Origionally posted on the FZ6 forum, reposted here because i can, just a short history of my favourite motorcycle, my fazer :)
I bought my fazer 4 years ago this month, 2nd hand with just over 30 000km on, still very neat. Looking around the showroom she just caught my eye, and i still rate her the most beautifully designed bike of the last few years ... it's the eyes i tell you!
The price was R48 000, and worked out to about R2000pm for repayments and insurance and fuel. Because i've done some mechanic work before, and thanks to the forum supplying the manual i decided to maintain the bike myself. That's what this thread is about, sort of.
My first problem was the charging system, replaced battery, rectifier, stator, in that order, although not without a lot of confusion on the way. Eventually it was fixed, and i didn't have to bump start every morning, and afternoon, and in between.
The next problem was more serious. I had stripped a spark plug thread on #3, and i quickly decided that any fix was above my humble abilities, and got referred to a guy in my area who had a workshop, and was highly recommended. He removed the engine, and had a helicoil fitted with the cylinder head still on the motor. After costing a small fortune, the bike was left with a horrible stutter on pulloff, something i found to be caused by a plug cap which someone had kindly stood on, and i managed to repair (at R350 per plug cap, R1400 plus VAT to replace plug caps wasn't an option)
What also happened, was that the mechy hadn't tightened the engine-frame mount bolt correctly, that is why my frame cracked. After finding an airplane engineer who could weld the alloy, we first tried to weld with the engine in place. This didn't last long, so the next was stripping the frame. I didn't clear out everything, just engine, swingarm, plastics etc. The weld is still strong, and i must still spray it, to make pretty, but it's holding. (i discovered that they had also "lost" the bolt that fits into the cyl head through the frame, and used another similar bolt. Similar, they used a 1.5mm pitch when they should have used the 1mm thread. I found out when i realised the frame was loose against the head and investigated).
Service time came around again, and i stripped another spark plug thread, #2. Aside from feeling like a complete retard, i was convinced that no other workshop was going to touch my bike (see above). However, there was nobody that i could find to insert a helicoil as before, and the best option seemed to be to remove the head, which i did.
Eventually i found an engineer who could help, and for almost no money inserted the special 10x1 thread helicoil. they also ran a tap through the remaining 2 plug threads, to ensure they were clear, and i mounted the head with the plugs in place. I torqued the plugs into place on the workbench, visually inspected and everything seemed fine. The valves and been found to be leaky, so new valve stem seals, re-seated valves, and everything looked to be 100% ok.
Imagine my surprise about 2 months later, when a spark plug climbed out ... this time #1. I have now stopped believing that i messed up the first 2, and was desperately trying to find a reasonable explanation for the failure. The same engineer who had helped before was unwilling to work on it again, as the thread had gotten badly damaged, and there is NO space to work with, between the plug threads and the valve seats. I investigated helicoils, easy inserts, and about 5/6 other thread repair options. All were unworkable. The head had been irrepairably damaged. Welding is not an option either, as it makes the alloy too soft in a crucial place in the engine, and the long plug stems make only 1 side (by the gasket) accessible. 5mm is as deep as anyone can weld, and if you look at your plus, they're just over double that length.
I found 3 replacement heads:
1x R4500 on exchange
1x R4500 straight
1x R7500 straight
Guess which i got. Very cool place though, they split the head from the engine in front of me, i got given all extras like tappet cover, cam chain tensioners, etc. Went home and mounted. Had some troubles, but i've already done the head removal /replace so many times i'm getting embarrasingly good at it.
Since i'm now paying off the loan i had to take, i won't be celebrating paying off my bike with lots and lots of mods until i pay of the loan ... patience in a virtue i keep getting told
I don't know for sure, but i think i've unwittingly become the most experienced fazer rider/mechanic around. Not best ... most experienced, not exactly a good thing but hey
Bike is now 114455km (last night) and going like a rocket, still stock standard, albeit with a history. I had also dropped my bike while stationary, and have just fitted some replacement plastics.
I love my bike. When i was considering getting another commuter, there wasn't any worth looking at, none are remotely as all rounded as the fazer, and frankly if mine breaks, i'll get another just like it.
That's my little story. I've decided that the cause was metal to metal corrosion, exacerbated by the extremely small plugs that the fazer uses, and the solution as given me by several mechanics is copperslip. The head i collected had been treated with something similar, and the threads were squeaky clean, plugs too.
Moral of the story?
1. Be super careful with replacing spark plugs
2. Check and recheck and check again that all bolts are torqued to spec.
3. Love your fazer, it's the best out there.
Thanks for listening
peace
Wednesday, 29 June 2011
Friday, 24 June 2011
Truth, Goodness, and Beauty
I seem to recall having posted this before, last year perhaps. No Matter, these beautiful ideas surfaced in a conversation earlier in the week. It's enough to stun you into shutting up and smiling at the sky for a while. Enjoy it.
Alexander Solzhenitsyn
Nobel Prize acceptance speech (1970) An excerpt
DOSTOEVSKY ONCE ENIGMATICALLY let drop the phrase: "Beauty will save
the world." What does this mean? For a long time I thought it merely a
phrase. Was such a thing possible? When in our bloodthirsty history
did beauty ever save anyone from anything? Ennobled, elevated, yes;
but whom has it saved?
There is, however, something special in the essence of beauty, a
special quality in art: the conviction carried by a genuine work of
art is absolute and subdues even a resistant heart. A political
speech, hasty newspaper comment, a social program, a philosophical
system can, as far as appearances are concerned, be built smoothly and
consistently on an error or a lie; and what is concealed and distorted
will not be immediately clear. But then to counteract it comes a
contradictory speech, commentary, program, or differently constructed
philosophy--and again everything seems smooth and graceful, and again
hangs together. That is why they inspire trust--and distrust.
