Susynoid

BBQ in Sinchon

2007-06-10T13:47:00.001+01:00

Summer in Seoul 2007!

The Amazing Gender Genie

2007-05-01T08:30:00.000+01:00

The gender genie predicts the gender of the author. Give it a try: bookblog.net/gender/genie.php

Mokpo 2 (April 2007)

2007-04-30T11:14:00.000+01:00

die dood van ‘n digter

2007-04-30T05:10:00.000+01:00

in ‘n kamer in nagoya

in ‘n besonders raserige wyk

(waar hy jare lank engels onderrig het)

het ‘n onbekende afrikaanse digter

(onverwags)

in ‘n laatnag-oomblik

van sombere stilte

in die arms van ‘n onsen geisja beswyk

soos die ink in sy ongeskrewe outobiografie

het hy na ‘n verloop van veertig jaar

eenvoudig (uit sy menswees) verdamp …

ek het onsigbaar geword!

so het hy op die vooraand van sy laaste reis

- ten aanskoue van ‘n paar muskiete op sy badkamerspieël –

gejuig!

Eureka

dalk het hy nooit vantevore ‘n gedig neergepen het nie

tot vandag toe is sy gedigte onopspoorbaar

aan ‘n tydlose gehoor getuig

daarvan kan die stom sterre oor die stille oseaan

maar die digwerk in sy kop was altyd daar

naskrif

South Africa: Transformation or Liquidation?

2007-04-01T06:51:00.000+01:00

"The first step in liquidating a people is to erase its memory. Destroy its books, its culture, its history, Then have somebody write new books, manufacture a new culture, invent a new history. Before long the nation will begin to forget what it is and what it was. The world around it will forget even faster."

Historian Milan Hübl as quoted to Milan Kundera in The Book of Laughter and Forgetting

Seoul

2007-03-25T14:27:00.000+01:00

Picture of my Seoul Apartment

Disengagement ... Part 2

2007-03-08T13:44:00.000Z

Okay! I will recover this blog. Even if I have to pour cold water over it and practice mouth-to-mouth on. I will engage again ... Just wait and see!

I disengage

2007-02-27T07:02:00.000Z

Disengagement imminent.

Genade! Die land brand en ek is in Seoel!

2007-02-17T14:45:00.000Z

Twee maande sonder Internet hier in Seoel en die land (dis nou die Republiek van Suid-Afrika) is heeltemal in des moers! Goed, dit was nou weliswaar nie 'n sonder Internetlose tyd as gevolg van omstandighede nie (daarvoor is Korea te ontwikkeld), maar eerder 'n halfopsetlike poging om my van die nuus op news24 bevry. Die "De la Rey" sage het my nogal amuseer en ek luister self so nou en dan na De la Rey! Dan is daar Koos Kombuis se nuwe stryd!

The End Is Nigh (Just 5 Mins Away!!)

2007-01-20T11:35:00.000Z

Yup, it's official! We're 5 minutes from the end of the World according to the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists . I'm travelling around in the universe (did you see me on the otherside of the Virgo Stellar Stream Yog?), but hearing the news that the clock to doomdsday was reset, I had to turn back.

Sponsored by no less than 18 nobel laureates, the board is convinced that we are at the brink of a second nuclear age. The clock peaked at 2 minutes to midnight in 1953 when the USA tested its first thermonuclear device and again at 3 minutes to midnight in 1984 at the height of the cold war: Regarding the recent resetting of the clock the board was straightforward: "The United States and Russia remain ready to stage a nuclear attack within minutes, North Korea conducts a nuclear test, and many in the international community worry that Iran plans to acquire the Bomb."

Only this time, climate change is helping along too.

Time to panic? Yes, and it's probably overdue. But then I'll be on the far side of the universe to watch the spectacle. I'll miss Earth though, especially the giant baobab trees of the Limpopo province (and a few friends). Good luck! The end is nigh!

Thailand: Pattaya

2006-10-12T22:42:00.000+01:00

More pictures of Pattaya City (3-6 October, 2006)

Pattaya Beach

Buddhist Temple on Ko Lan Island

Beach on Ko Lan Island

Resort on Ko Lan Island

Thailand: Bangkok

2006-10-12T13:02:00.000+01:00

Some pictures of Bangkok (3 - 6 October, 2006)

Bangkok City Skytrain

Siam Paragon Shopping Mall

Lumpini Park, Bangkok

Taejongdae on a Windy Day

2006-10-11T07:00:00.000+01:00

My first day trip to Busan in more than three years with my great new friend (chingu), HyoSoon, proved to be one of my more precious and unforgettable days in Korea thus far, that is not including my bungee jumping experience in Seoul. Besides having betrayed my Western clumsiness while eating rawfish (hoe) at a Heaundai Beach restaurant (I'm still learning to be Korean), we spent some magic moments at Taejongdae and later again at the Gaya Festival in Gimhae. Taejongdae, named after King Taejong Muyul (654-661) of the Silla Dynasty, is a famous attraction with amusement parks galore along the Busan coast.

