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.


The bloody edges of a jigsaw puzzle AKA Fuck this shit, Im going home.

I set my feet on mars to discover that it was empty..

This time, there is no healing that time can provide
No story that it can clearly articulate,
This time ,Time will stutter when it tells
Because in our lives things that shouldn’t speak have become our spokespeople and representatives
We gave mouths and wings to abstract ideas..
Here money talks and time flies
But we did not realize that money talks in riddles and white lies
But this time, you need not shy from bite but fight back
Because some of us take pride in well worn road while some abide by bypath
This is it, church of mouth where gullet clashes against pallet
to vibrate in mantras that stand themselves up as hymnals
Hear my heart erupt out in praise,
fighting out against its four walled cage

My tears ran down my face to muddy the red hot soil, clinging to my boots…

Every breath is an act of faith
Because I stand scattered
I fail to be seen, I fail to even matter
So I breathe in like every exhale would leave me shattered
When the positivity runs out long before your stomach succumbs to debt
While Staring at your blue lined paper plate and nothing but crumbs are left
And your feet cannot be summoned to step
Can you blame me for being a wallweed, unable to dance
Cant move the frozen gears, they’ll creek awake when the sunlight creeps away
They are shy
Nothing can overcome their desire to stay silent and hide
That’s why I feel like an outsider inside
I can no longer care when my efforts go ignored or when they are denied a reply..

Can I even move against the dust…

Why so soulless
Why is your face plastered with hopeless frown
You should really learn how to dance in something either than half steps and procrastination
Even if we look like hung corpses flapping in the wind while we’re doing it
We’ll epileptically seizure our way out of the pain
This dance will never ever be called unsure again.
If not we’ll just learn to die on command
We’ll learn how to die where we stand
Because 1 million coffins are clapping closed like a studio audience in applause
in the news and in movies our obituaries will all be written in closed caption
And overworked and underpaid, death will be caught gasping
but we’ll dance like this dance has all the answers
Rain dance till we flood the earth and drown ourselves

I set my feet on mars to discover that it was empty and I was happy.

Rectangle (Senile Ramblings from a wise old homeless man pt 7)

Is there a difference between death and amnesia? I mean a true amnesia, one where you’re forever exiled from the past memory of your life(lives). Whats the difference between that and death because who you were basically dies and there is no heaven to reconcile with. They say you only live once but in truth you live everyday, almost a thousands lives between sleep and unconsciousness. Your memories elude you into thinking that life is a single continuous stream. So in a few days, parts of this moment will be forgotten. You’ll probably have forgotten ever reading this status one day and in truth the you who is the you at this moment will be replaced by a new you with similar traits but in essence who is not you. This you is going to suffer an existentialist death and he/she wont be mourned, just forgotten. The worst deaths are those that the eyes cannot see. I’ll address this theory as an absurdist – life is too short to ever have a fixed and objective meaning and nothing tangible can save it from being meaningless. Even worse , your likeness lives through a thousand lives that will never have meaning. Nothing can save your lives from this ultimate meaningless, not love or knowledge or money. You see, you are useless too but you don’t even know it.

Gathering Feathers (1 November 2013)

Its become a matter of finding a place in a world that ultimately hates us. I’m a hobo, going from domicile to domicile in search of a home. That’s what keeps me going, the sweet dream of a home. That has become my one word mantra, I echo it in meditation like – hoooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmeee


Max Payne is such a well written game – how did the movie turn out so shit?


I prefer Nina Simone’s version of Strange Fruit over Billie Holiday’s.


I wonder without a truly successful political background or career, without even the accolades of running a major profitable business to justify why I should be given the keys to the country, could I run for president or even a party leader. One of the greatest arguments against Obama when he ran for president at the age of 44 was that he was too young and unqualified to run a country because he had never run a large organization or successful business even though he was a Chicago State Senator. Not to compare America to us or any country but should we not have high standards for our politicians as well. With any job, you need a certain amount of experience and education in order to be considered for that position. If I was to simply start my own party, write speeches aimed at the impoverished majority, speak of every fear and unrest of the common man’s mind and mind you, I’d be lying half the time, could I become your president? I look and sound just like you, I’m the axes handle, there’s no reason why you should not believe what I say.Could I appeal to your tribalistic sensibilities? I’m not pointing any fingers at anyone. I’m just saying Politician’s lie and one day by the time we realize what big teeth grandma has, it will be too late.


I am shit scared of socialism.


I dont think anyone appreciates kindness more than me, especially if its from a stranger.


They like cars and alcohol. I just really dig books and art.


Capitalism – The government works for corporations

 Socialism – The government is the corporation


They’re worried about fashion, hair and nails; I’m worried about the human condition both existentialistic – esoteric and physical.


Money is thicker than blood. My parents taught me that.


When music becomes a mocking interpretation of everything we are.


If I was a wrestler, I’d just play the heel – the villain through my whole career.


Sometimes loving a broken person is like playing a game of tetris. You put them together again, just to watch them disappear.


