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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Bitter Mistress

Here in the madness of everyday foolishness I give into my monsters. I allow them to coax my spirit with their anger. I swallow regret with a teaspoon of pride and suddenly the world makes more sense. There are no more sonnets or love poems to be expected from this being… unless the other appears miraculously and deletes the folders of mistrust which are frozen as a constant back screen on the system that is her mind; like an indestructible virus slowly eating away at the system as a whole. She finds comfort in the cradles of old songs, the kind that inspired the flowing red from her veins, but that’s unimportant… nothing really matters now. The other girl has managed to return, colder and meaner and more prohibiting than ever and I rejoice that I am not alone in my own brain anymore so that she may remind me that no-one is worthy of her honesty or truth… our honesty… our truth. If fate existed, right now; I’m riding her from the back doggie style.

Now feel the tingle of the sneer down your spine reminding you to stop being a hypocrite. We all wish to be brave enough to be the gods of our own universes, I’m just cocky enough to say it loud and proud and not giving a fuck about what that’s going to sound like or alternatively what anyone else’s thoughts are on the topic. This is my life, my struggle and all along I’ve gone through it all alone. I therefore have no obligation to be thoughtful of you because you don’t matter to me. This is the safe house of a soul, heart and spirit that are so worn out that they are beyond recognition. I know not whether these really are mine anymore-I’m even more uncertain of who I once thought I was and who I am now or what I am aiming for in life, but I suppose since I write my own destiny on a tattered little book I bought yesterday from ‘Spar’ for R4.50 … I make the rules and sometimes chaos really does rule over any other rule. I invited Delirium in; she has happily brought Death with her. To kill what once was the girl in a long-since shattered mirror now forming just a broken frame around a yellowing white wall and return to me in a dead, ghostly life the girl who once scared every feeling off before it could hurt.

Welcome home sweet bitter mistress.

Tonight I let you take over me entirely and what does it matter if the act of making love remains metaphorical to me for the rest of this existence? I will still create more art than those constantly active because I will be hungry for passion always when the bitter other me isn’t looking. In those precious moments I will redirect my gaze from wishing to create and having you experience what I want you to. I will be the rapist of your mind… bestowing on you the truth no matter how many times you deny it. I will repeat and scream it at you until you have finally believed that the “I” is the most important entity in your world.

Who can say that one reality is more important than another? It is the “I” of your world that only experiences what it does and it is that same entity who will deliver the information gathered to the greater whole when dead.  

Who cares why she lied and said the things she didn’t mean… the bottom line is lies and dishonesty, why cling on to those? Surely I deserve better than to be lied to? Surely I deserve to be cared for, to be fussed over, and to be a sun for another dark soul?  One wants not to question every ‘I miss you’ although that is why my bitter mistress has returned. Her function is to instill more doubt until I can no longer get hurt. My mind, soul and heart need to think always together, not allowing the heart to just feel as it pleases. Past experience has shown us that it is that initiative of the heart is what ends up breaking it in the first place. How much more anguish do I wanna allow into my life? How many humiliations and degradations? So Carpe-Diem little mistress and don’t you ever let me feel again!

Birds, skirts and cigarettes

Her name was…

I do not quite recall.

Her smell intensely reminded me of the wet dreams I’d had about, well about her. Only in my dreams she had no face, only an outline, an odor, a possibility.

I had been travelling the day, in search of spiritual connection – and without success, when my best friend called and said I would be helping out at a friend’s warehouse for the weekend. The owner had decided to chase adventure, she was to leave the next day.

He had told me about her prior to the first feast of fleshy fathoms. I had no idea whose lair I was walking into as I passed the badly secured giant steel doors of Granualie’s Warehouse. Perhaps that was her name? Granualie… what do names matter anyway. Her name would not have altered the texture of her skin, the taste of her tongue in my mouth.

There were no discreet gestures… just flesh and passion, two strangers invading one another without care or remorse, with an audience though it was – she was spectacular . A mind fuck as well  as… the other kind.

