This is what happened today. I couldn't think of too much else that might have been interesting to warp. I hope you don't mind my philosophising.
I decided to use the name "amateur" because I don't get paid to live, I live for "the fun of it" so to speak.
The Amateur
From the south it came, growing colder as twilight even gathered with it's seasonal trademark chill. Antarctica incarnate, a blustery wind that wasn't rare this time of the year. A smattering of water was falling from the heavens - not enough to call rain, but enough to be annoying, wetting the grass that was starting to grow again after being subjected to the antithesis of the current weather during that summer. A shaft of light shot out through a crack in the curtain of the house, illuminating a thin corridor of light on the paddock outside.
Everyone has one. Most people want to give theirs away. Like software - Some should never be released into the public domain. Viruses are like that. But like software, if the source code is made available, holes in the architecture can be spotted by more sets of eyes. Constructive opinions are good. Destructive opinions are best kept to yourself. How can you tell which is which?
Constructive opinions are by nature ideas that need air(ing). When starved of oxygen (in the form of expression) some become anaerobic ghosts, living and populating the minds (and souls?) of those who haven't given them away with devastating consequences for both the sender and the (un)intended recipient.
With Neurons aglow, the Amateur mentally paced back and forth, forth and back. People often like their views to be aired. Not in this case however. Sadly, Christians are often called hypocrites (justly or unjustly) and I wonder weather to wear a mask and to say when greeted "I'm fine" but in reality it's all hush hush that there may be things that you are sick and tired of just bubbling under the surface. Can this be counted as hypocrisy? an untruth? or just an opinion called W32.Mydoom.f which should never see the light of day?. Questions of this ilk were running through the overclocked mind of the Amateur.
Sitting in front of his computer, the Amateur absent mindedly stared at the innards of a car radio cassette player sitting on his desk. 20702953. Tired and unresolved, the Amateur decided to pack it in for the day.
Nothing much has happened recently, hence the lack of updates.
This one is about (if you can figure it out) when yesterday I left the window open and heaps of insects invaded my room. Nothing like a vacuum cleaner to finish them off.....
The Invasion
The thin ghost of a figure, seemingly held up by some invisible force floated toward the light. Myriads of these unknown entities congregated, drawn by their common desire for the light. Their six arms waving in the cool breeze of autumn as they traveled, like a manifestation of some Hindu deity, giving them the appearance of some benign extraterrestrial beings.
The sun, glowed behind the horizon, reflecting a pinkish orange on the high altitude cloud, prolonging the twilight enough to see the open window, behind which, the light in the hallway acted as the magnet that was drawing the invertebrates to their imminent doom.
A low hum, resonated through the double glazing of the window which was now closed, reverberating over the dry countryside. The smell of freshly cut grass, recently kiln dried pine (from a building site shrouded in the midst of the tall dark evergreens that often line the roads in that part of the world), or some sort of fertilizer smells that remind one of the countryside. Enough about the atmosphere (which was by the way, a slate blue colour), the hum continued.
A purple and grey apparatus, with a metallic tube emerged through the door and the tractor beam (Massey Ferguson) got to work literally sucking the invaders back to the mothership.
This one is about (if you can figure it out) when yesterday I left the window open and heaps of insects invaded my room. Nothing like a vacuum cleaner to finish them off.....
The Invasion
The thin ghost of a figure, seemingly held up by some invisible force floated toward the light. Myriads of these unknown entities congregated, drawn by their common desire for the light. Their six arms waving in the cool breeze of autumn as they traveled, like a manifestation of some Hindu deity, giving them the appearance of some benign extraterrestrial beings.
The sun, glowed behind the horizon, reflecting a pinkish orange on the high altitude cloud, prolonging the twilight enough to see the open window, behind which, the light in the hallway acted as the magnet that was drawing the invertebrates to their imminent doom.
A low hum, resonated through the double glazing of the window which was now closed, reverberating over the dry countryside. The smell of freshly cut grass, recently kiln dried pine (from a building site shrouded in the midst of the tall dark evergreens that often line the roads in that part of the world), or some sort of fertilizer smells that remind one of the countryside. Enough about the atmosphere (which was by the way, a slate blue colour), the hum continued.
A purple and grey apparatus, with a metallic tube emerged through the door and the tractor beam (Massey Ferguson) got to work literally sucking the invaders back to the mothership.
While Dad and Mum were away, I had to do some of the cooking. I did a quiche, Pizza, and Lasagne. The Pizza dough recipe really does have honey in it..... Here it is:
1 cup warm water
2 tablespoons yeast (or less...)
2 tablespoons honey
0.25 cup olive oil
0.5 teaspoon salt
3.5 cups flour
All this goes into the breadmaker on the "dough" setting. It gives more of an edible base than the other recipe I tried that day.
The Chef
Piles of old, grimy books lay jumbled, half sorted like the thoughts of the hapless wannabe cook who was at that moment, sifting through the contents of a rainforest worth of culinary directions. The cool wind lifted some of the loose leaf editions even looser pages, till the floor was an anarchy of "Edmonds cookbook" pages. Thus being the case, he was left with no choice. www.google.co.nz........ the quick search found many recipes, 19,100,000 in fact. Plenty of choice....
"You're going to make Pizza dough with honey in it?" enquired The onlooker (Theresa by name). "That's what it has in the recipe...." replied the puzzled chef as he steadfastly followed the bizarre instructions found online in an attempt to make a light base that wouldn't taste like a wine biscuit.
The oven roared, blasting hot air to the other side of the cavernous kitchen. Flour, misplaced by the sudden rush of heat swirled up near the smoke blackened ceiling, obscuring the light from the one barred, but open window. Filthy pots, waiting for their monthly clean boiled on the open flame on the other side of the oven, their contents awaiting ingestion by the lord of this unfortunate castle......... Suddenly, the cook awoke from that semi-consciousness that he often relapsed into, and was grateful that this wasn't a medieval kitchen that he was working in......
1 cup warm water
2 tablespoons yeast (or less...)
2 tablespoons honey
0.25 cup olive oil
0.5 teaspoon salt
3.5 cups flour
All this goes into the breadmaker on the "dough" setting. It gives more of an edible base than the other recipe I tried that day.
The Chef
Piles of old, grimy books lay jumbled, half sorted like the thoughts of the hapless wannabe cook who was at that moment, sifting through the contents of a rainforest worth of culinary directions. The cool wind lifted some of the loose leaf editions even looser pages, till the floor was an anarchy of "Edmonds cookbook" pages. Thus being the case, he was left with no choice. www.google.co.nz........ the quick search found many recipes, 19,100,000 in fact. Plenty of choice....
"You're going to make Pizza dough with honey in it?" enquired The onlooker (Theresa by name). "That's what it has in the recipe...." replied the puzzled chef as he steadfastly followed the bizarre instructions found online in an attempt to make a light base that wouldn't taste like a wine biscuit.
The oven roared, blasting hot air to the other side of the cavernous kitchen. Flour, misplaced by the sudden rush of heat swirled up near the smoke blackened ceiling, obscuring the light from the one barred, but open window. Filthy pots, waiting for their monthly clean boiled on the open flame on the other side of the oven, their contents awaiting ingestion by the lord of this unfortunate castle......... Suddenly, the cook awoke from that semi-consciousness that he often relapsed into, and was grateful that this wasn't a medieval kitchen that he was working in......
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