There is no point asserting and reasserting what the heart cannot believe.
A work of art contains its verification in itself: artificial,
strained concepts do not withstand the test of being turned into
images; they fall to pieces, turn out to be sickly and pale, convince
no one. Works which draw on truth and present it to us in live and
concentrated form grip us, compellingly involve us, and no one ever,
not even ages hence, will come forth to refute them.
Perhaps then the old trinity of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty is not
simply the dressed-up, worn-out formula we thought it in our
presumptuous, materialistic youth? If the crowns of these three trees
meet, as scholars have asserted, and if the too obvious, too straight
sprouts of Truth and Goodness have been knocked down, cut off, not let
grow, perhaps the whimsical, unpredictable, unexpected branches of
Beauty will work their way through, rise up TO THAT VERY PLACE, and
thus complete the work of all three?
Then what Dostoevsky wrote--"Beauty will save the world"--is not a
slip of the tongue but a prophecy. After all, he had the gift of
seeing much, a man wondrously filled with light.
Alexander Solzhenitsyn
Nobel Prize acceptance speech (1970) An excerpt
DOSTOEVSKY ONCE ENIGMATICALLY let drop the phrase: "Beauty will save
the world." What does this mean? For a long time I thought it merely a
phrase. Was such a thing possible? When in our bloodthirsty history
did beauty ever save anyone from anything? Ennobled, elevated, yes;
but whom has it saved?
There is, however, something special in the essence of beauty, a
special quality in art: the conviction carried by a genuine work of
art is absolute and subdues even a resistant heart. A political
speech, hasty newspaper comment, a social program, a philosophical
system can, as far as appearances are concerned, be built smoothly and
consistently on an error or a lie; and what is concealed and distorted
will not be immediately clear. But then to counteract it comes a
contradictory speech, commentary, program, or differently constructed
philosophy--and again everything seems smooth and graceful, and again
hangs together. That is why they inspire trust--and distrust.
There is no point asserting and reasserting what the heart cannot believe.
A work of art contains its verification in itself: artificial,
strained concepts do not withstand the test of being turned into
images; they fall to pieces, turn out to be sickly and pale, convince
no one. Works which draw on truth and present it to us in live and
concentrated form grip us, compellingly involve us, and no one ever,
not even ages hence, will come forth to refute them.
Perhaps then the old trinity of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty is not
simply the dressed-up, worn-out formula we thought it in our
presumptuous, materialistic youth? If the crowns of these three trees
meet, as scholars have asserted, and if the too obvious, too straight
sprouts of Truth and Goodness have been knocked down, cut off, not let
grow, perhaps the whimsical, unpredictable, unexpected branches of
Beauty will work their way through, rise up TO THAT VERY PLACE, and
thus complete the work of all three?
Then what Dostoevsky wrote--"Beauty will save the world"--is not a
slip of the tongue but a prophecy. After all, he had the gift of
seeing much, a man wondrously filled with light.
Tuesday, 21 June 2011
Saturday, 18 June 2011
Friday, 17 June 2011
Risks accentuate the bravery and tragic clarity of choice
Reprinted in it's entirety, from Irish Road Racers and origionally printed in the Irish Times.
This is the heart and soul of why people do seemingly bizarre things on a daily basis. This is the spirit of humanity that will not even stop at death to achieve greatness. To those who go before, we salute you!
The Irish Times
DEREK BRIEN is the third. This year, he’s the third. The 36-year-old died at the mystically named Gorse Lea. They often do die somewhere beautifully named. Snaefell Mountain, Rhencullen, Stonebreakers Hut. Ballaugh Bridge. Greeba Castle. Lambfell Cottage. Peaceful names, remote places, sometimes on a majestic sweep of mountain with nothing but the stone walls and greenery. Laurel Bank. Gob-o-Geay. Glentramman.
Brien’s tragedy is piled high on the list of names of those who have perished at the Isle of Man TT and again brings us to one of the most defiant pieces of rock on the planet. Like Everest the island accepts the riders every year and every year it takes a few. The unofficial list now is 234 deaths, not including officials or spectators. Everest’s appetite is just short of that and lists vary but one estimate stops at 216 deaths with around 150 bodies still on the mountain.
Within a month Brien’s crash brings together two Irish people that died for the sports that thrilled them. On May 21st John Delaney failed to come down the mountain, the added anguish to his family being that his body remains in the Everest ice near the summit. Perhaps there is a strange comfort in that, and also for the family of Brien. What consumed both was more than a dalliance with the intrinsic appeal of danger but a relationship, familiar and natural, one that gave enormous pleasure.
The Isle of Man TT is as stunning a spectacle as you will ever see. It is a place where mortality is force fed, where the riders appear to go too fast into bends but somehow come out the far side, where they rear out of the seat to use their bodies as air brakes, smash into birds at 180mph, hit sticks on the road, find slippery bits of white line on hairpin bends. It is the community as much as the sports themselves that are the attraction.
Extreme bike racing and mountaineering are lifestyles and asking people to stop contributing to the body count is to ask them to change their lives because of our own buttoned-up sensibilities and infatuation with living safe and long. It is to say that doing one thing with a life is better than another. In that debate the bravery and the tragic clarity of choice of Brien and Delaney seems a creditable one to take."
This is the heart and soul of why people do seemingly bizarre things on a daily basis. This is the spirit of humanity that will not even stop at death to achieve greatness. To those who go before, we salute you!
The Irish Times
DEREK BRIEN is the third. This year, he’s the third. The 36-year-old died at the mystically named Gorse Lea. They often do die somewhere beautifully named. Snaefell Mountain, Rhencullen, Stonebreakers Hut. Ballaugh Bridge. Greeba Castle. Lambfell Cottage. Peaceful names, remote places, sometimes on a majestic sweep of mountain with nothing but the stone walls and greenery. Laurel Bank. Gob-o-Geay. Glentramman.