More about Hoe (thinly sliced Korean rawfish).

Picture taken at Taejongdae with lighthouse in the background (30 September 2006).

The Scooters of Ho Chi Minh City

2006-10-11T06:52:00.000+01:00

I have no doubts that there are more scooters in Vietnam than flies in Australia. I tried to capture a bit of the traffic madness that left me stranded on a traffic circle for 30 minutes, until eventually I said an odd number of prayers and crossed with my eyes closed. Otherwise Ho Chi Minh City (better known as Saigon) is a great city with boulevards and cafes where one can happily indulge in a kick-ass Vietnamese black coffee ... safe from the traffic. In the Paris of Asia.

Gaya Festival

2006-09-24T05:26:00.000+01:00

Not much happens in Gimhae in the Gyeongnam Province of South Korea most of the time. But when something does, it's certainly worth a visit. Such is the Gaya International Festival of Culture held from 22 September to 3 October 2006. Gimhae is, afterall, the old capital of the Gaya dynasty. For more information visit: www.gayafestival.com. The festival features a variety of performances, cultural exhibitions, tradional Korean games and activities and markets.

Top: A performer at the Gaya Festival

Fishing near Mokpo

2006-08-05T14:30:00.000+01:00

Went fishing in a small Korean fishing village called Pyoram during my summer holidays. The rustic village is not too far from Mokpo along the southwestern coast of Korea. I didn't catch the big one (for that matter I didn't catch anything at all), but I did see the stars. Unusual in the country that is really one big lit-up city. That made the trip well worth it. More pictures here.

Mokpo from the train window.

Mt. Duryun

Pyoram

Pyoram

Waiting in Seoul for the KTX Express train.

A Short Trip to Japan

2006-07-27T15:46:00.000+01:00

Went on a short trip to Fukuoka, Japan via Ferry from Busan to get a working visa for Korea. All was great, except for the rain. I did manage to take a few photo's.

Ohori Park (left)

Fukuoka with the Tower in the background (right)

Fukuoka Yahoo Dome (left)

Typhoon Ewiniar

2006-07-10T11:53:00.000+01:00

Schools closed today! Typhoon Ewiniar (the Storm God) was here. View from my apartment (taken at 19:50 on 10 July in Gimhae City, South Korea).

Korea Again

2006-07-08T16:18:00.000+01:00

In the small city called Gimhae!

I Got Tagged Along With Desmond Tutu

2006-05-16T12:20:00.000+01:00

Firstly,

[Dear Yog and other readers,

I was on the far side of the universe for a while. I was testing out the Earth destruction techniques kindly suggested on a site that you linked to: http://qntm.org/destroy. I tried some of those experiments on a small planet using my cosmic cab's universal fission emulator. But to no avail. I did have a lot of fun shooting at orange three-eyed fury wombat-like creatures on the planet called Quantumino B.A.I. in a solar system very much like ours. Besides having fun torturing the orange thingies with a meteorite megaslingshot until they squealed with horror and turned auburn, I did succeed in destroying their sustainable environment using simple deforestation techniques learnt on Earth and releasing a megacan of compressed Ryanair jet emissions in their atmosphere. But, came hell and no more water, I could not move or fissure their planet out of orbit or existence. I must say it did feel a lot like having an Xbox though. Then I got bored and returned home to write an article in Afrikaans for Wikipedia about Valencia, Spain and read a compilation of novellas written by Samuel Beckett. I will try some more experiments on other planets as soon as I figure out what that bloody e=mc square thing means and change the tyres of my cosmic cab.]

Secondly,

In the meantime, I got tagged along with Desmond Tutu.

Four jobs I've had:

Cashier
Crime Analyst
English Teacher
Security Manager

Four movies I can watch over and over:

Lost in Translation
A Beautiful Mind
Moulin Rouge
Iris

Four places I've lived:

Pretoria, South Africa
Potchefstroom, South Africa
Ulsan, South Korea
London, United Kingdom

Four TV shows I love:

Friends
Star Trek
Carteblanche
Nils Holgersson

Four highly regarded and recommended TV shows I haven't seen:

Song vir Katryn
The documentary about Johannes Kerkorrel's suicide.
All the stuff on National Geographic channel (I never had and still don't have a TV).
Paul C. Venter's Konings (Kings)

Four of my favourite dishes:

Pasta
Ceasars salad with hot English mustard and ham sandwiches.
Pap (something porridgy), wors (something sausagy with nice spices inside) and tomatosauce made from real tomatoes and onions. These are traditional South African foods (for those ignorants who live outside South Africa, London, parts of Australia, Canada and the United States of America).
Cream puffs made with diabetic jam and light cream.

