04tab when destiny plays mind inflicting tricks

7/30/2019 04TAB When destiny plays mind inflicting tricks

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I stepped out the house where a first morning light catches me up from behind, andapproached the rusty blues battered pickup with a shine across its pelt. the old horsereminiscent of what I had repeated to myself straining my eyes for a number of evenings. Islipped over my shoulders an imaginary white dust coat while gazing questionably at theballooned metallic front and stepped up asking; 'What's up old horse?' I bent closer to the

headlight without apparent dust, neither fog behind the lens. My body slipped further downalong the silent snorts of the flat white VW disk, squatting and squaring up an angle of sightreckoning with the silver coat reflector's oxidized ills, which lay to sleep the peering lightbeam and blur at dusk the leading road outlines. I asked myself; 'Is that what brings meshortsighted over the steering wheel and up to the windshield to creep into the soft lamppostlights raising those invasive shadows r e routing me into confusion? '

by a flint of joy at the prospect of understanding the nuisance, left at finding theremedy, I stepped up to the driver's door. Pulling the lever I was reminded behind the cabin ofthe metal fatigue tearing down the loading platform. With an hollow metallic trailing latchsound, I came around the opening door, slipped on and over the seat squaring up to thesteering wheel. I nodded off the proliferating rust cancer spotted around hinging body parts.

Spurring to think about the set apart mechanic organ blocks housing white and well greasedand oiled steel cogwheels, and in despair said; 'Good old horse !' while wishing for a fatal

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I inserted theignition key, given atwist to the sound of theold stubborn horse,angered fromeavesdropping in on

my thoughts, howlingfrom the cold rearthrough the hollow canstyle body; 'Right! Youdon't see merecuperate strength onduty, which by the way Ido during my sparetime I remain a goodstrong carrier for allyour heavy bricklayer's

equipment!' thewhining generatorobjected firing up thecold resenting pistons. after a few cranks heating the engineblock and revving up the crankshaft at the end of which, thespinning spindle waits while facing up to the clutch pressureplate.

the palm of my hand came to rest with curling fingers over the gear lever knob. Byinteractive movements, I lift my foot and press the clutch pedal down. a biomechanical armshifting through neutral, without bearing a thought at my childhood mischief of a first trycoordinating a desire at the shy mechanics. I squinted after the black knob on the gleaming

blue pressed metal dashboard. The afterthought to pull and peered in the grit upfront wherepair of beams meeting didn't raise a faint blurry flashlight luminance from the dirt. my footpressed the throttle with a smooth synchronizing release of the clutch pedal. I pulled offthoughtlessly gazing at the morning sky reflecting home's white walls. Moving in a slowclockwise circle around an island where tropical flowers had grown wild midst bush andshrubs. Jumped the brushing cycloramic sky onto a wall of conic tall firs fledging the whitelight through their branches, preoccupied, with a rhythm of sprightly orchestrated chirpingbirds. I paraded through the sweep of the lane out, while clipping a window latch over myshoulder and sliding the glass pane forward sealed the cold air from penetrating my clothesand rasping my skin. At which moment, the cattle gate clangs of pipes to concrete, rattlingthrough the cabin, opening the spreading driveway apron to the lazy lie across my way ofthe blacktop road. I steered through the shallow rain water hollow and shifting gears, cameout heading toward the whitening sky. Engaged the main road and heading for a morninghazy light waking up in my way a field of feathery tall grass. forked right to a soft upwardincline along the traffic island to emerged and engaged the thoroughfare following thewayside pointer to Johannesburg.

En route through a landscape of veld, I was thinking, rehearsing, scheduling mywork for the day and arrived where the left wayside savanna flow off down the gentle slopeand up against the former Race Horse track a farm traced with a development'scrisscrossing streets to thin scattered house. I passed by the Northway charcoal streetapron entrance to the suburb. Drove on along the Pretoria Road raised with an in-leaf

flocculent garden screen. Passed wide spread driveways to large in style looming villas. Atthe road pointer "Kelvin," I swerved off the Pretoria Road to followed Southway eastwardalong blue gum wood, a screen to the looming White Man Only Johannesburg Drive-In

Illustration:

Impression of the cabin, the bl

dashboard, and the white inter

reflects a driver seat, gear lever,

hand break relative positions


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of Alexandra.At the next street block, I turned left toward a view raising deed by the Automobile

Association of South Africa, with sight over what owners leave behind the subdivided landcapitalizing a move of the car track to Kyalami. I followed an angle cutting S-course to pullup in the depth of the cul-de-sac. There, the earthworks of a driveway leads to the brickfoundation walls which I raised out the ground. Since, the superstructure which by the day

grew from the concrete surface bed and appearing out of the surrounding veld. I arrived ona day to a brick organization that shaped a house poking the skyline.when the Omega Construction clients walked up the earthworks, eying aloft the

heights of raw brickwork that shaped their house, their blond twelve year old daughterlagged behind.

the child swept by sight the strange ground over which she walked, seeking thegerm of her existence in mother nature, that burst an empiric bubble of wiped clean andboring surfaces gleaming the daylight peering from a distant glaze, extending a dyingcuriosity of the night's glittering city lights at the foot of the apartment.

