Monthly Archives: Aug 2016

My True penny

I’m taking back my power.

I’ve got my ammo and my gun powder.

I’m not going to use it cos I’m more of a peace than a ‘fuck you -let’s bomb you to oblivion’ type of  person.

I have realised that  to allow someone who thinks nothing about me to have so much power to lure me into a paralysed state of persuasive perversion is:

 True insanity. I have my true penny and that is what counts.

I pushed him  away like a woman under attack –  I pushed  my lot away – until it formed blood clots on the insides – comparably sized to mounting a  herd of elephants.

unwilling to be ridden- trunks raised up, irate – exploding in  shouts.

I started to talk about what goes on in my head and my true penny told me that we all makeup scenarios in our minds, to make sense of the lives and situations we come across, in this world of an  uncertain,  never-ending skyline.

I thought I was losing it.

I thought I  was obsessed.

Turns out my brain works out  my issues based on characters and story lines and other  shenanigans.

Crazy?  maybe but creativity strokes  the  beat with a brush  –  I feel there is  almost a genius to be found walking on this fine line.

Swastikas and Reds are not my idea of interior decorating.

Tearing down my  walls.

One little Nazi’s thought is not going to make me come down to that kind of level.

I have my life.

 I am the queen of my disco.

I have retro  roller skates on .

 The sun is my Disco ball.  I’m on the rooftop, in the light-beaming under the  rays.

Not hiding in the dark, under the influence,an imposter.

A star that can’t twinkle, dishevelled – so shady – a back turns away –  It’s the one known as the  blue devil.

We are on two separate  paths –  I notice  the screams of a   shaken baby.

A rattle spins across the floor – Dummy dribbled with garbled spit.

I guess mommy is right when she says: ‘You always want what you can’t have’

It’s not infatuation, love or anything like that – This baby is  having a tantrum – she  didn’t get what she  wanted .

She  didn’t even get a maybe.

I’m done slithering  on my belly across damp floors.  Waiting for the next Gestapo, soot-stained  boot to squelch  me.

Turn out my guts until, all you can see is the insides of me- a sore sight of  limacine.

Phantom limb syndrome – I am back from the  war of past, oppressive obsession.

  I’m awake.


Nightmares were all I had to grieve over.

 I didn’t lose any limbs. Only my inner self- belief .

 I’m a china teapot lady – I’m done  trying to find happiness in a person who happily  lives  life drinking out of cups made of polystyrene .

 The present is my greatest gift.   I’m not wasting another second wishing on  dreams that we can be friends.

My heart is my greatest ally and foe. It makes me work.

Dwarves getting their hoes to do all the work – chasing fairy dust ,  axe- picking fights with one another, to grow in a place under a roof of  artificial light.

Genuine and melodic – true light – mountain breeze is the only place I will find a place to atone.

To make amends.

Let it go and go with the flow

I stand before the world smiling – unashamed – this is my show.





Longer post than usual

A song to get you through it. 😀

Where do I begin?

Right here, I suppose….

I never want to share my darkness with the blogging community. Well, what I mean is – I try to objectify my emotions when I write.

Turn it into  ART!

 Sometimes being creative just means no great ART display or flow of words but creativity means getting whatever is in my head and out of it.

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I want to be heard.  I am not invincible.

There is part of me that wishes I had one of those wind-up devices in me that didn’t just make me move, but makes me feel- the opposite to what I feel now .

That is not how this Blog began.

It began as a way to write what I wanted to put down and I have done that.

 Lately, I’ve lost a  certain joy in Blogging because I have been feeling  ashamed.

Ashamed ?

I am  trying my hardest to be everyone and everything.

‘I’m the success. I am making my life a success.’

That kind of mentality.

I get in such a blue funk when I read certain posts- that it brings me down in my mood to the point, I  can’t bear to read some posts.

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It is because I am in this nebulous place – no soft carpet on the bottom of the pit, my ass is numb, I can’t get comfortable.

I can’t seem to get out.

I put on my many masks.

I am looking at them now- I count 10 . Some look more exotic than the others.

Think, Charleston  Carnival Madness!

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I’m not feeling festive or even wanting to consume anything that could make me feel spirited.

The ones that truly know me –  are four people to be exact.

See ,  the true darkness  won’t let me smile ( look what I did!).

It spits phlegm  globules of doubts -splashes flecks of browns and greens  across my  eyes, my nose , my  mouth.

My outfit.

That obnoxious bus was never going to slow down. It saw me and changed gear and pushed harder on the accelerate peddle just because it could.

If I undress and leave all my clothes in a heap will anyone notice?

They might.

Will I actually be jolted into caring?

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It won’t let me – Let go.

My name is not Elsa or princess ‘whatever’- I can’t magic  giant  moving snowmen to show you the reason I am like this is because I may belong in a……..


I just don’t want anybody touching my body and doing an  autopsy.

In case I am still alive . That would be horrific, to say the least.

I hate writing stuff like this.

I want to be a ray of sunshine.

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I want people to feel uplifted and energised around me.

I never ever want to knuckle drag anyone down to this point where your  ass feels numb and well…

Dark ages Alert.

So I hide the extent of just how Stormy my mind has become. Why  hide how  wan I feel inside?

Dead,Afraid, guilty even.

I can’t even let go  of a past person -why?

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I want to open a present from my past.