Four sites I visit daily:

Litnet (especially Sênet)
News24, South Africa
Blogs listed on this blog under blogs .. go figure!
Mail & Guardian

Four places I've been on holiday:

Australia
Hong Kong
Spain
Belgium

Four albums I can't live without:

Radiohead, O.K. Computer
Stef Bos, Beste van Bos
Gustav Mahler, Love & Grief*
Sergei Rachmaninov, Essential Rachmaninov*

*Sort of the "Best Of " compilation of most of their symphonies.

Four places I'd rather be right now:

Austria
Somewhere in the Karoo
Flanders, Belgium
Adelaide, Australia

Four other people I’m tagging:

Hmm ..

Eugène Marais ('n Denkbeeldige Vriend?)

2006-04-14T21:50:00.000+01:00

Ek het pas Leon Rousseau se merkwaardige biografie oor Eugène Marais gelees. Die Groot Verlange: Die Verhaal van Eugène N. Marais is heruitgegee deur Protea Boekhuis. Vir jare was die skrywer van Winternag en ander bekende Afrikaanse gedigte aan morfien verslaaf. Hy was 'n veelsydige en belese persoon wie mens eintlik intiem leer ken by monde van Rousseau.

Oor biografieë skryf John Armstrong (outeur van Love, Life, Goethe: How to be Happy in an Imperfect World) die volgende: "The friendship-model of investigation reminds us of something quite strange in the modern tradition of biography: when we know another person, when we are friends with them, there are often large blank spaces in their history, as far as we are concerned. We may have only a sketchy - and probably one-sided - grasp of what occurred over substantial stretches of that person's life. And yet our encounter with them is not puzzling or missing something. As we grow into a friendship, aspects of how the other person thinks and acts become part of the fabric of our life - a part of how we see things, what we regard as possible, desirable, interesting and worthwhile." (p. 19 - 20)

So het Armstrong die onderwerp van sy biografie, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (terloops ook 'n ewe veelsydige Duitse skrywer en digter) as 'n denkbeeldige vriend benader en leer ken. 'n Vriendskap wat sy eie denke beïnvloed het en hy graag met sy lesers deel. So het Eugène Marais deur, ondere andere, sy liefde vir die natuur, sy strewe na kennis my as onwaarskynlike 'denkbeeldige vriend' geraak.

'n Gediggie volg weldra:

Winternag

O koud is die windjie
en skraal.
En blink in die dof-lig
en kaal,
so wyd as die Heer se genade,
lê die velde in sterlig en skade.
En hoog in die rande,
versprei in die brande,
is die grassaad aan roere
soos winkende hande.

O treurig die wysie
op die ooswind se maat,
soos die lied van 'n meisie
in haar liefde verlaat.
In elk grashalm se vou
blink 'n druppel van dou,
en vinnig verbleik dit
tot ryp in die kou!

On Bullshit (Frankfurt’s Short Treatise)

2006-03-28T15:05:00.000+01:00

A discovery at Books, etc. at the Angel yielded an unusually interesting personal reward last week: a tiny hardbound book and treatise on bullshit written by Harry G. Frankfurt (Emeritus Professor of Philosophy at Princeton). A quick read (less than an hour on nightshift) goes a short way to explain the essence of bullshit of which there is abundance in our lifetime, thanks in part to the information age. By way of Wittgenstein, Ezra Pound and St. Augustine, Frankfurt proceeds to explain that bullshit is born from a necessity to express an opinion on something that we all too often know nothing or little about. According to Frankfurt liars respect the authority of truth (they respond respectfully to the truth), but bullshitters have scant regard for the truth. They misrepresent what they are up to, irrespective of the truthfulness of their facts. This leads him to conclude that (2005: 61) bullshit is the “greater enemy of the truth than lies are”.

Now there is something to be said about the abundance of bullshit in our age. We see it on T.V. , we hear it on the radio and occasionally it finds its way into government policy documents. Whether it is Bush, Blair or Mugabe (all are bullshitters par excellence) or Mbeki's bullshit about the causes of HIV/AIDS. A worthy treatise and excellent guide for those who are in search of the truth, whatever it is.

Frankfurt, Harry G. 2005. On Bullshit. Princeton University Press: Princeton & Oxford.

How did he do that?

2006-03-27T23:01:00.000+01:00

"John Webb (Carte Blanche presenter): 'The Knysna police station doesn't have a very good reputation. It is widely believed to be corrupt and inefficient. In fact, one of its officers (Selwyn Bruiners) was arrested for drug dealing. He was suspended on full pay for two years, only to be reinstated and then promoted.' ... Inspector Selwyn Bruiners is a real crack cop. He's been on the force for fifteen years, eight of those as a drug addict - starting with Mandrax and then going all out on crack cocaine ..."

