Taste the Moment


There is bland.

Of which I’ve not had too much.

Not even the three months I spent in Saldanah Bay as a Civilian Under Naval Training.

Little, perhaps.

But never bland.

There is boring.

The same, again and again.

Monday this.

Tuesday that.

Wednesday the next.

Maybe for a few months in grade 10.

Arrive at school just before 8.


Rugby practice.


Peanut butter sandwich.





I was between jobs at the time.

Trying to do the diligent schoolboy thing.

It didn’t last.

Found a job.

Made new friends.

A gay 55 year old man.

A gruff 35 year old Muslim girl who smoked Rothmans & cheated on her fast.

It was about then that I tasted a motorcycle accident for the first time.

Yes, time really do stand still for a moment when you’re flying through the air.

Quite peaceful.

No fear.

No thoughts.

Just perception.

The accident was followed by a week in bed.

And months of being a cyclist & pedestrian.

It was interesting.

You see more on foot.

Notice more.

Experience more.

Every now and then it becomes overwhelmingly intense.

The taste.

And I crave bland.

Or boring.

For a moment.


But I do realize that Bland & Boring does not sit well with me.

Or perhaps I do not sit well with them.

And so I am grateful for the less ordinary.

So at home with me.

In every moment.

On the edge.

Of existence.

Never at home.

In the comfort.

Of what is craved.


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