Talk or Do?

I’m getting the itchy and restless feeling again. I don’t know what it is but there’s something that tells me I need to do something. I need to fucking make something. I want to make something. I’d like to make something! But there’s only one thing stopping me from doing or making anything! Firstly money! I’m probably the brokest kid from the burbs alive.

Money is the most elusive article in my life. I just don’t know how to make any. I remember thinking at some stage of my life that some bold headed jewish guy was going to show me the way to make the gold but alas was once again reduced to the dop system and had to fight to get scraps for shit I did for him. Then I moved onto an internship and fucked up a job that I was being groomed for. Then there was the stay at home situation where I sat at home and just tried to get fat off the free food. Now I’m working another internship where at least I’m being given a monthly allowance. Thing is the place is not giving me a sense of fulfillment. I just wanna create. I’m really tired of putting shit together to aid middle class old white people choose their best vacation options. I just wanna fucking create.

I kinda wish that the department of Arts and Culture was an actual department in government that encouraged uncontrolled creativity. I kinda wish that there were motherfuckers in South Africa that understood the value behind making cool shit beyond advertising. I kinda wish that there was a bored motherfucker with a squizmillion in his pocket waiting to off load that shit to someone who had the simple intention of making cool shit. I kinda wish that my friends and I could be given that squizmillion and get paid to talk and make shit.

I then realize that I don’t necessarily deserve all the shit that I kinda want. Cause I haven’t done enough. I haven’t executed half the ideas I’ve had this year. Some of them haven’t even started. I haven’t made anything that has made anyone’s mind bug before exploding; leaving bits of their brain cells in my open mouth at their reception of my creation. I haven’t proven that I’m able to stand heads above motherfuckers yet. I haven’t even put the right shoes on to run the fucking race. All of that and the fact that I stay drunk.

Is this the voice of the world’s worst hangover? A toast to everyone out there actually creating instead of smack talking about how they think it could be done better. Shut the fuck up, do and show. 

He's off and I'm here.

When I caught the cab today that was to take me to work, I saw homey waiting half way up the hill, when I had clearly stated that I was on the corner. When he realized I was his guy, he proceeded to roll down and opened the door. The rotund face of weary Xhosa man, I hoped to not be in for too much conversation:

“Kuhle mhlekazi?”

“Akonto tata, siyazama, unjani wena?”

“Hayi ndi right. Undisaphi namhlanje?”

“11 on Addereley.”

“Let’s go then…”

He explained that he had to stay up the hill because Cabnet refused to pay for a new battery and that they said it was cause he used the heater (Are we not in winter? ) and because he left the car radio running.

“Can you see a radio here?” He asks, but before I can respond he carries on to talk about how he would need the car to be on, in order to use the heater otherwise it would simply play the role of air conditioner.

“Informal employment is sometimes, not the right thing ne? Because now, some people have more rights to exploit others. The Muslims and coloureds here in Cape Town, the Indians there in Durban and even the blacks are doing it to each other. It’s only the whites who are not allowed to exploit people there. The government is busy going around to the farms and looking for children, saying that it’s child labour, but don’t even do anything here in the city. Some of the buildings here have little children maybe about 10 or 11 years old busy sewing in a factory, but you don’t see cause the doors are closed and locked with those big chains. Here at the taxi rank there a children who should be at school but are busy learning to be gartjies and they don’t do anything. Why? There in Gauteng there was a factory that burnt down and seven people were burnt to death because of those locks on the doors and the government kept quiet? As long as they stay in power it’s fine.

 All they say is: “Here have these monkeys”

 so that they can still make money and tell us that they’re giving us jobs but all they are doing is exploiting us. Indians, the coloured and the Chinese are allowed to exploit us so long as it’s not the white man. And they know we’re still going to vote for them. That’s why it’s fine for me to work this hard because I need to make sure that my children get educated so that they can’t be exploited like this. Because it’s not so easy to exploit someone who is educated.”

“I’m going to have ask that we get into this lane so I can go to the bank.”

“Okay, I’m just going to have to put myself in here… Don’t worry that’s what we need to do, sometimes you must just take. Don’t worry about this monkey making a noise with his hooter, people were making the same noise when he was doing the same thing to get here, now he’s acting like an angel.”