Selwyn replied after his arrest: "Not really. I was shocked, to be honest with you. I was shocked. Getting promoted after being suspended for two years with a full salary and all of a sudden they read my rights to me. And I know the public as well, they were shocked because a lot of my friends asked me, 'How did you get that right?' "

Source: http://www.carteblanche.co.za/Display/Display.asp?Id=3038

Comment: There was a good reason why I left the South African Police Service after eight years service. At the time I left, I was as a so-called non-designated person (read white, male and 30 something) and consequently with the bleak prospect of promotion. Five years later I have no regrets, except that I feel all but the greatest empathy for those dedicated police officers who are excluded from promotion on the basis of their race, gender and age and obedience to the law, irrespective of their skills, qualifications and most important of all their dedicated service to the communities of South Africa.

To Selwyn: You're a loser and a shame to the South Africa Police Service!

On a happy ending: Selwyn has been "suspended from the South African police service without salary or benefits."

South Africa - Annual Visit

2006-03-25T07:21:00.000Z

I spent a lot of my time in bookshops and walking through the changed (still changing) city centre of Pretoria like the days of old. Reorganised my hoards of dusty books. Read Dan Roodt's translation of Stephen Smith's Negrology and One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Met up with lots of friends (and sadly missed a few) and departed with a hole in my heart. No, there were no hijackers that caused that. It was just the big verlange! Now I'm back and all ready for my next adventure. Somewhere. Probably by way of teaching English and / or the (Anglo-Saxon) evangelism of secularism to the predominently unenlightened world lest humankind slips back into the dark ages. Tall order, I know.

Me having a lekker groot brannewyn & diet coke at home (Feb 2006)!

Canterbury, Kent

2006-01-24T19:25:00.000Z

Canterbury Cathedral, 22 Jan 06
(www.canterbury-cathedral.org)

Laasnag

2006-01-21T22:49:00.000Z

laasnag (ontkenning)

vanoggend toe ek opstaan
die deur oopmaak
verblind word deur die skerp sonlig
sien ek in die gangetejie voor my flat
ingetoë
(en taamlik bewoë)
'n dogterjie met trane in haar oë
(het-master-my-ma-gesien? êrens?)
... sy is 'n vreemdeling dink ek
een van die meide se kinders
en stoot die deur weer haastig toe
tas na die panados en lemoensap in my vuil kombuis
tussen daggastompies en halfleë bottels goedkoop wyn
ek wonder wie se bruin lyf lê nog in my bed
maak-nie-saak-nie
want my beursie is leeg
en iets van laasnag se fuifery maal nog soos 'n ou droom deur my kop

* my eerste en enigste anti-apartheidsgedig ooit en dateer uit die vroeë 1990's lank nog voordat ek verstaan het waar die kommas tussen reëls of reëls tussen kommas regtig hoort! Aldus, alle kommas is verwyder sonder enige verder redigering.

"Dan het die oggendstond 'n nasmaak in die mond
van die vorige aand se vangs van mensevlees"

Andries Bezuidenhout (Brixton Moord & Roof Orkes) uit die liedjie Weskusbabbelaas

Spain

2006-01-18T17:01:00.000Z

Above: Alicante, 2006.

Left: A restless, singing beggar in Valencia, 2006.

Left: Plaza de le Virgen, Valencia.

Above: Central Market, Valencia.

Welcome 2006

2006-01-02T17:30:00.000Z

"To infinity and beyond!" - Buzz Lightyear

Merry Christmas & Happy New Year!

2005-12-24T00:17:00.000Z

Vienna Museumsplatz

2005-12-17T17:06:00.000Z

Left: The Leopold Museum. Home to the largest collection of Viennese expressionist artist, Egon Schiele (May 2005).

Right: The Museum Moderner Kunst, Stiftung Ludwig Wien.

These photoblogs have amazing pictures of one of Europe's finest cities:

My Home in Islington - I – The Apple Tree

2005-12-16T16:38:00.000Z

I have an apple tree in the garden right in front of my window. Occasionally a housemate would bring me an apple through my window, but I refuse to eat them. I have come to fear anything that is organic, free of preservatives and that does not have an expiry date on it. The day a tree produces an apple with an expiry date on or a chicken lays eggs with barcodes on them will be the day that I eat them without going to a shop first.It is irrational to think this way. I realize that and hopefully I will change my opinion.

But it does not mean that I do not respect the tree. The tree is a very busybody to use an analogy from our human world. It produces apples at an astonishing rate during the summer. I frequently hear the apples raining down with thuds on the lawn. I can do nothing but respect this incredibly fertile tree, oblivious to the world. It is a well of life.