Brien’s tragedy is piled high on the list of names of those who have perished at the Isle of Man TT and again brings us to one of the most defiant pieces of rock on the planet. Like Everest the island accepts the riders every year and every year it takes a few. The unofficial list now is 234 deaths, not including officials or spectators. Everest’s appetite is just short of that and lists vary but one estimate stops at 216 deaths with around 150 bodies still on the mountain.
Within a month Brien’s crash brings together two Irish people that died for the sports that thrilled them. On May 21st John Delaney failed to come down the mountain, the added anguish to his family being that his body remains in the Everest ice near the summit. Perhaps there is a strange comfort in that, and also for the family of Brien. What consumed both was more than a dalliance with the intrinsic appeal of danger but a relationship, familiar and natural, one that gave enormous pleasure.
The Isle of Man TT is as stunning a spectacle as you will ever see. It is a place where mortality is force fed, where the riders appear to go too fast into bends but somehow come out the far side, where they rear out of the seat to use their bodies as air brakes, smash into birds at 180mph, hit sticks on the road, find slippery bits of white line on hairpin bends. It is the community as much as the sports themselves that are the attraction.
Extreme bike racing and mountaineering are lifestyles and asking people to stop contributing to the body count is to ask them to change their lives because of our own buttoned-up sensibilities and infatuation with living safe and long. It is to say that doing one thing with a life is better than another. In that debate the bravery and the tragic clarity of choice of Brien and Delaney seems a creditable one to take."
Thursday, 16 June 2011
Monday, 13 June 2011
Malloy
So in the realms of material things, usually i'm not too fazed. However this is something i would sell intimate bits of my body for:
The Malloy Hoverbike.
Words fail me.
YES, YES, YES ... OMG YES ... <--is about as far as i get.
Go see his web site, very nicely done.
UPDATE: The Kneeslider also featured this ... vehicle. Go see, some nice comments too!
The Malloy Hoverbike.
Words fail me.
YES, YES, YES ... OMG YES ... <--is about as far as i get.
Go see his web site, very nicely done.
UPDATE: The Kneeslider also featured this ... vehicle. Go see, some nice comments too!
Friday, 10 June 2011
Happy lane changing day
Happy lane changing day everyone. Yeah i think so too.
You know the OTHER queue is always moving faster? Well today there was a lot of that on the highway. I'm a little more used to the bike today, so was feeling more confident, but after seeing the traffic patterns i decided to be VERY careful. Good thing that, 10km along the highway green kawa had been taken out already. I stopped, the rider had a broken leg, but nothing life threatening. The pig on the scene got happy about "onlookers" so i had to leave. Hope he heals up soon.
It did have a slightly more calming effect on the traffic though, although not much, as they were bumper to bumper shortly after that. Got to work with no more surprises and feeling quite comfortable, despite the cold.
Remember the R6 i told you about with the worn sprocket and other stuff? Well, it was written off last night. According to the guy it was exactly the same as my first accident. Car pulls up at intersection, pulls forward, then stops, then, waiting for the perfect opportunity and timing, pulls off into you. Shit happens, fast. Bike is ugly badly fucked. Rider less so, sprained arm, and i think the helmet i lent him did it's job, his lip is badly swollen. At least he listened to me when i told him to tie the helmet straps ...
I have to go to JHB central today, to collect some helicoils to get MY BIKE BACK. It's a few blocks away from where i used to work, so an unwelcome trip down memory lane is instore for me. And JHB central? *shudder*. And this wind? Hahaha all the wrongs chills hey. But we go on, day in and day out.
I'll leave you with this little ditty, which i recently introduced my son to, and i think he gets it ;-) You have to have the right sorta smile on to sing this:
"Life is sad, life is a bust, all you can do, is do what you must, You do what you must do, and you do it well ...
I do it for you, ah hunny baby can't ya tell?"
Courtesy Robert Zimmerman (Bob Dylan)
You know the OTHER queue is always moving faster? Well today there was a lot of that on the highway. I'm a little more used to the bike today, so was feeling more confident, but after seeing the traffic patterns i decided to be VERY careful. Good thing that, 10km along the highway green kawa had been taken out already. I stopped, the rider had a broken leg, but nothing life threatening. The pig on the scene got happy about "onlookers" so i had to leave. Hope he heals up soon.
It did have a slightly more calming effect on the traffic though, although not much, as they were bumper to bumper shortly after that. Got to work with no more surprises and feeling quite comfortable, despite the cold.
Remember the R6 i told you about with the worn sprocket and other stuff? Well, it was written off last night. According to the guy it was exactly the same as my first accident. Car pulls up at intersection, pulls forward, then stops, then, waiting for the perfect opportunity and timing, pulls off into you. Shit happens, fast. Bike is ugly badly fucked. Rider less so, sprained arm, and i think the helmet i lent him did it's job, his lip is badly swollen. At least he listened to me when i told him to tie the helmet straps ...
I have to go to JHB central today, to collect some helicoils to get MY BIKE BACK. It's a few blocks away from where i used to work, so an unwelcome trip down memory lane is instore for me. And JHB central? *shudder*. And this wind? Hahaha all the wrongs chills hey. But we go on, day in and day out.
I'll leave you with this little ditty, which i recently introduced my son to, and i think he gets it ;-) You have to have the right sorta smile on to sing this:
"Life is sad, life is a bust, all you can do, is do what you must, You do what you must do, and you do it well ...
I do it for you, ah hunny baby can't ya tell?"