Approach was clinical and I had no desire to know her name.

Perhaps that was it; the lack of desire for whatever juices in my body she was after. I had nothing but a thrust, a thump, a grunt and a cigarette before the taxi drew me back into the comfort of my untainted world. She wasn’t sublime or taboo, she was a fantastically easy artwork to ‘work’… to obtain. I wasn’t tame, I was loose… loose enough that her grip had no control over me; I had control over me… and she got nothing more out of me than what I chose to allow her to see and for that brief period of time; believe that she had me, even if for just a moment.

So what is the point in saying to a reader that I remember her name… It makes  no difference , desire was not with us, dream was more absent still.

I cannot lie dear reader, for a writer’s reputation is always more tainted than the dark of his actual character. This was an artwork, she was finely chiseled, her voice smooth, her breasts firm… but her well was empty … indeed she was an artwork, because I decided her one, I was her creator and she was nothing more than a vessel trimmed out to catch my attention for long enough… just long enough for me to find my feet again.

Now I stare at the artwork on her designated spot and my fancy evaporates as the last traces of sweat dry on her skin.

She didn’t see the winter start a little early this time around.

Winter, pulls me to just that one sound…

Thump

Thump

Thump

Heartbeat

Pre-Noir

I need to create an instance, a circumstance where light is eradicated. What would humanity be if we were to live in darkness?

What would humanity see?

How would you react if you were to suddenly be shown that the core of humanity is actually demonic?

Is it so difficult to understand that darkness is at the core of our natural state of being?

When you close your eyes… you re-generate into a state of darkness. We wake to light – to

live the surface life of flesh and ‘sin’… our fake i.e: carnal-lives are composed of what we term as “light”.

Darkness does not provide for the flesh or the body… even so – some of our most physically gratifying moments stand out in our memories as moments of pleasure under a dark blanket in the arms of someone we love.

Black_4

The blind may not see but they dream as we dream and imagine as we imagine!

Switch your light off and see what happens!

Become still and unfettered.

We need  to be freed from the blinding light in order to win beneath the veil, to fight the battles that many are still unwilling to acknowledge!

What is the use of making love if our souls fail to sing out louder than our physical bodies do?

Where am I going with this?

We all want to be heard or seen, but in reality, all we actually strive for is to connect, to be FELT and RECEIVED instead of rejected. In darkness rejection would be impossible… there you would simply have the magic between souls and the texture of it.

At some point in my life, a sip of Gin could help place a smile back onto my face.

What a paradox…

Loving something as clear and see-through as Gin yet romanticizing the darkness.

The hero of my own literature shall then be named ;

Noir…

Gin Noir!

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.

CRT Threatens Website

The following was posted on ‘ Kennet and Avon Boating Community Website ‘ on Tuesday September 18 2012 @ 3:46 .

Kindly note that the article is not my own, however I felt the need to share it.

Thank you!

CRT threaten our web site with libel

This web site’s Editor received a letter from CRT recently threatening to take court proceedings for libel against the web site because of statements made in articles revealing and commenting about BW/CRT’s relationship with hire boat holiday brokers Drifters Leisure Limited. CRT has also asked the editor to remove the articles, to make an undisclosed donation to the CRT as recompense, and to publish by way of apology information which is already in the public domain athttp://www.whatdotheyknow.com/request/shares_in_drifters_leisure_limit#incoming-305070 in its own response to a Freedom of Information request.

The Editor refutes the allegation made by CRT for the reason that the articles in question are based on evidence. Analysis and comment about the issues covered in the articles is in the public interest and in particular in the interests of boat dwellers without home moorings.

When big organisations try to silence their critics using threats to sue for libel they do not always get the outcome they want. We would remind CRT that it cost McDonalds around £10,000,000 to pursue a civil libel action against London Greenpeace activists Helen Steel and Dave Morris that was only partially successful. Eventually Steel and Morris were awarded £24,000 compensation in the European Court of Human Rights because they did not get a fair trial on the ground of inequality of arms. That is, they were low waged people with no resources to defend themselves against the action; legal aid is not available for defending a libel action, whereas McDonalds could afford to spend thousands of pounds each day to hire top lawyers.

