Tuesday, March 30, 2010


Interview with the one and only Ikey Tiger.


unfortunately for all of us prowling tigresses on campus who faint in his wake, Ikey is quite fine to remain a solitary tiger, thanksverymuch. aw.

coming soon: the kryptonite of ikey tiger: who is the man with the paws?

Monday, March 29, 2010

brighton the pier


flags at the castle of good hope

new era in background

colonization out.

democracy at full mast.

Sunday, March 28, 2010

cape rose

cape rose.


cowgirl on the grand parade

we spotted a cowgirl on horseback taking a leisurely sunday afternoon stroll along the Grand Parade in the city bowl. she didn't seem to have much of an agenda, other than to be eyeballed by car guards, week-end locals and their children on the plaza.

we followed her across the parking lot, not daring to leave the car because of the dubious reputation of the Parade, even in broad daylight.

the horse spooks at a car alarm. passersby by stare in pocketed interest, craning their heads.

the rider stops at one of the muslim take away windows, while followed by some stealthy youngsters looking for a penny and to scare the horse.

children play in the company's gardens.
they were exuberant and excited to be photographed.
shutter speed 125.
iso 200
black and white.

first we take the cape

possible titles for today

homeless man passed out on pavement in woodstock

sunday afternoon in the city

mountain chained

city bowlers

troupe of Coloured children play in the duck pond, company's gardens

the company's rose garden

Saturday, March 27, 2010


'My reputation grows with every failure.' George Bernard Shaw

i didn't fail. i just figured out 100 reasons why it won't work.

i did not fail, i just didn't ask for directions.

i did not fail. i simply fell down and got back up again.

i did not fail, because my enthusiasm has not been lost.

i did not fail. i am understanding the meaning of victory.

i am not a failure. i am a detour.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

road cones and ice cream cones


It's already late and I haven't done so much as a sentence of my sociology essay. Damn. I've instead spent the day in the garage, painting a road cone which I stole from the pavement when no one was looking. Stuffed it into the back of Monique's beetle and sped off. Saw a cop van parked on the side of the road. "Shit, the cops. Hide it!" And tried to lay it down on the backseat but it'a a big fat orange thing and quite conspicuous.

Anyway, so the road cone now stands in my empty garage, with newspaper and cut out photographs stuck all over it. I am covered in glue and enamel paint.

I am also realizing that Muse sounds a lot like Queen.


shouldn't say fuck because it is crude and not a very good way of expressing oneself. it is not ladylike at all and lowers my esteemed level of class.

( yet it never lets me down. )


These creatures
digressing the city until dawn
creating their own realities because
they cannot face the ones they have
the city is their photobooth
they roam in the floodlights and dark places.
calling themselves ‘the untamed youth.’

The city is your photobooth.
Object children
Laying on pavements in pools
of their own fluid
Symmetrical fringes and scar bangs.
blissfully unaware of their idiocy.
Baring their fangs.

Hungry for the fame
But not hungry enough grow out our skinnies
Hallowed be our sins.
Generations gone to shreds.
blackened by smoked out lungs and
magnificently inflated egos.
Found strangers in our beds.
Darling awesomenette
Bang your head, friction
Your life is fiction.
Malboro drags and Kents
I blame the parents.

you are a bore.

Once again I feel obliged to post about the insufferable night-trawling generation that is infecting our city. I do not want to make this into another rant about hipsterdom. Done that, don’t care.

(I sigh disenchantedly)

No, it’s not particularly exciting for me, but nevertheless it is necessary that somebody should bring this to light.

(Lights a cig, takes a drag and begins).

Firstly, let’s take a look at the various blogs, photojournalistic archives, event promotions and brand activation groups that have sprung up all over Cape Town scene in recent months like young shoots in the spring. For your interest I have sourced a couple and posted them on my read this list. I’ll also mention that the likes of we-are-awesome and don’tparty are not the firsts of their kind – similar projects have been going for a while in the US, such as weknowhatyoudidlastnight.com and, as W-A-A will gladly endorse, mark the cobrasnake. Social photography is a thing of the 21st century with explosion of Internet networking, but in terms of recent years it has been actually around long before Cape Town became the new home of ‘awesome.’

(I roll my eyes and extinguish my cig).

So let’s take a step further and look at the WHY of this whole phenomenon. WHY do these young people (private-school educated, middle class and probably living off their parents’ generous trust fund) feel the pressing need to exhibit, promote and classify their social escapades for the world to bear witness to?
In youth culture there seems to be this exasperating sense of entitlement, the delusion that what we’re doing is far more awesome than what you could ever pull off, the self-made invention of ‘awesomeness’ and that my closeted bunch of hooligan friends are FAR more interesting/indierockandroll/connected/crazyass than you will ever be. Especially with our amazingly eccentric names like cobra or Celia or Zach the Square.

