I'm NOT a criminal... I missed that bus

Don't you just hate it when you're hacking away on your computer, on a roll and then outta the blue the program you were working on just shuts down without saving your work. DAMN!!! that frustrates me. Sometimes I find myself wondering if maybe whatever I was writing wasn't meant to see the light of day... but then being stubborn as I am I just start again and say "fuck the internet gods" for putting me in a position where I have to choose between freedom speech and random gibberish.Lol. We have the net/blogs so that we can express and relay our deepest and most random thoughts without having to choose. Talking about sharing my random two cents... I was in a discussion the other day. More like a social gathering with some friends and my girls colleagues. I happened to mention that I have an aunt who has been rotting in a Chilian prison for the last 15 or so years for drug smuggling. Incidentally, we thought she was dead as she disappeared in the early nineties, without a trace. Most of our family assumed that her husband, who was a Taxiboss at the time, had stuffed her into a barrel of acid and gotten rid of her remains. Her two sons, who are juvenile diliquents, who are wanted in every town of every border in the country swore that they world avenge their mothers death if it was the last thing they did. In 2006 my brother received a letter from Chile, saying that my aunt had been incarcerated there with a life sentence. Anyway, as I relayed this story to an 'all white' audience, I noticed how the looks on their faces changed to a soury disgust, like they couldn't believe that they were sitting just mere feet away from someone who knew an actual criminal. My girl sat back canning herself, having heard this story before and i suppose having had a similar reaction the first time she heard the story.
I don't know about you, but often when I tell people about criminal relatives that I know they always give me these shell-shocked looks. I seems to me that alot of people in our country come from such a moral standing that they assume that the only real criminals are government officials and the murderers they've read about in papers. I started thinking about how many people I know who have turned to crime to better their lives and realized further that in my life I have encountered at least two hand fulls people that I know personally who, reached milestones in their lives where they thought crime would really pay. I concluded that, although the audience of people I spoke to are South Africans of European decent, the morally inclined culture that they grow up under is rarely exposed to real criminal act except for the white colour crime that their distant cousin might suscribe to or that they read about in tabloids.This is Africa (T.I.A) - Many Mzansians, have been raised on the backs of criminal relatives. Our parents in most cases, are God fearing people, who would sooner starve than to commit a crime. But so many of our family members have been tested beyond any reasonable means and the crimes that they are squeezed into. Crime isn't the random inflammatory statements that we hear about on the tellie every night. Our cousins, uncles and neighbours have become what they have become out of the poverty strickeness that infests our sometimes pretentious land. Often we forget who the criminals are. The are children whom we neglected. They are aunts who never got a raise in the twenty years that the devoted to society. They are dads who were cheated out of their pensions. They are friends who we couldn't help because of our own demon days. They have been in and out of prison, and though they realize that crime isn't the way, between the social grant and the starvation, the demoralization, prison seems like a holiday at a game reserve. This is africa and I am not a criminal. My brother is not a criminal. My sister is not a criminal. You.... staring at me with you Maybelline lipstick and your botox twisted are not a criminal, but let the recession turn you into an ugly beast and i might not be able to save you from being as african as the aunt that I once knew.
x
Weird World Chronicles

Something keeps pulling, but I aint budging...