The threat of court action was received shortly after CRT Chief Executive Robin Evans refused to withdraw derogatory statements about boaters without home moorings following a complaint made to CRT. There appears to be a double standard at work here.

Despite a request by the Editor for clarification of the exact words that are alleged to be defamatory, CRT has not responded. Here is the correspondence between CRT and the Editor:

21 August 2012

DEFAMATORY ARTICLES POSTED ON

http://kanda.boatingcommunity.org.uk

We write regarding the following articles posted on the aforementioned website:
“CRT Head of Boating runs hire boat company” posted on 12 July 2012; “BW had shares in hire
boat company” posted on 19 July 2012 and “Discredited CRT Legal Director and Head of Boating
booted and shrunk” posted on 5 August 2012.

Canal & River Trust considers the unsubstantiated references to impropriety, allegations of
misconduct, bullying, harassment and discreditation in conjunction with the Canal & River Trust’s
directors and senior employees and their positions or office and the malicious unauthorised
mockery of the Trust’s logo published in the aforementioned articles to be calculated to disparage
Canal & River Trust and its directors and are therefore defamatory to Canal & River Trust within
the meaning of Section 2 of the Defamation Act 1952.

It is clear that you are either author, editor or publisher of the defamatory statements referred to through http://www.boatingcommunity.org.uk reverting to http://kanda.boatingcommunity.org.uk as
envisaged by Section 1 of the Defamation Act 1996 and therefore it was your responsibility to take
reasonable care that articles published by you do not contain defamatory statements and images.
Should you allow the publication of the statements to continue, Canal & River Trust will be left with no option but to consider civil proceedings against you.

Accordingly, we request that you cease publicly displaying the aforementioned articles on your
website or elsewhere without delay. We further request that you publish the attached text by way of
an apology and make an undisclosed charitable donation to the Trust as a way of making amends
in line with Section 2 of the Defamation Act 1996.

28 August 2012

I acknowledge receipt of your letter dated 21 August 2012 that you sent to
info@boatingcommunity.org.uk. I require you to provide detailed clarification of which specific words or statements in the articles you have referred to that you consider to be “references to impropriety, allegations of misconduct, bullying, harassment and discreditation in conjunction with the Canal & River Trust’s directors and senior employees and their positions or office”. Please specify in detail your arguments for asserting that these words or statements could be construed to be calculated to disparage CRT and its directors.

I would be grateful for your response within seven (7) days.

4 September 2012

Further to your email, I would be grateful if you first clarify whether you are an editor or operator of the website http://www.boatingcommunity.org.uk. If so, please let me have your correspondence address together with an address of your solicitor (if any) and confirm whether your solicitor is entitled to accept service of legal documents.

If not, please let me have names of the website editor and the website provider together with their contact details. In the meanwhile, I note that the articles referred to in my email of 21 August 2012 continue to be published on the http://www.boatingcommunity.org.uk website. The website operator and/or editor was put on notice that Canal & River Trust considers the contents of those articles defamatory Accordingly, should this matter progress further, I reserve the right to bring this fact to the court’s attention.

4 September 2012

This is an open letter. I acknowledge receipt of your email of 4 September 2012. I have noted your comments. I am the Editor of http://kanda.boatingcommunity.org.uk (the “Web Site”) and the author of the articles and images that you refer to. The Web Site is not run on a commercial or for profit basis. For all other purposes I am the publisher of the Web Site in that I make the decisions regarding what is published and I perform the electronic publication.

I am not represented by a law firm. I am assisted by the National Bargee Travellers Association (the “NBTA”) and by XXXXXX as McKenzie Friends in this matter. I would be obliged if you would copy any further communication to legal@bargee-traveller.org.uk.
XXXXXX of the NBTA will respond to your enquiry to him in relation to the technical details of the web site.

