The Mongoose in the Shadows


A dalliance with the twisted misfortunes of darkness,

Deep beyond the far recesses of my mind,

Thoughts twinkle toe around the raindrops of happiness,

Hiding every snarl with a smile,

The mongoose in the shadows where the snakes slithered by,

Suffocating the flames to draw the wolves in,

Madness is the clarity I seek,

When all other personalities run weak.

Written after engorging myself on Season 1 of Hannibal


An Ode to Ives


There’s a silent mystery about her,

Something quietly whispering secrets beneath the surface,

The soft tickle of deaths sickle.

The sea anemone to my brain, like the moth to the flame,

My enquiring mind trying in vain to manufacture the Skelton key to her thoughts,

Catching glimpses of her soul flowing through the shadows,

My curiosity trust falling into those meadows,

Overcome with nyctophilia… Tell me, what’s the deal here?

Inspired to be written by Penny Dreadful’s Vanessa Ives’ character, I’m in love.

You Truly Are a Queen


You truly are a queen, a vision conceptualised within a dream,

Although I may not be the prince to sweep you off your feet,

I have but one wish and that’s for us to meet,

A friendship born from a meet-cute with such a beauty,

Will not be cherished lightly, this shall be my fealty,

Tears been seen falling from your face,

If it were up to me the perpetrator deserves a bottle of mace,

Your smiles are all I care for, after all that’s what your teeth are there for.

Spread a little love today, everyone needs some x

If DJ’s Were Chefs


Back in the day, I used to mix my own basil pesto at home using a pestle and mortar, I sliced a mean julienne vegetable and tossed it all together with an egg tagliatelle… Everyone loved it, I even sprinkled parmesan over that shit to finish it off, which I grated MYSELF, I’ll have you know. It was a culinary art form.

I used to carry all my gear around to and from people’s houses, doing my thing for them in their kitchen, delighting taste buds and blowing minds. Do you know how heavy a fucking pestle and mortar is?!? It’s made from solid rock FFS!!! Nowadays, any regular Joe can just buy the ingredients from the grocery or farmers market, throw it all together in a pot and pan and voila it’s done!!! They’re not even mixing the pesto themselves!!! It’s like people just don’t care anymore, they just buy the stuff off the shelf at the same supermarket that everyone else does, that everyone has access to, anyone can be a chef and enjoy themselves these days?!? Now, because these new pseudo chefs are able to do it easily, their friends are inviting them to cook in the very kitchens that I was mixing pesto in before?!? How can they call themselves Chefs when all they’re doing is turning knobs on the stove and tossing a pan every now and then?!? It’s not right, we’ve lost this art form. Nobody has paid their dues like us, the chefs of old… Before the grocery store made it available to everyone, back in the day we had to source the ingredients at different artisanal grocers.

Okay fine sure, it does taste pretty similar, everyone does kinda like it and it’s a little difficult for the untrained palate to tell the difference between the meals… But still, it’s the principle.


Written to take the piss out of DJ’s who keep bringing up ‘When We’ stories… When we first started we had to carry all our records all over the place… When we were trying to get gigs we had to work for it… When we wah wah wah…

The Battlefield of Love Fought with the Thorns of Roses

image1 (2)