Courtesy Robert Zimmerman (Bob Dylan)
Thursday, 9 June 2011
Lifeand life and death
Ignore the heading, it's stupid and lame and irrelevant. Moving along :)
You are alive, undeniably, and you will die, just as certain. The rest are all variables that could be anything from 1-99 on a scale of probability. We in JHB have higher death probabilities than just about anyone else on the planet, Mexico, LA and Iraq are probably comparable. Death by bullet is "lead poisoning" which counts as natural death around here. Arguably the highest peacetime death toll from violence in recent history. Funny thing is: you're more likely to die in a road accident, in JHB. Wonderful thought to stir the passions, no?
So you're not high risk, you're the high end of high risk, so what do you do? You ride a motorcycle, of course. And when the wind blows, you ride, and when it rains, you ride, and when your visor and glasses are so fogged up you can't see the handlebars, you ride, only way to clear foggy glasses is to ride. And when your bike breaks, you ride, if you can find a spare. And when they tell you that the bike isn't insured, please be careful, well you fucking ride!!!
So all you adrenaline junkies out there ... here, have a fix that'll make your eyes water, and your stomach knot in twisted agony. That's if everything goes fine ...
... if everything doesn't go fine, well you're fucked, try not soil yourself ok?
So that's what i'm doing, riding a new(ish) bike that isn't insured through the metal madness. It's a 650 kawa, i won't say anything more than i want my freakin bike back please.
I was thinking about the death chances we face, and then i went to Think Bike and saw all the guys down. One guy was repairing a bike's brakes, went for a test ride, brakes failed, dead. Another was off to some rally, "misjudged a corner" about 10km out of town, dead instantly. Us bikers are mostly middle aged white guys, and i can tell you honestly we're all fucked in the head. The death urge is so strong where we're at, it's the white consumer culture, it's the black violence culture, it's the total don't give a shit cos there's no point to even trying culture that our beloved state has imposed. Every single avenue of "normality" has been twisted and bent out true. I see it around me, i feel it inside me too. This death urge that makes us want to live too fast, fly too high.
And it's not an exultation of the spirit as i've spoken of before, it's panic. Raw fear. K posted a cartoon where the guy says he has everything, except a reason to live. Goes that way for a lot around us, but more stuff is about all that we are socially allowed to want, oh, and "happiness" that ethereal fairy that teases and drops you. And so you got an entire generation of death junkies, who live and die all day every day, and yet never live, and die stupidly.
I mean no disrespect, but this death urge has got to be addressed. Hug someone, thats a good start, you may never get another chance. Now THAT'S living ;-)
peace and love
You are alive, undeniably, and you will die, just as certain. The rest are all variables that could be anything from 1-99 on a scale of probability. We in JHB have higher death probabilities than just about anyone else on the planet, Mexico, LA and Iraq are probably comparable. Death by bullet is "lead poisoning" which counts as natural death around here. Arguably the highest peacetime death toll from violence in recent history. Funny thing is: you're more likely to die in a road accident, in JHB. Wonderful thought to stir the passions, no?
So you're not high risk, you're the high end of high risk, so what do you do? You ride a motorcycle, of course. And when the wind blows, you ride, and when it rains, you ride, and when your visor and glasses are so fogged up you can't see the handlebars, you ride, only way to clear foggy glasses is to ride. And when your bike breaks, you ride, if you can find a spare. And when they tell you that the bike isn't insured, please be careful, well you fucking ride!!!
So all you adrenaline junkies out there ... here, have a fix that'll make your eyes water, and your stomach knot in twisted agony. That's if everything goes fine ...
... if everything doesn't go fine, well you're fucked, try not soil yourself ok?
So that's what i'm doing, riding a new(ish) bike that isn't insured through the metal madness. It's a 650 kawa, i won't say anything more than i want my freakin bike back please.
I was thinking about the death chances we face, and then i went to Think Bike and saw all the guys down. One guy was repairing a bike's brakes, went for a test ride, brakes failed, dead. Another was off to some rally, "misjudged a corner" about 10km out of town, dead instantly. Us bikers are mostly middle aged white guys, and i can tell you honestly we're all fucked in the head. The death urge is so strong where we're at, it's the white consumer culture, it's the black violence culture, it's the total don't give a shit cos there's no point to even trying culture that our beloved state has imposed. Every single avenue of "normality" has been twisted and bent out true. I see it around me, i feel it inside me too. This death urge that makes us want to live too fast, fly too high.
And it's not an exultation of the spirit as i've spoken of before, it's panic. Raw fear. K posted a cartoon where the guy says he has everything, except a reason to live. Goes that way for a lot around us, but more stuff is about all that we are socially allowed to want, oh, and "happiness" that ethereal fairy that teases and drops you. And so you got an entire generation of death junkies, who live and die all day every day, and yet never live, and die stupidly.
I mean no disrespect, but this death urge has got to be addressed. Hug someone, thats a good start, you may never get another chance. Now THAT'S living ;-)
peace and love
Wednesday, 8 June 2011
Stormy weather
I'm still alive and kicking ... stuff.
Stormy weather we been having lately huh? Woke up this morning and thankfully didn't have to GET up ... until later. The view from my window made me think fondly of Cape Town winters, Cape of Storms ... they don't fuck around down there.
God must agree with me, JHB is a dirty place, so we got a good gale followed by rain by the bucketful. The skies are crisp and clear, clouds racing along like the little twigs and leaves we used to race along the water drains, as kids. Plenty of water back then, i recall weeks and weeks of fine rain back then. You and your friend would each choose a stick or leaf, and drop them together in the water drains, and run along beside them as they raced along until the big hole. Everything ended up down there eventually.
I need to go now, but peace and love and great big wood fires to all of you.
Stormy weather we been having lately huh? Woke up this morning and thankfully didn't have to GET up ... until later. The view from my window made me think fondly of Cape Town winters, Cape of Storms ... they don't fuck around down there.
