Dusk is my Dawn


As the day grows longer,

Our shadows grow in stature,

Taunting the vanishing of the light,

The demons come to us at night,

Teetering on the precipice of sanity,

Swirling into the infinite abyss,

Longing for the embrace the shadows offer,

Yearning for the anonymity they afford.

The silence slipping in between words,

Giving life to social frivolities.

Maybe that’s where I’ll find the itch that lurks beneath my thoughts,

The imminent fall through the wormhole teleporting me to the tea party,

Where I foresee my ilk waiting, footloose and fancy free.

I have no rabbit to show me the way nor a spare oom from which to bloom.

I have only me, no tinkerbell teasing, enticing and tantalising me with that which others cannot see…

I yearn to be me.

Artwork by @marcomazzoniart 


True Natures


A duet of tumultuous storms,

Opposing ends of the earth,

Traversing the seas,

Their paths cross ever so swiftly,

Totally oblivious to one another’s existence,

They just are,

Trapped in themselves,

Two forces of nature,

Being what they were intended to be,

Nothing more,

Nothing less,

The beauty is in their truth.


AfrikaBurn: A Positive Oasis in a Sea of Negativity


It always befuddles my mind beyond comprehension, the way folks cynicism gets the better of them and resort to raining on peoples parades online, The Game of Thrones Sean Bean meme “AfrikaBurn posts are coming,” the “cue the AfrikaBurn Profile Pictures” or the “here comes the enlightenment,” statuses are about as stale as week old crisps… Are you unable to nurture your own original thought processes or are you simply wilfully oblivious to the fact that you’re about as common as the AfrikaBurn posts themselves? So, while you’re all crying “sheep,” which, by the bye doesn’t make you a shepherd, you’re just some other lambs from a more pitiful flock bleating into the digital abyss trying to be heard… I feel sorry for you and even though I vomit in my mouth at the depths of your creative depravity, I’d still give you a hug, because it sounds like you are desperately in need of one… Telling people they look gay, or that they look stupid in their sparkling desert ensembles or their tight leather and feather displays, just screams insecurities to me, as nobody, not one single person on earth, ever looks stupid while they’re having fun and with a smile on their face… I suppose that’s what makes you appreciate, in wonderment, what a truly magical oasis AfrikaBurn really is. As there’s none of this bullshit to put up with, which I believe, is why people venture on the great trek to the heart of Tankwa Town in the middle of the desert, to begin with… To escape judgement, from people like you.

Now, while I cannot stand the term “faith in humanity restored,” as it honestly makes my skin crawl… I would imagine that could be how some would describe their experience of their romp in the desert. Was I, albeit briefly, cleansed of the negativity running rife in our daily strife? Yes, that was until the Burn dust started to sprinkle into the digital domain and caused the disdain we spoke of previously.

Do I feel enlightened? No. Was it a life altering event? No. Do I feel rejuvenated? Yes. Was my mind blown? A resounding, Hells Yes! It’s just good for your soul.

Can you tell me of a place where people stop on the side of the road to assist stranded cars? Can you tell me where girls who are sitting in their vehicles applying the final touches to their makeup, put down their eyeliner and offer two strangers having trouble pegging their windsock tent down to earth, before you can answer they’re already holding a corner of the sail with a smile? A place where you’re on a dancefloor in the middle of nowhere, nearly a mile away from the closest form of structured assistance, you drop your car keys into the dust, an inebriated reveller takes the time to pick them up, take them to a ranger and have it returned to you within a day? Can you inform me of a place where cigarette smokers would rather keep their smelly cigarette stubs in their tracksuit pockets instead of just littering them on the ground? A place where two souls out on their morning stroll, coffee in hand, come to the aid of a couple struggling to wrestle their gazebo from the bowels of a voracious desert wind?  Can you show me where people put in months of hard god damned work out in the desert heat, so that your eyes may feast on a myriad of art displays, enjoy a ride on a mutant vehicle or whatever fancy your mind wants to tickle that day? Can you tell me where people go around mending broken bicycles from the goodness of their heart and offer a warm cup of soup while you wait, asking for only a smile in return? Where every musical preference is catered for? Somewhere you can literally paint your genitals gold and waltz around starkers, only to be greeted as though you’re dressed in your Sunday best? A space where you are celebrated for your individuality instead of being ridiculed for it?

Because I can and that place is called AfrikaBurn. I will forever hold a candle to the delight it brings to my heart.