The daily politics of being human


Albert Einstein said “I am convinced that He (God) does not play dice.”
Stephen Hawking said “God not only plays dice, He also sometimes throws the dice where they cannot be seen”


Now, I have to learn how to fake confidence. This would be easier if I was still a Christian #NoOffenceToAnybody


The problem is Im too deep or rather I think too much, cant seem to get out of my head, who can blame me, its a nice place when its not cloudy with recrimination. I need to learn how to be as plastic and seemingly shallow as these bathroom models who post naked pictures of themselves for likes? Self gratification? To be noticed? I don’t fucken know, but the implications are still weird if not scary. Sometimes the puddle is just a puddle but its still embarrassing when the water splashes your face.


Things will get better, if they don’t you’ll adapt, if you cant then oh well *Shrug*


I wonder if the dead envy the living or pity them?


Don’t drink the water (Senile Ramblings from a wise old homeless man pt 7)

When your dreams fall apart and every hope you have ever had seemingly vaporizes and abandons you, to make it in this world, you’re supposed to ignore the regret and pain that comes with failure. You have to some how get up and start again as if you were something mechanical,  an automaton tinkering along that needs to replace its rusted parts to be okay. You are not allowed to feel and most of us get it so wrong that we’re stuck feeling for the rest of our lives – picking at the same scab, never allowing it to scar over and heal. All we were was based on that dream that just some how got up and walked away from us.  It was everything that defined us. You found out what you were not and you got stuck in that void – in the middle of nothing. There was a point in time where you convinced that everything was okay and would be okay until you found out how disillusioned you were. There is no daylight any more – night and day seems the same. Memory reminds you of the times you could feel and how breathing the rain in felt. It’s like a smack now when it splashes you on the face. Now and then again, you get glimpses of what you were and you wish that you were a child again so you can be allowed to dream. You grow to realize that its a dream and so much of what you thought you wanted was an illusion. You’re an overstuffed waste bucket, a collection of every shitty experience you have ever had and you are so pale , frail and shell shocked against the sun light. You just wish you could go back and be what you once were.  Those glimpses are like tortures because they come and go, just when you think you’ve finally found sanctuary in a thought, it becomes over worn by the regret reminding you that you’ve climbed this hill before…

“One must imagine Sisyphus happy.” 

We cant do that any more. We cant fool ourselves into thinking that the mundane will provide us with enough self importance to justify our existence in the negative frames of society. What do we do now? We start searching for silver bullet cures in books, drugs and religion, dreaming that somehow in their words or chemicals, we’ll find a tunnel or a river that will wash away who we are and we’ll come out the other end, changed and happy. It’s a let down every time. Teach yourself to forget my friend. Teach yourself not to feel. You’ll lose a lot of your humanity but nothing can hurt you if you have nothing there. There is no suture that can stitch your child hood back. Sometimes the water is not made for drinking, sometimes you have to take a bath in it to come out clean. Unfortunately, there will always be stains and scars, you have to find resolution in your past, heal, gather the broken pieces that could still work for something new and move on.


Pholcus phalangioides (Senile Ramblings from a wise old homeless man pt 6)

Remember when they made a mockery of your open heart ?  You were a walking freak show. Your skin looked like the graffiti’d walls of an old urban tenement ,not from tattoos but from a fresh batch of scars that life had left you with. When it got cold, you could feel all you had lost in that lonely chill like a phantom limb grinding itself on the sockets of a joint that once held your arm.

Word picture painter ,looking for a vacant stare for your art to reside in, they take you for granted my friend. Your soap box is worth much more than their useless hearts. You and I know that love is a dereliction of all good sense and you loved so much that they labelled you crazy.

One day you were walking back home, with your hands clutched tightly on a set of grocery bags. Gravity weighed down heavily on you that day and it felt like the clouds were gathering around you like an audience. The air was thick and humid and it felt as if you were trying to breathe in a slab of concrete. Fifty steps down an empty lane now separated you from home. You stopped dead in your tracks, turned around to see where you just walked from. You couldn’t identify the trail with yourself. You tried imagining yourself walking down those steps but it just felt like a painted back drop -artificial and dead. You wanted to somehow disappear into it so you dropped the bags like anchor weights, turned around and let the that thick air embrace you. You disappeared.

Word picture painter, how do you make the silence resonate so loudly? When they are next to you, they tread carefully like they were walking on humpty dumpty’s dead skin. Our poster boy for dissonance.

So here you are today, a letter addressed to human being or – is it being human? The two are both oxymoronic and as different as they are the same. You have done and been both and for that they’ve shown you an ugliness that can’t be blamed on bad lighting. At the end of your life, when  you were asked what a smile was, you were sure that it was another form of a sneer.

Word picture painter, your work still haunts me daily, with every word I quote from it, I hear your words echoing from the chambers of my own larynx. You will be missed.

This is what we read on the letter of your paper skin. “Don’t let entry level ass holes dishearten you. The world can only make you prisoner once you’ve given yourself up. Its safer to be a pedestrian than a passenger in a vehicle made to drive you crazy. All those eight legged monsters that you felt were a threat cant kill you. You see, the daddy long legs spider’s fangs are too short to penetrate  your skin deeply enough to harm you and even if they could cut deeper, they’re venom is too weak to kill you. That’s what they are, weak,poisonous creeps with plastic cutlery fangs and sometimes it may seem that they have hurt you but its not true. You are wasting your time in acknowledging them. You have the power to realize that you are a living article in the cypher of the infinite. You are and always will be even after death. Dreams keep the universe running and free thought has become so unfashionable that it feels like the world is spinning on a rusted axle.  Let go of the dust and embrace the wind.”