A moment of clarity: Sometimes I get this feeling of deep-depression. It sits on my shoulders and pushes me down, like a lead weight dragging me to the depths of hell. It comes out of nowhere, a lightning bolt, a flash flood, a supernova of hurt and loneliness. And then I sit and stare at the world, but everything is a blank page, no colour, no feeling. Like static from a late night tv screen. A total numbness envelopes me and my mind falls asleep but at the same time its screaming, begging for a change. My nails are chewed from the nervousness of not knowing. My bagged eyes are heavy. My legs jump at unknown restlessness. Anything to keep me awake.

To the cause of the problem: Most times its loneliness. It eats at my heart, feeding off my desire to start something new, to have someone new, but never reaching the end of the tunnel, never reading the last page of a good book. Never knowing the ending. I see faces around me, those that I love and having that love unknown, unreturned, unseeing, unbelieving. From where does it all stem, the root of all evil, the cause and effect of time's twisted cycle. And the seed sprouts from the fog in my mind. I am the cause. Setting the unattainable goal, finding myself always heading in a direction that is no direction at all, but a landslide, a maze with no exit, the longest road with robots always orange. Is it for protection, to know the ending before the kick-off. Or could it be self-destruction.

The ending: All times I am my own undoing. Too frightened, too shy, sometimes too nice. But always end up the friend. I chase the impossible with reckless abandon. And then suffer consequences that chew me up and spits me out like dragon fire. Time for windows to be shut, doors to be locked, keys to be broken in their holes. A lease tossed into a garbage-can fire, together with the thoughts that chain me to an eternal misery. And backing away, I move. I run. I sprint down the longest road and watch as all the lights turn green. I hack my way through the forgotten maze, creating an exit of my own. I wear rubber shoes to avoid the lightning strikes. I speak my mind. I finish the book. And placing it on the bedside table, I see my name on the cover. I stand up and walk to my new window. I open the shutters and gaze out on the world. The infinite beauty touches my face and for the first time in feels-like centuries, I smile.

If you must know, that song has been stuck in my head since last night. No, I haven’t been listening to Sir Reginald Dwight of late, but if any of you Mweb victims don’t know me by now, you will never never never know me. No you wont.

I haven’t a clue what that song is about, but being the idealistic dreamer that I am, I would like to believe that it means a new chapter has started in my life. The yellow brick road is perhaps the wide path, the easy path and not the path less travelled. I’m horribly interparaquotespersing Frost and David, perhaps even some Sinatra, but listen Nikita, I’m still standing after all this time. And really, its no sacrifice at all.

Details are inconsequential, but tell me this – when you have to make amends, own up to your mistake, make peace… people say its time to "face the music". You could explain to me where that term comes from first of all, but I would like to know what kind of music you imagine will be playing when its time for YOU to face the music.

Me? I never did mind the little things, but I imagine Mickey Mouse conducting that whirlwind orchestra from pre-WW2 cartoon days. You know the one, the one with all those animals, yes, that one. Well, it’s either that or Chicago.

And so I leave you now, and take away the biggest part of me. But I’ll leave you with one of the few reasons to look forward to winter…

Jesse, paint a picture about how it’s gonna be…

Anybody tried that KFC Bowls they advertise on TV yet? I know it’s not rather fashionable to frequent the Colonel’s fried chicken house (and rather off-putting for the enlightened grain.tofu.pulse.chilli.nut clan), but yes, I do occasionally decide to give in to my wife (catch this buck for me Bakkies) and get some KFC takeaways.

I remember (the days of my life) that KFC used to be cheap-ish and you could get a family-type meal for a reasonable amount. Well, (and I know I’m sounding like grampa here) but those were the days (my friend) when you could still buy a pack of fags for under five smackawayneroonies. And I’m not talking about those jamat zolle packs named after oceans or naval officers either. No, mon frere, I’m talking about your B&H/Life/JPS/Winfield/Cameo/Texan Plain hardcore stock. I know, I know.

And since when did a pie start costing ten freaking rand!?! I’m usually disappointed when I have a weak moment and give in to the calling of the pie, anxiously awaiting that fresh-roasted, buttery flake pastry aroma to fill my faux-Jewish nostrils, and having Pavlovian orgasms in anticipation of a bite of chunky, tender, cubed, silverside sautéed and dolloped in a creamy, spicy peppery sauce…

You all know how this story ends, so I won’t even go there. Don’t go there! Trust me! Well, if you must go there, then go to Woolies. But wait a few minutes before devouring your treat because you’ll probably scald the roof of your mouth and believe you me, that ain’t Cool and the muckafuthin gang.

So anyway, all I was gonna say is that the KFC Bowls on the advert looks bloody awful. Flakes of dry chicken somewhere beneath a fondue abyss of old tortilla pasta chips mixed with that frozen veggie favourite - corn kernels – and drowned in a thin, brown, fatty, gravy sauce. Dee-fkn-lish. Don’t Ramsey and all those Superchef nobbies always say that presentation is half the meal? Or something like that. So true.

That’s why the pie was invented! To hide all that grey, Cujo-sinew gristle and hardened jelly-fat preserve. If you had to eat a pie with the top crust removed, you wouldn’t eat the pie. Ask my mother. I’m off to find me some carrots and an easter-egg.

Warning: Next Post will be about sport. And if you've ever wondered how they make that FKC gravy, go buy yourself a penny polony and call me in the morning.