I observe that you have failed to respond to my request for a clear specification of the specific words or statements that your client alleges are defamatory. Because of your continued interrogation of me, should you not proceed in issuing a claim in this matter, I shall make a complaint pursuant to s.2 Protection from Harassment Act 1997.

It is also material to this matter that, insofar as your client is required to disprove statements when making a claim alleging defamation, the NBTA has now provided evidence, verifying the maladministration on the part of your client, to the Waterways Ombudsman. The NBTA shall refer to additional evidence as appropriate.

I reserve my rights in all respects.

4 September 2012

Without Prejudice Save As To Costs

I write further to my first email of 4 September 2012. I note that the statutory functions of CRT (including the management of the waterways) remain a  public function. Therefore in relation to this public function, CRT remains bound by ECHR. I note that CRT has sought to curtail my fundamental freedom to impart information and ideas regarding the management of the waterways. It follows that your client has violated my Convention rights under Article 10 ECHR. I would be grateful if you would convey my request to your client that it ceases and desists in violating my Convention rights under Article 10 ECHR immediately.

I reserve my rights in all respects.

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Gentling A Wild Bat

 

 

Giving my tired head a rest on the palm of my hand I see the continuation to the problematic sentence in between the tiny arrangement of flowers underneath my window. The little blue box with its lid opened on the ‘Tuesday’ section reminds me that I am safe from hallucinations as the pill had been consumed shortly after dinner. Instinctively my head returns to a position of confirmation.

My world becomes a vortex of memories projected through the eyes of a being while the last sound before the thriller is my voice repeating the now completed phrase over and over…

“Her eyes are sapphires, fires, liars. She is the light… the lying light…our fire created sapphires…  innocent liars…”

Until the world is calm again and the filigrees of memories take the lead, like a mirage caused by my dehydration.

The light of my living room arrogantly ridicules the one in her sapphires; so much so that I am scared off and in doubt my lips know only to twist and coil into a smile…that smile…her smile. This act in itself is a kind of language understood only by the hunter and her prey. It is similar to a contract, it is a guarantee, signed, sealed and handed over to cause the collapse of murderous intentions. Their transformation results in bittersweet gasps and insatiable shadows as they act in contradicting manoeuvres allowing weakness at first, only to rise again and feast on an expecting, welcoming lamb.  The shapes and sounds of things to come include thundering feminine grunts accompanied by a background of whispers … gentle clawing soothed by the magic which seeps out from our pores while we’re fully clothed, yet naked.

In ‘god’-like synchronization the rain drops mercifully begin to fall to the rhythm of those inspired by the fleshly sensation between our bodies; creating the prelude to our chorus:  drip…drip…drop…

From walls to wind are dancing feet moving ever forward while her skin presently owns my embrace and me. I walk behind her almost in a waltz; my fingertips covering her eyes, excited by the static summoned by flesh tasting flesh. The grass is dampened by the slow drizzles of rain and as our feet connect to the green beneath them; the tickle prepares us to merge with the flock of shower drops and simultaneously the wind gives in and gradually stops.

A moment is all it takes for gravity to envelope us in a blanket of soil and leaves. My lips aching to rest on her collar bone, my hands wandering… alone. The moonlight pierces through the crowds of spectators with their wooden locks of browns and greys; falling like a spotlight onto her but excluding me even as my body moves in and out of the ray’s radius. Our movements are urgent now; the rain speeds up in accordance. Her heart beats so fast I can feel it pulsating in my throat.

We were like bats worshipping one another.

The landscape and scenery are only a contrast; steam and rain, dark and light along with the moonlight.

She holds on to me as my lips press onto her forehead.

I smell a tear roll down the side of her face as she looks at me unwilling to utter a word. This moment is not meant to be spoiled by thoughts and questions about what lay ahead.

Like bats, with the sunrise we were no more.

My heart threatens to tear out of my chest as I run down the stairs and towards the place beneath my window.

A sharp turn left… then a right… then another right…

She looks at me, cautious, analysing.

