People Aren't Nice, So What?

For years I've bicthed and moaned about my participation in this system and done nothing about. For years I've thought about it in moments of solitude; in my high school years I'd be smoking joints listening to conscious rap music,reading some politically informed book or other allowing my own conspiracy theories to unravel thinking each one was more profound than the last. In later years I'd admit my defeatist attitude to all of  it and simply put it down to being a cynic, calling my self an anarchist at heart and accepting that socialism was a doomed system only meant for idealists. A middle aged American man once guided me out of a conversation my reciting Churchill's

“If you're not a liberal at twenty you have no heart, if you're not a conservative at forty you have no brain.”

Now this whole growing up thing is fucked from the beginning, cause well the problem that I have a problem with is the human life cycle itself. The innate properties life itself posesses and that is: The primal instinct of self preservation and survival. Now maybe I'm disappointed at the world and universe itself. Maybe I'm a hippy trapped in a lib fucking an altruists heart while sucking on the cock of Buddha on his back in Nirvana. But This whole thing doesn't sit well with me.

I mean there has to be more to it... We claim to be the most progressive beings in the ever expanding universe that even Einstein wasn't sure of right? Yet everyday we have no problem with allowing people all over the world to suffer for our benefit. I've tried and continue to apply Zizek's ideology of cynicism as a coping mechanism, trying to make myself feel better for all the injustices of the world I contribute to just in my participation of everyday things, from my Nike kicks, my daily intake of meat and even use of technology built in Asia's trade free zones.

I'm obviously writing this to feed my own middle class hang ups and narcissism about being a conscious member of the fucking global elite. But everyday I read a paper about a woman getting raped, today she was pregnant, last week she was over 70 and a few months ago she was 10 months old. Justice will never truly prevail because of a broken justice system that would rather tend to the symptom of the perpetrators rather than the disease. Nothing will be done cause there's no actual capacity nor willing and able minds ready to fully invest themselves into establishing the roots of these heinous acts. Everyday I read a paper about how someone got murdered in some grizzly fashion for some material possession or other or maybe even out of some deep seated emotional/psychological dysfunction that will never be properly resolved as there'll be no real attempt made into the understanding of these"monsters".I read about the redirection of money that could be better used to the upliftment of human selves going into the pocket of otherish selves. I read and I read and I think and I think and nothing comes of it. Cause the last thing I wanna do is be another missionary contributing to these decaying mass graves of bankrupted humanity.

It's easy for me to sit and write from this screen probably manufactured by hands being payed less than a dollar a day and with contracts that have "no suicide" clauses. It's easy for me to sometimes sit in my own room after a heavy weekend and some intense LC to reflect on the world and allow myself sometime to sob into my person's arms and profess my hatred of money. It's easy because I've already othered the dying and starving children of Africa with their fucking kwashiorkor making our continent look bad by continuing to suffer from colonial imprint that my friends and I are fighting with food in our bellies, English words in our brains and electricity for our computers. It's easy for me to other these fucking child soldier motherfuckers who end up being warlords anyway! The ones who end up raping and killing their own mothers and sisters out of cowardly fear of mutilation or death! The cowards go on to sniff cocaine and gun powder and drink their shame away instead of doing the right thing and shooting off the guns they're given into their twisted little brains!

Fuck it, what's this weird rant even about? Where are the facts? The references? Why the fuck am I whining about things I can't even prove I am participating in? Even if I am, I'm doing so from a distance, a stakeholder from a far! Everyone gets their fair share of Karma, why waste time crying about it? Compassion and guilt are reserved for the whites who have fucked the world up with their invented systems of control right?


Yeah I blame the whites for a lot of it. But I believe that people are inherently rotten. It stems from man's drive and need for survival. I acknowledge that's a stupid and childish thing to do. To blame the driving force behind existence, but I don't see people as active contributors to the planet. I see us as parasites just here to party, only the booze and drugs are running out and instead of just a few fights going on at different sections of the party it's going to be everyone versus everyone. No teams. No loyalties. Pretty much what it's always been except without any niceties.

Another useless blog post. Another useless whine. Complainers without points are useless.

Angry Happines

"I'm a Jazz musician and I'm proud to say that" Tebogo Mokoena, Saxophonist for Planet Lindela

My friend Skumbuzo and I watched our first Planet Lindela performance last night. It was nothing short of amazing. Skumbuzo went on to comment that he thinks that JHB right now is like NYC in the 70's. That this picture that I sourced would be appropriate. God I miss my dear sweet Magenta. Next on the to do list is to get me a new camera.