He starts laughing

“Hey! I’ve heard songs, I heard this song that says an angel is crying. Have you ever seen a picture of an angel? Have you? It’s always a picture of this pretty white girl? White people are full of shit. Before they came here, we didn’t have these ideas of angels and gods, we were fine. There were just people. And then they came here with their shit stories of jesus. Hayi…”

“Xholo ukhuphazamisa tata, kodwa I need to get out here so I can get the money.”

“Oh, okay.”

I draw the money and pay with the little tip I can afford. His eyes seem flat and without character but still they manage to scrutinize me.

“Enkosi ke buthi, I’m sure we’re going to be seeing each other again anyway.”

“Ndiyabulela tata.”

“Shap ke mngan’am.”

He’s off. And I’m here. 

Just because I'm a punk ass soft kinda guy I'ma play you some cheese now

Laugh Again My Beloved Country

I look at the topic on everyone’s lips today in our country and am happy that people have finally decided to open their mouths instead of speak under their breaths or constantly make references to the nice men Nelson (Nelly) Mandela and Desmond Tutu and about how they saved a nation. The past few weeks have been remarkable in terms of free flowing discourse and debate. The complexities that make up our country have been interrogated by the people who make up this country. Finally, there has been a real voice of civil participation in the changing landscape of this adolescent democracy. I say adolescent cause at 18 we are still very much adolescents.

As adolescents we should still give ourselves the freedom to have a wide range of views. People are complex and do not all subscribe to a certain way of life, point of view, or even choices of food. We’re constantly shifting and reacting in accordance to each situation or surroundings. Contexts are what make us up. This applies even more so to an entire country! We seem too eager to forget that our past is what defines our future in the pursuit of the euphemized concept of a rainbow nation. We are not a rainbow. We are an eclectic mix of individuals and communities. We don’t, nor should we, share a brain. We can’t be asked not to say things simply because they might offend others. Whilst a person retains the right to be offended, that right doesn’t override the fact that the other has a right to an opinion and an equal right to voice that opinion. The right to voice an opinion comes with its own responsibilities and whatever opinion has been voiced should note these responsibilities and be held accountable to them. The Brett Murray and Jessica Leandre debacles are prime examples of these. But that is not my focus at the moment. The point that I want to make in this little write up is for the case of Mdu’s comics. I probably won’t be helping his case because my aim is to offend as many as possible.

Do I think my country and government are retarded? Indeed I do. I use the term retarded in the strictest definition of the term and do so very much aware of the political incorrectness of the term. (generalised disorder appearing before adulthood, characterised by significantly impaired cognitive functioning and deficits in two or more adaptive behaviors.)Why do I think they are retarded? Because neither the people nor the government seem to be able to take criticism, a juvenile trait if ever there was one. The complexities that make up this country and moreover the world, still need be ironed out and dealt with in depth. And for as long as people are unable to deal with sensitive issues in an engaging manner there will never be any form of genuine progression. What is this engaging manner you may ask? Hmm… I don’t know, how about humour?!

Mdu’s comics have been making top notch South African comedy with widespread appeal. This appeal would tip the demographic scale in  favour of the greater majority. Why would you not want that? It’s the same ‘don’t let the people think too much’ idea, so that they can manipulate them a lot easier by regurgitating rhetoric. When we breakdown the aesthetics of this cartoon what is really going on in it? One, it is not black Jesus! Let’s get that out of the way. It is Jesus of the ANC! And this is his fourth appearance. He first appeared last year to steal all useful goods out of Zulu boy’s house. Next he was bleaching himself like kwaito sensation Mshoza. He then came down to visit us and was shocked by petrol prices, DA posters and the OMO man. Now he’s back to talk about not really being the son of God but really just being a Shangaan. 

Tsonga people in this country have always been given a hard time tribally, along with Venda speaking people. It’s about time that someone unpacked the facts of how we look at people and the beliefs people carry with them about others for absolutely arbitrary reasons. In essence Mdu’s Comics are questioning the uninformed nature of discrimination we have as a country. The Christians who feel slighted by this should question themselves why? I leave you with a South Park video to present my view to you

Bantu Biko taught me to write what I like. I will use my freedom of speech and if all you do is get offended by my views and don’t interrogate them, engage with them or you’re doomed to be a blind follower like the nazi nation. Or perhaps a nation of privileged people who didn’t question a racially divided system. Hint: this is a reference to Apartheid! Nothing is beyond criticism including this open rant. And before you ask for it here’s my apology:

The Experience that is the Burn

Here we go again, another post and this time on the very ambiguous Afrikaburn. I’ve been a fierce critic of this little pop up community for the longest time, based on two principles. One: The name. A spinoff from  Burning Man, I still can’t understand why it would be named AfriKaburn. There’s way too much unpacking that needs to be done on that conjoined word. Two there’s a sanctimony it’s attendees carry with them that I can’t get down with. A complaint I heard from a purist not so long after getting back is that this year wasn’t the same. It somehow had been tainted by a new element that turned it into a festival which it is not. Damn! I missed out on the good old days!