Love, what an odd little emotion it is… It has the propensity to, in one fell swoop, knock the senses from our brains, momentarily discombobulating us. It shapes our lives in ways that we never thought possible and in some ways, that shouldn’t have been possible. Being a serial relationshiper in my younger days, a true sucker for romance… in every sense of the word, my life has been steered in all sorts of directions, some good, some bad, some silly, some strange… Ahhh, the folly of not being able to see in retrospect first. Now, it’s not that I regret any of them, because of the friendships and experiences that have enriched my life, blossoming from those “loves.” Though some things could have been avoided perhaps. It also shapes your perspectives on the subject too, I no longer fall head first into it, I no longer let myself go, I am far more cautious and selective with whom I spend my cherished time, I no longer believe in giving people too many chances, I am far more stand off-ish in my older years; even though I have a lot of love to give (I pretty much hug everyone, boys and girls alike, no gender discrimination… For inappropriately long periods, so they know they’re loved, I mean… Handshakes are for strangers) and this has become far more prevalent with many of the friends I know. Not that it’s a bad thing, I believe I’m a little more self-aware, of what I’m prepared to give and what I’m not prepared to take. Some people would label that selfish, but I feel that it’s the complete opposite… Would you want someone to be untrue? Wasting both your time and their own? We’re all searching for that fairy tale ending. Too often than not people just settle, the idea of being a solivigant succumbing to wanderlust is too fearful a notion to consider. I find it tragic that the thought of loneliness supersedes the flight or fight scenario, I find that to be the height of selfishness. Too often we settle in life, love should never be something to settle on. A little trinket from my ma, which has always rung true and worth taking heed of, is a poem she gave me before I left on my travels chasing love earlier in life. The words of which still ring in my head daily and steer the wind in my sails:

“The clock of life is wound but once,

Nobody knows whether the hands will stop at a late or early hour,

So live, love and toil at will,

For tomorrow the clock may then be still.”

That, along with the Chinese proverb “the participants perspectives are clouded, whereas the bystanders views are clear” (best fortune cookie ever) Obviously, it all depends on who your bystanders are, not the jealous little jibes emanating from the vultures awaiting their turn or that have had their advances spurned… I’m referring to your trusted few, who have your best invested interests at heart. Sometimes we’re all blinded, buuuuut if we’re completely honest with ourselves, we’re never reeeeeally blinded, we see with a murky clarity, but we know, we can make out the silhouettes of truth behind the sheets, we just choose not to see it. Do you not think it serves in the interest of both parties that we’re just completely honest with one another? I know, what a ghastly and archaic notion that is… Honesty, the benign quality sullied by the reactions to its offerings. Occasionally, we need to be fucked up by the truth and be thankful for it, even though it’s a bitter pill to swallow. I can liken it to the attempt of completing a maze, you come to many dead ends while choosing your paths, you don’t get angry with the cul-de-sac because of its denial of your avenue of choice? You simply back-up and try another route… So why do people get so upset with truth? We don’t want to accept the things we can’t change and spend our time banging our heads against the wall. Most of us fall into the monkey category, whereby we don’t let go of one vine until our other hand is firmly gripped on another, it is a terrible way of doing things and we are ALL guilty of doing it at some stage of our lives, but then cry foul when it happens to us? The wheel always turns my friends, “sometimes we’re the writing and sometimes we’re the wall.” The karmic knock on the chin has to be taken with grace and a bow, it’s just not worth the drama in the end. The weight of hate and hurt is a begrudgingly heavy burden to bare and skews your view. I mean, would you drive in the pouring rain with your wipers off? No, of course not, it’s stupid, you could crash and most importantly you could drive by something so beautiful, that’s worth the stop, but instead drive straight passed it.

I guess what I’m getting at, in my wrangling with love ramble, is that love can’t just be categorised under one notion nor is one notion the same as another’s, it’s filled with many trials and tribulations, sunshine and rainbows, it’s a battleground fought with the thorns of roses… Although, I believe most of the knowledge is hidden within those first few kisses. You all know what I mean, right? I’ve had those earth shattering, ground shaking, knee quaking, breath-taking first kisses that send your heart a flutter giving credence to the notion of being swept off your feet… Because just for a moment, your two worlds collide, you’re pulled into one another’s gravitational pull, for a second you’re both floating, orbiting each other’s hearts and when you’re brought back down to earth, your landing is like a butterfly with sore feet… Soft, gentle, reacquainting yourself with your surroundings, your tongue feeling like you’ve just pulled it off the anode and cathode of those square batteries… The electricity still coursing through your veins. Deep breath in… Deep breath out… Those, those kisses, which are few and far between are both a treasure and a condemnation. There are other kisses which are also just as fantastic, which grow in stature with every embrace, whose lingering presence can be felt more and more over time… It’s because of these moments, that I will not settle, it’s because I’ve felt this kind of love that I will always be true about my feelings, it’s because of these loves that I know what love is worth holding out for.

