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Monthly Archives: May 2009


no need for speed

no need for speed

I’m moving away, slipping away up the path and around the bend. I’ve been slipping away i say, looking forwards into the bright light’s ascent. I got sick of love twice, sick of the gnawing the pawing the strain. I got sick of the lonely thrice the boring, the clawing the taint. I’ve got a new plan and it involves no man, it involves a setting sun in the yard, the barren cement the smell of descent, the no look back, no more smack, just cigarettes, whiskey and beer. They say the written word is cathartic, i find it retarded, its form its perception its disdain. Then make it a basket weave it out of a carpet thats filled with burns and blood stains.

I visited Shongweni Dam settlement the other night with Gift my friend from Zim. The setting was brave and disturbingly beautiful. Soft orange sunlight, a river of veins, too many good wishes and patting on the backs. Good people, too good for me. I lost my cellphone again and drank 12 Castle quartz. Sat smoking weed in newspaper, discussing youth and folly, i leant backwards and fell into his arms. I got home at 3 in the morning.

I visited the hills the other morning with my mother. It was her first day out since the cancer started enjoying her stomach as a delicacy. Hard spiting light, a lake man made, a reservoir, a couple of arguments and flowers to pick. She’s a lioness, protecting her cub from bullies. I lost my patience and drank 12 Black Label quartz. Sat at my dad’s factory sipping coffee, watching the smell of hard work. I leant forwards and kicked Henry the chicken. I got home at 2 in the afternoon.

Some might think i have a lot of time to well, think but i don’t because i’ve been caught by the mob. I’m plotting my escape and it takes up all my days. I’ve been good, i’ve been worse, i got the keys to the hearse now i’m thinking of getting off the wagon again.

I tried it just once a couple of days back, it was disimiliar my old vice, my small treat. I cradled her amidst the subs, willing her to come back to me. Don’t leave i pleaded stay a while, have a cuppa, watch a movie, enjoy yourself. I’m your host, you’re my bug, my little bug eyed girl was staring back at me, but with no feeling behind the wet lashes, the star system is failing i’m afraid, the metaphors crept back. I owed them all money but couldn’t pay.

Busiwiwe was sick and now she’s better. Busiwiwe was sick but now she’s all better. Medicine. I’m trying to get organised. I edited, i wrote, i hung up the washing, i cleaned my bedroom, i reread a book, i attempted filing but just managed to make little piles on my desk. Little piles of files, little flies of my’s, little thoughts of new york and l.a. Best friends i can’t face and face’s i’ll never make friends with. I can’t find my place, i can’t find my phone. I guess i’ll just sit here, quietly, alone.












I’m sitting on the edge. My face is burning redder than it has ever before. That bitch slap of certainty that was levelled at me without fear or regret. How could she have known. She knew. She must have. They all must have. They must know the sacrificial hurt that lurks beneath the surface. They saw it didn’t they. They witnessed it. They saw the fall though i thought no one did. But i could feel it. Maybe even only in reflection, after time, after months of processing unsuccessfully what i am what i have done. But nonetheless the self destructive dance was on show. And i felt proud to be the dancer. No i didn’t i never realised, i knew but was never akin to it. It was always seperate. Isolated from the tasks at hand, performed with clarity but the person inhabiting the function was not of this world HOW could she be…. And half beaten into self submission does not want to be out there again. But now fears and celebrating it might be the only way. Fuck your god.

And no matter how good things might look it is how they act that delivers the final blow. Blow, its my final message, my final state of rebellion, my final chapter, my final vice. Didn’t they realise i was just trying to fit in. and now am out. Hated, persecuted by the rational by the natural dopamine brigade who find joy in washing a teacup, who find god in a wild fucking flower.

