortnight early and a set of headphones lighter. My sister picks me up and she says that she's late picking up her significant other. We pull into the shopping centre parking lot and I wait half an hour before the other party emerges from work instead of making a 5 minute detour to drop me off and in-so-doing making me late myself.

I pick up my car keys and my DVD collection and head out to a place that Steve's houseitting. Countless games of NHL later we fire up Army of Darkness. The next night is Tings an' Times where we stumble onto the idea of roadtripping. Drive out to Richards Bay take a swim in the Indian and drive back in time for Christmas. It's set for Thursday.

Thursdayarrivesandwe'vehadverylittlesleeppackedourstuffandchangedthedestinationtoBallito
Bjorn'sdrivinghisunclesA-classandSean'ssittingshotgunThere'sFooFightersplayingandwedrive
pastacarlyingonitsroofinafieldVanReenenspassisclearandwemakeabettoseewhocanseetheocean
firstIwinmyselfthreebeersandStevechangesthemusicWegettoUmhlangaat12:00andI'mdrunk
by14:00soImakeusfindaKFCandIorderforeveryoneinthelineOurmealarrivesandI'msurethat
"Ididn'tf*@kingorderthis"HeadingbacktoPorky'sIclimbintoaRussianBeartruckparkedoutside
thebottlestoreandmakefriendswithThembaandBonganiIheadtothebathroom40minuteslater
BjornfindsmeandImakesurethatweleaveIMMEDIAELYWe'rebackinthecarandweshootoverto
BallitoTakeaduskswimandIsoberupWechangeinthestreetforthepartyatBoston'sTherearethree
roundsofdrinksbeforeSteveandImolestthedancepoleonstageImeetTori(realnameVictoria)inthe
queueandchatuntilshewalksawaybecauseIforgethernameIrememberhernameandIleaveher
withanapologydrinkWedancesomemoreuntilTorifindsmeandwefindsomeseatsPlentyofdrinks
leadstothebathroomandIlearnthatBoston'sdoesn'thaveacondommachinesoit'sgoodbyetoTori
MeanwhileBjornSteveandSeanhavegoneacrossthestreetandleftmeatBoston'stogoacrossthe
streetWecallitanightanddriveourmobiletenttoLaMontagne'sparkinglotSeansays"We'vestillgot
thisbottleofStRaphael"Isay"Let'stakeittothebeach"Stevesays"Sure"locksthecarandgoestosleep
SeanandIemptythebottleandreminisceWegetbacktothecarandIwakeupwithSeansheadinmylap
myheadfeelslikecottonwoolandit'sbrightenoughttoblindamoleOnthewaytoShopriteStevetells
meabouthowwhenwegotbacktothecarSeandecidedtotakeamidnight(notrealtime)runthrough
theKZNstreetsIbuytheclosestpairofsunglassesanda2lIronBrewMyMomcallsme"Whereareyou?"
shesays"We'reinBallito"Isay"Areyoudrunk?Howlongareyoustaying?"Sheasks"Twonights"
Ireply"Youguysaremad"SheendsWebrunchatLaMontagne'spoolareaandappreciatethetwo-
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andpretendtobeverypalelocalsMyneckisstillsorefromthetinysleepingareawhenwefinallygetto
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abustbutSeanwinsaG-stringthenweendupatapubthemusicisterriblebutthecompanyisgoodso
weleaveafterlastroundsSomejuvenilestuntswithashopingtrolleyearnmesomenewscarsandthe
nextstopistheA-ClassintheSandsparkinglotI'mspread-eagledinthepassengerseatBjornhasthe
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saystotheother"ShameDoyouthinktheseboysslepouthere"Stevewithhiseyesstillclosedsays
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andweprepareforthedrivehomeMyneckisstillkillingmewhenBjorn'sunclecallstofindoutwhere
heis"I'llcallyoubackwhenwegetbacktoPretoria"saysBjorn.

Fairest Cape Vol.I Pt.II: On Being Pale and Drinking Tea

Relief fills me as I leave the uneasy company of a person that has at a time meant more than comfort and safety to me. I let myself think about it and then choose to ignore the gloom it evokes. The commune of "hi-friends" is less awkward and I let myself be less aware.

Not used to being the first person awake, I make tea and bide my time before we find breakfast. The beach is the next stop and I buy a pair of slops. People put their sunglasses on as I take my shirt off on one of the Clifton's and we sit watching the women working on their full-body tans. The wind picks up and we move out to Beta beach. No-one is around to don their sunglasses this time around and the cold water begins to sting my feet. One visits the rocks on the waters edge, another sits in the shade and her brother loses himself in search of seashells. The sky absorbs me into the recurring erosion of clouds that erupt from it at violent regularity.