A massive thank you to each and every desert fairy who made my dust stomping romp in the desert as wonderful as it was, played out your boots…

Much more than much love to you all!!!

x x x

Indiana Moans: Raiders of the Lost Likes


I love how people, ‘I love how people…’ Then proceed to bitch and spew out their own venomous vitriol about people bitching on social platforms; a space specifically designed for people to voice their thoughts and opinions.
As though their opinion is somehow superior to all else, beyond reproach, filled with moral fortitude, cannot be challenged, same same, but different, must surely get the most likes… Why on evolutions green earth do people attempt to put out fires by throwing another log into the flames, then get incensed when the fire rages as it engulfs the new fuel?

It’s what I imagine the special needs love child between Mean Girls and Inception would be…


There’s always going to be a selfie, a post, a viewpoint, timing or content of a debate that’s going to provoke your ire… But did you know, it’s not socially mandatory to attend or to take offense of every argument or point of view you’re invited to, well, unless of course you want to, that is?

*shrugs shoulders, emoticon indifference face, finger taps the tip of your nose*

Sometimes, you just need to leave people to do the ‘ridiculous’ shit they want to do, because we’re all pigs to someone, somewhere, in some way my friends and if we’re not allowed to roll around in our own shit sometimes… Then what exactly are we even doing here?

I am well aware of the fact that I’m passive-aggressively bellyaching, about people bellyaching, about people bellyaching, but you know what else?

Oink, oink.


(The irony was intended.)


Mudslinging for Change


Goodness grape juice, have I read a load of convoluted drivel on Facebook these past couple weeks…

‘Dear White People,’ ‘Dear Black People,’ ‘Disrupting Whiteness,’ ‘White Privilege,’ ‘Empty Rainbowisms,’ ‘Apartheid…’ Blah Blah Blah Blah… Crikey Moses do you say these things out aloud before you type or do your fingers pull a fast one on your brains?!? How on earth does the #ZumaMustFall march become an ‘Imperialist Agenda’ racist movement?!? Then the creampie of the whole movement, white people, chasing ‘likes,’ calling other white people racists and should accept that their white privilege is the root cause of the problems in South Africa at present!?! So, wait, let me get this straight now, ‘white people’ should apologise for Jacob Zuma the Chief Thief, being a blatantly corrupt incompetent nepotistic rapist of a patriarch, because Apartheid is the reason that he is raiding the coffers of our once proud nation, with impunity?!? Now I have really heard it all.

Damned if we do, damned if we don’t mentality.

“The problems facing South Africa go much further than one man or party’s corruption: they go as deep as the system in which you choose to see only as far as your ivory tower, and the conditional empathy that in the midst of massive human oppression allows your greatest concern to be one of land, an abstract idea of natural beauty.” – Disrupting Whiteness… This mewling quim of a community page should probably think about changing their name to Entrenching Racial Divides.

What a load of absolute hoggwash. I mean wow guys, honestly, pat yourselves on the back for being classed in the same IQ bracket as our esteemed el Presidente… I guess hollow minds all echo the same noise???

I can only hope and pray that the masses behind the #FeesMustFall movement are all qualified Economists or are on their way to be qualified as such, if this isn’t the case, then hopefully it’s not too late to change majors and I strongly suggest that you consider it a prerequisite in order to understand the national financial quagmire we have found ourselves in. Maybe then your infantile brain capacity can get to grips with the ramifications of the Presidents actions, as not being a ‘White Problem,’ and rather see it for what it is, as the national alarm bells ringing: emergency!!! It doesn’t take a Phd in Astrodynamics to understand the public well is not infinite, although that’s just my ‘privileged’ opinion.

Educate yourselves:









How can we possibly not be unified in our revulsion for an astoundingly inept and morally corrupted President? While we all may have our different viewpoints, differing agenda priorities, our overall goal is one and the same. We all strive and deserve to have a fully functioning society, a strategically astute fiscal policy and a proper functioning economy. The current ANC, lead by Jacob Zuma as a Government, is not coming good on their promise to provide these standard Public Service deliverables. That is politics and public policies, my friends, not ‘racial discrimination.’ They are failing the people who put them in power. I’m not too fazed if it’s the ANC, IFP, EFF, DA or whomever else rises to the helm, as long it is someone imbued with integrity, virtue and has an incorruptible moral fortitude with the well being of the people at the forefront of his mission, instead of serving the need of his own pockets. Would that not be a refreshing change for us all? We can then address reforms and reconciliations between our differences, safe in the knowledge that we as a people and a nation are in sound hands.

