Thursday, July 10, 2008

things that look good in shop windows

There are so many things I could say, so many words and feelings, but I must be contained. There’s so much I could laugh about, cry about, shout about...he would change everything, everything, just ask her. Caught in the in-between, this beautiful disaster.

Long street must be my second favourite place in the whole world. My first favourite, well, I haven’t found that place, but I’ll be getting the passport to that place soon enough and I’ll send you a postcard, okay? Wish you were here.

I’m interested in township life, social issues, South Africa, human beings, small things and touching things, like stories of how children walked miles to get to school, in the rain, with broken shoes, or stowed away in dairy trucks to get to school despite violent riots and protest marches. I am appreciating our history, despite the propaganda our education system forces down our throats to get us to understand the dangers of classifying – classifying colour like a palette, classifying ebony against ivory. Worthy against unworthy. Money versus poor.

i love you much(most beautiful darling)

more than anyone on the earth and i
like you better than everything in the sky

-sunlight and singing welcome your coming

although winter may be everywhere
with such a silence and such a darkness
no one can quite begin to guess

(except my life)the true time of year-

and if what calls itself a world should have
the luck to hear such singing(or glimpse such
sunlight as will leap higher than high
through gayer than gayest someone's heart at your each

nearness)everyone certainly would(my
most beautiful darling)believe in nothing but love

In Longstreet on Saturday afternoon I found the Che Cafe, where the guy wearing a Communist cap said we could have cocktails or Cuban coffee if we wanted.
I went thrift shopping for vintage clothing, bought some postcards and looked at these awesome shops that sell makeshift art clothes, like skirts with safety pins and tshirts that say I ♥ ESKOM...not that I’d actually wear any; they’d just look so good in windows or on canvases. I searched a dusty bookstore for an anthology of ee cummings, but no luck, I guess.

He asked me to dance, and well, he looked into my eyes. I found myself moving closer to him. He took my hand. I felt my heart go into my throat, and then swoop down to my knees.

I suppose eight is the date. Eight pee-em. That's the time for most standard courtship meetings. Eight it is. He'll pick me up then?

(Still no word).

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