A stop for ginger beer and fireballs on the way to the bottle store before drinking games and a short walk to Green Man for dancing. Few people. Terrible music. Much fun. My feet sting again, but this time it's from fatigue and I find myself a seat to doze in. The brother wakes me for BP pies and the walk home. It's now that I learn that despite their appearance, Cape Town's street signs can support my weight.

More tea in the morning and more Vonnegut. Today is slow and quiet. Tonight is home-made Thai green curry. Tomorrow is the move to another bed.

Fairest Cape Vol.I Pt.I: On Plans, the Landscape and Unwelcome Sensations

My approaching trip to Cape Town only begins to touch on my emotions on the evening before my flight out. An SMS arrives to tell me that my free accommodation is no longer available. I arrange a place to stay for a couple of nights after one of the five phonecalls I make is answered. The conversation goes: "Sure, it's not a problem. I'm here until Thursday. I am secure in my current relationship and you can sleep in my sister's bed. She's away."

My Mother tells me that I don't look excited. She asks me if I'm going to mope around for the whole time that I'm away. She makes me go out and buy a cross for my neck-chain. I just want to load up my MP3's. Cape Town's runway has just been repaired and there are many delayed flights. I listen to Portishead while waiting in line, in the waiting line.

Through the gate is a bus that takes five minutes to load and drive us a distance that would take forty seconds to walk. My hand luggage is stowed and I look out the window while I add 727 to the list of aircraft that I've flown on and wonder if there is a 717. The land speeds away in the other direction and I imagine that I'm standing still and that the world is moving around me. The land begins to drop away beneath me and the sky comes closer. I look through the window and I see how the churning, paper-white rapids of the clouds absorb the sun and how a dozen arrows of sunshine shoot through the clouds to be eaten away by the smog caught below.

This year's flight is free of babies and of Heineken so I decide to appreciate a small victory and order another Amstel. The flight over the Free State is the same as the drive through it so I read more Kurt Vonnegut. As we approach Cape Town, I look out of the window. The Earth of the escarpment is hard boulder with clumps of trees deposited like patches of moss across it. As the ground rises and the sky floats away, the mossy growths of litter clings to the sides of the Guguletu roads and pathways until we're at eyelevel with the slum apartments that ooze colour from each window like a fly through a fly-swat.

After another five minute bus ride I arrive, hair wind-tossed, at my pick-up. My smile lasts ten minutes until it sinks into a guilty knot in my stomach. The conversation goes: "I don't understand. Why are you staying until Thursday? I thought I was only a back-up plan. You'll just have to tag along." There is dinner and then there are drinks and there is a chaperone that sleeps in the sister's bed.

On Last Minute Catastrophe, Scotland and a Local Girl.

My life functions in polar opposites. There is never anything happening until everything happens at once - like a cloud burst. "Gradually and then sunddenly".

We have an ADSL line at home. This is very helpful for downloading mindless amounts of data but since we have DSTV aswell, we were invited to try out the not-yet-released-to-market Multichoice and Telkom service of "Video-on-demand". Basically we stream videos across our ADSL line onto TV via a set-top-box. They contacted us months ago. Today they are installing the system and today I leave for Cape Town for a month.

My trip to Cape Town has been planned for at least a month and a half in advance - free accommodation, the only serious expenses being food and alcohol. Yesterday I am notified that Frank - who has been down for a week already - has been kicked out of the apartment. I am now homeless too. I make a few phonecalls and - one to an old girlfriend - and I managed to organise accommodation with hi-friends. Y'know, those acquaintances that you are friendly with but never seem to say much more than "hi" to each other.

One of my closest friends is leaving for Scotland today aswell. He and his girlfriend are working for Gas Electric and Telecommunication in Glasgow - for a year! His flight is two hours before mine and if I were to see him off from the airport I would either need to make a double trip or I would have to wait at the airport for four hours until my plane departs.

My season of dry-spells and flings seems to be ending now, but it's not all that simple either. The Scotland bound friend's girlfriend has a friend that I really get along with and that I'm attracted to. I'm told that she likes me alot but she is staying in Pretoria and I won't see her until I get back. It doesn't help that there is history there too. History between me and another friend of hers but it could get in the way nonetheless.

I wouldn't be going to Cape Town for so long had it not been for my Scotland bound friend. He and his girlfriend were set to come down with us. I was meant to drive down with them and they were going to leave before Christmas. I didn't want to be in Pretoria for New Years and so I opted to stay on with Frank until January 10. Two weeks before we're set to drive down, my friend is recruited to go overseas. By this time, I have already swapped out my shifts at Exclusive Books with some difficulty and I don't really want to cause any more trouble.

I'll be okay. I travelled Europe on my own, I think I'll do fine in the Western Cape.