Am I afraid of death? Like religion, politics, sex and starving children, 'death speak' doesn't make for great dinner conversation. Of course I'm not one to follow norms and getting deep, especially after some coosh, is right up my alley along with the aliens that have taken over the Bush's, Bin-ladens and Malema's of this world. I wouldn't quite say I fear death more like I have an obsessive relationship with life. I really want to live. I really "really" want to stick around to make a difference in this world. Last night I had what in all painstakes I would regard as an almost death experience. Unlike some of the dramatic experiences I've encountered I honestly felt like this was the end of the road. As a young boy of 17, I spent a month in a makeshift hut, having recently had my foreskin removed using traditional methods, in the dead of a cold winter with just a mingy little blanket around me. Though the pain of being circumsized with a spear with only leaves for ailment may cause a young man dire pain, nothing I've ever experience in my life can ever compare to the feeling I felt in what I felt could have been my death bed. The pit of my stomach suddenly let out a stabbing pain that can only be described as tyrannic. It felt is though my gut was being surgically removed without any aneasthitic or pain measures. I crawled around on all fours on my girlfriends floor like a beaten child asking the higher power for forgiveness. Strangest thing about when you think that it could the end, God always seems to appear in a different light than to the conversations you would have about believing in a higher or not believing. Whilst wringling around on the floor I tried using all my energies i.e. ninja chakras, mind-over-matter, anti-torture techniques and pray to fight the gruelling pain that for the first time in my life had brought me down to my knees. I think what made it worse was when my girlfriend suggested she take me to the hospital that it suddenly hit me what a down turn my life had taken over the years. I could sugarcoat it and tell you what a great job I have and how sooner or later the great initiative I took to building an online magazine like no other will pay off in the long run, but the truth of the matter is that in a world where cash is king, I have but my wishes and my dreams as arsenal and the rest belongs to the guy in the ferrari. I have a beautiful and loving girlfriend whom I love with all my heart, but every now and again I wonder just when it will be that she might get tired of babying the pipe dream of a young african she collided with at a drinking lounge, where we both had sworn at times in our lives we'd never meet the soulmate of our dreams. Funny thing about life and karma...just when you appraise it or talk well of it it challenges you to see how much of it you can really take. Some people ask God to give them strength. Others make dirty deals with the devil. The deal I have with the both higher and lower powers is that no matter what's been put on the table - Leave me and this world of mine and I'll be all cheery eyed. I survived last night, no meds and no witchcraft. I don't now if tomorrow will give me the same break, but whatever happens, I'm telling you now, you're going to have to fight me to the death to get me to leave this wonderful life of mine.

After Elections Drivel

I wonder what it'll be like after the elections.... I wouldn't dare predict who will win or what the deal will be since when my eyes are closed and my fingers crossed, though I know what the outcome will be, I still hope for the sensationally impossible to happen. Who knows, I've heard of miracles happening before Christmas, but I wouldn't put my money on it even if there is a high power's hand at play. Bob Magube is a good example of how one can even cheat fate when the stars are against him.

I wonder what bloggers around the world will write about, since the last six months has been a bombardment of pre- and post- elections jitters and jeers? How will friends who stood on opposite sides act towards one another when the final judgement is displayed on TV? Will we be consumed by hatred for an unfair system, our none the wiser counterparts or will we civilly move on with our lives in the hope of a better electoral next time? Will the crime rates soar or be distiguished? Though my friends and I are planning to have a smokefest after we vote, to dumb down the nerves and block out the bureaucracy during what will be the longest day in South African history, how will we feel once it all comes to an end. Will Thursday be a joyous day or will we carry rocks of agitation on our backs.

I wonder what it'll be like just seconds after the announce the result? Will people change the channel to the evening movie or will they get drunk to drown their sorrows? A country without a fight anymore, will the news broadcast talk of angry mob voters looting villages and empty townsman be racking young girls or will there be a sense of achievement felt by the majority who truly believe that they made the right choice. Will their be guilt? Will that guilt eat away at the moon? Will eyes stare at the moon hoping that their votes could have been different? I don't know, but I hope for my sake and yours that Thursday the 23 is a day easily forgotten. I hope that Thursday the 23 begins as a normal day of business and learning that of arguments and yearning. I hope that peace will settle upon us with no regret as a venture into the dark abyss of resentment may be too much a blunder for Africa to muster.

These are just wondering moments, with no particular direction at all....

Don't be afraid of the big bad wolf.

I sometimes wonder if there isn't a virus going around. Some type of intravenous bug that I haven't yet been subjected to; some type of drug that is either injected or consumed by people of a particular demographic with their booze or drinking water. I often wonder about the people who buy into some of these things, if they have special tell-tail marks hidden behind he back of their necks or a third eye that can only be seen by others like them. The world I live in has become a conspiritors paradise. Logic and reason have lost their meaning and only subliminal messages of aggression or extreme transgression seem to fuse themselves into the less apt heads of the sheep like victims who follow suit. I keep wondering if there is some kind of conspiracy that I don't know about at play. Everytime I put on the TV or read the paper some officials are saying things that are unfathomable to the progression of the common man and yet they say these things in their name. My facebook page, my twitter, the radio, my sms's and email are plagued by tripe from people who I might have called friends before, but now I hover around their every thought wondering if they aren't a Judas waiting to implicate me once their hailed successor has taken over. The paranioa is getting to me.