Sure, once in a while we kiss a wolf in sheep’s clothing, we can smell the canine odour, yet still trudge along in that smokey love haze until the carpet is pulled from beneath us or we keep kissing a frog expecting it to change into a prince/princess. Don’t put your feelings beneath another’s in your list of priorities, “if something is important they will find a way, if it’s not, they’ll find an excuse” obviously, within reason. Do we regret any of it? No, hell no, because those moments of joy outlast the moments of despair and after all, the sweet ain’t as sweet without the sour.

The most precious of our worldly possessions is time, if we’re not completely into something, pull out, let it be so, their time is no less important than our own, let them carry on their course to find that which mirrors their own intentions and heart’s desire. Don’t be selfish, talk, not just about the good and all things bright, but about the bad and the dark too… Festering leads to fighting, think about the repercussions of your actions on another, love and let love… Don’t be a poes, be lekker.

Godspeed on both your hearts travels and travails, leaving you with something that the film The Perks of Being a Wallflower inspired me to pen…

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…

Pity the Puppets of Political Perversion and the Fools Who Follow Them


I’m sorry, but I just can’t help myself #‎RhodesMustFall?!? Is this what Nelson Mandela fought for?!? Is this the legacy he wanted to leave behind?!? Are you proud of yourselves?!? Because I think it’s deplorable. Now, I must admit I had to Google Cecil Rhodes to understand these ‘atrocities’ he committed to fully comprehend the reasoning behind the movement, and honestly, again, you’re all pitiful. You cannot change history, we cannot undo the injustices of the past, it happened, whether it was wrong or right, it happened. Cecil Rhodes was from Britain, when the Afrikaaners beat the British, they didn’t try erase them from history?!? He tried to oust the Afrikaaner government and they had his brother jailed for high treason, but they didn’t trump up this petty bullshit.

To add insult to injury, Google also provided me with the story of how the Zimbabweans were also a little upset with Cecil Rhodes they wanted to exhume his body and send it back to Britain… Here’s the clincher, ROBERT MUGABE, yes, the biggest muppet of them all, as President, Leader in Chief put a halt to it, “because of its historical significance to Zimbabwe” and “because you can’t wish away your past.” If that is not a slap in the face to this whole debacle then I don’t know what is.


Tell me now, once you’ve pulled down every statue that offends you, changed every offensive road name (like Essenwood Road, fucking trees also offend the crap out of me too, kudos on that one) What then?!? Hey, what’s next on the agenda for pettiness incorporated?!? Will money and job opportunities start magically falling from the sky when your crusade is over?!? Will our government put an end to corruption?!? Will they step in and try stem this crazed tide of Xenophobia related lynch mobs?!? Will they begin to tackle the terrifying unemployment rate?!? Will they attempt to bridge the vast divide of inequality between the rich and the poor?!? Will they start addressing the absurd crime figures ravaging our fair lands?!? Will they draft a service level agreement with parliamentary and provincial leaders to account for the gross misappropriation of government expenditure?!? Will they finally refrain from spending billions of taxpayers’ money on private jets, fraudulent tenders and using British Aid funding to refurbish their own homes in homages to themselves?!? Will this miserably inadequate bunch of imbeciles in government start representing the people that put them in power?!?

