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.

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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…

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.

what really makes good writing?

“If the writing is honest it cannot be separated from the man who wrote it.” Tennessee Williams

how we perceive or understand what we read is mostly subjective, right? it follows then that how we write is also subjective. good writingsome of us look for good grammar as a yardstick for good writing. others look for phrasing. others look at syntax. others just look for something. and we draw assumptions about the writer based on these filters. preconceived, learnt behaviours we might not even realise we have.

but what really makes good writing?

briefly, here are the basic characteristics of good, effective writing:

  • Good writing has a clearly defined purpose.
  • It makes a definite point.
  • It supports that point with specific information.
  • The information is clearly connected and arranged.
  • The words are appropriate, and the sentences are conciseemphatic, and correct.

Mike Consol captures this so aptly in his article: Kill the Euphemisms

side topic

many companies are recognising that it is essential to invest in good copy, read about  How Facebook had to go beyond robospeak 

the long shots: truth in comedy

the long shotsSo I braved torrential Cape Town rain on a Tuesday evening, thinking to myself, ‘this better be good’ and half hoping I wasn’t going to be one of two people who bothered to show up. Little did I know, the Long Shots have quite a following.

The Long Shots are an improvisation troupe based in Cape Town, takes impromptu to another level. Or so I was set to discover when I went to one of their once-a-month shows at the Truth Café on Buitenkant Street, Cape Town.

The Truth in Comedy show is made up of short and long form improvisation. All the sketches are unrehearsed and the actors simply make up action and dialogue based on the skimpy outlines provided by the directors and the suggestions thrown in by the all-too-eager audience. And the audience participation is what made the show special for me.

The sketches ranged from an interactive poem with the starting line, ‘ Jacob Zuma has 6 wives’ and ends with ‘would you give me weed’. You can imagine the chaos in between. To a multimedia presentation (with actors as the ‘presentation’) about the plight of the sloth in Kazkhastan presented by a Russian Professor.

Even when someone from the audience shouted, ‘Zimbabwe’ when asked for a title for film made in Korea, the actors launched into made-up ‘Korean’ with suitably hilarious English translation, as if there was nothing out of place with the combination.

Comedy is obviously a rather subjective art, there were some moments that were downers for me. But judging by the roaring audience behind me, there were definitely enough winning moments to say the show was a success.

This show was their first at the Truth Café, the Long Shots’ new home. They will perform here every second Tuesday of the month. The troupe offers a weekly drop-in class on Thursday evening, where anyone is welcome to have fun with improv.

Facebook page: ‘The Long Shots’ Improvised Comedy Troupe.

music and freedom

so you can imagine my excitement when i saw a poster for a freedom day concert at the City Hall (Cape Town).. the City Hallfreedom day concert is an impressive building, for sure… but what really excited me was that Paul Hanmer and McCoy Mrubata… Had no clue who Amaryoni were… the Moreira Project – somewhat an enigma for me, whenever I’ve been to a festival and Moreira is on the bill, I’ve somehow never managed to see them…

the thought of attending a City Hall Sessions brought memories of the last time I was there, in another wing of the City Hall building… watching Zim Ngqawana playing with Kyle Shepherd – probably his ‘farewell’ performance in Cape Town… a very special performance indeed.. This reminiscing mingled with memories of when I performed as part of an annual my high school  used to put on at the City Hall…

i digress,  so it’s with all these mixed thoughts that I arrived at the City Hall on Freedom Day…

pondering the fact that it is rather somewhat significant that Hanmer and Mrubata are able to perform in the City Hall on Freedom Day, considering that there was a time when they couldn’t share a stage because of the colour of their skins… never mind the fact that Crawford and Gugulethu are barely a stone throw away from each other… their heartwarming and energetic track, Johannesburg Mountains, a tribute to their working home, Johannesburg. Feya Faku on trumpet was a surprise!

speaking of surprises, Moreira Chonguica, was certainly a surprise… his lyrical saxophone, definitely something that stayed with him long after i’d left the City Hall… his crazy drummer, you had to be there!

of course, every struggle, victory, moments of peace, moments of discord, moments of protest are usually remembered according to the music of that time, Amaryoni, brought back that spirit and filled the Hall with their a cappella sound of songs freedom, of reflection, of remembering, of not forgetting… I was touched… transported to a time when as a little girl, a neighbour and his friends would entertain with renditions of freedom songs (at the time, I had no idea what significance these songs held except that the melodies and harmonies filled the space beautifully)…

thoughts: mirrored reflections..

then there are those moments when a reflection in a mirror catches my attention. just as i start to follow it. a shadow cowers over it making it hard to read the words underneath. we carry on…

mirrored reflections 2

listening to the music around us. until the next moment of clear silence comes around. We obey the beat inside and climb into it. Just we are about to reach the pinnacle of the crescendo. It starts raining. While frantically searching for cover. A window pops up, opens wide enough to see the other side.

random: unicorns dipped in magic

make ideas realideas are fleeting acquaintances that come and go as they please. meaningless with no follow up or proper plan for arresting them and turning them into reality. everyone can come up with ideas on tap. most things began as ideas, didn’t they?

some say the best ideas are conceived during moments of whimsical abandon. in rooms full of like-minded bodies, searching together, pursuing a goal.

but they lie, ideas are cheap without any logic in hindsight. they require rationale to work and grow into meaningful creations that can be consumed meaningfully…

here are some fleeting anecdotes that have passed through my head… lately…

unicorns dipped in magic

The silence you only get when it snows\unicorns dipped in magic\bumping into people who look like they don’t have homes\riddled spirits\incompatible figures\incoherent metaphors\comprehension in their eyes\means they tolerate the lies\toldwith straight faces\with no regard\for all the places\these hearts have been to\and back\hope still lives\and love will never lack\spaces to fill…

ideas are fleeting

Pens down\and the genie leaves the room\If you breathe\You won’t miss it\Arresting silence\(is not) tranquillity\Worth every cent\Ideas are fleeting acquaintances\They come and go as they please\Hardly bothering us much\Like the sun shines during the day\And the moon at night\Beautiful strangers who never meet\We consume\without question\

 

 

book o’ love: verses 2 – 5

book o love 12

Loving over a sandwich on a balmy spring afternoon

We spoke for the first time.

I’d been circling you.

Didn’t know if you’d noticed

Until that day.

We stood in your kitchen

Oblivious to the voices,

the bodies

milling around us

 

 book o love

3

First kiss

My 25th birthday

Encounters film festival,

Some theatre in town

 

I’d been waiting in pensive anticipation,

For my birthday kiss,

But when our lips met.

That first time.

That first kiss

Was like coming up for air.

I can still taste it.

Remember it.

 book o love 3

4

 

First hang out

20 October

Your place

I was on my way home from a stressful exam. I remembered that you said you’d be at home that afternoon. So I took a chance and knocked on your door.

I don’t remember what we spoke about that day besides the Johnny Depp movie that was playing in the background.

I was only just too happy to be in the same space as you.

book o love 4

5

First date

Band: Sun of a thousand blues

Somewhere in town

 

Nervous,

I think we both were,

Smokey room.

Drinks in hand

Loud chatter and music

Forcing you,

Me

To whisper

Breathe closely

into each other’s ears

 

That night, as we lay

On the floor

In your living room.

I could see stars

Through the ceiling.

 

book o love 6