CTRL + Z = easy living

Ahoy there all.
Man do I love the undo button. There has been many a time that I have completely waxed a document or image only to be saved by the beauty of Control Z. It really is glorious. In fact I feel warmed to the bone just thinking about it.

With that in mind I was thinking the other day: God made some pretty mickey shiz - But one think the creator forgot was the undo button. Imagine how much trouble could have been saved had our fair creator given us that capacity.

Jackie Onassis for example after Control Z'ing. "Hey listen John lets stay home today and have a fry up. Never mind this Dallas thing, It'll go pear shaped - There are a couple of blokes that are mighty big fans of books, but don't care so much for you. Plus I've never really been fond of the colour brain - it clashes with my hair"

Or accidental pregnancy/miracle? Control Z. Olé!!

Yesterday, I was making some custard and I burnt it (as I always do). With Control Z I could have saved some face.

So in my next prayer run... I think Ill pray for a undo button. Ask and the door will open.

Let me write...

So let me write for God. Let every word that pours from me be for him – his glory. How would that sound? How can a man so limited even begin to capture his glory?

I am listening to a song on my “iPod”– by whom? I know not. The name of it I know not – But it is beautiful. Composition: beautiful, masterful. It seems that I have digressed from God already- but the breath that fills the lungs of these musicians is the breath that is our God. We all have one God. And the enemy – wishes us to waste our breath. Waste it – moment to moment; with thoughts of scorn, anger, indifference, resentment and darkness. Quite often you can see the battle rage behind the eyes of someone the darkness has where he wants. Clouds of confusion – a life lost in a mist of the self. A mind filled with God is different. It Glows? Emits light? The truth transcends any kind of real grasp.

I’m sure some will disagree with these words – and that is fine – I bring not an argument or a persuasion – I bring you the truth I understand; the glory of God – Our God.

Bullocks on Parade

Well well bloggers it's time for another jaunt through the blog looking glass. Alice is doing push ups.

After a 6 month stint in Kelburn my wife and I have moved back into our apartment: The Fletch. I lived there for 6 or 7 years and I tell you what it is slightly surreal to be back there - glorious all the same. So spacious - You could swing a bullock by the tail if one was so inclined. Olé!!!

Although it's not all proverbial s#its and gigs - We are entrenched in boxes. So much stuff. We are stunned at how much crap we have. I can't find anything - My work shirts are all crinkled as I don't have a clue where our iron is (though they are normally crinkled - I guess it's just nice to have an excuse).

Watch out rant coming up!!!
Ive decided this: Screw apostrophes. Who needs em? Seriously, if a reader cant discern text without them then they shouldnt be reading so seriously. If they cant tell that shouldnt is shouldn't then bullocks to them.

*end rant*

Eds dead baby - Eds dead.

Excuse my disrespect to Sir Ed.
It is some what unintended.

Yes we've heard all the metaphors "A mountain of a man" etc etc. He was an incredible guy and from all the media coverage it seems he was also a pillar of humility. The man evidently requesting no statues of memorial.
Then why the monstrous state funeral? The more I think on it the firmer I come to think that Edmund wouldn't have wanted all the fuss that has gone on. I don't think he would of minded the Queen or one of her minions not sliding over here for it either.
The man always seemed to know what mattered and what was expendable.
Why don't we? Dunno.

So anyway heres a toast to Sir Ed - and minter of a man - and all he gave to the needy of the world. Whether it be physically, emotionally or inspirationally.

God bless the man.

And with an essence of hypocrisy to my previous claims here is a picture I designed in his memoriam. Excuse the minor flaws.

Pans reality

I’m asleep, I think.

I’m dreaming, I know it. Everything has that pans-reality feel. People aren’t the people they are – but they are. Places aren’t the place they are – but they are. I would go into the details but the dreams of strangers are tedious at best: “You were there except you weren’t you, you we’re my 3^rd form English teacher and I was at my work but it wasn’t really work- it was a field in Cuba”. All that kind of bollocks which is/was enthralling to you but is pure tedium to the person that knows nothing of what you’re ranting. Either way I was dreaming and the dream was – how do I say it - “Invaded”. The sound of water – I feel wet too – in my dream. My mind is confused by this wetness. And so I dream a while longer – the concept of wetness growing through my dream and then alarm hits as my subconscious collides like a wave into fat man. I sit up in my bed – that hazy mid night confusion a blaze. I rub my eyes – as big a stereo type that is - I rubbed them hard, by the moon light streaming through the window I saw my bedroom filled with water. Filled almost level with my bed and its linen. My legs are wet. A million things run through my mind and amongst it all I feel my survival instincts trying to get the better of every one of them. Thoughts like: “I’m going to die!” – Are swiftly felled by – “Is the power off? – I should be careful of electricity” a million voices fight for attention as my adrenal gland gets going with supplying a dose of adrenalin – And I’m off down the hall way, destination: Upstairs. Dry.

I wade down my hallway through the darkness bumping miscellaneous flotsam and jetsam – could be lamps could be pillows – I could care less. I think little for my house and its glorious array of western excess. I feel down the walls to guide me to my hand rail. And I am up climbing dripping wet on to my plush mahogany stairs. Two voices fight within me as I climb. One shouts “The world is ending!” the other murmurs “it could just be a flood I guess…” I hear the roar of water growing louder.

Rainbow poop

A new year ! The new day cometh!

...I'm back at work. Crashing into a reality like a cold sloppy milkshake splashed across the mush.

My initial metaphor for the return to work was going to be a thunder head with a crash of lightening. But it's an exciting year ahead so I have decided to go for the optimistic metaphor of a unicorn running through a dazzling sunlit meadow. Very positive indeed. However, the metaphor twists when the unicorn poops a rainbow coloured pile of horse manure and puts on a t-shirt saying: "Will whale for food"

Crap metaphors aside - it's an exciting new year. With so many prospects as I forge a new project within a newish business. In fact- I'd say the Project is without precedent in the financial sector and maybe in New Zealand. Ole!

My wife Hannah is also in a great place this year and will be choreographing a piece for the dance company Footnote.

So could this be the year the Elks' leave an indelible mark on the world of Wellington?

Ole!