And when we get to the money part. Where do we all stand. Yes the world lives to owe then why the shame the desperation of making nice in order to continue any easy means of communicaiton. This money this desperate need for thickening of the skin, the waste of it all. The waste of the breath in this pursuit and the waste of the pursuit in these misadventures. And no more sacrosanct moments, no more irony  no more falling through the roof into the lounge, into the conversation, into the meetings, onto the dancefloor, alive on the pavement and dying in the morning. I can’t feel anymore except for the bright switching light of indifference for any task laid and mislaid before me. I’m supposed to take it easy, i want to rid myself from the confines the sweet confines of medication but the inroads are too complicated the brain scans too far gone and the will at the point of zero and beyond. I just want to be left in silence. I don’t want to go out i don’t want to communicate, i don’t want to make peace with the inner sanctum i just want the escape plan and god i have not even the energy for the choice. A wasted life they say, yeah well fuck i’m wasting it, i’m wasting quite willingly away. Ok

new life

break away


i feel like more


the sifting feeling that we are not who we are and we’ll never get to where we are supposed to be is so unnerving, exhilarating and just plain sad. Confused, disfigured, tragic love songs sung in the studio written in the deep moist of the moment, played upon perhaps, forgotten about intermittantely, remembered by those who feel the stab definelty

protect me from what i want, dissect me on the cold metal font, thats all i can offer in this sentence.

I’min the mood to abdicate. Im in the mood to abscond. I’m in the mood to rival the violation i’m in the mood to kill my succession. Has it always been this good. Has it always been this good to know where you are. I’m so ugly i don’t have the right to exist. I’m so disgusted in the picture i want i need to i dammit i can’t find the words for the feeling. The temperature is high in my mind, my brain is scattered, the nightmares themselves reduce me to tears the bloodshed the guilt the damn mirror the fuck it fuck it fuck it fuck this passage. Let it ride, let it run, find something that will make you go to sleep…forever. I have a brain tumour, terminal. Poor me, give me some fucking pity, i have scabs on my wrist and lesions on my chest. I have a two sided rectangle thats mistaken for a heart and it no longer beats. The flies, the bees, the wasps the only irritants of company that prefer to hang out with me. But i am not a jealous person, i just can’t don’t want to believe i can change.

I’m not young enough to be stupid anymore. I’m just agitated. I’m stuck in this self spun cocoon, i’m stuck in the worst of the new. He made me feel special until i realised what i looked like, what i had become and the worst of it was that i i thought i was stupid before but now realise i’m just plain dumb but clever enough to stay away.

But i also feel that i don’t care anymore. Come get me. Rip the skin off, offal me alive. Remove the brain with surgical instruments and cause me as much as you can, pain.

I feel fleeting i feel there is no more damage to be done. I feel i can do nothing more to change events, recreate reconstruct, redevelop, all is lost and i am floating.

Plastered. They mean over the cracks yeah? I want to get plastered. I want the cracks to go away. I want medicaton. I want to get through today.

Let me be your passenger ….before i detonate.


extremely concerned with mother nature

extremely concerned with mother nature



What a beautiful morning that I could just gather all eye see into my arms and squeeze till it melts. What a beautiful morning that I feel not even guilt for Durban’s grimy back streets which will never experience the feeling I felt. What a beautiful morning the shade and the greens. What a beautiful morning so still and serene. What a beautiful morning I could sit and just breathe. What a beautiful morning with no one left to deceive. What a beautiful morning the hills hear me sigh. What a beautiful morning between them and I. What a beautiful morning as made just for me. What a beautiful morning for the birds and the bees. What a beautiful morning my senses restored. What a beautiful morning so beautiful I’m bored.


good must ultimately prevail evil

good must ultimately prevail evil



Standing on the precipice and looking over the green, the night is ablaze with singing, chirping, rotten scoundrels. Breathing in the clear dust, the soft feeling of being a part of something smaller, something more complex and unintended gets my gut. I squirm in this strange globe beating my will against its dripping confines, old pictures are revealed in the sliding merge of colours, feelings drip into snares drip into melancholy drip into what was and what is and the possibility of escaping fate becomes deceived by the simple fact that we can. There is goodness in us. There is peace, breath, vision and patience. But there are also shadows. There are hateful mages, noise, pesticides and aversion. Is it possible to be one in the same. Is it possible to be both teams of the same game.