Still a naturalising “Braamie” proceeding a weekend that has left my body in shambles, free form jazz expression allows me to fall into a state of youthful joy un the rebellion against conformity. Angry happiness is what I call it and it soothes the anxiety of my four day hangover.

Jazz music, a legacy that needs to introduction. It’s a raw energy of utter surrender to a wisdom tapped into via sonic deconstruction and an open channel for minds and spaces to collide in harmony. Some of them keep their heads still, but their feet are unable to wave off the music’s seduction. Who can successfully fight off breaking melodic landscapes in motion of freedom untamed?

Solos unite, they release inner conflict, dressing upon the crowd an apron of outer peace. These men on stage are engaged in a tough battle to realise their sleep states. R30 is a beer and a half to forgo, I’m okay with that. In return I’m allowed to enjoy a magnanimous performance that reminds me why I need to pay for good shows. As an aspiring artist, it’s easy to lose sight of the reality that in our struggle to vocation, we need to financially be willing to support each other, or we won’t survive.

A screaming saxophone awakens a conflict temporarily resolved.

The crashing cymbals echo off empty walls too long ignored, finally finding solace in reverberation.

A walking bass line guides the kid’s limited path to the serenity of river tributaries on their way to the mouth, which whispers an obvious secret. Strive for peaceful elation.

The pounding keys melodically dull a skull too old to listen to a novelty worn off. They ignite a new wisdom that realises truth unconvinced seeks refuge in the pious deity that is human expression.    

Cross elation. Angry Happiness. Last night I listened to jazz.

TILL THAT DAY

 

I probably started out with my arms as thin as yours. Getting no love from the ladies and wishing to be like Daniel Craig. Till it came to me one day, that nobody will just hand it to you; you have to exercise for it yourself! And I did. I went weeks without sleep, curling the dumbbells in my room when the gymnasium closed at 23:00. I did pull ups, military presses, bench presses and push ups just to relax. My diet was made up of carbs and protein. My arms called me an asshole and all I told them was “I’m doing this for you” and so I continued. And I continued. And I continued. And I continued. And I continued. And I continued. And I continued. And I continued. And I continued. And I continued. And I continued. I continued till I could continue some more. And so I continued more. My arms got to the point where they superseded my legs. The only use I had for my legs was to kick the air. And man did I kick that damn air! I got to the point that I started kicking it like it wasn’t there. I started kicking the air so hard sometimes I heard it whistle. (So be careful of my legs too, cause, give me the chance and my leg will be so far up your ass that my knee will brake your anus bone! SHIT NO MORE!) But this story is not about my legs. My arms are the essence of this tale.

After having worked so long on these guns I finally found the license to aim, shoot and kill. I had ladies for days wherever I went. I travelled the world and found ladies on my arms all day everyday. They would cling on and not let go for long distances. And when I say long distances, I mean very long distances. I mean they still on till this day (I guess the journey hasn’t ended yet). Everywhere I went people would watch me roll by in amazement. Firstly; I’m the first man to ever walk on his arms. Secondly I’m the only man to literally walk with women on his arms. They come from all over. Indonesia, Ukraine( I find western Europeans boring) Fiji, el Salvador, Hungary, Greenland, The North Pole, Antarctica, Chad, Kenya, Egypt, Liberia the list goes on. I’ve been dubbed U.N. through my way of living as I have had no problems getting girls. I had them working in unison carrying my arms and choreographing the route they took, to carry me to my destination. I believed myself to be the God of all women. I felt fully armed for whatever women believed they could throw at me, my name was Jonty and I was sweeping all reverses. The stumps had never come close to being hit... until the day I arrived in the town of Ga-rankuwa. Jesus Christ I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.

On my day of arrival I thought that they could keep the dust whole of a small town. Till I saw that the woman of the place paid me no mind. Not in the slightest. I would coordinate the ladies to take me to where I needed to be; NOTHING. Even when I would walk up to them they would just look back and reply in Tswana: That I thought I was all that because of my arms and all the girls that I had on my arms. They would say “Ha! He’s actually a freak of nature, having arms that he walks on.” “His got the body of a midget and the arms of Vin Diesel choma!” “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!”

