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Monthly Archives: August 2012

 

eloquence at its best from mr hoare and so pertinent to the historical spew of nonsense we have to crawl through on the current s.a scene…give me the present or future – the past is a cultural crutch for affirmative artistic invalids dying on development take aways eaten in 5 star restaurants whilst watching another episode of generations and staging the equivalent of winning a lost lotto ticket

 

lost notes

Whilst working in East Africa as a volunteer for VSO, I had occasion to visit the Hollywood club one Sunday night. At that time, 25 years ago, you didn’t see many dreadlocks on the streets as there were stigmas associated with the Mao Mao. Rastas were stereotyped as “Banghi Smoking Wahuni” throughout East Africa (Hooligans who smoked weed).

 

from the original 1925 manuscript version of his completed General Theory of Relativity to a postcard sent by Einstein to his ailing mother Pauline on 27 September 1919.

Written just after he had heard that astronomers observing the previous May’s solar eclipse in West Africa had seen “star displacements at the sun’s edge” thus reinforcing a key prediction in his developing theory, it says “Dear Mother, Good news today… N A Lorenz has telegraphed me that the British expeditions have definitely confirmed the deflection of light by the Sun. Unfortunately Maja has written me that you’re not only in a lot of pain but that you also have gloomy thoughts. How I would like to keep you company again so you’re not left to ugly brooding.”

“history is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake”

‘ God is a shout in the street.” ulysses

Piero Manzoni went towards the negation of colour altogether. Art he argued emphatically “should be totally white – or rather totally colourless – removed from all pictorial phenomena… a white which is in no sense a polar landscape, an evocative or even merely beautiful pictorial, a sensation or a symbol, or anything else of the kind; a white surface which is a white surface and nothing else… indeed, better still, a surface which is and nothing else: being.

 

American constitution Benjam Franklin was asked about how to provide best security for the nation. His reply was   “Any person who desires security above liberty deserves neither.”

But is this how it has to be? Does the artist really face a choice between losing their talent to drugs, or their edge to sobriety? in this country neither, you either bend over or kill yourself bending over backwards

 

 

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de Crack house

It’s strange how sickness feels so right,
as the only true reaction to any action.
when dreams and release are paid for in producing self-loathing amounts of crap.
because norms are heavily taxed forms to avoid.

response

oh contraire, no attack at all, and as much as i can surmise from what i feel no negativity…. only sadness from both my own and ….and our ilk s’ debacles. if art and the magic true artists spin are not meant to be infused, enjoyed and shared then i would keep my opinions to myself. if from your implication to my life and comments i deduce is a suggestion of the kind of world you would like to live in where we don’t care and celebrate or even weep and mourn and encourage each other, an emotive apartheid of real feelings then i guess its your choice…and the good ship  has finally hit that icy burg… but as another human being and feeling very close to those very same dichotomous alienating/pleasing/subservient/insecure and reclusive reruns of this tirade then no i won’t keep them to myself. yes i do think he enjoys his addictions as i do, we all do, how can you not. you’re entwined in a world that is able to knit together experiences and trances like no other…….its fuckin sexy, its the height of self everything,,,,its the perfect Fitcaralldo moment….but but… but… larger the unravelling of every precious thing you hold dear is the price. thus my ‘the greatest love affairs always end reflection’….reflection, better to have loved and lost, but better yet to lose the whole sense of being loved and in love with these kinds of obsessions than the indifference you have to sacrifice in order to attain them. personally i don’t thnk its worth it. not to anyone with anything to give and those of us, as … i believe, who hold such strange enchantment its a seductive and elusive and fleeting idea that can never materialise unless you jump back into the branches of that faraway tree to ground yourself and put experience into prose. it suiting him is metaphorical meant in no other way. but yes the suit is a size too small anyway if you would want to get into semantics….i’m a big boy now. and yes i have a lot to learn but not about the present at hand, it’s detonated and all that will be left is a once loved vision as residue

i’ll buy from you too

black dog bitter

in assuming you know who i am

i’m addicted to routine is it worse now on or off the game

it might just be except the same

things that used to happen

hurt so much more and handwriting mixed is as confusing as before

if i hold my pen into the night maybe i’ll sleep allright or just die tonight

still not the same it depends on flow, thoughts that won’t stand up in any court of law

fight the good fight don’t need no help

keep your hands up defend yourself

when flowers drown

 

a desirable case

desist – silent my love hanging

hangers..hangers on

resinging songs about singing

songs listening to songs

oh song

i’m always so very wrong

as the influence is stacked the case the case

a so sorry face from a distant place

we just ran

then to sit and listen again

they insist

i resist

 

i glimpsed into their liver

today i have seen

two dead lizzards

and cigarette effigies

sense of smell important but bad

i’m sicking up my sick

 