The rush of andrenaline of writing quickly, wickedness told me to write simply for the simple man, but aren’t all men simple? Late night thoughts are so clear it sometimes seems that the day is but a waste of light. Too much to report, smoked to the bone, cards to be read, heartbeat on speed, pain in the legs….the top of the desk melts and I fall through an abyss of parenthesis (fucked) so what to do with brain and feeling, study theology, take a course in semantics, cut off the fat, search for the worm and eat it, feed the louse. I don’t know what has brought on this hot flush of energy, downing water whilst the pressure looms, where to find the female god that will answer prayers fast, remove the gauche logic of the situation. I don’t need cures I just need drugs and fast. Watch dr house, pop some valium, vicodin, weed, wine and anti-inflammatories, am I really supposed to eat well, am I really supposed to embark on the exercise regime of the sick, the twisted, the last program I was on they made me walk on the beach and talk about serpents, they shone a torch in my face at 3am in the morning and then refused me company of my fellow users – scared I’d escape. They beg and bastardized the twelve steps into my mushy brain, they reminded me I had demons entwined to my nervous system. And yet I left there afresh, a new ready and forward hurtling marionette. I forgive them you know that. But I cannot forgive tomorrow. I cannot forgive the hard bump of being normal of finding a fresh approach, I cannot break from my mould, from my survival instinct that has kept me who I am and who I want to be. Dance with affirmations they say. Dance with the devil is say. I can clean the grime, block sunshine, rupture ridicule and shut the sepulchre of the great cave I am, but I cannot pretend to do what you say, I cannot pretend to live life just for today. There are certain friends who visit me no more and certain of these friends that I know now I abhor. But then there are the tingles of that shade my day and the imperious knowledge that only I can obey. Rewrite the torah, the bible the Koran, become the 4th coming, in sin be reborn, for only flirtation with others ideas can ruin the thinking man, only when we hear their equipollent sighs do we realize we’re the same.


the self-subsisting, the eternal, no slumber nor sleep can seize him

the self-subsisting, the eternal, no slumber nor sleep can seize him



Its been a week of the jehova witnesses at my door, spreading gossip, bad news, good news and total annihilation, up and around hills dissecting pagan people in 5 year old outfits flitting around the valley, smoking weed and bellydancing, whilst me stoned and dethroned off the brown in the toilet, asking questions and sharing answers, a boy with brown dreadlocks on my back, a lost look in the faraway eyes, not enough too drink and then too much, sore kidneys and long drives, Deepak chopra eat your heart out, i sit with islam on my mind and no direction in my soul, I tried to look through the black and landed in a fluorescent lit room with a psychologist, a bottle of rum in my bag and tears in the eyes. Sneaking out, missing gigs, shunning sunshine, I don’t want this sobriety, I don’t want this society. So many reasons to move on, they’re saying, you’re taking the right steps, your eyes are open but my heart is dead. Thinking of being useless without a penny in my pocket and slurred enunciation, and so many bright boys, their laughter killing me early in the morning as I lay on sweaty sheets, willing Allah to use me in heavan, doors opening and shutting, showers on, envious am i. a kiss on someone who doesn’t remember who he is. I’m 35, I’m 23, I have 3 children, I think I love you, I don’t know the words to the song but oh can I sing it all day long, pass the subutex someone shield me from the tedium, the long full stopt hat is my mind. An mo and naz and bux and shaz and abdoul and yusef,. Dear dear yusef, the child the pied piper would tempt with glee, the boy with the big eyes that sees through earth, that was a smack baby at birth. And those girls in the corner telling me they liked my style and the ladies praying whilst I awaited my trial. And the hospitality and the dread. And the evenings spent reading with naught in my head I have to pretend that its all coming right, that I have to write. That I have to promise to control the urge, to find the routine, the illusive thing that will dispel these strange circles I’m caught in. and the snake imagery is back all around me, I am a snake charmer, haven’t you heard. I’ll come to your back door and pacify the herd. Friday night the nightmare came. I’m running I’m running, he’s here the caterpillar, he’s creeping in the corner, the 4th world war,the rover the rouse, I’m stationary and in the back on the car, he hits the windscreen rolls off the back, he’s round he’s angry he’s coming back. GET DOWN I sit with the same excuses, the same distress, the same need to transcend, but but but. Dragon man has decided to wash his hands of me if I can find the solvent to evaporate the stain but he doesn’t know the succession or the disgust of the pain. And mr mantle is clawing at my back, scraping the skin, hungry for blood, hungry to reach out hungry to find a ccure for the black heart yet all has now gone wrong, the past cannot enter the future yet I know not what that future is, how it exists or why I resist