Is it too much to ask to be unified just once?? Just one fucking time?!?!? Does racism, reverse racism, racial privileges or anything of the sort really have any place when it affects us all, the impoverished bearing the full weight of the governments actions?!? Grow up and focus on the whole for once in your confounded lives instead of your own separate agendas…


The Bloodhound: An Anti-Hero Short Story.


Is it weird that I dream about a psychopathic ex-Navy Seal, Green Beret, Dexter-esque type of character… A tiny bit tweaked in the head from being in the throes of an unjust war, unable to shake off the horrors, but secretly still longing for the screams, the blood and torment of it all. Battling to find his place within civilian society, fighting his urges to create his own personal war and start killing again… Until a kind-hearted, yet also knows that sometimes there are necessary evils in the world, tech-billionaire steps in to give his thirst-for-blood-addled brain some much needed guidance and direction.

A German pointer type fellow, using his massive fortune to triangulate and fund missions of paramount importance and utmost humanity…

The first port of call for my/our anti-hero, The Bloodhound (I think this name fits best), he’s parachuted into deep China: Mission Fuck the Fur Fuckers on the Fucking Fur Farms. He gets in there stealthier than your girlfriend going through your text messages when you’re not looking, they stood no chance, all they saw was a glimmer and the next thing they know is they’ve woken up strung up by their feet. Slowly their minds trying to come to terms with the fact that all of them, each and every single one is strung up by their feet, nobody escaped, nobody will come to their aid, the horror seeping in, one by one on a long clothing line of all the dirty washing in this world, their naked bodies blowing in the wind… The Bloodhound has come to clean up and feed his thirsty beast within, his twisted passenger clawing to the surface to be seen. His inner Shylock, acting as Judge and Prosecutor, in his self-styled Kangaroo Court, demanding their penance be of equal weight to their inhumane crimes. A glaze comes over his eyes like a storm rolling in over the ocean, dark, rumbling, angry…

“Right you disgusting vermin, you’ve been charged with the indignant and inhumane slaughter of these precious creatures of the jungle and the sentence is eye for and eye,” bursting out an unrelenting wicked laughter “muuuuuhahahaHAHAhaaaaHAA!!” He starts with the first one, cutting the skin near the ankle and yanking it free, tearing it from the limbs while whistling: “I’ve Been Working On The Railway All The Live Long Day,” as he peels them like grapes. Squeezing their heads between his knees to steady the body for harvest on those who are hampering his work on a clean cut, “stay still, I don’t want to mess up the look of my garments for fuck sakes,” their blood curdling screams are heard for miles, the birds and animals of the surrounding forest squawking, howling and barking in response. But there is nobody coming to help, nobody to stem the tidal wave of pain raining down upon their limp bodies, wriggling in vain to get free, vomiting, pissing and shitting themselves as they wait for their turn… Knowing their impending doom, knowing there is only one outcome… Feeble attempts for mercy, begging, crying only being met with a swift boot to the temple, followed by, “will you shut up, I’m trying to work here, have to meet quota by days end.”

Once The Bloodhound finally peeled the skin off over these ’animals’ heads like he’s removing socks from their wriggling bodies, their naked bloodied carcasses are thrown into a pit with their brethren who have met their demise before them. Some are still breathing, choking on their last few pathetic attempts at living, blinking maniacally. Their central nervous system is trying to comprehend and make sense of what has happened, it’s no use, the adrenalin in their bodies has run out, they’re in shut down, the computer says no. Some of their hearts are still beating after ten minutes, which brings The Bloodhound great joy, that they have battled this long to bear full witness to the outcome of their crimes… When the last of the bodies has been harvested and tossed into the pit, The Bloodhound takes his seat, The Hulk returning to Bruce Banner, starts stitching bedding and floor sheets for Fox Dens and Rabbit Warrens…The birds coming in to peck at the leftovers and the warnings left behind for the next Fur Farm that decides to spring forth. What a gloriously productive day, The Bloodhound his thirst quenched, his heart full, skips off into the sunset onto his next quest for nature.

