the deal

Nothing beats the discovery of love in tree houses.
With birds chirping all around, loud enough to muffle the sounds
that we shouldn’t be making in the first place.
We imagine ourselves in that other city,
In another world another time where no one knows who we are and
where we’ve been
Avenues lined with palm trees,
We walk hand in hand
Far from a life punctuated with uncertainty.
Nothing beats the feeling of stolen moments
Whispers in the dark, secrets sworn
Happy in the knowledge that we’re each other’s One.
With the prospect of marriage looming happily in our horizons
Mirages of a life we’ve been dreaming of for so long.
Well, that’s how we hope it is going to be.
He never escapes my imagination and I his.
He is presence and I am reality.
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magic series: i see rainbows

i see rainbows..

even when it doesn’t rain…

i see rainbows…

streams of warm colours

that tremble when touched.

i hear songs

harmonies of pleasure

that hum along over scattered rhythms.

i see rainbows…

and i remember

a time when i loved you

before you could bring yourself

to stop throwing up

at the sight of your face

reflected in the still waters

around our home…

i see rainbows

streaks of hope

between the ribbons of light.

and i wonder

if my imagination is enough

to carry me

to its ends….

the fly life

right now,
i wish i was a fly on a wall
on the sunny side of this building.
catching a tan;
or whatever it is flies do on walls
i’d sit and listen.
pick up dirty bits;
and hope no one swats me dead.
i’d move with the sun
as the day progresses
the fly life..
aah…

 

inspiration: how not to build ugly bird houses

“Ultimately, the tools that we choose for any purpose will only be as useful as our ability to use them effectively and to understand what their improved quality means to the way we approach our work (as well as the challenges that led us to seek out these new tools). You can buy a successively more costly and high-quality series of claw hammers until you’ve reached the top of the line, but until you learn how to use them skillfully, you’re going to keep making ugly bird houses.” – Merlin Mann, writer and creative thinker

inspiration: do not be angry with the rain

 

dont be angry with the rain

 

“Do not be angry with the rain; it simply does not know how to fall upwards.”-Vladimir Nabokov

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i love summer. i was born during summer. maybe that’s why i love summer. i love the stillness of sunlight. no wind. just warmth. bubbles of light. the sun goes down rather late (Cape Town summer evenings are spectacular).. the sun rises early. prompting and prodding an early start. polka dot dresses. sunny dresses. sandals – my toes relish the liberation. wet beach sand against my skin. cool breeze after the sun goes down.

or maybe what i love the most about summer is the mood. sunny means smiley. smiley means happy. happy translate to general goodness. wholesomeness.

sometimes the heat can be unbearable. and when it seems like the sky can’t take it. it rains. tears of relief.

inspiration for this post: saw the image featured here (and the title of this post) on A Small Press Life, a blog I follow…

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.

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.