On that specific day, when the Austrians couple by the security of their property, lefttheir daughter behind. The girl bends down simulating the planting of a seed in the

earthworks and standing up grew a plant momentary flourished a yellow flower a passingintrigue that embellishing a young man's world wearing a discomfort suit, anxious over thenext brickwork subcontract, with a touch by brittle hands, the grit in the thick skin as hisdusty brick and cement impregnated clothes. I stepped in cement bleached leather shoes,befriended the couple who came ghosting through the exterior rising brick walls, alonginterior walls, in and out rooms, after which visits, time and again they departed by the waythey arrived.

a few days later I stepped up to the pickup, on top of which spidery crawling a fewnative men were tying a finger thick rope around scaffold planks which were by faroverbearing the cabin and the tailgate. They threaded the rope through folded up metaltrestles, and knotted the bundle to the tubular steel carrier. In the mean while, one of the

laborers returned from afield and went on tying a bleached red torn cloth with a rustedlength of fence wire to the front and rear. The men came down, and I turned away formoverseeing the loading. the crew scattered while I moved up to the cabin. I stepped in,

faced the carrot of a flag up front, as reminder, which in the event of a traffic officergauging the legality of the overbearing load, pulls me over was arguable. I broke themishaps of the thought, raising my elbow to rest on the backrest with a twist of my body inthe seat and gazed my way through the rear window. In view a few of the crew hustled, whocame to lean with arms spread over the flipped up side panel. when calm and seated on theloading bed, blending, bar their black faces and white eyeballs amongst well worked inmonster wheelbarrows, picks and shovels, and the tool box. I focused beyond the other

half of the red cloth, and reversed, to came out a Y-3 point turn about the construction site. Idrove in the tracks of men walking home. the pickup rocked clearing the driveway andengaged Summer place's dirt street with the walking dispersed crew. along the way Iovertook one after of the men on their way to the Alexandra Township Hostels for men.

After years of raising buildings from the ground like stepping stones, the bodymovements of a crew and the tools enter a bricklaying biomechanical maturity and stillfurther into the future an astral divergence exploits its cosmic mysteries, mapping my wingto destiny. Meeting zodiacal characters crossing my path to weigh against my proper sign todelude a cross current of migrating signs flock similar birth sings by a wind of change. thesoula given the impression of free choice out of a variety of people which I am destined to

meet .

I have been in an astral crosshairs and though some of my contracts were afield,the whiskers of my activity build the relay antenna and calls back my spirits to my body. Ihad been particularly active in the area swelling that blistery
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greenhouse dome with my proper psychic atmosphere .I was lured after a

lapse of time back to agarden inhibiting the smoothcharcoal surfacedcul-de-sac, from which rays

of brick paved drivewaysspread through the swells ofwell watered and rich greenlandscape vegetation.There, shying away in stylewith growth the lurkingprivate homes. Idling inSummer place where Ipulled up on the rawwayside shoulder to anotherworld, in a new era, with a

new model pickup. Over myright shoulder I gazedthrough the framed pickuppassenger window, andimagined the blueprints which I unrolled on the seat,spreading across the remaining virgin veld documenting thehouse I contracted with my brother-in-law.

Soon, I operated the scarifier anchored behindthe Bobcatb turning up a rectangle of grass. hooked abucket instead, and move earth. On the naked earthworks and with the help of a few native,I planted batter boards and came in-and-after with the backhoe. As I kept sight on the

straight cement tracings, and operating the machine like a compass needle on a dial, myview changed directions while excavating foundations. Over the next few days orientatingmyself into the past, with an increasing numbers of squints at understanding mywhereabouts. I went out peering across the next door rich green carpeting lawns to breakingmulticolored flourishing parterres and through the in-leaf swell of shrubs wrapping a girdle

around the house. The facades were coated with paints reflecting bright sun light, left no

trace of my passage there. I sought deeper, under the thick coat of cement plaster for thebricks I once laid, and couldn't make out the architectural shape of my presence.

Yet, I kept imagining that niggling blooming luminescent yellow flower raised fromdark earthworks, which left me confronted to the present greens of vegetation. In ananti-clockwise search around the cul-de-sac, I sought by a process of eliminationunderneath each run of paved driveways through gateway pillars, to a gradualunderstanding of the mysterious time gap. I returned to the house next door, and short cutmy way bushwhacking by sight the yard vegetation. I restituted the bare veld around theconstruction earthworks surrounded by stacks of bricks, piles of sands and crusher stones.in motion of invisible hands bricklaying rapidly raising walls and roughly shaping the house. Istood by the window in part a cosmic dome behind which a morning fog lifting on a bygoneperiod. Hence from my spot, I gazed at the earthworks and synchronized the blond girlstraighting up with the branded mental plant blooming the yellow flower of her soul.