God must agree with me, JHB is a dirty place, so we got a good gale followed by rain by the bucketful. The skies are crisp and clear, clouds racing along like the little twigs and leaves we used to race along the water drains, as kids. Plenty of water back then, i recall weeks and weeks of fine rain back then. You and your friend would each choose a stick or leaf, and drop them together in the water drains, and run along beside them as they raced along until the big hole. Everything ended up down there eventually.
I need to go now, but peace and love and great big wood fires to all of you.
Friday, 3 June 2011
Where is Molefi Nonyane?
Citizen activist time. This story needs to go viral, FAST.
Molefi Nonyane, the man who cradled Andries Tatane as he lay dying, has been arrested by Bloemfontein police and allegedly denied access to his lawyer. It's a particularly worrying development, as he was due to appear in court in Ficksburg as a key witness in the case against eight policemen accused of Tatane’s murder. Community activists said they did not know where Nonyane was and were concerned for his safety.
Go read the whole story at The Daily Maverick written by the excellent Mandy de Waal.
UPDATE: Captain Dlamini, an SAPS spokesperson, says that Molefi Nonyane was arrested after an old fraud charge against him was reopened. Dlamini says the charge relates to a case that the police opened against Nonyane in 2008. Nonyane is being held in Bloemfontein but was arrested in Ficksburg. Captain Dlamini says: "Nonyane is being held in Bloemfontein because his crime was committed in Bloemfontein. I can't comment on his lawyer not being able to speak to him. I don't know anything about that. He will have a bail hearing tomorrow (Friday) at the Bloemfontein magistrate's court." DM
___________________________________________________
Fucking cowards! These swine never stop. The dog has turned rabid on it's masters, time for the pound.
Look here:
Huffpost
How far away are we from this?
There's an angel keeping count of this shit, can't wait till he comes down to balance the accounts.
peace and love, treasure what you have.
Molefi Nonyane, the man who cradled Andries Tatane as he lay dying, has been arrested by Bloemfontein police and allegedly denied access to his lawyer. It's a particularly worrying development, as he was due to appear in court in Ficksburg as a key witness in the case against eight policemen accused of Tatane’s murder. Community activists said they did not know where Nonyane was and were concerned for his safety.
Go read the whole story at The Daily Maverick written by the excellent Mandy de Waal.
UPDATE: Captain Dlamini, an SAPS spokesperson, says that Molefi Nonyane was arrested after an old fraud charge against him was reopened. Dlamini says the charge relates to a case that the police opened against Nonyane in 2008. Nonyane is being held in Bloemfontein but was arrested in Ficksburg. Captain Dlamini says: "Nonyane is being held in Bloemfontein because his crime was committed in Bloemfontein. I can't comment on his lawyer not being able to speak to him. I don't know anything about that. He will have a bail hearing tomorrow (Friday) at the Bloemfontein magistrate's court." DM
___________________________________________________
Fucking cowards! These swine never stop. The dog has turned rabid on it's masters, time for the pound.
Look here:
Huffpost
How far away are we from this?
There's an angel keeping count of this shit, can't wait till he comes down to balance the accounts.
peace and love, treasure what you have.
Wednesday, 1 June 2011
Post post post brrrrrrrrrrrr
I have to post something, because well it's time to post. So far, i've actually managed to warm myself by not moving from this patch of sunlight. When i move, i get cold again. I'm not even going to talk about the exquisite agony of a smoke break. Being on a bike in this icy cold isn't fun at all. The entire body and mind just want to shut down and find a warm place to hibernate for winter. Even people in cars have beanies and jackets and mugs of warm something. Us bikers? We're MEN. Bloody cold men at that!
My day was made today though, i found someone indubitably worse off than i. Some poor little piggie was sitting on the concrete center barrier of the highway, trying to hide behind the camera from the wind. Ouch.
I was trying to remember the tune for "frosty the snowman" but that didn't work, got stuck with "Alice's Restaurant" instead, not a bad trade i think ;-)
It's quite amusing to me how others spend so much time and effort in listening to music while travelling. From sounds systems to fancy speakers and headsets, they all seem to need that music going. Listening to the radio is just mental suicide. Loud bike, loud music, and they're happy it seems. Me, i've given up on music while riding. It's inconvenient. For starters, i need to hear my bike, and traffic, i also need to focus, kind of hard with metallica at earthquake generating volume. Not only that, but suddenly you find that this morning you don't want metallica, you want something quieter, but the controls are buried beneath 5 layers of tightly closed padding, and you're wearing leather gloves, so metallica stays, and throws your mood out.
Of course, many also opt for hands free cell phone kit, and so music until someone phones. But again, that strikes me as a bad idea. First up, i'm not crazy about being phoned to start with, if you're phoning me, most likely you want something from me, not that i mind per se, but honestly, it can wait until i'm not doing the death dance okay? So i'll ride along, cellphone far enough away for me to not hear it ring, everything else packed away so as not to fall out, and nothing but the wind and road and my breathing for sounds. This is where the fun starts.
My brain is infinitely creative, and i am blessed to have my own private stereo that no-one else can hear. It's not even quadraphonic, it doesn't rely on your ears, beams it straight into the brain, brain, brain, brain, brain .... It's quite astonishing really, and as long as i avoid the bloody infection of popular radio seeping into my consciousness, then the selection is as arbitrary as it is pleasant. I have no idea who the deejay is, because i don't usually choose the tune, it just sorta starts playing, and usually within seconds i'm humming along happily. Unless it's something really bouncy, in which case you'll find me bouncing along happily, waves arms andf pulling silly faces at the traffic, not that they can tell, behind the tinted visor, but it's the thought that counts ... ;-)
My day was made today though, i found someone indubitably worse off than i. Some poor little piggie was sitting on the concrete center barrier of the highway, trying to hide behind the camera from the wind. Ouch.