I had a lengthy conversation with a girl last night who told me that I’m ignorant and it’s more than just a statue… She then followed up with this peach, “do you see statues of Hitler in Germany?!?” She likened Cecil Rhodes to Adolf Hitler for God’s Sake?!?!?! To fucking Hitler?!?!?! What’s even more pathetic is these youths who are around 19-24 knew no struggle, they weren’t part of any revolution, they’ve known no war, they’ve benefitted from BEE structures as well as equal opportunities for the previously disadvantaged and now they’ve deluded themselves into thinking they’re the next Che Guevara?!? (Another road change in Durban, because Che was part of the struggle in Africa too, obvious). It’s too late my darlings, the revolution happened some 21yrs ago… Your present elected Commander in Chief is blatantly stealing from you, laughing in the face of a broken society looking to him for some kind of direction, our energy resources are nearing collapse, parliament is the laughing stock of the world, the rand value is plummeting and you’re getting your panties in a twist over a FUCKING STATUE FOR FUCK SAKES?!?!?!? Dark days my friends, dark days indeed.

I was sitting the other day watching my cat chase her tail, she did it for about fifteen minutes just running around and around and around in circles until she got dizzy, then she sat there staring into oblivion with that James Dean daydream look in her eyes, until she tried again… I thought, how funny that she can amuse herself then tire herself out by chasing her tail for so long?!? Then I realised, I had been sitting there watching her chase her tail the whole time. My point being, how long are we as a country going to chase our own tails before we get dizzy and how long can we be content to watch ourselves chase our own tails before we engage with one another and move forward?!?

When are we as South African’s going to stop putting all our worthless energy into the past and start focusing on a better future for all of us?!? When are we going to stand together and hold the government accountable, because right now we’re just the punch line for the joke of the current state of affairs we are all privy to. When are we going to grow the fuck up, put our big girl/boy panties on and start being the change instead of crying about it?!?

As South Africans who apparently pride ourselves on reconciliation and diversity in a ‘Rainbow Nation’, when are we going to start living it?!?

These are my thoughts, anyway. Otherwise, you well?

#RTD2014: Daisies Debrief


I FUCKING LOVE Daisies, I just can’t get enough of the place. This year I took two newbies up on the Thursday with me, just to acclimatize, get the lay of the land, chill and ease into the place on Friday… Of course we all know how best laid plans work out, before the sun said goodbye we had already tucked into about a dozen Olmecas and Savannahs. Some say false start, we say head start, tomato potato… Eh, semantics. We took a stroll around the place, shook our tail feathers a little, watched a couple bands, saw this girl whip her rods off, bend over and let loose right smack bang in the middle of the walkway. She was obviously auditioning for the role of broken water hydrant feature at the Darling block party, not one single fuck was given, charming little peach. Her mate was patting her on the back, which I can only imagine was an attempt to burp this baby, screaming at us to look away and not be disgusting… The audacity, it’s not like she was discreetly crouched behind a car door, “YOU’RE IN THE WALKWAY SLUT, HAVE SOME DIGNITY!!!” She didn’t have a boyfriend with her, which I found odd because she was obviously a lady of impeccable breed, although she dampened the walkway, she didn’t dampen our mood… Off we strode to the Red Bull tent, the Vans site, back to the tents, drank more, more, more, more… I saw this one fellow dropping around 5/6 mushroom drops into his mate’s empty shooter glass, probably expecting him to give his china’s a dip and the oke dropped the lot… All. By. Himself. Holy Hell, I so badly wanted to interject, give the guy a hug, some paint, a canvas and ask him to paint what he saw… But I thought it best just to watch him unfold from afar. His eyes must have Van Gogh Starry Nighted the fuck out of his vision, his friend let out a laugh filled with gusto, but even that couldn’t hide the disturbed look written all over his face. Although, I hear Wonderland is a fine place to visit this time of year. Took a walk to use the Star Gazer App on our iPhones staring into the infinite abyss, looking like gang of muppets following the stars, which turned into another lap around the entire venue, quite romantic at the early hours of the morning, I must say. Peaceful even. People were waking up to use the shower at 5:30am, guess they were keen to be clean and not keen to queue for it… Wasn’t aware this was an issue in gen pop?

