pretend

I’ve been listening to Nonyana’s 4 boys pretend to crow early in the morning, afternoon, lunchtime. Pretty much whenever they get a chance. I say pretend because what comes out of their mouths cannot yet be termed a crow. It comes out all wrong. I don’t know how the humans are coping with this but it’s driving me crazy. First comes the scramble up a tree to gain a height advantage and then follows the disappointing gurgle. I can’t believe I was ever like this.

A point of interest about roosters  is their reaction to male offspring. I  can’t stand them!! In the jungle of course they would leave the nest and begin their own family but in these suburban environs it’s up to the humans to find a home for them. Fortunately I have noticed that they don’t yet have names. No names means that the pot has not been ruled out. Shocking you might think!! But I’ve heard of similar things that you humans do to your female offspring. Now that to me is shocking.

Anyway, I am meandering. Pretend. It’s so popular in these new psycho-babble-10-steps kind of ways. This kind of touchy-feely is rampant in the esoteric worlds but I see the concepts have put on a suit and tie and moved into the business world. Must be all those business-types secretly reading their wives energetically empowering books at night. The idea is that one must pretend. I know there is probably a more nuanced word for this, but it  is pretending, it’s playing the character that you want to be. The universe in it’s bountiful way needs only to see the heartfelt desire coupled with some consistent visualisation technique and water is but concrete walkway.

This led me to thinking about a theme that I often find with writers. The notebook. The capturer of those whimsical, fleeting, droplets of pure genius. I often mock this concept but as I turned it over in my mind it seemed to grow hair on it’s chest and a deep throated cockadoodle doo. Yes! So I am going to explore this writing persona. If you see some shady looking rooster furiously scrawling in a dark corner that will be me. It might even be in the queue at the local Spar, I so love perving other people’s purchases.

The gem for my inspiration has been the Guardian’s book section. They have a running series called Rules for writers.

My favourite has been by one of my all time best writers Margaret Atwood. Margaret Atwood’s rules for writers. They are funny, she must spend lots of time in airplanes. My friend joked that she must also not have ever heard of a pencil sharpener. I laughed but only until I realised the blasphemy of my actions. I throw myself at your feet Margaret.

The other is by somebody I have never read, a man by the name of Michael Morpurgo. Maybe you can enlighten me. I actually liked his rules more. His way of working resonated more with how ideas jump from my head to the screen.

Enjoy. Be inspired.

babalas – a south african word for a hangover

Oh my head!! I am desperate to sever my head and the hangover headache that consumes it. It’s a terrifying image if you have ever had the misfortune to see a headless chicken running around spewing blood before collapsing in a heap.  Was out last night, at a restaurant and I overdid my favourite tipple, Pinot Grigio – oh old age, there was a time when such excesses had no effect on me whatsoever. I’ve been chanting the “Never again…” mantra all morning but the babalas gods have not forgiven me. Anyone know any good hang over remedies?? Right now, I’m eating anything salty I can get my hands on.

Glorified me

Anyway, today’s post was supposed to be an introduction to me.  I so hate it when people just go “Hi, my name is Buff, I’m a software engineer”. Where’s the intrigue? Where’s the element of discovery? This was going to be a long, drawn out, flirtation of an introduction but alas my circumstances dictate haste. My name is Pula. I’m a 2 year old suburbanite bantam cock with a harem of 6. In pecking order, they are Puleng, Silkie, Blackie, The Ballerina, Nonyana and Hope. I came from a farm outside the city with Puleng. Our names are both references to rain in Sesotho, a southern african language. This peculiarity stems from the abundance of rain that followed our arrival.  Puleng gave birth to Silkie and Blackie.  Blackie, is quite simply black and Silkie looks a bit like a silkie, even though she isn’t really one. I know this may shock a human, but incest is not frowned upon in fowl culture – don’t judge me now. Moving along – The Ballerina is a silkie, she does’nt really associate herself with the harem and has brought up Hope. It’s still not clear whether Hope is going to be a boy or girl yet. If he is a boy he’ll have to go. There’s only room for one stud!! It’s the only rule, the one which gives birth to all others. Then, lastly there is Nonyana. She is the most recent addition to the harem. She is so-called because she resembles a bird. I’ve really just skimmed over my lovelies, and in time I shall go into more detail and put up a pic or two. We have a glorious time and I’m really enamoured of them all.

Now I have to go and give attention to the head.  Never again…