The Executioner’s Axe

My speech for freedom was a success,

and thank darkness for a cloudy night.

For I could not afford a single soul to see my face as I stood,

de-masked above a dying crowd.

 

I roared about the actions necessary,

should we desire an end prettier than the starving crows…

though thus urging riot I simultaneously guaranteed a revolutionary’s final date with my counterpart’s sharp claws.

 

It seems to me that the powers which confine us,

are afraid as wild youth as it nears its end.

Natural life will always be the outcome.

What is up has got to fall; and isn’t that sometimes a reason to be quiet?

 

When one whose life is so alight that they react to their ‘nurture’,

they will burn a fire in the hearts of dead-men walking.

 

How this army will march united… I wish I live to see.

So that my eyes may dry and hate subside –

my axe no longer need divide,

my self in two as one who raises freedom and beheads it all the same.

 

My axe chips as does my soul whenever a revolutionary’s crippled.

This is how an executioner prays:

LIVE LOUD.

FIGHT HARD.

EVADE SOCIETY’S AXES AND BRING LIFE BACK TO ALL MY DYING PEOPLE!

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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

Nil Sa Saol

24/01/12 20:24

 Dear diary

‘I saw the gap again today, while you were begging me to stay….take care not to make me enter because if I do, we both may disappear’

There is no love in fear

My biggest fear is fear itself. Anger is not only an emotion but an anchor; an ointment to still the throbbing of our wounds. This tourniquet absorbs fear like a supplement and thus it grows and rules leaving no space for reason or compassion, yet it is passionate and loving.

We’ve fought many battles… It is a struggle as the self breathes down my neck hoping that I may slip up and give her gap to surface again. I can never merge with that self if I am to fulfill my curious purpose.

15/07/1994

Dear Diary

‘I will choke until I swallow… choke this infant here before me. What is this but my reflection? Who am I to judge or strike you down?’

There is no love in fear

There is no escaping the monsters although I’m not entirely sure that they are real. Toys are extras in this thriller of incapability. Strawberry is my doll; I hold her face right next to my own then turn to look into my mother’s mirror. Strawberry’s face is vibrant and bright next to my own dull reflection. Through the mirror I see how small I am compared to the vast space filled with scattered furniture… it’s been so long and she still hasn’t called, my own mother doesn’t want me. I smothered her with all my love so she left, to teach me a lesson, so that I may know anger and resentment.

It distorts; the face that used to smile is dark, my eyebrows clamp together and a tear rolls down my cheek. This chest starts throbbing and my throat is tight and lumpy, mimicking my fantasy as I seek the strength to choke this reflection to death. I know anger so where is she?

In my mind I smell her perfume; she reaches out, touches my face and the anger subsides.

She may be gone but I am hers and therefore I must take care of this girl and overcome the longing to hate, judge and hurt her petite infant.

But you’re pushing and shoving me.

You still love me, and you push it on me.’

“Gin!”

No! It can’t be.

This was it?

“Gin, honey? Mommy’s home!”

I am stumped and my throat tightens some more. In a split second the self takes over with an emotionless expression.

“Aww sweetie! Come here, mommy’s home now and she isn’t going anywhere.”

Most little minds would be thrilled, happy, crying. I want her to get away, to stop touching and smothering me, I have so many questions…

“Say something baby, come on… mommy’s missed you she loves you so much. Hug me now will you?”

She clutches onto my clothes and pulls me, she pushes me.

(At that instant I knew; I knew what fake smiles looked like… I knew how to lie!)

“It’s ok mommy!”

The anger burns through my veins as I slowly get closer to her with a hug.

“That’s ok mommy, I love you too!”

11/04/2009

Dear Diary

‘Rest your trigger on my finger

Bang my head upon the fault line.

Take care not to make me enter,

‘Cause if I do, we both may disappear.’

There is no love in fear

Memories are the music videos of our past, only the instrument that triggers them is not a remote, no one hears your mind slipping way back as the faint smell of humidity fused with medicine kills your perception of time. It thrusts you right back into the arms of that dark, daunting space of yourself as your half grown hands shove at your Dad’s lifeless body for the last time; the smell takes me right back to when I stood there not even wanting to hold her back… I needed her darkness and anger; I needed not to feel pain. It was an easy goodbye, no tears… only that invisible rope around my throat. I don’t remember the last time I told him that I love him, but he knows now…I really hope he does.