I am a witness to this fuckery. Without much choice, really, because you kids just shove all of your stupid mundane fucklit into my face. By simply logging onto the Internet I am bombarded with his new art blog, and yours, and his photography portfolio and her creative brand company and the like. FUCK THAT.

And yes, I did read your blog, but only so that I had some background to comment on its audacity, sheer ridiculousness, drunken grammar, appalling writing and the mundane farce and bid for attention.
I am tired of it.

Fuck your independent labels and whatever you have generated from the electrostatics of your twisted minds.
im an outsider on the scene. i am not part of it. i am not cool enough.
'djs making heartless kids feel your music'


In the wake of cevroncity, the short-lived but controversial writer of the 8-bit era there has been little real criticism of the Cape Town scene. With every movement there will be a reaction. History has seen this in political wings and art movements. What will it take to provoke a reaction to this? Come on. REACT.
(I stir my coffee in an anti-clockwise direction).
This all comes down to an entitled space of self-consciousness.
1) Unhealthy, bordering pathological preoccupation with the self.
2) Elitist attitude towards others.
3) Need to document your social lives, believing that said social lives are more extraordinary than anyone else’s and that the others on the outside actually CARE.
4) Outsiders are the people outside of your circle of awesomeness. You are trying your very best to impress them while pretending that you’re so much better than them at the same time. Quite an accomplishment
5) Unable to see beyond your boring, superficial group of ‘friends.’ They wouldn’t have your back unless they were standing behind you with the knife about to stab you.

It’s awful awful awful awful.

(I hurl.)


Here’s a question for you kids: is the cape town afterdark scene REALLY worth this much attention? Go chew on that for a bit.

Monday, March 22, 2010

leave it unsaid.

installation piece.
empty room.
projection screen.

step into the artwork.

a simple chemical process?

the first miracle.

John 2:1-11 (New International Version)

John 2

Jesus Changes Water to Wine

1 On the third day a wedding took place at Cana in Galilee. Jesus' mother was there, 2 and Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. 3When the wine was gone, Jesus' mother said to him, "They have no more wine."

4 "Dear woman, why do you involve me?" Jesus replied, "My time has not yet come."

5 His mother said to the servants, "Do whatever he tells you."

6 Nearby stood six stone water jars, the kind used by the Jews for ceremonial washing, each holding from twenty to thirty gallons.

7 Jesus said to the servants, "Fill the jars with water"; so they filled them to the brim.

8 Then he told them, "Now draw some out and take it to the master of the banquet."

They did so, 9 and the master of the banquet tasted the water that had been turned into wine. He did not realize where it had come from, though the servants who had drawn the water knew. Then he called the bridegroom aside 10 and said, "Everyone brings out the choice wine first and then the cheaper wine after the guests have had too much to drink; but you have saved the best till now."

11 This, the first of his miraculous signs, Jesus performed in Cana of Galilee. He thus revealed his glory, and his disciples put their faith in him.

Sunday, March 21, 2010



a term in Inuit mythology that suggests a soul existing in all living beings: lakes, mountains, plants, animals and humans, sometimes personified.

produced by the baba yaga theatre, netherlands, Inua is a fifty-five minute incarnation of shape-shifting, form-removing visual transformation.
this one woman performance is a surreal synthesis of landscape and mythology, tension between chaos and structure, tragedy and comedy, madness and reason. in life we have inua, the essence of all things. the young woman, in her journey to embody this timeless spirit of Nature, contorts her body with insect-like movements, executing physical feats beyond her humanity.

was left feeling a little dumbstruck. a little stupid, because i was not sure i understood all of it. what was the emptying of the sand? what language was she speaking? was it even a language at all, aside from the wretched calls of an animal?

this really was 'out of the box.'
left me feeling like i was the box myself...

sufference of the lifeboy

don't mind all the people.

they'll slide the knife from your back
and clean the blood on the gritty greenless ground

while i neglect against my will
look on in despair
praying earnest, that soon you will be found

want me not
let them ravage you and all your goodcomings
while i turn away, against the wall

when it was you and me
i'd have dressed your wounds with pity
stuck around and stayed.

don't you see, to suffer such enmity
as they drove blades into your skin
i'd have driven them away.

Saturday, March 20, 2010


how, oh
how does my book end?

with two lovers
and friends?

disengage the mundane trails of your thought
engage in the waking expanse you brought
with dexterity.

weep not for lover lost
instead drink to when she was yours
sky with stars crossed
constellations drawn in threes and fours

Friday, March 19, 2010

we're dying, egypt, dying!