I was trying to remember the tune for "frosty the snowman" but that didn't work, got stuck with "Alice's Restaurant" instead, not a bad trade i think ;-)
It's quite amusing to me how others spend so much time and effort in listening to music while travelling. From sounds systems to fancy speakers and headsets, they all seem to need that music going. Listening to the radio is just mental suicide. Loud bike, loud music, and they're happy it seems. Me, i've given up on music while riding. It's inconvenient. For starters, i need to hear my bike, and traffic, i also need to focus, kind of hard with metallica at earthquake generating volume. Not only that, but suddenly you find that this morning you don't want metallica, you want something quieter, but the controls are buried beneath 5 layers of tightly closed padding, and you're wearing leather gloves, so metallica stays, and throws your mood out.
Of course, many also opt for hands free cell phone kit, and so music until someone phones. But again, that strikes me as a bad idea. First up, i'm not crazy about being phoned to start with, if you're phoning me, most likely you want something from me, not that i mind per se, but honestly, it can wait until i'm not doing the death dance okay? So i'll ride along, cellphone far enough away for me to not hear it ring, everything else packed away so as not to fall out, and nothing but the wind and road and my breathing for sounds. This is where the fun starts.
My brain is infinitely creative, and i am blessed to have my own private stereo that no-one else can hear. It's not even quadraphonic, it doesn't rely on your ears, beams it straight into the brain, brain, brain, brain, brain .... It's quite astonishing really, and as long as i avoid the bloody infection of popular radio seeping into my consciousness, then the selection is as arbitrary as it is pleasant. I have no idea who the deejay is, because i don't usually choose the tune, it just sorta starts playing, and usually within seconds i'm humming along happily. Unless it's something really bouncy, in which case you'll find me bouncing along happily, waves arms andf pulling silly faces at the traffic, not that they can tell, behind the tinted visor, but it's the thought that counts ... ;-)
Monday, 30 May 2011
Coral Castle
And i thought i had covered all the wierd and wonderful places, apparently not.
Here's the most fascinating account of a man who built a whole playground our of coral. 30 ton blocks arranged in what clearly was a personal taste, but more astonishingly, one man alone seems to have achieved that.
The Incredible Mystery
Of Coral Castle
By Christopher Dunn
From Atlantis Rising
7-14-3
Go have a look and see what you think!!
Here's the most fascinating account of a man who built a whole playground our of coral. 30 ton blocks arranged in what clearly was a personal taste, but more astonishingly, one man alone seems to have achieved that.
The Incredible Mystery
Of Coral Castle
By Christopher Dunn
From Atlantis Rising
7-14-3
Go have a look and see what you think!!
Friday, 27 May 2011
Bad jokes
So against my initial thoughts, i'm going to talk about the rapture, the one that didn't happen, ergo, small r.
Now it's all very bizarre to someone like me, who likes things to kind of make sense, sometimes. So when you want to talk about the "rapture", you are looking at christian teaching, as based on the bible. So we look at the bible and discover that:
a. The "rapture" isn't actually stated, just inferred by 20th century thinkers
b. The bible explicitly states that no one will know when it is, until it is.
It's very clear to me, it's a minor theological point of discussion with the only certainty being it's uncertainty.
So when someone, anyone stands up and says "i know when it's going to be, based on the bible" ... they're bullshitting ... everyone, including themselves. It only remains for the rest of us to ignore such stupidity, and carry on with hopefully more meaningful pursuits.
But despite that, there is an even worse aspect to the whole story, which i want to examine. The aftermath, not really all the now poor and suicidal idiots who believeds the story, i'm actually reffering the the millions of others who didn't, YET STILL GIVE THE WHOLE STORY VALIDITY. How do they do this? By actively engaging in the story, by making jokes about it, laughing and deriding it. Now i do need to tread carefully, because the rapture doctrine is something that has affected me personally very strongly in the past, but same time i don't actually accept it as such.
Anyway, the point is the complete mockery applied to ALL aspects of the situation. From "jesus" jokes, to "christian" jokes" to EVERYONE talking about the rapture like it was a cold morning, not some theological gray area. As i'm typing this, someone sends this:
http://www.hayibo.com/rapture-happened-but-only-rick-astley-fans-taken/
Now before i get pilloried for being an overly sensitive christian apologist, i'd like to make the same complaint about the alleged death of bin laden.
Now to me the entire bin laden story is a bad joke. From his rich family background, to it's cia kickstart, to what we have come to accept as 9-11 to the truly monstrous security state we all seem to live in now, to his death, and even more security for our safety., it's a macabre story. Even the final chapter, containing scenes of him being shot in the head unarmed and his wife also being shot, for "lunging" at these "special cunts" ... it's inhuman.
So after all the news stations had run their rubbish repeats of propaganda feeds from the white house, the jokes started. From actual jokes to stupid fucking gif images that everyone seems to think is funny, except me. I mean, it's like laughing at a cripple .... wtf?
I get accused sometimes of being overly serious, a charge i accept gladly. But this is not the same, i mean it's not about having a sense of humour, it's about exercising a selection process as to what is funny. Men being "double ttapped" naked in their bedroom isn't funny. Ever. For anyone. Under any circumstances. Ever. There's a silent scream of anguish that escapes me over all this. It's not only about watching people DEHUMANISE themselves, and dehumunising others, which is what they are doing, but also about the completely narrow perceptions they have, completely preprogrammed mentality, down to the off colour jokes.
Somehow despite us all being unique and driving our own colour and make car, we are surrounded by this ... sludge mentality that pervades those around us. All the same mindsets, and it's not a utopia of thinkers and artists and mystics, it's a dirty polluted river where each square metre perhaps appears different, thanks to same unique item of rubbish to be found, but right under the thin surface bubbles the same turgid, smelly thought patterns. And the jokes have the same smell.
