Heritage Day

Today is my last day

 

I manage to crawl off the bed that ceased to be coupled almost a decade ago

then land in my still relatively tiny bathroom, though my own physique seems to be shrinking by the second now

I look up at my reflection and I realise the purpose of mirrors

There is a headline,

my face

wrinkled and grey beneath its letters seems to unfold like an over ripe flower without ever having been touched

it says;

Heritage Day

I shuffle along until I trip over the now almost dry white board marker and I begin the list:

One: I inherited the dark lines of deceit off my mother’s core

Two: I learned how to live with being a liar

Three: I came as a foreign being full of love

Four: I was denied love but I’m still leaving filled with only those four letters

Five: Life was beautiful though the darkness is always the beginning of a new story

Six: I inherited the art

Seven: I will never forget

 

I rinse myself off and decide that it would be better to leave full of hope

After all

3 months before they expected me I was ready

13 years before I was

they weren’t

my family

 

The wardrobe whispered the call of majesty

I obeyed my longing eyes

past the dioors and my goodbye suit

I found the two letter phrase barely in disguise and I remembered why

Heritage day:

One: I learned how to judge myself better than anyone had ever judged me

Two: It wasn’t always sunny

Three: How to fake the smile through heartache

Four: How to cause the same

Five: My clothes are cheap

Six: I am unworthychocolat_l

Seven: I knew this each time we made eye contact… after all; we are self proclaimed judges

 

So neat, tidy and fresh I walk towards the lonely seat and the non functional tv

and on the top right hand corner of the screen

A phrase in white paint screams out at me

Heritage Day:

One: My skin colour murdered my first love

Two: I inherited the skill of not caring much for those attributes

Three: My father Died of a broken heart

Four: You saved mine

Five: Our life was puzzled together by vibes and muted sentences

Six: In the end, my quirks were irrelevant and your were my indica

Seven: I fell eternally asleep with the very thoughts that days and nights before had always haunted me.

 

Palm on palm now

My eye lids find their space

No tears left in me

My heritage day is eternal

and I only grew to know that the moment I looked into you!

 

 

 

 

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Circles Of Meaning, Labyrinths of Fear – A Review

‘The twenty two relationships of a spiritual life and culture – and why they need protection’

Yet another from Moon Books’gems!

This wasn’t an easy book to put down, yet it was necessary to do that from time to time in order to get the full message of it!

We all know that there are certain ways of different cultures and religions, including sacred rights, days of celebration, and fewer know that even some day to day routines are also rooted in the sacred.

This concise eye-opener could not have come at a better time, for our generation is possibly among the most fearful the universe will ever experience!

The pages and messages and lessons are honestly comforting for a time when the silence is scarce and the noise is utterly scary.

‘The Good Life’ as Mr. Brendan Myers describes it, becomes less of an abstract, almost unreachable idea and simplifies it in ways that once read cannot be forgotten.

Learning the relationships between yourself and the landscape, the neighborhood, animals, doctors… to name a few; is the lightest, most pleasant melody of an alarm that wakes you to discover that you have just begun experiencing life at its true pace and meaning for the very first time.

A must read for the truth seeking soul.

Circles of Meaning, Labyrinths of Fear – For those of you more curious here’s the link that will help get hold of this one.

Love and Light!

Canis Lupus

Sheets

The fields of sunflowers flowed in waves like streams down her face as their palms danced in one another’s grasp.  Her jaw-line crept up on one’s gaze as an intruder would, before stealing something very important never to return with it. Her lips were the softest blankets, wrapping in themselves every cell of one anatomy without any physical contact. No devil could match up to the commanding desire with which she possessed every breathing galaxy of men, women and monsters alike. Snapshots of them touching flash in and out of my fantasy like a film with a broken strip… Now here and sooner than the moment itself a voice begins to call her back to this same scenario with tints and blues. Like a repetitive gauging of passion from darkness, they sink deeper into their sheets, souls almost entirely in contact and an echo of ear rivers of sound.

 

One kiss…>

>

<

Is all it took…

 

And in the morning…

 

The seal of eternity .

 

 

Artwork

This is a painting I paint for you

In serious series of carving

A body art

Elaborate

 

This double-edged instrument

I call it paint brush

It revels only in red

the life-giving

the sore of scars

 

Lessons I thought I had mastered

Masters created in lonesome paths

But I am not cold

 

This fact confirmed by the warmth of my blood

Trickling softly down on itself

this artwork I created

 

I meditated on laws and flaws thereof

But I am simple

In the ways of hearts and souls

As simple

as the red blood_lust_broken_by_shikiariandrinight-d5euhbxon my chest

A Story of A Blue Sun

Just a poem written for someone 🙂 very late one evening!