On Miscellany

I can only imagine how confusing going home is for people that stay in a res' or a commune. Making a "home" with new friends and new sets of responsibilities - more likely a lack of them. You leave at the end of a semester or over a long weekend and your old house doesn't feel like home anymore, you realize that you've outgrown the things you used to do or feel when you get there.

It sad when you stay in the same city - or large town in Pretoria's case - and these people that you study with and grow with all leave. I wonder which is the most confusing/upsetting.

I have been through this situation wherein many statements were made, many actions were taken and many promises were made and broken on both sides. This situation doesn't affect me as much as it did but I still find myself antagonized by certain things.

I feel compelled to call out things as being false because I think that they are blatantly apparent but I seem to be alone in that. I just feel like I've dealt with enough without having to accept any more half-truths. They don't seem to stop either. How am I supposed to deal when credibility is disregarded?

On remorse

My Grandfather passed away this morning. On Sunday he had a stroke and was stabilised. His condition deteriorated and today he died. I can't tell you the details. He will be buried on Thursday and I'm to be a pall-bearer. Something I'm farmiliar with.

I think I have a fragmented concept of family at this point. Both of my parents worked while I was growing up. It has been hard to feel much about anyone. I lived in the UK with a Cousin that became a dear friend. I did miss my Mom and I was occasionally sad about my grandparents - mostly because I was too young to get to know them properly. The only family I see semi-regulary is my Grandmother on my Mom's side and - less often - my Aunt, Uncle and Cousin.

The Grandfather that just passed was on my Father's side. My parents are both remarried. I was torn up by their split but it was clear that it was not my fault and that neither of them loved me any less. I don't see my Father's side of the family anymore. It's not intentional, we just run in different circles. It's a strange way to put it but nobody intends to become estranged.

My Dad has been visiting for the last three weeks. In a way, the passing couldn't have happened at a better time. When his Mother passed, he couldn't make the trip out. He prepared a eulogy for her and I read it at the ceremony. It was well written. I'm better at speaking someone elses words than my own. I was too quiet on the day. I seem to think that if I can hear myself, then everyone else can too. It was decided that copies of the speech were to be made and handed out to whomever was interested.

After that, my Maternal Grandfather succumbed to lymphoma. We used to live next door to my Grandparents and my Aunt. He was bed-ridden and cared for at home. I couldn't bear to be around near the end. It was long and ugly. Shouldn't it be though? Birth certainly is!

I recall a day that the Greek Orthodox Bishop was to visit. My Grandad wanted to be presentable and since my Gran had never shaved a face before I was charged with the task. I frothed up the soap and used the disposable as neatly and carefully as I could. It was humbling: sitting there in my school uniform, wiping off the extra soap.

I put another another person in the ground. A person that was responsible for my existence. A person that moulded the person that moulded me. I was part of something amazing at the time. Something that shaped me more and more as I got to know her and she was both my escape and my saviour on that day. All I know is that there is no going back for anyone.

Ah, Marketing.

Anni wrote a post which touched on something I have been sporadically mulling over. The idea of signs, if they exist, should they be believed and what they could mean. I tried to express my point of view in a comment but it was a little one-dimensional.

Today, I'm trying to catch up on my Marketing studies and I come across a section that added a bit of depth to what I meant. It has to do with related selectivity and how it affects consumer perception. Don't leave yet, I'm not ranting about marketing. The same priciples are relevant to the idea that signs are trying to tell us something. As an example, I'll take a person that has ended a long-term relationship (since I'm a guy, we'll make this person a guy).

Selective exposure says that a person's beliefs influence what they choose to experience. Our singleton now associates what he experience in a film, tv-programme or song to be relevant to his situation. What he doesn't understand is that anything outside of this belief (his situation) is unnoticed or ignored outright. The reason that these signs appear to him is that he subconsciously seeks out this type of sign. He might: see the same type of car that his former love interest drives or see his and her name pop up in the titles of a movie.

Similarly, selective attention says that he'll be more aware of information that supports his decisions and ignore the information that contradicts it. If he is considering going back to her he'll ignore her new love interest's name when it comes up in the titles of the same movie.

Selective retention is the way that we remember information that is relevant and forget the rest. This can explain how a person will idealise a relationship once it is over, or opposite to that, demonise the same relationship depending on their beliefs. Our guy will possibly decide that that he was responsible for pushing her away. He could also think the girl is a slut and that she didn't care for him because she cheated on him. Either way, what he remembers about the relationship will be influenced by what he believes.

Like I said in my comment, I think that signs are subjective in that we only see what we want to. I think that coincidences are more founded than signs. I have no complete philosophies on coincidences but if one comes up, I'll be sure to bore you with it too.