*Camera pans over the dark African continent, zooms in on The Bloodhound* he’s running, on the chase, tossing brushes and thorny branches aside like flies… He’s in pursuit, he can smell their fear, the noises of cracking twigs and the rustling of the leaves on the forest floor bed guiding him on his quest, his thirst is back, he’s almost upon them, he can feel it in his bones, the hairs on the back of his neck erect at the thought of what treats lie ahead… Africa: Mission Fuck the Fucking Rhino Poachers in their Fucking Poes. Armed with a ninja star, a couple throwing knives, a taser and a grapefruit spoon (because he’s cool like that) aiming to stun, not to kill, he’s found them.

There’s a “whiirrrrrrr,” in the air, followed by another and another, then “Crack!” “Boom!” “Bang!” The stealth night insurgents navigating their way through the air daggering their intended targets… The ninja star inserts itself in the neck of one, he’s down, disarmed, useless. The throwing knives, like two terrible twins slicing through the silence of night air skewering their targets, one in the back puncturing a lung, the other in between the rotator cuff, they’re down… The one poacher tries to use his free arm in a last gasp quick draw on his pursuer, but it’s too late, The Bloodhound, like a panther in the night has already stuck the taser into his armpit, the electricity coursing through his body, as he lies convulsing on the ground. The chase is over, they stood no chance. Let the harvest begin.

He tie-down roped them, formerly known as calf roping, the classic old west ranch chore, casually checking out his watch to see the time it took complete, “damn it, a few seconds off, the next batch will be better,” he muses. Time to get to work. With one strategically placed boot on the tied wrists, a knee on the chest and using the palm of his one hand placed on the forehead of the first poacher, forcefully pushing the head backwards, firming it up against the ground, to avoid any interference with the duty to follow. The Bloodhound then takes the grapefruit spoon out from his pocket, the eyes of the poacher wide open, the endorphins of fear kicking in, in fear of what comes next…FYI: A grapefruit spoon is a utensil usually similar in design to a teaspoon that tapers to a sharp edge or teeth, the intent of the front serration being to separate the flesh of a grapefruit from its rind. The Bloodhound then starts hacking away at the poacher with the spoon, trying to separate the nose cartilage from the face, trying to uproot it entirely, to keep its shape, humming “Shosholoza…Wen’ uyabaleka Kulezo ntaba,” while he works his artistic talents. The gargled noises emanating from the poachers mouth, as the blood makes its way to his lungs while he tries to breathe through what’s left of his nose only makes The Bloodhound laugh, it amuses him immensely, “Hahaha what are you doing you muppet? You have no nose, stop doing that, you’re making me laugh and I’m trying to work here, ne?!?” Their muffled screams only bring in the animals of the night, inquisitive to see what may be left for them to finish.

Once The Bloodhound finished his art class on the three poachers, he lay them next to one another admiring his handy work, beating his chest and howling at the sky. He then lay in between the two, one on one side and two on the other, whipped out his selfie-stick and took a memorable photo to post on Facebook, captioning it with: “Hahaha I just defeated three Voldermorts with my bare hands, will the real Harry Potter please stand up?!?” With a disclaimer saying: no animals were hurt making this photo, baaahahahaha, get it?!? He then posted the three poacher noses off to a Zoo in China with a note reading:

Dear Zoologists,

I have enclosed three poacher noses, I heard somewhere when you grind them up and sprinkle the remains over Panda penises they work as a great aphrodisiac, a Panda Viagra if you will 🙂 Try it… If it doesn’t work, fuck, sorry, I tried.


The Bloodhound


*long sigh* If only there were super heroes like this in the world and not only living in my head, instead of the pigs we’re left with (no offense to pigs)

AfrikaBurn: Au Revoir Reality, Hello Insanity.


AfrikaBurn, good lord, you will burn baby, baby, you will fucking burn… I keep waiting in vain for the dust to settle inside my head and for the beats in my ears to finally fade. It’s been a few days, guess I’ll need to wait a little longer to shake the shackles of the desert from my fragile bones. This year was my second trip to Tankwa Town, I attacked it from a different angle, well, so I thought, but really it just attacked me from a different angle.