Blue-Sun-web

Yellow
They said was what made the world red
And red being the color of love… meant that everything yellow
was good for a smile and a dance
But his color was blue
So he thought it true
When the world would tell him he couldn’t

One evening he slowly
headed for home after a long day of shining blue light on the world
he though to himself a miserable thought
that all was lost at bright yellow’s high cost
and about love he completely forgot
With his sad face on his chest
and a torn heart at his breast
he continued to walk on home

Until one day while shinning sadly on us
a stranger figure appeared before him
and she seemed to like his blue light
she told him that one day blue would take yellow away

His heart trembled gently
with wild butterflies in his sight
when she looked at his blue with her eyes
and such a surprise for the color of those eyes were so
shining
and loving
and blue

so since that day
when any man says that yellow is the color of a true sun
he smiles broad and brightly
and holds his love tightly
and he says’
“So?
blue is the color of love”

For K.

Glorious Mistakes (part 2)

Among the 1 800 goths: or should I say the constant of about 600 of them at my bar alone; a small and narrow face peeked at me curiously. His hair was bushy and the animated way in which he carried himself was a little difficult not to notice.

The smoke machines were heavy, ventilation felt almost non-existent and soon I seemed to have run out of oxygen. Meanwhile; across the main floor our neighboring bartender at ‘The Wizard’s Bar’ had just collapsed, however this wasn’t just due to the heat and shortage of air… In his case, slight intoxication was a contributing factor.

That same hobbit-like person came rushing to my bar,then under it and straight to me.

“Hi! My name’s Tristan! I heard that someone had K.O.’ed and had to make sure that it wasn’t you, but I can see that it might be you very soon, so you’re coming with me to get some air!”

So out I went, dodging the angry screams and violent hand gestures of the 600 obviously grumpy goths who now had one of two choices:
1. Wait for me to return
2. Wait at another bar behind at least 300 other goths.
In the end they seemed to have picked the more sensible option; 1.

That was Zeplin’s the way I remember it. Grand, vibey and never short on clientele. The music always amazing, the company never boring – it was the home that so many of us so desperately needed, but above all Zeplin’s brought Tristan into my life.

My dad was never fond of any of my male friends… And upon discovering that I am not very “straight” he seldom liked any of my female friends either so I found his excitement about Tristan in my life inexplicable, especially since he had piercings, painted his nails black and his means of trabsport was a motorcycle. They used to sit on for hours just chatting away about life and love and ambition, dreams, goals and things I had never dared attempt to speak to my dad about.

A day or two without Tristan around was too long for my dad… At times he would ask me to invite him over and I did… Tristan seemed to be just as attached to him, so when the news came to him that my Dad had left our world… He grieved with me…

A few months passed, his gentle way was difficult to resist. His persistence made him strangely attractive and the way he stole my whole family’s heart was extraordinary. He taught me to ride his motorbike, I taught him to DJ and in this way we were constantly doing things we both loved.

I broke his heart in the end… Being unable to change… Knowing that my lifestyle was never a choice, for if I had the ability to simply wake up and decide to want to be with him the way he wanted to be with me – I would have done. I did attempt to make that choice when I said “yes!” to his proposal… Yes the one where the boy gets down on one knee and asks the 4 words that most of us long to hear…

A few months passed before he could speak to me again after we realized that there are just certain things we couldn’t change. But those months went by rather swiftly and soon we began to tread on a new path of friendship. He soon found Chantal and his happiness was infectious…

Alas… A year and a few months after my dad passed… Tristan did too. In among my tears I smiled a lot, knowing that soon the two boys (my dad and him) will probably be chatting away again just where they had left off.

This post is to him and to my dad and to Zeplin’s… Neither of them exist in this reality anymore, but in my mind they will always be there… The smiling faces… The warm embraces… The grandeur and atmosphere of home… The man who understood my love for Zeplin’s and who fell in love with the personality of the boy I miss so terribly this morning.

I would say I am sorry for the mistakes I made in my life… But considering the joy they brought with them… No…

They were glorious…glorious mistakes.
They were mistakes that now give me hope for the love I know I seek… Unconditional, gentle, innocent.