It's a rant i know, but i appeal to those who read this to stop and think about these issues for a moment. Is a dead man funny? Is a deranged 90 year old who has ruined thousands of lives funny? I keep hearing my voice of reason say things like: humour is a means of dealing with "trauma" which could be a very good argument, but i cannot accept it. Humour in this case is nothing more than a deflection of intent. While people are amusing themselves to death, the death is only coming closer.
So please, next time you get a stupid joke about something that's not funny, don't send it, ok?
Now it's all very bizarre to someone like me, who likes things to kind of make sense, sometimes. So when you want to talk about the "rapture", you are looking at christian teaching, as based on the bible. So we look at the bible and discover that:
a. The "rapture" isn't actually stated, just inferred by 20th century thinkers
b. The bible explicitly states that no one will know when it is, until it is.
It's very clear to me, it's a minor theological point of discussion with the only certainty being it's uncertainty.
So when someone, anyone stands up and says "i know when it's going to be, based on the bible" ... they're bullshitting ... everyone, including themselves. It only remains for the rest of us to ignore such stupidity, and carry on with hopefully more meaningful pursuits.
But despite that, there is an even worse aspect to the whole story, which i want to examine. The aftermath, not really all the now poor and suicidal idiots who believeds the story, i'm actually reffering the the millions of others who didn't, YET STILL GIVE THE WHOLE STORY VALIDITY. How do they do this? By actively engaging in the story, by making jokes about it, laughing and deriding it. Now i do need to tread carefully, because the rapture doctrine is something that has affected me personally very strongly in the past, but same time i don't actually accept it as such.
Anyway, the point is the complete mockery applied to ALL aspects of the situation. From "jesus" jokes, to "christian" jokes" to EVERYONE talking about the rapture like it was a cold morning, not some theological gray area. As i'm typing this, someone sends this:
http://www.hayibo.com/rapture-happened-but-only-rick-astley-fans-taken/
Now before i get pilloried for being an overly sensitive christian apologist, i'd like to make the same complaint about the alleged death of bin laden.
Now to me the entire bin laden story is a bad joke. From his rich family background, to it's cia kickstart, to what we have come to accept as 9-11 to the truly monstrous security state we all seem to live in now, to his death, and even more security for our safety., it's a macabre story. Even the final chapter, containing scenes of him being shot in the head unarmed and his wife also being shot, for "lunging" at these "special cunts" ... it's inhuman.
So after all the news stations had run their rubbish repeats of propaganda feeds from the white house, the jokes started. From actual jokes to stupid fucking gif images that everyone seems to think is funny, except me. I mean, it's like laughing at a cripple .... wtf?
I get accused sometimes of being overly serious, a charge i accept gladly. But this is not the same, i mean it's not about having a sense of humour, it's about exercising a selection process as to what is funny. Men being "double ttapped" naked in their bedroom isn't funny. Ever. For anyone. Under any circumstances. Ever. There's a silent scream of anguish that escapes me over all this. It's not only about watching people DEHUMANISE themselves, and dehumunising others, which is what they are doing, but also about the completely narrow perceptions they have, completely preprogrammed mentality, down to the off colour jokes.
Somehow despite us all being unique and driving our own colour and make car, we are surrounded by this ... sludge mentality that pervades those around us. All the same mindsets, and it's not a utopia of thinkers and artists and mystics, it's a dirty polluted river where each square metre perhaps appears different, thanks to same unique item of rubbish to be found, but right under the thin surface bubbles the same turgid, smelly thought patterns. And the jokes have the same smell.
It's a rant i know, but i appeal to those who read this to stop and think about these issues for a moment. Is a dead man funny? Is a deranged 90 year old who has ruined thousands of lives funny? I keep hearing my voice of reason say things like: humour is a means of dealing with "trauma" which could be a very good argument, but i cannot accept it. Humour in this case is nothing more than a deflection of intent. While people are amusing themselves to death, the death is only coming closer.
So please, next time you get a stupid joke about something that's not funny, don't send it, ok?
Tuesday, 24 May 2011
The Pig Farmer
It's not often you find a truly beautifully written story, complete with moral and happy ending. But i found one this morning, and couldn't stop reading until i was done. A story which is fairly common in fact, but usually just dismissed in our daily bustle, and the deeper issues glossed over like cheap paint on a picket fence.
A sincere thanks to Running cos i can't fly for reposting from the orgional story to be found on John Robbins Blog.
I'm not going to repost, or even print excerpts, the story must be read and enjoyed as a whole, so when you have your drink of choice, and a comfy chair, and some time for a good story, please go have a look and read and feel the hope that shone through to me.
peace and love
A sincere thanks to Running cos i can't fly for reposting from the orgional story to be found on John Robbins Blog.
I'm not going to repost, or even print excerpts, the story must be read and enjoyed as a whole, so when you have your drink of choice, and a comfy chair, and some time for a good story, please go have a look and read and feel the hope that shone through to me.
peace and love
Saturday, 21 May 2011
Tiger, tiger, burning bright ...
William Blake. 1757–1827
489. The Tiger
TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
489. The Tiger
TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
Friday, 20 May 2011
Don't play the blonde ...
Yes i know it's a stripshow, yes i know it's a very good strip show. However, have a listen to the music, if you can :p
Very cool, my new theme tune for a while, just happy .. you know?
peace
Monday, 16 May 2011
Will power
There's been a thread of thought lately about the Will, yes, with a capital W. Our will, as people, how to harness it, activate it, use it in some way. It's starting to look remarkably like the holy grail to me. While pondering a post and how to present my thoughts, i quite accidentally found the following essay, entitled Will To Power: How The Public Corrupts Us To Act In Bad Faith by macthephi.