The Sunlight on the Garden
by Louis MacNeice

The sunlight on the garden
Hardens and grows cold,
We cannot cage the minute
Within its nets of gold;
When all is told
We cannot beg for pardon.

Our freedom as free lances
Advances towards its end;
The earth compels, upon it
Sonnets and birds descend;
And soon, my friend,
We shall have no time for dances.

The sky was good for flying
Defying the church bells
And every evil iron
Siren and what it tells:
The earth compels,
We are dying, Egypt, dying

And not expecting pardon,
Hardened in heart anew,
But glad to have sat under
Thunder and rain with you,
And grateful too
For sunlight on the garden.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

there is a land called Passive Aggressiva.
And i am their Queen.

symptoms of passive-aggressive behaviour:

learned helplessness
fear of competition
fear of intimacy
defying authority
chronic lateness (this does not apply to me, since i have a slightly obessive/aggressive preoc. with punctuality).
a defense mechanism, yet only slightly conscious.

aho ahemmm.
seems most of the writings in this blog fall under the above behaviourial mentions. hmm. what does that say about writer of blog? said writer is queen of passive aggressiva, thats what. they all bow to her and bring her gifts, because if they don't she'll have all of their heads. she is the authoritative figure simply because she hates authority herself. purge the world of all higher powers to become your own.
said writer suffers from the following:

discontented negativism

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

the loud and the breaching

observation of trivial passing exchanges.
observation of people in funny hats.

dismay because he's funny that way.
dismay because he said it best.

grief at his beauty
brief without continuity

heavy eyelids because i'm soundly sleepy.
dear, i miss your arms around me.


they might be giants.
oh no they didn't.
the times they are a-changin'

they as generic.
they as a singular.
they as a vague, unquantifying collective.

they are the people you don't look straight in the eye on the subway.
they are the rule-makers.
they're the time-pacers
we follow them like fools.

they are nameless

they are figments of imagination
the paranoia
madness, gradual insanity

they are watching
we are being watched by 'they'

they plotting
as if by design
while we wander blind in the wilderness
and they, clandestine.

they are the mysterious ones who know all this
how could they possibly know all this?

Sunday, March 14, 2010

my saving grace

if only i were in a great story

the lady of the war

one went to battle for

if i were the maiden in chains
ruined, mocked, tamed
my title stripped
my insolence, slipped

if i were lady of the war

he’d return to me before his last bullet
rescue me from enemy

he is the wounded soldier, but his
asleep all through the war

until at dawn his footsteps shudder me

i’d wake to find him returned


meres of radiance

jesus DOESN'T want me for a sunbeam
- nirvana

yet, i have captured the sun in my hands.
slowly, i crawled towards the sun and reached
i drew the light towards me
the sun is going to jesus
he is swallowing himself into heaven
the horizon will good as consume him
let me interrupt his sinking course
just to hold Him once more.

and now i am going to fling him across the oceans until he ends up on the other side of the earth,
and then the people in the americas will have daylight
and we will have the night.

insincerely, george

particularly disparaging blogger resounding the gloom and doom of being nameless (well,he says he's george, but what's that anyway?) and quite resentful of everything, as everything is 'boring,' a fat person, accented or bad poetry.


we're all going to die.


yeah, you!
i'm talkin' to you. there, with the hat. don't look away.
i'm talkin' up that fallacy
hey, you. don't look away and pretend you and your hat
are too cool for me.

you me and everyone we know.
they're in one room
smoke room.
in stairwells, gathered
in vice-like grips, smothered.

all they want is a puff of fame
they're clawing at each other frenzied
furious for just a shot
shot to the top

you, i'm watching. i am watching you.
you're friday and saturday
you're the early hours
you're the whisky on the rocks

buy me a reputation
buy me at the bar
i'm a liar, i'm a fuck-up, i'm a trend
i'm your inhale, your exhale
your split-second exposure
but you ain't ever be my friend.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

the law of indecision

habitually, i tend to read half way through a book, decide i've over-exceeded my understanding and then stop there. i may go back and read a little more a few months later, but that growing pile of books on my bedside table remains, perpetually, unfinished.

it is the same with movies. i'm watching elizabethtown as we speak, but i'm only halfway and they still have to kiss. as of yet, they haven't. not even much more than a wink. my motivation for watching to the end is to see this kiss, which i am sure will come, otherwise i shall be bitterly disappointed and might throw something solid at the television as the credits roll.

something new:

c) one more hipster//rockenroller.gig-hunter//high-waisted skirter//photog with a blog.
b) another blerrie afrikaans trendoid slash journo-groupie out there by parys.
a) woman of substance.


house you'd be home

would like to take a ride on a topless bus shouting out 'would you ever be my fucking boyfriend' and selling tickets to my own show.

