to her dumbo

my kaffir is gross, childish, juvenile, adolescent...
but she calls you her husband anyway..
i say you are dumb,
she says you simplistic, logical and querky,
i say what big ears,
smiles fondly, as though reminiscing...
she says....

ears to hold you close..
ears to use as an umbrella in the rain...

shade in the sun..
tent when you are camping...
para-glide, parachute...

i guess my kaffir has got game.. the force is strong in that one...
i know that when my kaffir goes..
i will miss him.. miss his childish maturity, free spirit, one track mindedness, miss his deliquent tendences,
his entitledness, his map-kid attitude, his obsession with nonesense.. his love for his shine.. that blinds even himself... his drunk smoking clubbing nights, his non-sexual sexscapades, his self-centred reasoning..

dedicated to dj trixi, dj big-grey-car, dj i-do-just-house, dj big-lip...

nothing to offer but me ...

...candles for lights, chinese take-out, a book, millions of thoughts... maybe some music.. soulful.. would ask you to join me.. but i really don't like NO's and maybe's are like sour-jelly babies.. bitter yet promise to be sweet if you are lucky...
you see i want to write for you.. but i am not sure you will ever read... and if you do.. you might never figure out that you are the one that shaped the thoughts that guided this... what ever it is?
funny thing is that i know i will never know if you are the one or whether i am ambitious and pretty pathetic for even thinking i could be the one you'd want to be with..

I wish i was like sam.. full of life and daring and confidence..

I will explain.. he drank his first alcoholic drink.. says nothing happen to him.. after the first sip, we al waited .. the voice, mom, the dj, the dog, the town.. everything.. while the djs played loud music and woman and man danced, shouted and gyrated around us.. we waited.. NOTHING.. NOTHING.. AT ALL..
.........
Sam was first to speak.. "We are fine, you see.. "
Mom laughed... "that is how you father started..." That cut deep...
The voice said nothing at first...."and asked us if we were all ok.." We all started talking at the same time explain in a barrage of voise and sound.. how we are all ok.. the louder we spoke.. the loud clarence spoke to his friends.. as he celebrated not being drunk..

but what does this have to do with .. tonight.. and you.. and all the rest.. well.. i really don't know.. porkus brought it up.. so i reminisced a little..but to the point.. but this shouls also illustrate my escapist nature.. I run when I am not sure.. I am pretty scared of the dark… the dark being .. metaphoric … literally I am afraid of opening up to you because i have nothing but me to offer..

no riches, no ambition, no real direction.. no promise to be amazing, nothing.. coz of i am not enough..

sad right.. not wrist slitting sad.. just sad..

I can only write coz SAM is clearly not in this afternoon..

toothless....

the boys sit, talking and planning... little skits and rehearsals..
they bark loud, wag tails, dance the gig and hand out flyers..

We plot, plan, design.. words to be spoken..
then re-plot, re-plan, re-design, re-configure our strategy..
then we get up and dance...
our plan re-defined... we instruct each other... send each othet.. so juvenile so young so inexperienced; our approach is.. we are blind though.. read and re-write signals... yeses morph to nos... nos become common denominator...
Lights come on.. our tails wags high... we talk of could-have-beens and did-you-see... should-have-dones... and kaffir-pleases...

truth is... we are cowards, we have no bite, we hunt wind.. and have imaginary player shoes...

there is no water here...

WOW!!!!!

it is really sad when one can use the term drought for anything other than lack of water, right?
so i won't use the word drought..
i will just say...
my weather man has been on vacation for over a year now...
so don't blame me,
if i seem to keep reading the skies wrong...
these days it feels like i am always wearing a jacket in the blazing sun..
or a vest in the cold...
I do wish i could once again wear a raincoat and dance in the rain..
i tell you now,
this is how kaffirs
(I figure I won't ever use the word nigga again, it does not apply to me)
end up drenched and pneumonic..
then they catch a virus or something...
A hunter should always carry salt...

Welcome to Roguesville

It is very complex to explain how one can be so detached from himself, that he sees himself as a vibrant community of individuals.

So I will try my best to write out an adequate introduction to the Rogue's-Ville Community. As some of it, members will be writing their version of my thoughts...

The streets are littered with thoughts and words. Evolving with the time of day and the places the vessel migrates to or inhabits...

The Roguesville Community is as diverse as communities come... Picture a quiet lake-side town, little houses with mutli-bright-coloured rooftops, chimney pots, and narrow cobble-stone roads.

The SoulShack is a single-roomed Wooden Radion Shack. That plays an eclectic selection of music. Sitting at the crossroads that mark the Centre of Roguesville..Diagonally opposite the enormous Church building.. "Spiritual Home"..  The RadioShack is run by a Shark-Tale Type Dreadlocked, Snoop-Dogg Skinny, Schizophrenic DJ...

The "Spiritual Home" is run by a powerful quite voice.. One that says, corrects, pressures, advises, is the eldest, the disciplinarian, God's echo.. No one has ever seen the voice, yet everyone has been moved by it..

My mother lives across from both buildings.. Watching, listening, laughing, advising, shape shifting into each example she gives.. She is the fluidity of this world.. All in the community, know of her.. Try to please her or totally ignore her.. Some passers-by whisper of how she learnt as child how to send her voice.. And therefore think she actually is the Voice in the Spiritual Home.. Others believe she secretly runs SAM.. Loving him into the Man he has grown to be.. Warning him, encouraging him.. influencing him, Making him the listening, caring, loving understanding wise.. Deep biting, hard-hitting, man he is...

Sam, is a muzzled dog. Inter-breed of Great Dane, Bul Mustif, Rotwieller... His rules aren't written in stone.. Or written at all.. he cares for nothing.. is a free-willed puppy.. It is said he has never grown.. will never grow up.. Sam hunts, and Sam rolls over... Sam sits.. Sam never barks.. yet Sam barks... Bites... Maybe even breathe fire.. Sam never protects the heart...

Now for those of you really interested in this world...

Warning...