rudolph means daring wolf when you translate german to english :

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we had an open mike meeting tonight at redcliffe library.

john amused us all by calling george martin’s book crown of thorns instead of game of thrones.

my view was obscured by a bushy haired gentleman who appeared to be of indian extraction who was friends with a male author who appeared to be sporting a fedora and was most definitely decorated in a trenchcoat that would have given the anonymous freak from v is for vendetta a run for his money.

the young male author had a mother who designs costumes for a living.

the most remarkable thing about her was her long flowing brown hair.

the male behavioural habits during a period of mid life crisis was discussed briefly.

it’s annoying when people insist on having conversations with people they havent seen in ages when you are waiting for one of the participants in the discussion to finish making their coffee so you can get on with grabbing your cup , ripping open the instant coffee packet and inserting milk and hot water in your receptacle.

i do not resent the turtle like man who is laborious in his progress through life.

he has a dawdling indecisive nature.

he is accident prone and has several things wrong with his head.

this is a common feature of writers but far from a prerequisite for being one.

i hate myself for acting like a bully and interrupting a deep meaningful heart to heart between a bespectacled gentleman and my poet friend paul.

i had a very short window of opportunity to make an honest man out of myself and purchase the books i had lifted off the table instead of walking out the door with them tucked under my arm.

you could say the prices of paul’s books were a steal- 3 for $15.

CLEARLY he is not in the poetry business to make money.

money is something we are forced to use in this world.

it’s pretty hard to get by without it.

you might have some friends who will feed you and clothe you and shelter you and expect nothing in return.

i might too but i’ve never tested the patience of mine to see how far i can stretch the rubber band of their grace before it snaps back in my face.

i do not expect to be thanked when i give somebody a gift.

i do not expect payment in the form of reciprocated benevolence or even warm hearted smiles.

i do expect that my gift will be received instead of refused.

i dont expect to be regifted my gift by my pastor.

i dont expect to see my gift show up in the church library.

should i feel guilty for swiping it back?

ironically the title of the book was give it back by kimberley daniels.

you could say i am a thief cos that book ceased to be my property when i placed it in that lady’s hands.

i did buy it originally fair and square.

i forgot to take advantage of my friend beverley’s generosity when she was giving away a box of books.

i will probably die before i kill off my habit of buying books.

i have destroyed my addiction to borrowing books from the library.

wanting a library card just because they decorated the new version of it with one of your favourite authors ( lynley dodd) and her creations hairy mc clairy is not a good enough reason to take home books that i must inevitably return.

why did john stick books on the table for us to look at?

he’s so eccentric.

if we wanted to get those books from the library we would have taken them home ourselves.

although it’s true that there are common threads between all religions christianity is the only one that will get you to heaven.

last night i dreamt i was swallowing magnesium tablets.

i wish the subconscious version of me had better taste in items to swallow.

the joke of the first author to speak flew over all our heads when she referred to herself as the michelin woman.

a similar verbal bird floated over my skull yesterday when jim made a reference to some political statement dubbed a manifesto which he would probably consider only worthy to wipe his bottom with.

the one who stood in front of me in the queue knew how to teach students in a university but not how to behave when standing in line.

forgive me to skip any talks he does in the local circuit regarding public etiquette.

my friend elizabeth has a relative in manhattan.

he didnt get taken by a muppet or transferred as far as i know.

she has the kind of ancestry that was born of dutch and german extraction in indonesia or the island group formerly known as batavia.

she had relatives in prisoners of war camps and others who sailed in german u boats around the waters of newfoundland .

newfoundland is famous for labrador dogs.

the author with the south asian friend is known for incessantly discussing his literary pursuits.

i have been known to boast about mine too but prefer to mostly play my cards close to my chest and let my work speak for itself.

not that there’s anything wrong with being a show pony.

the world would be a pretty sad place to live if it was a circus devoid of clowns.

i was getting along fine with my friend until i started to ask her too many questions.

how does one expect to form a relationship if one knows nothing about the one whom one intends to spend the rest of their life with?

maybe the problem is i’m way too obvious about my affection towards her.