Anyway, I went, loved it, fell into an unexplainable spiral and now know this:

 Nothing can ever really prepare you for it.

I really enjoy feeling welcome in a place, especially if the welcome comes from a place of personal sincerity. There’s nothing like an embrace from a connection made from a natured honesty. A full acceptance of the self. I enjoy an encouragement which is of personal fulfillment no matter what the avenue one chooses to drive, ride or walk down. Basically I like genuinely nice people.

A night spent in jail, a full day at work and then the trek out to the desert. Eight hours later we’re in a muddy desert and have entered the sleeping community as the birds (had there been any) were about to stir. I’m tired, I’m muddy and I’m fucking scared. A little bitch; I had to have a cut on my pinky finger washed off using Listerine as the antiseptic, fearing an infection from digging one of the cars out of a muddy ditch for two and a half hours. We’ll go back there. We park the car and decide it’s time to go and talk to people, it’s only 04:00, they should be up anyway. Stop, listen… follow the music!

Two Afrikaans dudes with a battery powered music generator (I didn’t see what they were playing off, all I know is that it was fucking loud.) welcome us to their fire and hand us sachets of homemade honey. Kous and other Afrikaaner. It’s a bit gutting that I can’t remember his name. It’s a motherfucker cold and we’re only opening the vodka now, so we need the fire. We chill, make small chat and poke fun at the funny.  Like an old Afrikaans guy saying: “Wasup my niggas!?”  A few uncomfortable glances exchanged we stammer our laughs and lose our first man to the car. They’re nice enough chaps and we have at least two real jokes where we all find ourselves laughing. At last their battery dies and we take that as our cue to start exploring. The sun is approaching and we’re in the desert. Kous is sad and airs that we were there only for the music. I suppose disgruntling the locals isn’t a very good start to a four day adventure in the desert. Wait… Did I say happy Freedom Day?

Assume I am Carlton Banks. I actually have no place to speak real talk. By the time we’re into it I realise I am Carlton Banks. My sphincter is so tight I’m surprised that my sag is still intact and that I’m not wearing suspenders. First time going on an adventure this big without my squad. I barely know any of these people except for the one I’m sleeping with and even she’s still a rather new addition in my life. They’re loud and I’m just not that kind of brother. Except they're funny and having fun and I wanna be that kind of brother. It took Super Mum-Z two and a half hours to dig out the car, he allowed the polo 1.4 to help pull the Mazda out the ditch and then I stepped into a pile of mud wearing my favourite pair of skate shoes, that I don’t skate to  finally give into the desert. At 07:00 O’clock I finally take off my shoes and socks feel the mud cover my feet and jeans, while Mile’s Davis played in the background to realise that my life at this point was pretty much a cheddar cheesy Hollywood fucking movie scene.

 “I’m in the desert for the next four days. Fuck it.”

A first time club member I’m still anxious as the city wakes up. I greet with a handshake and enunciate every part of my name. The inevitable, "Punani?" Still comes, fuck it. We’re a pair it seems to me. I’m the Tourist; wide eyed with my camera and loving the spectacle that is the desert, she’s the Terrorist; inventing the plots and schemes on how to fuck with people’s perceptions. We’re actually suited to this climate. We eventually touch base with the other non-others and I finally feel like I can kick off my shoes, grab a beer out the fridge and talk shit about the game. Still I notice their eyes telling me not to get too comfortable or anticipating a statement to fuck with everyone’s mellow. We pick up on the shifts each time and the Tourist and Terrorist move onto the next exhibition or structure to snap or burn.

We love every moment out there and the fucked up moments are few and far between. There’s no fighting in the desert but if I could find the translucent skinned blonde haired fuck who ran into the Terrorist at full pace and quantified it by saying:

“I hit you really hard hey?!” then proceeded to run off into the dark. A man could very easily lose the use of his limbs.