It is winter. Only a few leaves remain on the now barren tree. Dry sticky fingers point in all directions, trying to grasp the cold air of London. Even in the shades of the evening it appears restless (in a kind of slow motion). Like me, I imagine, it yearns for the fruitful summers ....

Tree At My Window (Robert Frost)

Tree at my window, window tree,
My sash is lowered when night comes on;
But let there never be curtain drawn
Between you and me.
Vague dream-head lifted out of the ground,
And thing next most diffuse to cloud,
Not all your light tongues talking aloud
Could be profound.
But tree, I have seen you taken and tossed,
And if you have seen me when I slept,
You have seen me when I was taken and swept
And all but lost.
That day she put our heads together,
Fate had her imagination about her,
Your head so much concerned with outer,
Mine with inner, weather.

A Very Short Essay on Happiness

2005-12-15T19:14:00.000Z

“Man does not strive for pleasure; only the Englishman does”. – Friedrich Nietzsche

The Brits are unhappy again. In fact they have always been unhappy, but now it (as always) seems even worse than ever. Depression, obesity and alcohol abuse in Great Britain is taking its toll. A total of 38% of the 2 million Brits who are claiming incapacity benefits are ‘mentally’ ill. All this misery is costing the country about £9bn through the loss of productivity and benefits (Bunting, 2005). This despite the fact that Britain is ranked 7.1 out of 10 on the World Database of Happiness (Veenhoven, 2005).

The causes of all this misery in Britain are plethora and are sometimes visible on the rail networks as people commit suicide by jumping in front of trains or the near-suicidal feelings caused by the incessant announcements like on the London Underground: "due to (un)necessary engineering works, there will be no service on the .... line. "In addition, there is the welfare state that has been producing 'happy' suicide bombers. This is a terrifying phenomenon and beyond the mask of London’s ‘happy’ resilient response to terrorism, the forlorn aftermath of 7/7 still haunts public opinion. The always-trying-to-be happy Brits also now have extended drinking hours that promise to make them either happier or more hung over and depressed. And I suspect it will be the latter. Finally, the war in Iraq, increasing violent crime, drug abuse, disfunctional relationships, sexually transmitted diseases (STD's), etc have started to take its toll on the psychologicall well-being of Britain.

Britain is rapidly changing into a so-called therapy state. The NHS is now rolling out more and more programmes aimed at improving the mental health of the nation or nations given Britain’s multicultural demographic constitution. The BBC has gone so far as to recruit volunteers to spread happiness across Slough, while hiring experts to define happiness. It is documented in a recently televised series called Making Slough Happy. It included a rather absurd trip to the graveyard. One expert, Richard Stevens (BBC Lifestyle, 2005) is alleged to have said, "Going round a graveyard and reminding yourself that life is short can really boost your appreciation that it's wonderful just to be alive!"

Alain de Botton wrote a whole book about the unhappy phenomenon and called it status anxiety.

I can only imagine poor Nietzsche frowning upon the fact that this crazy pursuit of happiness is still ongoing. Nietzsche claims that the utilitarian ideal of happiness has no intrinsic value (Leiter, 2005). Utilitarian happiness is about comfort and fashion. This presents a conundrum as advertising and television (consumer capitalism, the beholder of comfort and fashion par excellence) has been identified as one of the main culprits causing the Brits to be such a miserable lot.

Generally speaking, we live in a world that is happy and miserable at the same time. In the end we all ride in the same taxi to the netherworld. The guru of misery, Arthur Schopenhauer, was spot on when he noted that the “vanity of our existence is revealed in the whole existence assumes: in the infiniteness of time and space contrasted with the finiteness of the individual in both; in the fleeting present as the sole form in which actuality exists; in the contingency and relativity of all things; in continual becoming without being; in continual desire without satisfaction; in the continual frustration of striving of which life consists … We shall do best to think of life as desengano, as a process of disillusionment: since this is clearly enough, what everything that happens to us is calculated to produce.” (1970, 16 & 21)

Is there an escape clause out of this ill-fated existence of ours?

The answer is simply no. Our life does not come with a guarantee of happiness, defined as contentment and pleasure. Suffering is part of our lives as much as joy is. Our existence is in part determined by our ever-evolving biological make-up and a very complex social environment. Evolutionary psychologists like Grinde (2002: 331) have realised that "the human capacity for positive and negative feelings is shaped by the forces of evolution."

It is probably a lot more complex then my humble proposition. Unlike Jean Paul Sartre’s thinking, wars are not necessary our wars and we are often confounded in circumstances that are beyond our control. The human race is an infantile one. We are still learning to walk. We don’t find ourselves trapped in the anguish of freedom. There is no existential angst resulting from an abundance of choices. Our freedom is limited and totally contingent. Our existential angst arises from Nietzsche’s abyss. The one that threatens to stare back at us.

