…my parents had split up after a very long and disruptive marriage. They came from two different worlds. My father wanted to please his mother, and my mother wanted to please her father. Their commitment to these ideals made them stick it out for almost 28 years give or take a few years. That’s more than just a few of my lifetimes which in some ways is impressive by most counts, but in other ways it’s sad beyond belief. Being a family of six kids, plus my eldest brother that passed away when he was a precious six months old, and another miscarriage, it was a miracle that the stress and strain of all that responsibility, a low income, and a lack of real interaction between my parents allowed them to persevere for as long as they did.

They were both admirable in many ways. My mother was always striving, and still continues to strive to improve the quality of her life and of her family’s. She never backed down from a challenge to supplement my father’s income by doing more than her fair share of work from home. My father worked as a warehouse supervisor for a leading clothing wholesaler at the time. This in itself had its perks because we would often end up wearing the sample items of lines that they never brought into the South African market which automatically allowed us to be fashionably dressed at the lowest price. However, not all the clothing samples were fashionable, and not having much choice in what we were given to wear, it was sometimes embarrassing to be seen in some of the clothes that we received. But the important thing is that we were always neatly dressed and never went hungry. So despite my anger and disappointment at some of the events in my life relating to my parents or my relationship with my father, that is something that I’ll always be eternally grateful for.

Excerpt from Ramblings of a Madman. The book I never wrote.

The institute of dishonesty is older and more pervasive than religion.


I sometimes think that we need less religion and more faith. Less people and more humanity. I should stop before I turn this into an annoying post that goes on ad nauseum about clever comparisons of oh so enlightening opposites. 

We probably need less cynics and more sincerity as well, I guess. But everyone’s trying to be a Rumi or Plato or Ghandi, and nobody tries to be themselves, because we’re all so focused on being unique individuals…just like everyone else. Hmmm, and we’re also always generalising our negative perceptions so that it doesn’t feel so bad to have them because we convince ourselves that everyone else is just as screwy in the head. 

My thoughts are tiring. Almost as tiring as human nature. The fickleness and frailties of the human soul are no longer endearing to me. I now find it annoyingly cliched. Everyone is struggling. Everyone is in pain or distress or dis-ease. So much so, that a normal person that is truly optimistic and genuinely carefree is almost uplifting…almost, because I can’t help but wonder if they have all their faculties in good order to find reason to be this way in a world full of crap. Look at your dash and count how many posts has people using the words heart, soul, life, death and other similar philosophical triggers before you dismiss my cynicism as being that of a jaded old man. 

Death to the cynics, dammit!