on the radio: Telkom Supplier Development Programme

on radioLast week on my radio show, The Catalyst, on Network Radio SA, I was at The Bandwith Barn attending the inauguaral session of the  Telkom Supplier Development Programme.

I could write a long and lenghty appraisal of the Programme or you can just click here and  listen to me talking about it! I will definitely be talking and writing more about the Programme.

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i am no survivor…

French-Canadian singer, Madeline Peyroux sings:

“sticks and stonessurvivor

may break my bones,

but tears don’t leave any scars

so i’m alright”

these lyrics almost have me flipping to ‘Survivor’ by Destiny’s Child.

And I can’t help but think that

being a survivor

is truly overrated,
if you ask me(i know you didn’t but still, i’m sharing that anyway).
it’s a vain attempt to show the world our supposed strength.

that i-can-beat-anything, false bravado.
what does it even mean to survive?
who determines the degree of resilience?
heck, i’ve been through somethings
and most of the time, i like to fool myself into believing that i have successfully
survived those trying times.
how do i explain to myself
those moments when i simply cannot get up in the morning?
those moments when i simply do not have the strength to enjoy the sunshine?
does that mean i’m not surviving?

is that a sign of weakness?
when your body is so consumed with this mind-pain that is unbearably huge and seems insurmountable..
so really, what does being a survivor mean?
is there a badge one gets to show the world that i have “survived”?
i may walk with my head held high
and laugh with the world
does that mean i have survived?
i’ve never been a victim of sexual abuse as a child, or physical abuse by a partner or any of those things that get people gasping, speechless, fumbling for words of sympathy.
does this make my plight any less heavier?
well i believe it is completely acceptable to concede defeat along the way.
it’s alright to completely miss the mark some times, at the very least it makes life’s twist and turns seem interesting (laughable,almost)..

 

book project: lies = fiction

the story of you’s been walking around the world with me for so long, that i’m now lies and fictionafraid to let it go on paper.

you’ve been growing in my head all this time that i can hardly separate truth from lie from fiction.

i’m not me. i’m not you.

what about all the lies? were they part of the narrative of you? a way of escaping the unbearable reality called life.

multiple personalities? there must be, how else do you explain the intricate lives your character is juggling?

paranoia? afraid that someone will figure it all out. the fiction.

anxiety? well…

fear? hardly surprising considering the fictional living

all make for an interesting state of mind…

do the lies we tell, the small untruths, add up to the fiction of you?

if they do, then we are all born storytellers…

how much do I really know?

i discovered a word a little while ago, the word ‘smattering‘. Google defines it as:

smat·ter·ing

/ˈsmatəriNG/

Noun
  1. A slight superficial knowledge of a language or subject: “a smattering of Spanish”.
  2. A small amount of something.

i have always fancied myself as someone who ‘knows a lot, about a lot of things’ until i got whipped in the behind by a couple of situations. this got me wondering: how much do I really know? the only answer, i could come up with was, ‘stuff’.. you know, ‘life stuff’, ‘grown-up stuff’.

for some reason, i dared to imagine that i was ‘educated’ about stuff only because i used to have a ‘smart’ answer for everything.turns out smart responses aren’t really good indicators of how much I know. so now when asked, if I know anything about anything. I gesture hesitantly, ‘a smattering’….
smattering

magic series: inside out…

inside outSo many bodies,

so many hands that have touched.

Clambering to get away.

It’s like looking in a mirror.

All around me. These faces.

They don’t stop gazing. Looking.

Running doesn’t help.

Climbing walls to get away.

They are already in.

Groping.

Reaching. For me.

Inside.

Scrubbing doesn’t help.

Forgetting doesn’t work.

Climbing walls to get away.

Bordering on music.

I stop there.

Afraid to carry on.

Scared this beastly creation

would leave my body.

Exhausted. I toss and turn.

Tortured by visions

of where I should be.

The lies told to the minds which choose to believe them.

Sometimes we think we know what we want.

Then we get into situations that we believe resemble what we want.

As time goes, and we start exploring what we are in, we realise it’s not quite where we want to be.

Maybe we have changed our minds.

Want more.

Want less.

She is lying on your chest now.

Her body supposedly in this moment.

Her mind, however, is fighting demons.

Trying to forget the one before you

She lies there. Hoping your body will transport her, for a while.

She moans and groans. Hoping to drown any thoughts of him.

The other person in this room.

She needed a place to stay tonight.

Too soon to have another body in her bed.

Hasn’t even had a chance to change pillows from the last time.

She lets you touch her preciousness.

She feels nothing. But wants to you carry on regardless.

Tears streaming down her face.

The embarrassment.

He puts his hand on her chin.

Lifts up her face up till their eyes meet.

She believes what is there. 

Deep down in shallow pools of brightness,

As she tries to wash away the sad spread between her legs.

She hides behind her hands.

Her eyes cannot take the brightness.

She opens her mouth to protest.

Nothing comes out. She retreats.

He keeps on coming towards her.

His arms stretched towards her.

The brightness. 

‘Heaviness is shattering. Colour is lost in its folds’, these thoughts don’t leave her. 

She needed somewhere to pass time. 

No need for pity.

writer’s block

Behind closed doors..name in lights

They don’t get to see

the tears,

the sweat

that goes into pouring one’s soul onto the page

for the prestige

of seeing your name in lights.

Out in the open,

they see what I let them see:

the sunny disposition,

the right look,

the comedic pauses…

What they don’t know

is that when the sun goes down

under flickering lights,

doubt sows madness

leaving me wondering.

When I think I have had enough

the book closes itself

like water running

down to my outstretched hand.

Sometimes, though the anxiety leads me to poetry…

magic series: music

the hair on my arms slowly lifts as soon as the first note breaks the silence.music

my heart starts beating faster.

my breath quickens.

this feeling.

it grows in intensity with each bar.

as the solitary voice sways with me back and forth.

i can barely see ahead of me.

the tears, streaming down my face.

i can’t stop listening.

it’s got me.

the music.

got me bad.

it’s rhythm echoes left behind.

banging right through my bones

like the sound of rushing blood

until it catches a moment

in my throat.

lingering there.

i can’t help but sing along.

it’s got me.

the music.

got me bad.

sleeping under the same sky

got very excited at the prospect of seeing you.sky

when we did finally meet,

it wasn’t all tears as i had expected.

only a hint of excitement…

felt strange yet familiar at the same time.

hours passed…

days passed…

i felt your skin against mine,

your breath against my back while you slept…

reminded me of days gone by…

when it was time for us to part,

once again i waited for tears

but they didn’t come…

i head home with a heavy heart…

knowing that thoughts of you will haunt me till we meet again…

magic: melody, dancing and you

magicdancing..

swaying my heavy body to the hypnotic beat..

takes me to a far away land,

reminds me of a time

when i dared to dream.

dared to remember the cause,

the plan,

the goal.

moving

to the sound of music in my head.

the endless song

playing in my mind’s ear.

i wondered if,

you heard it.

i am hoping that,

you’ll like it.

that it’ll steal you.

give you a peek into another world.

another time

where

the plan,

the goal

all intertwine

and give birth

to a beautiful melody

of time with me and you:

magic.