If there was anything that made me feel like a fool for having such beautiful arms was the reaction I got from those girls in damn Ga-rankuwa! For weeks that line would run through my head and make me feel so very sad! I would walk down the road and hear “...body of a midget...” Many times I would be asleep and hear “...arms of Vin Diesel...” This would keep me awake all night just rolling around in my bed. I couldn’t sleep. I no longer wanted to walk. The ladies on my arms would try and carry me around but I would just shake them off and they would climb back on. For weeks I was depressed. I was sad for a very long time. I was sad till that day that was destined to be. I was in a store one day buying the ladies the usual things that they needed to stay on my arms. Protein shakes and bars. A man walked in and saw my sour face and spoke to me. In Tswana he said “Hau! I don’t understand how you can be looking so angry with life when you have more than what the rainbow nation can offer right on your arms! You obviously do not appreciate the good things that life has given you!” These words were greeted with a round of applause and cheers from the ladies I had on my arms. I then went on to tell the man my story and why I had the right to feel the way that I did. I told him what the girls of Ga-rankuwa had ridiculed me to. When I finished the man simply smiled at me. I was rather confused and agitated by this notion and had readied myself to give the man a poesklap and a kick to wake him up to my sad reality. But before I could do anything the man spoke and I was given my confidence and strength back by a simple sentence. I smiled and thanked the man and did exactly what I had to do. Without the mans help I don’t know what I would be today.

On my arrival back to the place where I had tried to get the beautiful ladies of Ga-rankuwa where I had first failed, they looked at me and were again put into stitches of laughter over my appearance. This still hurt as badly as it did the first time, but today I had a new found confidence that would be killed by nothing and no one. One hand after the other I walked to the ladies. I stood in front of them and smiled. They were confused by my joy and continued to laugh at me in the hope to send me away with my tale between my legs again. Not today I remember thinking.

Then with one fluid motion, my arms rotated backwards, took two lollipops and R5 air time out my pockets, let my feet touch the ground for the first time in years and held the items out to them. Immediately their jaws dropped and their eyes widened. Exactly the reaction I expected. Today they too travel on my arms. And I still continue my quest. Next stop New York.

Passing The Time

 I'm having a little too much fun out on tour and finding the story a bit hard to write ‘cause all these motherfuckers are genuinely nice people. No cocaine. No violence. No RACISM and we slept in Bloem for Christ's sake!

Our driver seems to be a real G though! No fucking doubt about it. Homey just dropped word that he's an emotionally stunted motherfucker.

Why?

20 years of being a prison warden, he decided ‘fuck this rap game (Fuck Rick Ross!)” then tried running a Simple Simon Pies franchise, lost 150K, drove trucks and now runs his own shit.

He's rather unassuming. Just a rotund Afrikaans man with glasses. Until he starts talking about the shit he's seen, saying things like, "And then you want to talk about human rights! These aren't people. They're animals!" and laughs inappropriately about the good days they had while he worked in prisons, which involved beating the savages into submission.

"The problem is that back then the wardens knew where they stood and the prisoners understood where they were... Now no one knows what they're supposed to be doing."

After a story and little chuckle about opening a solid security gate to be stared down by a severed head stuck between the bars, he goes on to tell us that some people are made for it and some people aren't.

Adam (Bateleur) should have been the writer for this trip. He's prompted this whole discussion and I happened to walk in on it.

"Look people are different. I've seen wardens and prisoners lose they're minds. I mean the stuff you're seeing everyday! That's why you hear that wardens drink a lot. JA!"

Apparently there was a case when 26 dudes got locked into a cell one night and when roll call was taken the next day there were only 25 in the cell. All the dudes were in for the long haul and murder was common. All the prison wanted was the body and not having to try explain paranormal activities to the bureaucratic channels. After an exhaustive search of the entire prison they finally caved in and called in forensic detectives.

Under the U.V light the blood shone bright in the toilets. Apparently dudes got GOT(!) then had his bones completely shattered, followed by being cut up into a million little pieces before being flushed out to sea. Silence is the code: we'll never know why. My guess... something to pass the time. Validating their skill. How do you hone your craft without practice?

Ultimately, we’re just a country suffering protracted PTSD I guess.

"I sat there thinking, another fifteen years of this then I can only get my pension. I spoke to my wife. Told everyone I was done, they even laughed at me saying I was never going to do anything else. Next I handed in my resignation."

I'm handing in my resignation. We're all fucked up in one way or other. I would only disagree with Sean and say that. They are the humans fucked up by us, the sanctimonious monsters. "Cause human's tell the truth even when they lie." Scarface fuck up.

And now for a word from out sponsors:

Biggups to Bateleur, Christian Tiger School and The Frown!!!