This does not mean that our lives have to be bleak and miserable. Emotions that can be both negative and positive have evolved to help humankind to solve problems and therefore enhance our chance of survival. There is a place for joy amid the sadness and it is achievable, in spite of the contingency of our lives. Belgian behavioural biologist, Mark Nelissen (2004: 134) believes that joy is instrumental in evolution as it makes us more open new experiences, encourages greater cooperation and mutual support and heals negative experiences on an individual level.

What self-help advice can I give the Brits considering the gravity of their despair? I could start with suggesting that all those self-help books at WH Smith are at best to be avoided. They are depressingly addictive. Secondly, I could advise them to turn off the telly more often! It creates role models and expectations. It turns mankind into mediocre zombies or sluggish 'sloughs' (excuse the pun). The Brits (and for that matter the rest of humankind) need to think beyond the happiness/sadness dichotomy. This means that we need to strive for a passionately fulfilling life that does not necessary equate to happiness, but may be constitutive of joyious impulses / occassions and times of despair.

In short, we have to overcome ourselves, elevate ourselves out of the mundanity of our lives.
Really easy!

Bibliography

BBC Lifestyle. Making Slough Happy. 2005. [Online]. Available WWW: http://www.bbc.co.uk/lifestyle/tv_and_radio/making_slough_happy/. (Accessed 10 December 2005).
Bunting, M. 2005. Consumer capitalism is making us ill – we need a therapy state. Guardian, 5 December.
De Botton, A. 2004. Status Anxiety. London: Penguin.
Grinde, B. 2002. Happiness in the Perspective of Evolutionary Psychology. Journal of Happiness Studies, 3: 331–354.
Leiter, B.R. 2004. Nietzsche's Moral & Political Philosophy. [Online]. Available WWW: http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/nietzsche-moral-political/. (Accessed 10 December 2005).
Nelissen, M. 2004. Emoties en de evolutie naar socialiteit. In Nellisen, M (ed.). Waarom we willen wat we willen: De invloed van de Evolutie op wat we kopen, wat we doen, wie we graag zien en wie we zijn. Tielt: Lannoo.
Nietzsche, F.W. 1954. (transl. By W. Kaufman). Twilight of the Idols. In The Portable Nietzsche Reader. Harmondsworth: Penguin.
Schopenhauer, A. 1970 (transl. By R.J. Hollingdale). On the Suffering of the World. London: Penguin.
Veenhoven, R. 2005. Average happiness in 91 nations 1995-2005. World Database of Happiness, Rank Report 2005. [Online]. Available WWW: http://worlddatebaseofhappiness.eur.nl. (Accessed on 10 December).

Interesting Links:

Alain de Botton

Friedrich Nietzsche Society at the University of Wales, Swansea

Happiness in Wikipedia

Happiness Program

HyperNietzsche

Journal of Happiness Studies

World Database of Happiness, Erasmus University Rotterdam

The Example

2005-12-05T21:41:00.000Z

This is one of my favourite short poems written by William Davies. It is about seeing the world a bit differently in a life that is not all that easy. Should be in a self-help motivational book. See my forthcoming very short essay on happiness.

The Example

Here's an example from
A Butterfly;
That on a rough, hard rock
Happy can lie;
Friendless and all alone
On this unsweetened stone.

Now let my bed be hard
No care take I;
I'll make my joy like this
Small Butterfly;
Whose happy heart has power
To make a stone a flower.

- William H. Davies

New York sculptor Tom Otterness' (www.tomostudio.com) untitled sculpture on the beachfront of Scheveningen, Netherlands. It is part of the outdoor exhibition of the Sculptures of the Sea museum (www.beeldenaanzee.nl). Picture taken in October, 2005.

Poet please?

2005-12-03T22:28:00.000Z

now that you know A publisher,
god forbid,
that at this opportune moment, I utter
a simple request.

(how pleased though to know
that you know the editor of one those
glossy mags with facial-cream ads,
the latest mobile phone fads,
tender advice for those of all ages,
all contained in silky smooth pages)

would you care?
if not for
glamour or for fanfare
to talk to those damned editors?
and bequeath your versed wisdom upon us
so we can understand the world for better or for worse
(and make this magazine a tad more interesting)
when we go to work by bus

(For Yogi)

"Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal". – Albert Camus

Kersfees in Londen

2005-12-01T18:14:00.000Z

Kersfees in Londen - 2004

Die winter van my ontnugtering is hier.
In Londen waar almal gereed maak om Kersfees te vier.
Net die koorsang (Thomas Tallis) op my oorfone
skans my teen my verlore Eurodrome.
Durf ek jou nog liefhê?
Of gaan my gewete my ontsê?
Waarom klou en nog onverbete aan jou?
Wanneer ek stoksielalleen met veel berou,
onsigbaar,
na Sinterklaas en sy elwe,
en allerlei
fraai opgemaakte geskenke,
deur Hamleys se winkelvenster staar.