‘It’s strange how sickness feels so right,
as the only true reaction to any action.
when dreams and release are paid for in producing self-loathing amounts of crap.
because norms are heavily taxed forms to avoid.

I wish the world could just let go, and let me flow for a while.
I wish my armS were strong and could lift me up for a while;
to give my feet a rest from the ground.
to rather hang on to something touching it, than being near it myself.
Because the ground smells like iron
and iron smells like pain.
And my head hurts when I refuse to notice.

Hope you’re fine and hope you’re well
dvcxxewwqssvwhope you find a place where better grows taller than worse.’ some not or email from someone i cant remember

cars with a view

too many forged scripts  count on one hand not enough I guess I’m losing my favourite crying game but sunday night was an armed breeze filled with hills the astute sky the dip and dives the ants under the keyboards, laughter surrender says  a mighty truth for the warrior who wishes some finality over the sheets in the early evening..drunken tears spilt on stupid words we all prayed for a sunny day and we found it in glasses like summer us cope with our lives

Pity the fast word they warned not even the anorexic dog is denied the tension of these human wounds stomach aches with us all unite, I spill rebuttals I then have to clean  the bruises vacant up we never shift or forget we just indulge digest and regret…how fair the shift and how fair the fair?

I keep a mind journey that falls from control and those insults mean well  little well when I’ve given the here a better thought I thought too much and then betrayed the cds trying to be dvds we spun them on something that was meant here to stay and like those 8 tracks they still all go away

This fight on fight off fight the fight you figure it out you have to finally see that  I’ve made up my mind like the glass the windows see much more than me..i wrote my last note ive cashed in my last phone I spent 12 years smoking and digging that bone away a special piece of  how does the Cure sound?…oh yeah I made myself so sick.. I wish Id stayed asleep today

Wrapped wondering aloof in this special space –  a blue casio tone to approve

And sheer pleasure dances in circles as if by telepathy whilst rampant grumbles echo a sullen bed because  a head is trashed with lack of empathy

Beauty drips out the electrical morning for those lost loves

She kept asking for an opinion one she knew could never be found

And I  slipped down below her panty line Id like to approve your surrender as you bopped your head bowed in the most incorrect time….how?…fuck two fuck three fuck four lying on the floor

You were never mine

Shooting up rat poison, strychnine and arvs hoping for some smack somehwhere in this mix

i'll try anthing thrice

 

Car guards at the post office xolani thulani

Bail 27 august – mad rush

snorted then through the rest of the shit away

hoping xolani gets a suspended sentence and is back on the prowl tomorrow

don’t feel like the mission to the city

 

Sat in bank on a Monday with 50 pounds to my name in change

Etchings of pickwick papers

On the back

The queen in front so regal

But that didn’t make it legal to exchange

 

 

I forget the first in line

Was my best friend

We used to mingle in the park with the others all the same

I could climb trees higher

And had desire but that drive has left me ashamed

 

DREAMS OF

Durban cityscape at night

Future

 

Backing car over 20 schoolkids in uniform around 11-13 year olds

Black kids. Very black kids. Fat. Having to step over them to get out of car. Feeling their death. Eyes staring at me.

 

Being dropped off at a rehab which just consisted of shelves in cupboards where bodies were sleeping next to each other

 

Chased by wild animals in a 2dimensional scale

Flying along dover coastline on a bicycle

Being an ultimate victim in a nazi camp run by young ‘revoltionary teenagers’ in Germany setting up a ‘organic’ new world type society. Main street life haily tattoos addictions vile shite waste of space we are