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Monthly Archives: July 2009

Hesiod couldn't say it better

Hesiod couldn't say it better

I shivered through the night

A tangled bedsheet fight

I peeled across in dread

The crocodile that’s dead

We were knee deep in mud

Our faces flushed with blood

The traders were up late

when Helena met her final fate

don’t believe the spirits they’ll steer you wrong

don’t believe in sons of god they’ll just string you along

don’t believe the captives’ incessant screams

don’t believe in anything but in your dreams

I never had the guts

To heal my bleeding cuts

I would rather waste away

Than face up to what they say

We never figured out the plan

Of the levitating man

But his shadow followed us

Whilst we disobeyed their trust

Don’t believe the prostitutes who cry for sun

Don’t belive the desititute who lie for fun

Don’t believe my friends my foes my vanity my sympathy was strong

Don’t believe my empathy my disbelief is wrong

And in their burnt down lives

A disturbing realm survives

It threatens me awake

It warns me of Blake’s snake

Echoing green Eden’s past

And how this infant was miscast

Time is light but all in vain

For day she breaks but age remains

Don’t believe the shooting stars who promise love

Don’t believe in Romans, Jews or those above

Don’t believe the steeping steps, the metaphors, the devils whores are dead

Don’t believe their pleas, this world of theirs lives only in your head


revived and slightly more on the determined side, back from the grahamstown festival. Its strange how you can lose the spark the beezlejuice and then miraculously from a small walk under some lonely winter trees, a cold wind in the retina and a new brown hat remember a part of you that was once so single minded in proving something, saying something. I feel like I’ve been sitting on the chair for years, watching the backroads change from shadows to shelters to hostiles to statues./ I think I became a statue. Its quite easy in a way, you just sit very still, not saying a word, not engaging in fights, not embracing, not telling or being told. I wandered down on Saturday and saw nikhil coming up the road, just he and I old friends bonded by magic and spider monkeys and the melancholy and it felt good, it felt good too after the screenings to talk to those who felt something from the film, it made me feel something again, something alien, something alchemic, something that needed me to make more, take out the dentures and euthanise the black rat up my back. Try harder, pull the shackles of complacency and disinterest away throw them back at the wolves, switch back on the phone, wash my fingernails. Eat my daily bread, say a little prayer for all the little angels with all the big black hearts. The main direction now is to get Anthony, lars, nina, somebody, kasper anybody to steal a copyo f the film on beta so we have a film that is screenable and then to tamper away at a film print behind the shotguns back. I know I can write again, I know I can refine again, I know I can get it together and make another mountain. I’ve been busy tinkering away at a film with high hopes that it will come together. It involves kids and drugs and sex and aids and shopping mall parking lots and teachers threats and tow truck drivers getting head. We await the funding we wait a little longer, I am patient, I am a patient that’s sick for her meds but I can wait, the potions are in motion and I have the special xhosa clay statues that are thrown where nobody dares to roam cept i. Actually I was very ill, and in retrospect it felt good, it felt good because it was a real ill, a real sickness, a natural Achilles heal ed from vitamin c and the damage was not as precious as I once thought. The sun is up burning my eyes and the folders lying on the desk full of surmise. I’m supposed to go to a screening of a really horrible film with local celebs and this guy from prison break in tonight but thems the choices I have to start making. To go and swindle and talk up a storm to potential financiers of potential projects or sit on the chair and take in the stream. Do you ever feel that there are cameras everywhere. Do you ever feel that you’d like them there? I do. Doobie doo I do. So just for this morning all is right, just for this morning my pen will write, the wrongs will be kept for later tonight