For those of you who have never had your desert burn virginity popped then let me break it down for you. If you are driving from Cape Town then you are in for a 6hr trek to the heart of Tankwa Town in the Karoo, don’t even get me started on the trip from either Durban or Johannesburg, it’s too much. You need to pack everything and I mean everything, there is absolutely nothing provided for you, except a few long drops and whatever other desert gypsies have gifted to the masses… But do not count on much, take everything you think you could possibly need. A lot of people seem to think that you barter for things there, let me quash that notion immediately, you cannot trade goods nor is there anything to buy there at all, it’s survival of the most equipped. But let’s skip ahead to the nitty gritty, shall we? Let us skip passed the fact that once we arrived, after our perilous 16hr drive from Durban, and while I have strenuously driven home the importance of all our gear during that time, my partner in crime pours us two drinks and packs two bottles of our four bottles, for our 48hr desert jol into our back pack… When we go to pick the backpack up, sitting on the front seat of the car, it’s soaking wet… “Ahhhh no, what the fuck happened here?” *opens bag* “You packed the fucking bottles into the bag with no lids on them, you fucking muppet!?!?!?!?” So, two bottles gone, along with the backpack within the first 15min of arriving, “Stop shouting at me!” Front seat also now smells of tequila, vodka and ginger ale *winning* Which will mean that the car will smell like a bar with no windows, left in the baking sun to ferment for a couple days, just in time for our delightful return leg *jumps for joy at the thought* The ditsy barman tries his hand again, this time pouring another two drinks and packing them into the cooler box instead… I think we all can guess what the fuck happened next, right?!? Yup, he packed those bottles into the cooler box with our ice and some food stuffs, with no fucking lids on either?!?!? 20mins in, 90% of alcohol brought along all gone. Honestly, all I’m thinking at this point is chopping him up and putting him into the cooler box and gifting it into a hole in the desert. A far cry from the smooth set up of the first year, with the help from Matt Botha, the Antarctic Expedition Human Seal Specialist setting up base camp with all amenities quicker than it took the two of us to fuck everything up this year around, lesson learnt.

Moving along swiftly, once you’ve set up base camp and started your excursion towards the Binnekring (the centre for all the activities, artworks, themed camps etc) the first year entering was overwhelming and an eye opening experience, the diaspora of creatives who adorned the desert was truly a sight to behold, the abundance of talent on display was incredible, the imposing artworks standing tall towering over all those revellers below… I was amazed. You do seem to question some of the people there, although they don’t like it very much when you do that. There was a rather pretty looking girl peddling in her birthday suit through the desert, after she had passed me by a few times we eventually had a candid chat where I asked her, “I think it’s wonderful that you’re letting it all hang out, but I hope you have a shower here… It’s poes hot out and the front wheel of your bicycle is just churning dust towards your nether regions, essentially turning your vajayjay into a mudflap. Surely, it can’t be comfortable?” Now, I know this was probably not the best insight to ask for, but in my current state of mind, I was genuinely curious *she glances down at the dusty bush patch where her vagina resided, then back up at me* “You’re kinda ruining my burn,” I did apologise, “Sorry, otherwise you well?” She peddled off, to what I’m hoping was a shower oasis. Girl who I don’t know, if you’re reading this, I meant no harm… I honestly wanted to know if people were cleaning their shit there, you were a delightful treat to watch. Another prime example from last year was a girl, clearly having the time of her life, which is wonderful, truly it’s wonderful to see… It’s just that, I saw her before lunch, naked, cruising around in her boots that were made for walking in the relentless heat, then I saw her again later in the afternoon, still naked, then again in the night time, naked, cruising around in her boots. It’s really, really, really very hot there and ummmm, she had a natural vegetation from the 80’s protecting her goods from the dust, but I did mention the heat, hey?!? Anyhow, some shirtless dude put her on his shoulders later on in the evening… I’ll just let the mechanics of  that simmer in your head for a moment or two. I puked in my mouth a little bit. Hey, I love nudity as much as the next guy, but come on, even the fucking bushmen protected their junk from becoming mudflaps. It’s science.