i dont believe in playing it cool and taking it easy.

i’m always intense and turned up to one hundred.

i dont know how to hide my feelings and act disinterested.

if i was a perfume it would be desperation for men.

i hate myself for being the kind of guy who lacks self control.

i should just stick my fingers in my ears when somebody tells me to do something that causes me to break a vow i made to God .

i feel guilty and horrible inside.

sometimes when we are missing out on something we are actually gaining.

sometimes if we satisfy our cravings we rob ourselves of the joy we would experience if we sought our pleasure elsewhere.

it’s hard to miss a neighbour i never truly talked to other than to say watch our house cos i think i saw someone sneaking around.

thats the sum total of my interaction in two years of knowing a dude.

then he kicked the bucket.

a year after his dad moved into a retirement home and caused aforementioned cylindrical carrying item to be upturned and flipped in the air.

they had the same name.

the same name as a character in a show i used to watch about a kid who gained the ability to have a wish granted every time he stuck on his wellingtons.

this doesnt mean a slice of beef consumed by santa’s little helper although it would be hilarious to watch someone plunge their feet into meat.

a terrible waste of a bovine existence yet giggle worthy never the less.

the other day i was thinking about the fact that God is even more awesome than that dude from the early edition show cos He doesnt even need to crack open tomorrow’s newspaper to know all the possible options that may be taken during the course of a twenty four hour period and their subsequent outcomes.

i was thinking today how rain has its’ source in the factories of heaven.

we give ourselves way too much credit for all the wonderful events that occur in our lives when the thanks belong solely to the one who bled on a cross so we might obtain freedom from our suffering and everlasting happiness in HIs arms.

my friend vean quoted saint francis’s famous line about speaking the gospel and using words when necessary.

i think we should use words as well as actions.

it would have been better if francis said possible instead of necessary cos it isnt always possible to use words but it is always necessary when you have the ability to do so in order to enable the receiver of your kindness to get better acquainted with the one who is motivating you to be magnanimous towards them.

i know my friend was right that it’s wrong to seek to obtain deliverance from depression through doing good deeds for others.

i know virtue should be its’ own reward but it seems like human nature to participate in benevolence for personal gain even if it’s only being seen as somebody’s hero for a day til a better offer comes along, til the teddy you give becomes shrunken in size of importance by one as big as a mountain or a truckload of trophies for achieving her personal best at jumping higher than the moon and running faster than the wind or scoring more goals than any other netball or rugby player in history.

it doesnt really matter if the noises i make have a perfectly plausible explanation cos those who are forced to listen to me still have to suffer as a result of being stuck sharing the same roof as me.

the fact that continuing to breathe gives me the opportunity to share the wealth of other people’s tax dollars with my friends and family motivates me to believe that this world is better off if i desist from persisting in notions of eradicating the earth from my presence thanks to my own two blood soaked hands.

i know i have to work on not repeating secrets to big blabbermouths and not saying nasty things about people behind their backs in case the word gets out that i prefer the contents of their wallet over their flattering usage of my words.

actually i have plenty of cash but i could always use a little bit more.

i know i need to work on loving my enemies and doing good to those who despitefully use me.

it’s hard when a woman loves your voice but she doesnt wanna wrap her arms around you and commence snuggling.

the old ladies who exercise at the lagoon love to listen to me sing.

if only those closer to my age woke up to my potential for being husband material.

chilling with twenty something chicks doesnt have to feel like a barrel full of awkward monkeys.

the more you do anything the more it starts to feel natural and part of who you are.

it’s true what my friend elizabeth says that we subconsciously pick up on the behaviour of the environments we inhabit.

i never tried to sound jamaican when i was rapping in uganda but people said that i sounded like i was from there or pretending i was at any rate.

some women there take it as an insult if you call them ugandan but not if you call them jamaican.

the most beautiful woman in the world is whoever chooses to permit me to slip a wedding band on her finger.

i know she exists i just havent met her yet.

my life is la dolce vita but i often lie to myself that its la vita acida cos i forget to focus on my blessings instead of my inadequacy and regrets ❤

selah