All in the name of safety and certainty.

“For the night is dark and full of terrors”.

She walks through inner city Johannesburg, arms tightly mantled around her purse, legs briskly kicking herself forward and eyes intently dismissing and avoiding any eye contact. She knows that today could be the day that she gets robbed, raped, murdered or all of the above. She’s never in her life felt safe walking through Joburg alone.

Sporadic glitches
He enters social situations with light tremors and twitches in his muscles. His palms are so hot and sweaty that they could be rented out as saunas for insects. He’s dyssemic around people because he feels like there’s always something socially expected of him and he’s caught between proving himself and uncertainty; a no man’s land – a purgatory for wall weeds. He knows that today could be the day that he is mocked, judged, alienated, criticised and what’s left of his self esteem killed off. He’s never felt safe walking through a discussion alone.

When home is not safe
We’re all looking for some type of safety, a concrete certainty; a financial, biological or social homeostasis… To risk is to go against human nature but how else do we prosper if not by going against the reasonability of our fears. The truth is we risk just to feel safe. We work for shelter, food and financial stability. We love and give just to know that there is a safety deposit box that we can invest our hearts in,even though there is a risk that that the returns will be terrible(unrequited). It’s a fucken scarey world and there are monsters waiting to tear you from limb to limb in every corner but you’re not living if you’re not gambling against a danger. Trapeze art and tightrope tiptoeing wouldn’t be as exciting without the grave possibility of death.

Pull The Choke Chain Tight pt1.

The city looks like a cardboard cut-out from here.
It looks like time sweated dust out from a collective cosmic desperation
And the city took a deep inhale of it like it was huffing on a giant cigarette
Then coughed it out into an explosion of giant dust clouds and particles.
It looks like God performed Seppuku and the city is one of her stiffened rotting entrails
If this city is not proof that God is dead then I don’t know what is….

Piss stained card board

When 5 o’clock comes knocking around,

you will catch me sighing silently to the clamping rotation of the passing trains metal wheels

You will hear me tapping my foot to its percussive cargo banging along

on its cold steel tracks,

I’ve been beaten down like those cold steel tracks and I guess you can highlight those as

the sad ,mute lyrics  of the morning

I cover my ears when the whistle blows,

This has become music to me, not just a steel snake hissing smoke

I find the car alarms and crowing roosters therapeutic, it reminds me that I’m alive

That I’ve survived to play my music

I place my hand on my heart to feel the heavy acoustics vibrating from my chest

This feels as real as the morning humming itself in through my open windows

“If you taught a machine to feel, do you think it would somehow form an appreciation for music?”

That’s a question I ask myself as I cling to the broken circuits leaking out from my waist

I’m trying to reassemble broken cogs they stole from me

They sang as they were doing it – it sounded like they were mumbling out of tune

Maybe you didn’t understand my song, you couldn’t step to its disjointed rhythm

I was a faithful drummer boy though, impaling the air with the solo a capella notes ringing out from the crowded chambers of my voice box

They were singing in falsetto

No they weren’t , they were singing in false echoes of a dead siren

Attracting flies instead of men

And I thought you’d save me

but instead of saving me, you joined and sang along to the chorus

Now there are no vocals that can wash those words out of my head

I don’t think you’ll ever understand why I’m leaving

Understanding is beyond your stubborn disposition

And so I know you’ll find my departure a mystery

But I call it an escape

I’ll rebuild my song with what ever I have left of my chords and i know its not too late

Like a grinning compost heap
I know when the night comes. i can almost sleep

Image.

Declare

My dreams are burning themselves out of my mind,

My eyes are lit up lanterns in the dark, creating passages for my hopes to shine through.

I can barely hold these affirmations back, they burn my throat in protest

They melt my muzzled mouth, like wild horses escaping a whip

My ambition is an albatross that wont let me sleep

The voice in my head that repeats itself is now screaming its way out

My swollen heart outstretches my chest, threatening to rip through the hold of my rib cage

The proclamations come swimming out like they were more than words

My aspirations grow out of me, flowering the air

Yes – the sunshine in my living affirmations breathe day into night

My soul declares ‘I am’ – a nothingness that wills itself to somehow exist.

 

Gathering Feathers (07 October 2013)

“Nothing as painful as a memory”

“I never asked to be born but death is no question,
The answer to life is yes and everything else is a lie.”

“A little originality perhaps”

“Write till we cant write any more.”

“I rather die as an original than live as a duplicate.”
“Okay, now that’s beautiful.”

“Most of my relationships are drawbridges. I have no time to waste on gasoline and lighter fluid for transient friendships. My hand is ready to be withheld and my mind is ready to forget you at any given time. I’m not cold hearted, just tired of wasting time on what was never there.”

“One more note – definition is a shackle and a chain – to say what you are is to also say what you are not and as a living personification of the universe, you are more isn’t than are. In other words you’re born as something amazingly vast and then you are boxed in by identity ,branded by definition, compelled by labels and shortened by “I am”. You’re trying to find yourself in an over worn label – that’s far from original.”

“Im trying to dance around the fact that I miss her. Why do I do this to myself?”

“Naysayers say Im bound to fail
Like I lost the plot but found a trail
And I’ll breathe my lungs rugged till I cant exhale
Because in the presence of silence all noise and sound prevails”

“Contrary to popular belief, time is no healer – it will march along and leave you in the dust until you learn how to fix yourself. Then march along with it.”

“Breaking Bad series finale was….Dexter take notes”

“Reality is glass.”

“I love animals. That’s also probably why my ex girlfriends look the way they do.”

“I’d rather die on my back than live on my ass in an office job.”

“I’ve seen pigs walking on hind legs. They dont just eat shit, they speak it.”

“Have you ever seen a corpse fight its way back to life, will its lungs to breathe again and persuade its heart to beat? Well kiddies, Im going to show you some shit today, a self resurrecting Lazarus.”

“My dreams are burning themselves out of my mind…”

 

Image

Precious

Hold me pensively, like a secret between God and soul.

Practice me daily like a language that only you and nature know.

Keep me close like a childhood scar that you have accepted and now cherish.

Never let me go like the memory of each first time.

Clench me tight like hope in a protesters fist.

Clutch me in your grip like arthritis taking hold of an old man’s tired joints.

Transfix me in your forever like we both have the naivety to believe in an eternity.

Fasten me to your mind like a prayer or an affirmation.

You and I know.

Yes, Because you and I know that you’re the only one who knows the words to my song and who’s willing to sing every precious lyric.          

Trail Weary

You’re still travelling through the travails of my brain flaps,

trying to craft new footprints to my heart.

You have your love mapped out perfectly,

looking for marks and X’s that will reveal a dream.

I told you not to waste trust on me and no tears will revive a drought.

You’re following an empty trail through my mind – Its a cardboard shanty town,

its inhabitants live in voice boxes,

thoughts waiting to become words,

waiting to be communicated.