The second year, eh, it was alright. I’m not just saying that because I had seen it before, the artworks were a little average in comparison to the year before, they really could have and probably should have brought a little more to the event in that regard. That being said, there’s some trippy shit out there my friends, at the most random of places too… Come Dine With Me, basically seven people stand in this box and pop their heads through these spaces only to pop into this magical dinner setting and lights and candles and immaculate china and, and, and it was a weirdly wonderful dinner setting for heads, we also set off with our dinner mates, whom we just met at the table, for the rest of the evening to stomp our feet at The Lighthouse, my god The LIGHTHOUSE was insane, best vibe station there this year by a landslide!!! That is the beauty of AfrikaBurn, you meet people who are so welcoming and open to forming friendships, it’s a treat talking to strangers. Last year we had the pleasure of the Ledheadz Bus, where I was found dancing for hours on end like I was instructing a Zumba-Jumping Step Class at Virgin Burn, hugging anyone and everyone with the loving embrace of a soldier returning from war who made eye contact with me, whether they liked it or not, throwing out “I LOVE YOU’s!!!” with reckless abandon. Ahhhh what fun we had, sharing the dust kicking soiree with okes in budgie smugglers, trying to fashion their bottom lips into helmets whilst chewing on their bubble-gum disguised as cheeks, the herd of little naked midgets stomping in a circle humming I wish I was a little bit taller and no jocks, thank god, no jocks, boet. The kids looked like they were playing that game where you try hop, skip and dodge the cracks on the side walk, except in this case the cracks in the pavement were the cracked adults dancing in the face of the machines called to arms by Morpheus.

“I think I may have completely lost my marbles and I’m making no attempts to gather them. One might liken it to herding cats in the shadows of darkness, although, I shan’t be taking up such endeavours at this point, as dusk is about to dawn soon and I think I shall prefer howling at the moon.” – I found that little gem in my phone notes from the Friday night, while the jar of onion marmalade posing as my brain was trying to navigate my bike through hard sand and then soft sand and then rocks… Couldn’t work out if I was actually going through sand or my mind was going through a time warp.

When it starts reaching beyond the witching hour and you think it’s time to retreat to your tent, who thinks it’s a fun time to start playing Hide ‘n Seek, those masterful little sneaky fucker tents are rather good at the game, so, be aware of that. You may as well stop off at your newly found friends sites en route and 5am is as good a time as any to listen to Gums ‘n Noses and delve into our reason for being on the planet, the cosmos; listen to Rucha Right Now by Fatboy Vim and tackle the pitfalls of modern day communication, water shortages, the state of the nation, solve famine and eradicate war all in a matter of hours of free unadulterated speech and preaching. Except, when you get down to the brass tacks it’s just a bunch of white folks paying an obscene amount of money to starve, go off the grid, smell, live like peasants, clean up after themselves and bleat about calling it an awakening. Once you’ve tired yourself out from outlining the first draft mandate on the survival of the planet and all its peoples or if you’ve just simply had enough of the erratic garbage people are now spewing forth at this stage of the game, then it is time to tackle the most difficult part of your time at burn… Sleeping.

So, now you’re battling through your sleep, your eyelids are heavy weights that don’t seem to be a burden to bare for your thoughts, your tent has turned into the exorcism chamber for your demons of the night before, the sun blapping you on your forehead saying “wakey, wakey, time to rise and whine!” You’re sprawled out like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, just less balanced, half in your tent, half out trying to summon any kind of breeze Gods or nestle into some semblance of shade… Then my friends, then, then comes the dreaded Desert Shit Fit.

You will ALL have one at some stage, it’s inevitable, a rite of passage if you will. Mine came last year, on day 3 of sleep deprivation, Portuguese showers and when that slimey jol bug starts grumbling in your tummy… I was trying to sleep in my heat chamber when it hit me like a Tyson punch to the gut, so, you get up forlornly and trudge over to the now steaming shit pits awash with a swarm of flies… You’re trying to find the least disgusting one or one without a Red Flag (red flags, well, there’s too much human excrement in there so move along) retching and farting, squeezing your cheeks together, when you just cannot anymore. Finally, taking your seat on the Lord of the Flies Throne overlooking the dust, your colon working like someone slipped waterproof fireworks into a soft serve machine and you’re now resembling the poster child for the UNESCO adverts… Life is so super kiff at this point. You finish your business, ‘flush’ the shit pit with some sawdust, skulk back under the suns microscope from whence you came and begin the bitch fit:

 “What the fuck am I doing here?!? Really?!? This is bullshit, these ‘toilets’ are fucking disgusting never in my fucking life?!? I paid A THOUSAND RAND FOR WHAT?!? Hey, for what?!? There’s something like nine to ten thousand people here, that amounts to almost nine to ten MILLION FUCKING RAND to dig a few holes, provide you with some sawdust and burn a few things?!?!? Really?!? The very least they could do is plant some grass or some trees or some shade or something. This is a National Park, a National Park of what?!? Rocks?!? Burn this place down, oh, wait, it will still look the same afterwards. They say they help this and help that and this costs this and that costs that, but who reads it hey?!? Who?!? It’s about as useful as the iTunes Terms & Conditions, nobody reads that crap, they’re robbing us blind!!! These people are supposed to be civilised, are you kidding me, all these fucking desert gypsies living in these deplorable conditions make me want to vomit, I hate this place, I hate my life, I want to go home!!!”