"Onder in my whiskey glas is jy nog aan my vas". – Koos Kombuis

It all ends here

2005-12-01T18:10:00.000Z

I found the truth and it is not really nice if you expected it to be contained in some religious doctrine, but all too exciting not to share with everyone else. It is simple: nothing matters, we come and we go and we will be / have been here and there and everywhere and nowhere again as we are / be backwards and forwards in eternity. We live in a world of paradoxes. My friends do matter, my blue planet that I share with others matters. The world is cruel, crazy, and beautiful. Laughter matters, tears do matter. Is it all that difficult to understand?

So now I know the truth, I can soak it up like a sponge and enjoy the unspoilt view of the nebula clouds from the window of my cosmic cab on route to Proxima Centauri.

It all ends here and thank you Johnny Clegg (www.johnnyclegg.com) for that cruel, crazy, beautiful world.

"What if everything in the world were a misunderstanding, what if laughter were really tears"? - Søren Kierkegaard

De Ruimtevaarder

2005-11-28T22:22:00.000Z

Ik geef me over aan de ruimte
Geef me over aan de tijd
Ik heb mijn stad en land verlaten
Ik zocht de relativiteit
Ik ken de uitgedoofde sterren
Ik ken de snelheid van het licht
En ook al is het te verklaren
Hier hebben woorden
Weinig waarde
Hier hebben woorden
Geen gewicht

From De Ruimtevaarder - Stef Bos (www.stefbos.nl)

Paris bienvenue

2005-11-28T20:32:00.000Z

The first French word you learn when entering arrivals at the Charles de Gaulle Airport is 'sortie'. The French word for exit.

This was of little use as we unsuccesfully tried to sortie ourselves out of the maze of airport shops at terminal 1 on our first arrival in Paris on 26 November 05. My first stop being the rather difficult to find bookshop, where I intrepidly bought a map of Paris, speaking only my very best French: “Bonjour mademoiselle, hmmm, excusez-moi, une carte de la de France, oui, bitte?, yebo, merci, au revoir, fok, vielen dank and bon appétit.”

Beyond me a 'Français de France' shuffled around restlessly with his Le Monde tucked under his arm. I paid and nervously wrestled myself out of the queue in pursuit of my lost cousin. She mysteriously reappeared out of nowhere. Then we travelled around the airport for a few times in the courtesy bus and the first half an hour of our sightseeing trip began with a car park covered in snow, a few hotels and the railway station. The hotel close to the airport ended up being literally on the edge of the opposite corner of the map, but hell that is okay. I am a boerseun and I just bought my first map in a bookshop without speaking a word of English, so I can go anywhere I want to. Then the confusion turn panic attack began and it is when we circled the terminals about three times that we started to realise that something (Paris?) is amiss and we found ourselves drawn to other means of transport, notably an annoyingly persistent taxi driver who offered us his bargain of the month.

I replied discerningly: “oh, just sixty-five Euro to Porte D’italy? So, where are we actually going to from here? Italy?" He did not take my sarcasm lightly and my first (and only) irritation with Paris crept in.

“Va te faire foutre,” I mumbled softly, walking away briskly to nowhere in particular. It appeared as if the rather heavily armed gendarmeries were following us too. Escape is made difficult, as we get trapped in the maze of the Terminal once again. Foolishly we went up and down in an elevator a few times. If we had bothered to ask at any of the almost non-existent airport information centres at Terminal 1, it is actually easily to get to Paris from the airport. Yes, the Paris Metro "Roissy-Rail" takes one straight to Gare du Nord in 25 minutes. It makes the long ride on the tube from Heathrow to Kings Cross seem like a trip on the Trans-Siberia. From Gare du Nord travelling on Paris’ overlapping (-laying) Metro and RER lines is a breeze and a great source of amusement for the Paris novice. We were at first greeted (or in this case ignored) by several gloomy faces that made me wonder if the people were on their way to a giant convention for manic-depressives. It occurred to me that the French might be an unhappy lot. Maybe it was all the political unrest; maybe it was just the cold.

Then I noticed something odd about Paris. I saw hoards of South African’s all over the city. They were all clad in bok jerseys, wrapped in bok scarves, bok beanies and waving bok banners. “Oh boy, these South Africans are just about everywhere in Europe nowadays. They’re inescapable. South Africa must be a wealthy country by now, with the other half of them now living in Paris or there must be a big rugby match going on today,” I reflected.