Perhaps he was it?

But I’ve been visitted in my dreams by him many a time since then and he keeps convincing me otherwise.

So here’s to you Tris!

To us…

To you if you are reading this and to the glorious mistakes we’ve yet to make!

Glorious Mistakes

My Dad was an awesome man. He was soft and understanding, but when it came to certain things he could be the military style parent. There were many speeches, I remember each of them and they have shaped the person I am today.

Not long ago I was asked to sell myself to someone and I didn’t know how… I had no idea of what my selling points were. The past while I went into hibernation, just to catch a breath and refrain from losing my mind completely – it was during this time that I thought about what it was that actually kept me from being able to step back, look at myself objectively and say, “this is what I am good at…”

I have spent a mere 22 years in the vortex of the living dead. Not presuming to know much more than the average 22-year-old female, my experience has taught me that people don’t really care about other people’s problems unless they are either family or really close friends. This is where this page fits into the scheme of things. As humans we will have our ups, our downs and perhaps our moments of stillness… But at the end of it all; we seek to find the happy ending to every sad story so that we may be able to hold on tightly, with hopefully and extra fill of faith.

I would like to share a story with you today. A story that is personal but worth hearing methinks…

To remove conflict of understanding… I have not always been dating women… And although this story takes place years after my coming out… I am still me… perhaps just a little dusted off and polished…anyhow;

The CBD of Pretoria (SA) was home to the greatest alternative club in Southern Africa. ‘Zeplin’s’ was a two-story building with 8 bars and 5 dance floors all within the genres and sub-genres of the alternative and goth scene. Just before my 18th birthday I was lucky enough to start working there. It was a dream come true. The neon paintings, the grandeur and old architecture, the friendly smiles and almost completely victorian sense of fashion along with the music that spoke in a thousand different ways to my soul – they all contributed to the home that Zeplin’s was and still is as I reminisce…

My Dad walked with me to my first day of work at Zeplin’s so that he could meet the people who would be in charge of me and to decide whether or not he really was going to let me work there . Now keep in mind that not many a parent will smile broadly upon walking in to a double story place filled with extravagant Goths and black walls.

All in all however; being as awesome as he was – my dad looked past the stretchers, piercings and tattoos… He ignored the heavy make-up and the black clothes, he walked me out and said that he believes this will be more than a home for me. I was proud then… I was proud of him and I was proud of me for being from him.

A week later I had moved up from bar-tending the quietest bar in the entire place which at that point was the ‘inferno’ bar to one of the 3 main bars… My first shift on the bar was scheduled for – Halloween 2008…

1 800 Goths later…

… To be continued

Art of Healing

Human branding is the process in which a symbol or ornamental pattern is burned into the skin of a person, with the intention that the resulting scar makes it permanent. This is done by using a hot or very cold branding iron; alternatively a design may be stencilled on to one’s skin and thereafter burned using a hot, thin piece of steel. It therefore uses the physical techniques of animal branding on a human, either with consent as a form of body modification; as punishment or imposing masterly rights over an enslaved or otherwise oppressed person. It may also be practiced as a “rite of passage” such as within a tribe.

Why a brand?

Two weeks ago, my psychologist asked me to complete this sentence:

‘In life I have the potential to be…’

Before I could answer he added that I might want to think about something which in my opinion would require more than one lifetime to achieve.

“In life I have the potential to be a revolution.”

He then proceeded to tell me that there was an error in my sentence as one person cannot be a revolution… one person can (according to him) only be a part of a revolution or be a revolutionary. He teasingly mocked me for the bad sentence construction and I waited for him to finish off before trying to clarify my reply to him.

It went something like this.

“You asked me to describe my potentially achieving something which may take more than one lifetime to get to… being a single revolution is exactly that. The things that are done behind closed doors stay there for the most part, but what if we were brave enough to show even those things? What if we made a point of not doing anything that we would not feel free to share with the rest of the world? A revolution in my sense of the word means – a world without secrets. I do not mean the physical world, but a single world (my world) for example. It would take more than one life time for me to learn how to love myself enough to freely admit my wrongs along with my rights and to stop covering up the things that I am afraid of exposing. It would take more than a lifetime to speak without holding back or wonder how many people think me stupid for the things I do and say. So my answer remains. In life I have the potential to be a revolution.”