I scoop her up and hold her to my chest, just then – a rain drop. A small tear wells up as I begin to walk back to my apartment.

My palm gentles the top of her head

Again

Next up… The Philosopher’s Stone

Your own… Personal… DADA!

“Anti-Art” were the words used by Hans Richter to describe the movement that was DADA. This was because the movement was the complete opposite to art and DADA went against everything that art stood for.

Where art was based on traditional aesthetics and such; DADA ignored tradition and aesthetics.This was the reaction of the creative population towards World War 1. ‘Anthem for Doomed Youth’ by Wilfred Owen almost immediately springs to mind when pondering upon the rise of DADAISM.Throughout his struggle to keep alive, Owen created a lot of his own kind of DADA. Now we need  not get confused since the movement included mainly: visual arts, literature, poetry, art manifestoes, theatre, graphic design and many more.

DADA is not limited… the point is that there are no rules, a total artistic freedom.

Postmodernism, Pop Art and a lot of other lovely things indirectly sprung from this movement. Figuratively, this was the breath of fresh air after the war, the knitted pieces of broken people recreating what had been lost to them in the kind of silence that screamed at the rest of the world.

It is said that one of the origins of DADAISM is associated with the Cabaret Voltaire in Zurich…[for more on that visit: http://www.dada-companion.com/cabaret/].

Enough of the theory… this blog is about personal DADA.

All our routine activities have the potential to be more enjoyable, beautiful and artistic. Brushing your teeth, making your bed, making breakfast… eating that breakfast, the way we walk, talk and act… those are all routine habits that one could easily begin to appreciate and enjoy more if we actually put ourselves into them…

Try using the back of the toothpaste tube to apply the paste to your brush… or humming the Adams Family theme song while you do it or sing ‘ This Is Hallolween’ if it will make you feel more cheerful. Living life can be as wonderful as painting is to those who (like myself) are no good at it. There are no rules when it comes to being yourself .

Many people may not even be sure as to who they are, and even then I say: Make your own, personal DADA. I must add that your own kind of DADA does not necessarily have to be cheerful if that is not who you are or how you feel… Once again there is complete freedom to create any form of art inspired by any and every emotion that one goes through. I for one have a different walk when I am sad as opposed to when I am happy. I do things differently when I am in a different mood and to an extent everyone does, only we do not really notice it.

Try picking up  the empty coke can the next time you walk down the road… think about what your kind of DADA with regards to this can would be. Throwing it into the nearest bin by the way also counts! The next time you go shopping try buying something that you would feel totally comfortable in and try not think about what it looks like but rather if it is the kind of the thing you could sit in/wear/sleep in for days at a time if needs be.

Try sprinkling a bunch of mint leaves on your pizza the next time you order one.

Eat DADA, draw DADA, write DADA… live DADA.

Be different by being you… whoever said that you cannot be goth,hippie, religious and gay all at the same time? You can be a nerd and still be cool and vice versa. There are no rules and no impossibilities; I often say how I wish people would stop adding the word to the dictionaries.

I was always fashionably in trouble when I was in high school. I broke the rules that did  not suit me, but always in such a way that I never really got into any kind of trouble for my actions. I often disagreed with my teachers and I would get away with it because in the end we would have a factual debate and often I’d come up with a better argument.  I never really had any real friends at school and yet most people knew me. I was the gay, fashionably rebellious, soft, caring and friendly girl with the strangest sense of style and the nerve to wear a mow-hawk on school grounds (or so I’ve been told). I wrote essays that my teachers never really enjoyed reading but had to give me credit for regardless. Yet I loved my school and my teachers, so much so that I want to go back to the place as a teacher and hopefully one day I will create one such establishment of my own.

My ultimate form of DADA would be to teach it in an institution for the alternative and traditional arts, languages, sciences etc.

Possibility means scope and variety and the space to mess up and try again without having to erase or rewind. There is so much more I wanted to say… I guess I’ll have to come back to it.

Until then…

Make good (DADA) art!