It turned out I was right. I first I thought I was set up by my cousin. She knows or thought that I am not too keen on rugby, but in all fairness she booked the flight a long time before anybody even knew there was to be a game. Such a strange coincidence meant one thing only: follow the sign; follow our true destiny. It was meant to be and so we have learnt from Paulo Coelho’s the Alchemist. We were not in Paris to visit the Louvre, Montparnasse and all the other wonderful sights to see. We were in Paris for the alchemy, the ever-elusive search for a proper green and the gold victory on French soil. And I, ignorant philosopher, lover of the arts and patron of all things non-sporty am going to watch a rugby game: South Africa vs. France at the Stade de France. All I hitherto knew about rugby was that the Blue Bulls were / are good, because Steve Hofmeyr said so; that the Hotel 224 is near Loftus; that there was a fly half called Naas Botha who looked like a character in Wallace & Gromit who could kick a ball right across Pretoria; and that SA won the Rugby World cup in 1994. Or was that 1995?

Getting tickets for the occasion presented a whole new challenge that included a very poor impersonation of a rugby player in the lobby of our hotel. A further 5 Euro was wasted on trying to browse the Internet in French. This was to no avail and we soon reached a dead-end: no more tickets available. A phone call did not help much either and I ended up having one of those foreign conversations during which you talk, sigh and affirm for a half an hour and end up understanding nothing at all. The next step was obvious enough. It would involve committing an heinous offence of sorts and buy a ticket illegally. Ticket touts are the most annoying of all people in this world. In normal circumstances, I would happily vote for them to be arrested and executed on the spot, along with telephone marketers, junk mail distributors and Jehovah witnesses, without blinking an eye. But we were under duress. A freezing Parisian boredom loomed on the horizon. We set off to find some tickets. We found the stadium. It was a colossal affair.

We bought some odd tickets on pavilion Z on the second last row among a crowd of raving Frenchmen as crazy as a box of frogs. It felt as if we were watching the game from outer space. The boks were little ants, scurrying around hopelessly on a small rectangular green patch over a crumb of bread. Of course, we had a few rounds beforehand in the packed pubs and restaurants in and around the stadium. Only South Africans would boldly drink beer outside where the temperature is enough to make a polar bear feel miserable with cold. Good thing alcohol doesn’t freeze all that easily, but brains certainly do. Especially after being soaked up in alcohol. That was evident from some Safa’s attempts to make them understood in French. There were also the usual conversations: “Hey, hoe gaan dit? Waar kom jy vandaan? Londen? O regtig. Waar kom jy vandaan? Londen? Baie nice, ek bly ook in Londen. En waar kom jy vandaan? Londen? Nee, Pretoria! Ek is Frikkie en ek het 10 jaar lank gespaar om hier te kom, maar my skoonsuster se niggie se dogter se kêrel se beste vriend bly ook in Londen!” Ad infinitum ..

The actual game was a bit of a disappointment, considering the adverse weather conditions that we had to brave. We shouted our lungs out, but I am sure the bokke did not hear us. I think they were too distracted by their freezing toes and bal .. I mean the freezing ball. In spite of my ignorance, I shouted for all it was worth. I knew that all of South Africa’s teams had to include at least one Toks, a Bakkies, an Os, a Kabous or a Gaffie. I realised that the racial profile of the bok team changed somewhat and I heard strange sounds like Jake and Habana! I only recognised Percy Montgomery who had been playing rugby as long as I could remember. So I shouted for them all. Who would notice my mistakes in a crowd of 80 000 where most were cheering Les Blues at about 30dB. And to my own amazement a bloke called Bakkies eventually came from nowhere and scored a try right below us. My heart leapt with joy! Oh, Beethoven! Ich war erfreut wie ein kind! It was a wondrous occassion. But alas, it ain't over 'til it's over.

We cheered to a bitter end! South Africa lost 20 to 26. My heart turned cold and my lips were blue. It was time to go home. It was time to dash home.

The next day in Paris was spent on seeing the Eiffel tower. What can I say about it that has not been said before. Millions and millions of earthlings have seen it in pictures, a few less stood underneath it and somewhat less braved its 1665 steps. It is an iconic (very large) piece of metal (in case you are one of those ignorant people who has never seen or heard of it or if live in a jungle in Borneo). And if you really have not seen it yet, there is a lit up version of it on the Web at: www.tour-eiffel.fr.

The next stop on the rather chilly Sunday afternoon was the Champs-Elysées and the Arc de Triomphe.

Time flies when you're having a good time and we finally reach one of the highlights, the red light district of Paris at Pigalle Place or Pig Alley in Montmartre. This clean and scenic 'dirty' joint caters for perversions of almost any type and is also the home of the famous Moulin Rouge (Red Mill), home of cabaret and the can-can since 1889. The Moulin Rouge inspired artists like Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec and a similarly titled movie with Nicole Kidman and Ewan McGregor.

For those in London it is absolutely worthwhile to go visit the Degas, Sickert and Toulouse-Lautrec exhibition at the Tate Britain.

Leiden

2005-10-28T14:32:00.000+01:00

De Valk windmill in Leiden, Netherlands (home of the oldest Dutch university)