(greed)(fear)(racism)(inaction) (wicked mind)
weapons of

Mass Destruction/

i have no structural thoughts. they seep out of me, through my skin and my hair and my lips. i do not conjugate my thoughts. i simply write what comes to me. that's why things don't make sense here most of the time.

today i'm struggling to bring myself.
to write anything new. to work. to make things work.
to write anything at all.

not sure what i should do right now.
pores are blocked.
throat closed up by the plunge.
writhing in discontent.
smothered by the desire to be well-read.

elvis will always be cool

will YOU always be cool?

Thursday, March 11, 2010

the discussion.

human behaviour

considered new title of my collected works: 'human behaviour'

rolling of cigarettes is cheaper than buying from the store.
you can shave all your hair off and you'll be supporting the fight against cancer.
you can be a hotshot politician and talk the biggest load of bullshit, and still get the vote.
(also, prepare to wade through hate mail, sadistic cartoons by anonymous satirists, matchbox photos, angry white revenge and letters from the communist party telling you you're a douchebag).
spotting red-heads at university is like sifting through pebbles for diamonds.
i broke a plate and wished i was greek.
evangelists come onto campus and try to convert lost souls to find the way, the truth and life.
affirmative action is a one-sided policy that benefits only a small minority of black elites and promotes a culture of mediocrity.

did you know that?

it's not rape if she has breakfast and asks for taxi fare the next morning. (condoms not necessary).
imagine being a bergie and getting hit by the red sight-seeing bus more times than can be counted in the past seven years.
imagine a facebook group being made about a bergie.
if reversing out of your driveway sounds like you're speeding kak fast down the freeway at 200, you might be coloured.
people in the western cape engage with the coloniser.
helen zille is madam who is plastic and an apartheid spy.

broken - ess


written prose
spoken prose.
supposed prose.

prose becoming poetry. the words ebb and flow and recede like the tide upon the great fissures of the earth.
the great ending of the world.

the fish are drawn by the surge
the current flings shingles upon the beach

the words break

the bodies break
down further

the surface splits
where light becomes and hits
the bed with the sound of settling.

the break of the words that concen-
trate on you.
the broken surrenders
the contracted kiss

he'd not return.

Saturday, March 6, 2010

torrential stampeding masses

okay. so much of my general tone in this blog is cynical, bitter, humourist, satirical, melancholic and -i love this one- self-righteous.
there. i said it.

here's why:

i dislike people who write their names as 'johnny-danger 'zoot' fitzpatrick.
or cathy 'whoosh' deluxx-baby moondollar smith.
or steve electrobunny williams.
it just gets to me. you ain't no special-er than i. deal and move on.

i dislike shopping on saturdays, especially when everyone is terribly lower-to-lower-middle class and everyone gets into this feeding frenzy and there are queues and i know that sounds really classist and snobby, but i am only sensible (read Muriel Spark's Black Madonna).

i dislike knowing i have work to do but also knowing that i am in no mood to do it.

i dislike it when you walk up and down the street at 2am and there's nowhere to go because everywhere is too elitist/agist/full/overcrowded and full/boozy/expensive/brawly/post-modernist to oblige patrons.

i dislike it when uncouth vulgar neanderthals try to grope me in the crowd and then don't have the testicles to 'fess up and take the slap.

i wish i could write everything everything everything in just prose. or modernist free verse. there doesn't have to be rhyme or meter. hell, not even punctuation. i would like to write my whole life in prose. thankyou.

do you write?
you should.
I am written to.


ikey sightings

a new novelty on campus is to sit on the steps during meridian and try to spot Ikey Tiger, the mascot for UCT's rugby team. he is the lovable enigma of the university's equally as beloved underdogs and there is never a dull moment when he's out and about in all his splendour.

when i spot him in the milling crowd i run up to him and hug him. the sighting is then documented.

this activity can get a bit tricky because Ikey's got many 'suitors'. there is somebody new in that tigersuit each time, so whoever's on mascot duty is caught unawares by a girl he doesn not recognize, but who seems to recognize him, and is awfully affectionate!

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

jesus wants me for a sunbeam

today's digressions

pescetarianism is an accepted form of vegetarianism because fish are a lower order of vertebrates, cold-blooded and less ethically questionable than consuming mammals. however, some argue that aquatic organisms are sentient, or feel pain.

like, did you believe your eyes when you saw so-and-so holding hands?! like, gawd.

hats of different shapes and sizes are worn casually around campus.

some people hate gays. others are more liberal. some just don't give a shit if you're gay or straight or somewhere on the gaydar at all.

adding to that, being at uct means you can be more gay than you were in high school. more on this to come.

there's a guy who walks around campus in a genuine world war two gas mask and a darth vader cloak and is mad about dungeons and dragons. his name, most anti-climactically, is Tom.
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