So far most of what history has to offer us in terms of branding or body modification is mostly negative… Anabaptists got crosses branded on their foreheads… and A was given to men and women who’d committed adultery… criminals and animals alike.

I prefer branding because in my opinion it is more personal. My first brand was of a bio hazardous symbol… it represented the chaos I had overcome, the chaos to come… the challenges and ‘hazards’. It’s not like a tattoo (don’t get me wrong I love tattoos as well) where you’re having to add-on to your body in order to create a form of art, but it is your own body creating its own form of art through healing.

Coming to appreciate a certain symbol or drawing to such a great extent that one would like to literally have it as a part of them must mean that it gave them hope throughout the bad times and made them smile broader when things were good… Branding is my form of art… a part of my Dada and also a part of my Druidry. Sometimes while the burn is still fresh, the artist stops to moisten the brand and then to air it out; those are probably my favourite moments, when I can literally feel the heat, air and water playing along almost literally under my skin slowly forming a part of who I am… who I am yet to become; Many professionals will tell you that attempting to doctor this wound will either cause infection or it will just prolong the healing process. The sun, the air, water while showering etc. And the earthly bacteria and germs… all those things help speed up the healing process.

I may not be a revolution in this lifetime, but I am striving to have as little secrets as possible.

So if branding is wrong according to everyone else, that’s alright with me because I am not ashamed of it and ‘If flowers want to grow right out of concrete sidewalk cracks. I’m going to bend down and smell them.’

Next up…

The Philosopher’s Stone

Freak In Neat

The first day back in the company of my mother did not go badly at all; I cleaned up my study and transformed it into my new bedroom. At night when I tuck myself in with the cat on my chest I see quite a large portion of the city and I have never felt more comfortable. While the city lights can in no way compare to the huge Pine Trees, sound of swaying branches and the occasional wolf howl; they certainly do instill a very immediate feeling of contentment.

I am actually looking forward to going home today!

I may even bake some bread later, I’ll probably have to vacuum and there has been this gnawing within me to wash the outside windows. This will be a great excuse to delve into all my goth rock… Bauhaus, Christian D…h, Type-O Negative aaaand; you get the point! I’ll keep TOOL for the window washing – yes! I have a different genre of music that I listen to for everything that I do.

When I walk to work  – KoЯn, Nightwish, Placebo, Seether and Florence + the Machine

When I walk back from work I mix it up a little and they are way softer… Cranberries, Journey, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Angus and Julia  Stone, Fleetwood Mac

Whenever I need to do household chores of any sort I mainly stick to: TOOL, A Perfect Circle, Death Cab for Cutie and Metallica… those four bands inspire what I call ‘ the productive zoning.’ That means that I can clean one drawer for the duration of five songs and that in turn means that everything is indeed spotlessly clean.

I am not feeling any more inspired than I was yesterday and therefore I am posting another blog about another mundane part of my life –  this time it’s cleaning!

I enjoy cleaning because it relaxes me and to be frank – I am a little bit of a neat freak.

I do not like dirty dishes in my kitchen;

I do not like to see my rubbish bin overflowing with nasty goodies;

clothes and shoes in random places around the house are a big no no;

T.V only goes on when I watch anime or an interesting film and I do not feel like squinting at my laptop screen. I am not connected to any cable nonsense and I don’t even have the standard channels. I do however have a movie night at my place once a month.

I barely drink or smoke anymore and going out is not entirely my thing…but no, I am not a stuck up 22 year old.

I like to read, write and learn… I also still Dj for the Goths of every odd Attrition. I make diaries and play pool, I do like to socialize and I have a fetish for body modification. I have a brand on my back (which is equivalent to a 3rd degree burn) in the shape of a bio-hazardous symbol… I used to have 3 lip rings on my bottom lip; those I had to take off due to my stepping into the ‘corporate world’.

I have 6mm tunnels in my ears and I have kept one piercing.

One of my biggest dreams is to do a body suspension and to have some form of scarification done.

I guess I’m somewhat balanced between the perfect prune and the perfect freak.

Maybe not perfect;

Just balanced

Knowing what it’s like on both sides of the fence contributes to our ability to handle things better.

I know not to be a freak at work and I know that bringing work to the freaks is never a good idea; I keep my two extremes perfectly happy though, which is also neat…

I have a separate place for each case of looney!

Have you ever wondered what the quiet and reserved people get up to when no one’s looking?

I bet my boss thinks I still listen to Britney Spears!