‘Slipping back into the gap again, I’m alive when you’re touching me…

Alive when you’re shoving me down.’

My pillar faded with the sunset today, he lay as obedient as I had ever seen him in the ambulance as they drove off. The night brought with it the comfort of the arms I had longed for. I look for anger, I turn my heart inside out to try and bring it out, but her hands soothe and nurture, and for this moment she loves me again. I can’t breathe as she suffocates me with the arms of peace and the breath of mist, she responds to my body and I am willing to gasp just like this for as long as I live.

‘But I’d trade it all for just a little bit of peace of mind’

Hers are the eyes I look into as I force my own to open up. Our love remains nothing but a stolen moment as she sits up and calls me ‘friend’. There will be no peace now in my mind or in my heart so the two of me rise and walk away.

26/02/2011

Dear Diary

‘Put me somewhere I don’t want to be;

Seeing someplace I don’t want to see;

Never want to see that place again…’

There is no love in fear

There are shadows along the wall and they seem almost synchronized. I recognize them and I move along knowing that one of them is mine. I close my eyes and I go back into the forest where the ‘Jedi’ mind pulls me out from the tombs of ‘Krom’*. My body feels pleasure while my spirit cries and I am afraid to stay in the forest, afraid to taint the purity I found. Self registers spirit and recognizes the undeniable bond between fog, magic, love and fear. Reality is hot, wet and dirty, oh but now I know… concrete, ancient truth.

‘If when; I say I may fade like a sigh if I stay, you minimize it anyway then; I must persuade you another way.’

A woman’s silence says much according to her circumstance. Shakespeare is resurrected through the movement of my lips while the self attempts to choke and kill contentment. I see the gap I have left and I know the war is inevitable just as I realize that this battle will be the last regardless of the outcome.

24/01/12 23:59

 Dear Diary

 

‘Staring down the hole again

Hands upon my back again

Survival is my only friend

Terrified of what may come’

There is no love in fear

Education is the artillery with a lifetime guarantee and language is the indestructible force barging bravely through borders, barriers and between cultures, enabling a leniency towards others and their spirituality or the lack thereof. The old self turns her back to me, and the new self synchronizes with the movements of the old. Fear is now a polka dot skirt around the two, walking hand in hand with certainty.

A rainbow is most prominent in the act of letting go, of coming to terms with one’s own heart which loves, hates and sins even in purity…until the colours mix to create our own shade of grey.

‘Just remember I will always love you; even as I tear your throat away, but it will end no other way’

 

Darkness is the product of light when light willingly goes back to sleep in order to heighten the appreciation for both in amongst all living things.

You must go where I cannot,
Pangur Ban, Pangur Ban,
Nil sa saol seo ach ceo,
Is ni bheimid beo,
ach seal beag gearr.
Pangur Ban Pangur Ban,
Nil sa saol seo ach ceo,
Is ni bheimid beo,
ach seal beag gearr.
  – **

Life is mist. Life cannot be without a beating heart, yet mist cannot be without fear, just as a heart cannot beat without love.

 

*Krom – ref: Irish Myhology
 
** Aisling’s Song – http://thesecretofkells.wikia.com/wiki/Aisling’s_Song
 
Ref: Tool – Pushit (Salival 2000) lyrics

Cry The Beloved Children

Cry the beloved children

For cities built on sleep

For mirrored fears and crumbling forts

For rivers running deep

Cry the beloved children

For masters of the war

For clowns and jugglers and pilots

Standing not too still ashore

We cry each tear in reverence

In muted screams our eyes do beg

For gifts received by masculine elders

Our hints of fortune undying with the dead

Cry the beloved children

For leper ghosts of Christmas past

Cry until your souls dry out

Then humbly reconnect at last

Cry the beloved children

Lest we wake and at dawn do forget

That loving fathers slave for you

All until they bid adieu 

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