About the accidental: through a google image search i found an image which resonated, i then scrolled through the image directory, and finally to the homepage, where i found the essay. Well thought out and presented, extra points are scored by his referencing Kierkegaard (!) amongst others. It's an existential crises that is coming to the fore of consciousness, over a centuries long awakening in our minds. But it's here, i sometimes take solace in pretending to be a medieval serf, and try imagine the simplicity of thought he might have had. But it could only ever be a fanciful flight and never sustainable for long. Ever more into life ... through it ... to the other side, to see if it perhaps is anything.
Something worth mentioning briefly, which happened on the way to work this morning. Lane splitting along the highway, the high clouds bubbling between patches of deep blue sky, the rising sun casting patches of bright orange between the gray. It wasn't cold, and the traffic was remarkably docile for this early Monday dawn. The sun peaked out from behind a cloud, shining straight into my visored face. I could feel the warmth, feel the energy and power of this celestial marvel, and as much as the light pierced my vision, it's rays pierced straight into my soul, and for just a brief moment, i felt the most wonderful joy bubble up inside. I think it was Maslow who first used the term "peak experience", but that's what it was. Of course, as soon as i realised it i was over analysing what i felt, as much as trying NOT to zone out while doing 50km/h through standing traffic.
An almost ritualistic task, a calm collected countenance, and the wonder found every morn ... and i am drawn back to Blake:
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
This ... door to a new world was opened to me in traffic this morning, very gently but unmistakably. I guess the modern man reaction is wtf? But i'm left laughing at the irony of it. The buddha is as comfortable in the cylinder head as he is at the top of the mountain, to paraphrase Robert M. Pirsig.
I think the point i'm reaching to, is that we hold the keys, every moment of our lives we are able to access this ... hidden world, but we don't. We are enslaved to ourselves as much as to others, and yes, freeing oneself from oneself is infinitely harder than freeing oneself from another.
The Will to Power essay lays hold on one of the primary reasons for our weakness, and yes it's external to us, and yes, it's something that can be overcome, but only at the price of your sanity, which is your "acceptance of socially condoned behaviour and thinking". which brings me back to one of my favourite phrases in all literature, from Herman Hesse Via the Treatise of the Steppenwolf:
PRICE OF ADMITTANCE YOUR MIND. NOT FOR EVERYBODY.
Please go read Will To Power: How The Public Corrupts Us To Act In Bad Faith - macthephi and think about where your power and will have gone.
About the accidental: through a google image search i found an image which resonated, i then scrolled through the image directory, and finally to the homepage, where i found the essay. Well thought out and presented, extra points are scored by his referencing Kierkegaard (!) amongst others. It's an existential crises that is coming to the fore of consciousness, over a centuries long awakening in our minds. But it's here, i sometimes take solace in pretending to be a medieval serf, and try imagine the simplicity of thought he might have had. But it could only ever be a fanciful flight and never sustainable for long. Ever more into life ... through it ... to the other side, to see if it perhaps is anything.
Something worth mentioning briefly, which happened on the way to work this morning. Lane splitting along the highway, the high clouds bubbling between patches of deep blue sky, the rising sun casting patches of bright orange between the gray. It wasn't cold, and the traffic was remarkably docile for this early Monday dawn. The sun peaked out from behind a cloud, shining straight into my visored face. I could feel the warmth, feel the energy and power of this celestial marvel, and as much as the light pierced my vision, it's rays pierced straight into my soul, and for just a brief moment, i felt the most wonderful joy bubble up inside. I think it was Maslow who first used the term "peak experience", but that's what it was. Of course, as soon as i realised it i was over analysing what i felt, as much as trying NOT to zone out while doing 50km/h through standing traffic.
An almost ritualistic task, a calm collected countenance, and the wonder found every morn ... and i am drawn back to Blake:
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
This ... door to a new world was opened to me in traffic this morning, very gently but unmistakably. I guess the modern man reaction is wtf? But i'm left laughing at the irony of it. The buddha is as comfortable in the cylinder head as he is at the top of the mountain, to paraphrase Robert M. Pirsig.
I think the point i'm reaching to, is that we hold the keys, every moment of our lives we are able to access this ... hidden world, but we don't. We are enslaved to ourselves as much as to others, and yes, freeing oneself from oneself is infinitely harder than freeing oneself from another.
The Will to Power essay lays hold on one of the primary reasons for our weakness, and yes it's external to us, and yes, it's something that can be overcome, but only at the price of your sanity, which is your "acceptance of socially condoned behaviour and thinking". which brings me back to one of my favourite phrases in all literature, from Herman Hesse Via the Treatise of the Steppenwolf:
PRICE OF ADMITTANCE YOUR MIND. NOT FOR EVERYBODY.
Please go read Will To Power: How The Public Corrupts Us To Act In Bad Faith - macthephi and think about where your power and will have gone.
Tuesday, 10 May 2011
Freedom ... reprise
“Don’t you wish you were free, Lenina?” he asks.
“I don’t know that you mean. I am free, free to have the most wonderful time. Everybody’s happy nowadays.”
He laughed, “Yes, ‘Everybody’s happy nowadays.’ We have been giving the children that at five. But wouldn’t you like to be free to be happy in some other way, Lenina? In your own way, for example; not in everybody else’s way.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she repeated.
From 1984, By George Orwell.
“I don’t know that you mean. I am free, free to have the most wonderful time. Everybody’s happy nowadays.”
He laughed, “Yes, ‘Everybody’s happy nowadays.’ We have been giving the children that at five. But wouldn’t you like to be free to be happy in some other way, Lenina? In your own way, for example; not in everybody else’s way.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she repeated.
From 1984, By George Orwell.
Monday, 9 May 2011
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