But, you finally calm down after tiring yourself out and lying in the shade parallel to your car sucking your thumb. 3pm comes along and you make yourself a Yakka and get back on that horse, because let’s face it there’s fuck all you can do about it… Join in or die a little crying baby in the sand. When you walk into that Binnekring again, seeing those smiles, the cheerful greetings by all the wonderful people passing you by, the genuine concern for their fellow man, the sunsets, the vibe, then nightfall comes and you’re catapulted into this mystical wonderland with miraculously gorgeous visuals…

“Fuck, I love this place, it’s incredible… Never in my life have I seen a place like this, honestly I never want to leave.”

AfrikaBurn, is a magical place, filled with fantastical moments and forming friendships of a lifetime. In the midst of my bitch fit, a friend said to me, “you know what? this is one of those experiences that you don’t know how incredible it is until you have time to reflect on it later.” My mind has digested the desert and I’m not going to say it’s life changing, I didn’t have an epiphany, my mind wasn’t altered, it didn’t change any of my life mantras… But what I can tell you is the friendships born when Thor drops his hammer with a sandstorm is where best friends are made, the hugs you give and receive will last a lifetime in memory, the gorgeous desert desserts your eyes feast on daily are more than words can describe, the scantily clad assortment of beautiful people, the community and genuine love people have for one another is a lesson that hopefully can spill over into our daily lives, the time and effort spent into making the whole experience what it is, is a labour of love. I cannot make you go, but I implore you, before you make your uneducated douchebag snide remarks like “cue the burn statuses” or “here comes the photo’s of AfrikaBurn to clog my newsfeed” or “here comes the enlightenment” to at least try it once… Don’t just stand there and watch us Burn.

I will forever look back fondly upon my time spent in the sand and will happily find my way back to the dust…

Do’s: Hug thy neighbour, help thy neighbour, open your mind to all that’s on offer, get a Bedouin, take a bicycle, dress up, view all the art on display, sleeping pills, be prepared, enjoy yourself!!!

Don’ts: Be a dick, hate on others’ version of a good time, think it’s a walk in the park, have the wrong attitude, leave a fellow burner in despair.

Subtitles To My Heart


Sometimes I miss you more than I should,

Sometimes I wish I would forget about you if I could,

I find myself waiting to stop caring, but the moment never arrives,

It’s the cross I keep on bearing.

I’m not sure if I want it to or if I do,

Our intermittent meetings send my heart aflutter,

Then the best I can muster just comes out a stutter.

Sinking into wafts of your aromas,

Making me feel I finally found where home is.

If only you could read the subtitles to my heart,

I feel that’s the only place we could start.

Inspired to pen by the film Her, Spike Jonze for the win.

Wherever Your Travels May Take You


Wherever your travels may take you,

Be it Mars or the distant Pluto too,

And whomever tries to get you down,

Know you can always turn to me to ease your frown,

I promise there shan’t be any malice in my gaze,

For my eyes will be soaked in a misty love haze,

You’re the ice in my tea to soothe summers’ melee,

The winter warmth that fills me with inner glee,

There will be ups and downs and all arounds,

But no better person to hold my hand on the merry-go-round,

Through the darkest night and the brightest dawn,

My affection for you shall never be torn,

So sing in the sunlight and dance in the moonlight,

Safe in the knowledge my love for you will never take flight.

I wrote this in my brothers flat in Cape Town, over a romantic McD Happy Meal, it’s the first and only sonnet I’ve ever attempted.

The Beating of the Feathers


I think I’m ready for my next great love,

A message sent from within, on a little grey dove,

Past fleeting endeavours, fade away with the beating of the feathers,

Views eschewed given birth to a passion renewed,

Whereas before love was labelled a liar,

Now standing tall, a raging desire, evoking feelings of fire!

Acquiescing to the entreaties of the heart,

Oh my dear, where o’ where shall we start…

I was inspired by the film The Perks of Being a Wallflower to write this, loved it!