 Unprepared as fuck the free ticket was exactly that. I appreciate the opportunity to witness this rare glimpse of uncivilized society being extra ordinarily ordinary. Imagine Cape Town had an actual public art policy…  Now don’t it’s a desert without buildings, just flammable art.

 I have to admit that I love hating on the whites as much as the next cell number, but sometimes they get the party right. For a while I’m happy that I’m there without my friends, I love them and all but we’re all into similar shit and sometime’s don’t know what we close ourselves off to. But the one thing about my group of friends I do miss is that critical point of engagement and not accepting everything for its surface. While I agree with the spirit that the place is trying to invoke; that pure spirit of humanity: both acceptance and giving best exemplified in the gift economy. I still see the societal pressures of the outside entrenched in the fiber of a lot of these beings. At the end of the day this is a playground for the rich. Although the policy is of acceptance of everyone the poor who attend the fest are still  made labourers, only getting the chance to participate because of the gift economy. Welcome, but don’t feel at home. I am the Tourist, lucky to know the Terrorist joined at my hip. I don’t know if I would have loved it otherwise.

For real pictures of the burn visit http://www.madsnorgaard.net/afrikaburn-2012 that guy takes real photos.

Passive Aggressive Labelling

"Ja Phums always the suspect never the victim hey?!"

I don’t know what has me more annoyed the fact that a lot of people think that I’m a racist or that I’m constantly harping on about subject matter which shouldn’t  matter. I don’t know how many times I’ve been asked to stop being so racially sensitive or to just chill out and move on or get with the times. I don’t know how many times my experiences get watered down to isolated occurrences out of my own provocation because I have an antagonistic attitude towards authority. I don’t know how many times I’ve been told that I’m keeping myself back in the way that I think or been made the example of what a reactionary I am. I don’t know how many times the title “Decolonise the mind” has been misappropriated to label my world view.  Hello racism how you living? Under a label? What?!

We’ve all got our own set of prejudices and what not. Let me isolate this and I say I have my own prejudices and believe that everyone else does to. What pisses me off are people who won’t admit to having these little idiosyncrasies and would rather opt to look past them. Or just to qualify them as being awkward. What’s the difference between having a real interaction with a friend and having a polite conversation with an acquaintance? Have we now decided in order to actually get a long  we must simply jump to humour without acknowledging or fully understanding the historical context of jokes and their relevancy in the contemporary world? How am I taking myself too seriously when I’m offended or directly affected by a perpetuated systematic  way of thinking that continuously opts to keep a certain notion alive; that my sight, sound and speech  are to be denigrated in a corner, where the sullen fist has always been kept. How am I supposed to not air my thoughts on the way I see things with the very same people I believe I share a sort of kinship with? The kinship? That of equality. Too long has discourse dictated the expectance of my actions towards certain people. As if “I’m expected to know better”.  How many times would you like to tell me that I’m a smart guy, give me a pat on the head and try and shape the way that I think so that I can further enlighten myself. If you haven’t noticed the language I’m using at this moment I’d suggest you head for the door now.

So what has brought this little tirade about?  .

There’s this thing that people like to do. Especially when they feel threatened… If there’s someone who says too many things that make them feel uncomfortable or perhaps hit a little too close to home, they decide to paint the image of a conspiracy theorist. Except there’s no conspiracy here; just a knowledge of hundreds of years of foul and violent history with the sprinkled bacon bits that are: contemporary economic subjugation. Too much? Is this all histrionic rhetoric? Well I’m not saying anything new here and if you find it so then again head for the door.

 But it’s weird, cause language has been a very large role player in this constant struggle to find an equilibrium. When one engages in colloquial terms and settings it’s labeled emotional and sensitive. And then if they take to a more formalized approach they’re labeled the conspiracy theorist finding coincidences in everything or are are attacked on technicalities on the use of the language. How is one meant to win then?

It’s weird people decide when and how they want to act. When it best suits them. But the favoured disposition is that of ignorant condescension. Not only a historical ignorance, but rather social blinkers, driven by intellectual hubris, which often leaps to label what it cannot deal with in order to make things move a long. It’s an unwillingness to accept that we live in an uncomfortable society driven by so many socio-political and economic factors and band aids won’t work! Does this not leave us in the same boat as our parents? Well that’s fucking retarded isn’t it? Considering we grew the fuck up together. I’m tired of the assumed superiority which entails bludgeoning we the unconvinced into conceding that your point is more valid than our voices.