Am I being watched? Is this the place I used to call home? How were they able to bug the president and oust him from public office without as much as shooting a pistol? I used to think that kind of thing only happening in espionage films. Back at the ranch our hands are tied behind our backs and shock has sealed our brains threatning us with fear that is disabling our fighting spirit. We go home eat dinner, make love, watch TV and sleep unti work the next day wherewhich we repeat the same action. I hear of conspiracies happening everyday in North America, China, Russia, Congo and Zimbabwe; political sodomization of the constitution that are actioned by higher authorities at a high level in places that we have no access to let alone an idea of. These things often seem like the makings of a Hollywood tale with a twist of Disney fable, but when I look into the eyes of people I know and listen to their likeminded suggestions and innuendos it begs the question how impossible it is tap into a large group of ignorant individuals and to manipulate their minds into becoming the zombies that the power hungry want to control.

I recall a TV series in the 80's called V, where aliens invaded the earth in the most unruthless and subtle manner. They started in the presidents office and worked their way down to the common hobo, recruiting and probing every individual they could sink their teeth into until they could satisfactory say they had a big enough army to launch a global attack on the world. Only they didn't count on a small band of earthlings defending what was rightfully theirs. They didn't count on the band of earthlings discvering a secret vile that they kept in a chamber that nobody knew about and using it to destroy them. Often when I look into the eyes of friends, family, superiors and other people I meet and see the same aliens so far up each other cracks, nestling in each other beliefs, conning each other into believing that they are morally accountable and that they have a people best interests at heart and wonder how long it will be before they are exposed.

When I was a little boy my pre-school teacher told me the tale of the 3 little pigs. The wolf came along and blew the three little pig's houses down. Until one day they found its weakness and no matter house hard the wolf blew he couldn't blow the little piggies down no more. Its only a matter of time till we decypher your secrets. You may be able to pull a blanket over the world eyes, but its only a matter of time before we come to your backyard and huff and puff and blow your house down.

The Goodfellas Paradigm

Ah, awards, choke, cough, grumble, grumbe-spit. I can’t seem to understand how the opinions of other people, like judges get me down. Everything has a flavour of the month and if what you do is good enough for someone to pick up on and it relates to them, not that it would be any good, then it wins. All about timing. All about luck-less skill than skill requires. A sort of top of the pops success, does it mean the persons responsible are good, or are they just holding on to a winning lottery ticket. There are always winners, and then there are always people like me who look for consolation in the form of telling ourselves that we aren’t concerned with awards. When in actual fact I feel almost dismembered and completely incapable. I am supposed to be a writer, a thinker and I can’t seem to get passed my own failures. The Goodfellas paradigm (eventually even Martin Scorsese's genius is recognised-SEE TIMING). Do I really care, well would you? How hard is it to remain optimistic and motivated when one of the apparent key motivators is entering a competition, right? However all that it does is create undue stress and anxiety, a build up to an anti-climax. How is any of that healthy? So I diddle about in feigned contentment, playing idly with my dead cat. My sweet little daydream. Now that I have no more justification for the ramblings of the broken hearted I will attempt being more frivolous and spirited, all hopefully for this glossy little future I am ascending into. I will start signing off with an “On the Plus Side”. Verification if you will that I am trying to always look on the bright side of life. Okay here it goes:

On The Plus Side- I have my health and I am not without any limbs. Thank you Jesus…

Anon

'By Anon'

I can't tell you who I am.

I have to share my demented plan.

Infested thoughts eat away at my brain.

I can't be alone I'm going insane.

Don't you just hate it when people post gross thoughts or put vileness up for public viewing, then write 'by anon' at the end - they can torture your head with gruesome ideals but don't have the balls to sign their names under their wickery.

When I have bad dreams I often imagine what the faces of my demons must look like. Anon are the names of masked men who torment me but refuse to face me. They are afraid of the sharpness of my blade and vast power packed in my punch. So, they hide in holes like moles, in your pictures like backgrounds and spit poison to the surface. HATERS!

I can't tell you who I am.

I have to share my demented plan.

Infested thoughts eat away at my brain.

I can't be alone I'm going insane.

our children

the art of manipulation. 

a feature perfected in the young.

the aware.

the kids who weave their dreams glazed with hopeful wonder, coated with the pow(d)er to possess all.

fairy dust, the dust of fairies, shaken in the tormentors wake.

the mighty knee-high samurai.

the doers.

the thinkers.

the movers and forceful shakers.

the children.

my little brother and your little sister.

and they say, as soon as you have sat down "oh please play with me"

and you reply "but I have work to do"

"well then who do I have to play with?" 

tears. 

the art of manipulation.