I don’t want to receive my present – from this-this moment.

Because that person doesn’t want me for whatever reason.

Married, friendship . I don’t know.

I hate not knowing.

I loathe feeling like I have given up control to someone.

I look around me – I have  an enchanting, little family around me.

Remarkable  really.

People love me and people want me to flex my muscles and win the trophy.

I am doing it.

Fear or no Fear.

My heart has   clumsily absorbed much  blood.

 This blood has formed congealed clots. They nestle around my beating heart.

Become complacent – they don’t want to move.

How can a heart harden yet weep at the same time?


I don’t give up. I damn well feel like it.

Call it the stubborn part of me.

It serves me well in some cases.

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I’ve decided what I am going to write about for my MA  — well, the first part of it.

A script about a wife and husband dealing with the wife’s infidelity. There is a twist. It’s all in her mind. She is obsessed. A stalker of sorts. The husband knows. Why does he play along?  She is ill. her mental health is not great.

I want whoever grades it to go:

‘Blimey/ fuck/ by Jove!/ Oh my hat!/’  or whatever the fuck expression they use when they are impressed and go ‘  I didn’t see that coming.’

The  next 18 months is me putting in a lot of graft.

This  anxiety  corset  grabs at me -gathers me – pulls me into a panic attack. I want to breathe – but I have to keep hold of my form.

I am in armour – uniform.

To be formless is to be Ovid’s chaos- on the first page of  his  ‘Metamorphoses’.

The thing is if I don’t share some of my weight bearers, then, I wonder what is the point of writing my blog at all.

It is just like in the real world – if someone can’t accept me for me at my worst -why should they only be allowed to see me at my best?

There is a person who ticked the box:

I am not a robot.

 Me: typing these words.

I have body parts. So many emotions…..

 I want to always write something that will blow peoples minds away .

We are all different and what may blow one mind may not even touch  another.

So this is me waffling in type. Always stream of consciousness.

Don’t feel like rhyming or using fancy words.

I just want to feel authentic.

I want my spark back. I’m going to be a bad Prometheus and get me some fire!

I have an idea  – find a joke!

How bout this one?

  • The last thing I want to do is hurt you. But it’s still on the list.

  • Some people say “If you can’t beat them, join them”. I say “If you can’t beat them, beat them”, because they will be expecting you to join them, so you will have the element of surprise.

  • Always borrow money from a pessimist. He won’t expect it back.

  • Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be.

  • Whenever I fill out an application, in the part that says “If an emergency, notify:” I put “DOCTOR”. What’s my mother going to do?

  • . “To the man on crutches, dressed in camouflage, who stole my wallet … you can hide but you can’t run.”


Google – is  shit for jokes or am I really that down -I can’t see the humour in these jokes to really make me LAFF OUT LOUD!

Anyone know any good jokes?

On a lighter note, I am alive and I have not been looking at grave sites.

I know how to swim!

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Street life #soCs

Anno Domini, episodic moments of yore.

Excalibur sword wielding, mind-bender moments – mind your step and hit the dance floor.

Decadent, whisky on the rocks, Drugs fresh from the Durban harbour  docks.

Uncut,  fresh,this shit gets you in a state of euphoria that makes you a natural at dancing the charleston without spilling a sip.

Ice cool , candy flip – time to get a grip.

Eyes close, pass the ball to a fellow game player.

Eyes open – the dancefloor has become a  party of howling werewolves in clothes ,time to  shake hands with the new  mayor.

Heart palpitations – this is no comic strip . Pushing past the  furred crowd, talking animals in their lairs .

A hit of  oxygen to the lungs – knocks away  the culpable  house with its cymbal, progressive climb up the winding stairs.

Walk into a  potential crime scene – apparently, a runner  doing his job running – his boss not far behind him.

He falls to his knees – mercy -covers his head. A steely glint of a revolver aimed-  to the back of his head, ready blow him into Infiniti tum

Deities break out through the stars.  One last chance for this soul to retrace his steps and get creative, cough up not shades of red  but sprightly    hues of   fresh Mint .

Apollo  wakes up  long enough to gives the  thumbs up and then goes back to  a golden age of sleep.

The beats  will consume my soul again – this  vessel  will not become a  nazi graffitied derelict.

 Gulping  down sugary drinks.

Recovering from nearly hurtling  into a  trip- blindingly.

A mole hole, abyss-  deep.

Music, life is my school , my community , my church.

 The orphans , the lost , the ones called ET who wanted to have a place  to call home.

We had to put up with the freaks coming out ,once in a while – ogres, pixies,  a dreadlocked gnome.

Education doesn’t have to start in an institution called school with a ‘YOU must think this.’  mentality.

Where Black people are called  ‘Kaffirs’ – ‘they are simple’ – learn the truth early on.

Gunshot – start running at an age of  infantility.

The street life takes you around twists and turns.

Left , right , left again.

 HOW do you want to think?

Why do you think this way?

Drop out, dirty stop out, learnt more about how to protect myself – when I had to defend myself  against 5 skelme tearaways – half baked under a drug sway.

Wasted lives,

wasted dreams.

Time has been kind so it has been worth every second-  even the tortured screams that have come out from me.

The years have gone by – damaged ,


 played ,

player ,

yearned ,

yearner –

the most blessed scat cat to come out of the debris.





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