Misguided is what we are and our thoughts still need shaping.

I have a nut sack that needs gargling

Language: It gets very interesting when one points out the exclusionary (yes I do mean to use the term exclude. Everyone wants to make it into the club) language that gets used it becomes a simple case of semantics and contextualization.

So let me get this right? I can’t fully understand or know what I’m talking about cause I’m not a first language or a native speaker. While you can play and tweak the code wherever you see fit, cause you grew up with the rules? This means that any person winning a fight dictates the rules of engagement. But then we need to find out who’s fighting for what? I’m fighting for equality, while you’re fighting to hold onto your superiority complex. Now this is obviously a natural primal instinct, but at what point do you actually concede the fact that there really is no difference between you and I? When do you actually acknowledge that you are not better than me? When do you publicly apply this in practice? Is it a theory you enjoy verbalizing? A public persona perhaps?

I can never understand how people can get along with me, until I start asking them questions that they don’t want to answer, or worse cannot answer. What about the answers they give me that I do not agree with? There’s always a shift in engagement people have with me when I express my political and social outlook. Why don’t people wanna engage me? I suppose passive aggressive one liner statuses are funnier and easier. Also I get too sensitive about issues. I suppose I always make it about race. I suppose I’m the problem. I I I I I I I I I I. It’s all on me.

Why don’t people talk anymore?

Affordable Train Ride

After reaching his destination from a trip that seemed to have taken forever and a day, from a day that seemed that it would never end, whilst probably thinking it was the worst birthday known to man, the kid sits at the Gautrain station waiting to be picked up by his sister who had forgotten his birthday. If this is 21 I should have stayed 20 he thinks to himself. He knows his sister will move at a slugs pace in leaving the house where she's probably already put up her swollen feet and will probably be cursing him for making her leave the house in her condition. I'm pregnant, do you know this? The question he anticipates her to ask.

Still in transit and waiting to make it to the final location of rest and good company he takes in his surroundings. A guy not dressed in rags and bathing in ethnic privilege walks around the train station, desperation marring the preconceived ideas of how deep his wallet goes. The Gautrain guards take a no nonsense approach to begging at the station regardless of accent or skin tone. The kid watches the man walk into the station only to be escorted out. The mans frantic energy increasing, he loses his temper at the brown hands escorting him out. "I'm not fucking begging! I just need money to catch a taxi!" He yells at their backs.

The man walks past the seated youngster a couple of times, looking to ask everybody except him for the taxi fare required to make his way to wherever he needs to be. She has long wavy blonde hair and dons a pair of D&G sunglasses. Her jewelry is the that of subtle  luxury. The man she walks with has that air of self importance that says any person walking by me must keep a 2 meter radius. The non-beggar seems to shrink as they appear and his hunched approach to them is a cringe worthy spectacle. Unamused eyes the kid keeps his balls fixed on the pending train crash. "Hi sorry, excuse me, can you please help me with some taxi fare." The snobs seem to put their noses higher in the air, feigning an ignorance to the non beggars presence that must have made him feel a slap would have been more welcome. At least they would have acknowledged his presence as a person and membership of the lucky sperm club. The non beggar resumes to roaming around all the while getting closer to the kid, who watches the man inch closer with each pace up and down in front of him.

"Hi, sorry, I really didn't want to approach you for this, but it would seem that even my own people don't want to help me and I really need to ask for some taxi fare. I just need R12, the people who were meant to pick me up have switched off their phones and I don't know what to do. They just kicked me out the station for begging and I wasn't begging I was just asking for taxi fare!"

The kid searches his pockets and hands the non beggar the last R4 in his pocket.

"Thank a lot man."

Is that really how the world works? The kid thinks to himself

Shots I think

For some arb reason I can't get all the images that I shoot on manual on my computer, I think the memory card is bugged or some shit cause I can only get the pics I take through Magenta's filters on, which kinda sucks, cause I've been fucking around way more with her manual settings and have a few favourites I've been wanting to put up. Anyway here are a few shots I took over the last couple of days. Their in Sepia and Film Grain. I still control shutter speed and apperture so I'm not completely useless. Oh have I mentioned that I'm not a photographer?