Imagining by the accompanying shadows of a pair of advancing bushes, branches at thetouch of in-leaf hands the motion up the driveway of parents leaving their child behind.When on the paved driveway a spanking new metallic brown Volkswagen Beetle


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from the gateway. I watch in disbelieve the young blond woman framed in the window of hercar with Cancer soft eyes brushing straight up the tarmac and cutting across my view. Thelittle imaginary girl fell within the legal age of driving. She finish high school entering acareer formation. gradually by sight I climbed down from the scaffolding along raising housewalls, to meet her. I crawled through scattered construction materials up to the waysidegrass. Each day I moved further in her way, where she continued to leave me teased and

transparent as she drove through me bearing her Cancer's hard shell. her indifferencecrawled under my skin, and left in the lurch until I retaliated. on her day off, I ghosted up thedriveway, and through the front door of the family house, creeping in-and-out of corners.moved up the passage past the series of opposing bed room and bathroom doors, straightinto the far depth. in the main bedroom-en-suit, I moved into the furthest corner and secretesafe-room in vain of emerging and visible.

The crew lifted trussesover the wall, stretched theunder-tile membrane across,and perched on the battenspacking concrete roof tiles, the

brown Beetle caught me bysurprised sneaking up under aflirting calm veil of dusk. Theseevenings when I was physicallyimpaired by exhaustionplastering walls to reckoned withher comings and goings and herreturns from work. Then cleaninterior carpentry became avisual screen, until the day Ihung the last doors while the

laborers gathered tools, washedup and loaded the remainder ofthe equipment to drive off fromsite for good.

The young woman's ecstatic fragrance with a genie of beauty lived her childhood'sinnocence within my proper blistery astral greenhouse whereas relentless joy oozed indeath from a permeable skin fledging sublime cosmic wings to span the universe, iscontrary to the living body's latex skin where joy is contained, and whirls to starvation in anatmospheric storm that the yellow flower brought germinating from the earthworks andgrowing to a frustration at escaping.

I gaze across the dials on the gleaming blue pressed metal dashboard, warmth atheart, from a little girl's innocence who blew in the dust of my work and left me to seethrough the upright split windshield at discerning in the blues on the horizon a passage ofmy futuristic good karma.

the leading dirt street came to an end, seemingly lured by the carrot of a red flag inthe prolongation of the overbearing scaffolding planks. My muscles contracted by the spursof a sense of mischief, excited at jumping onto the next phase of my destiny. I swerveddriving through the concrete channel. the load sways the rusty battered pickup on asuspension gluing the tires from a dirt surface changing to tarmac. I came around the streetblock and drove on along the last leg of the S-course for the exit. Approaching the raisedsleek line of the Pretoria Road across my way, I pull up in the

middle of the widening apron of the junction and came to a halt. Illustration;Impression of gearbox gears a

the cogwheel with a fingers pinc

Illustration:

impression of a reconstruction o

scene.


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From an observation point along thestop sign and with my hand on the knobwiggling the gear lever assuring that thefirst gear was well engaged to pull off. Iglance right for oncoming vehicles, then leftfor city outflow traffic. the road was clear,

and with hitching feet to urge and test outthe old horse's resistance to stress. I wenton lifting the pressure off the clutch pedal,and pressing the throttle a little brisky. Itdidn't surprise me to hear simultaneous themetallic clangs from the rear, and an owlingpack of wolves as the pistons revved upand bolted the motor. I immediatelyreleased the throttle, the engine calmed down, gravitationdragged the heavy loaded pickup rolling backward and pulledup the hand break. As the motor idled, I turned around and

waved at the few laborers; 'J ump off!' As I diagnosed the blow of the cogwheel's teeth homein the gear box, and the possibility at getting home. I glimpsed at the men who came alongto offload the equipment taking distance toward the far distant bridge circulating PUTCObuses to-and-fro the terminal. I went on playing the clutch against throttle, gently chockingthe engine to notice the pickup moved in slow motion over the hump and releasing the strainon the engine engage the main road. As the engine over revved, I curse in silence, andgiving the old horse my devoted attention. with a few trials and errors, bringing the enginerevs and the gearbox synchronizing gear at the same speed, shifted from second into third. Iimmediately foresaw the prolong countryside descend, for the worst at climbing over thebrow of the Kyalami hill.


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... a /... As in an existential unconscious

... b /... As blue pickup is a style for a period, along the timeline, the Bobcat marks another advance style period.

04tab when destiny plays mind inflicting tricks

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