Didn’t get much sleep on Thursday night, buuut I blinked a lot, so it all adds up. Friday was game time, if I could put a picture in your head about the heat, I would align myself with a snow cone on a hot pavement. I was literally fucking melting, I think I need to get my internal thermostat temperature checked out on the double. The beach bar was abuzz with fun activities for all, people squishing their toes in the sand and haggling over the remaining shady outposts leftover. This music and that jol was such a vaaib “I was having so much fun at that Beach Bar I almost pissed myself,” a fellow reveller exclaimed. There were some serious ‪#‎BassFace’s around the floor, a couple dudes felt the need to scour the contours of their brain with their eyeballs, it was quite a sight to behold… You know what they say, “the deeper the bass, the uglier the face.” I know people frown on those who ‘jol’ but honestly, I’d rather be surrounded by a thousand people inspecting their brains than a handful of drunk jock fucks; who think being drunk and pushing their mates into other people at the bar is the funniest shit they’ve ever experienced. In. Their. Entire. Life, hay boet? Pushing beads back and forth on an abacus must’ve kept them entertained for hours on end as a child, or just when they feel like a cheap thrill. Had I not been having such a great time, it would have been fun to push their faces in with a brick. They are the bane of any festivals’ existence. It could possibly have been me losing my personality, though, at this stage it was difficult to ascertain as much. The music wasn’t to my flavour on Friday night, I prefer day jols when they’re at night, but a lid for every pot and a beat for every ear. Nothing a Stillknox didn’t sort out, I was asleep in a matter of seconds. Dropping the hammer on Thorsday, was possibly a tiny bit foolhardy.

Saturday morning, my roomie and I announced ourselves to our neighbours in a fabulously friendly fashion… You see one doesn’t not simply wake up in their tent at Daisies, yawn, stretch, wiggle their toes and slowly arise from their slumber… Nope, you bladdy wake up like you fell asleep on a nest of fire ants, leaping to your feet tearing your clothes off and running outside… It’s vokken POES HOT inside there and of-fucking-course you go to bed hugging yourself wrapped in every piece of clothing you own, because at the time it felt kiff cosy. So here’s two guys bursting out of their tent adorned in their underwear, sweating like Joseph Fritzel on ‪#‎MTVCribs, panting and screaming “Fuuuuuuckeeeenell!!” Trying to gather their breath and wiping the sweat from their brows, only to look over at the couple sitting on their chairs opposite our entrance, mouths agape. “Um hi, this isn’t what you think.” Saturday was even hotter than Friday, I even put sun cream in my nought. Eating after a solid few days of partying, is the worst thing in the world, felt like I was trying to eat cardboard and swallow sawdust. It was a workout in itself. More sweat too. Word to the wise, eating a pulled pork belly wrap in the morning is basically booking yourself a vomit later. We Switched On The Night at the Olmeca Bar, affectionately known as the Treehouse, the Nu World Beat Barn, Sailor Jerry’s, Main Stage, they showed the rugby match between Kaiser Chiefs and France, swam in the pool, listened to comedians at the Lemon Tree, The Presets ROCKED TITTIES, I showed the world my glee by leaning against the‪ #‎RaveCave wall and bopping my head… Name it, we did it, we just ran out of energy at daybreak Sunday.

You know you had a good ‪#‎RTD14 when you’re having an existential crisis in the car trip on the way home, going through all the ex’s in your head wondering if you’ve already missed the one, weighing up the benefits of being a normal civilian, vowing to detox for the next few dayze and trying to remember how the weekend actually all pieced together.

RTD Don’ts: Be a poes, carry around a mop (cause besides looking like a cleaner, you look like a massive twat, use a phone like the rest of the civilisation to let people know where you are), onesies should just be spelled cunt, try eat an energy bar, do that here ‘cause they get kinda funny about it.

RTD Do’s: Be lekker, Heartbreak Motel, sunblock, wet sand scarves, running shoes, good attitude, Facebook friend requests, sleeping pills, lilos (I think I would have blown someone for a lilo at one stage), drink water, stay Sunday.

I’m already keen for next year, ‪#‎RockingTheDaisies what a bloody jol x