Staying up (a haiku)
Worn taste of long nights,
draped across the day slowly
searching for something.
[D]
Friday, February 23, 2007
Staying Up
22/02/07
Staying up (a haiku)
Worn taste of long nights,
draped across the day slowly
searching for something.
[D]
Staying up (a haiku)
Worn taste of long nights,
draped across the day slowly
searching for something.
[D]
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Construction complete
21/02/07
Construction complete
Following the spirit of the previous blog, as you may have noticed by now, Dclaim has undergone some aesthetic and technical, albeit minor, changes.
Other changes, in the pipeline, include guest writer spots and possibly an e-mail update notification thingamabobby.
So enjoy the revamped, renewed, reset Dclaim ready for your reading pleasure.
If Saddam digs it, so should you! By the way does anyone know where Saddam's gone? He hasn't been rsvp-ing for my tea parties lately, nor has he been replying to my e-mails.
[D]
Construction complete
Following the spirit of the previous blog, as you may have noticed by now, Dclaim has undergone some aesthetic and technical, albeit minor, changes.
Other changes, in the pipeline, include guest writer spots and possibly an e-mail update notification thingamabobby.
So enjoy the revamped, renewed, reset Dclaim ready for your reading pleasure.
If Saddam digs it, so should you! By the way does anyone know where Saddam's gone? He hasn't been rsvp-ing for my tea parties lately, nor has he been replying to my e-mails.
[D]
Friday, February 16, 2007
Bon Voyage
16/02/07
Bon Voyage
"Anyone can write, only a select few choose to." D
Well, finally the New Year is upon us, upon us indeed. And along with the spirit of creation, revitalisation and all things new an update reticently worms its way onto the blog. An update? On Dclaim? The awed masses mutter in confusion, and the thousands of fans loyal to this blog light fireworks and do backflips under the new moon.
I think I smell espresso brewing.
As with all things related to humankind (kind? Can anyone tell me what the kind is doing there? Did we not learn from the Holocaust or Rwanda?) creation requires a certain amount of destruction. They chopped down trees to place that paper in your printer, belittled an old lady's dignity to manufacture that shirt you're wearing, and they most certainly slit a bull's throat to prepare that burger you were looking forward to eating for lunch. With that in mind, as 2007 blossomed to life under starry, firework-freckled skies, 2006 died. A quick, brutal death on the stroke of midnight. And along with it Harold Hunter, Saddam Hussein, France's World Cup hopes, the chance to once again hold hands with THAT pretty Australian girl, and good times with friends and family over bottles of wine and priceless photographs respectively. But as is the resilience of the human mind in the face of unalterable change, the experiences of yesterday linger onward penning the prologue of the present.
Lest we forget.
The past gave birth to the present. The present lies pregnant with the promise of tomorrow. It might sound cheesy now as 99% of your NY resolutions are by now broken and the monotony of routine has already begun to drag you down, but there's nothing like a horizon to look forward to.
Glowing sun cast over azure skies, dolphins flipping through white waves, and ripples of water murmuring about your boat endlessly.
So if you like haven't quite got the metaphor yet, you're the sailboat, the horizon is your goals achieved and dreams captured, and 2007 is the implacable stretch of water standing between the two.
Align your compass, draw up your sails, throw caution to the wind and venture forth.
But if you inadvertantly don't reach the horizon, the journey will most definitely be worth it.
Here's to new beginnings and new journeys, here's to 2007.
[D]
Bon Voyage
"Anyone can write, only a select few choose to." D
Well, finally the New Year is upon us, upon us indeed. And along with the spirit of creation, revitalisation and all things new an update reticently worms its way onto the blog. An update? On Dclaim? The awed masses mutter in confusion, and the thousands of fans loyal to this blog light fireworks and do backflips under the new moon.
I think I smell espresso brewing.
As with all things related to humankind (kind? Can anyone tell me what the kind is doing there? Did we not learn from the Holocaust or Rwanda?) creation requires a certain amount of destruction. They chopped down trees to place that paper in your printer, belittled an old lady's dignity to manufacture that shirt you're wearing, and they most certainly slit a bull's throat to prepare that burger you were looking forward to eating for lunch. With that in mind, as 2007 blossomed to life under starry, firework-freckled skies, 2006 died. A quick, brutal death on the stroke of midnight. And along with it Harold Hunter, Saddam Hussein, France's World Cup hopes, the chance to once again hold hands with THAT pretty Australian girl, and good times with friends and family over bottles of wine and priceless photographs respectively. But as is the resilience of the human mind in the face of unalterable change, the experiences of yesterday linger onward penning the prologue of the present.
Lest we forget.
The past gave birth to the present. The present lies pregnant with the promise of tomorrow. It might sound cheesy now as 99% of your NY resolutions are by now broken and the monotony of routine has already begun to drag you down, but there's nothing like a horizon to look forward to.
Glowing sun cast over azure skies, dolphins flipping through white waves, and ripples of water murmuring about your boat endlessly.
So if you like haven't quite got the metaphor yet, you're the sailboat, the horizon is your goals achieved and dreams captured, and 2007 is the implacable stretch of water standing between the two.
Align your compass, draw up your sails, throw caution to the wind and venture forth.
But if you inadvertantly don't reach the horizon, the journey will most definitely be worth it.
Here's to new beginnings and new journeys, here's to 2007.
[D]
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Doesn't take a Rocket Scientist to figure that out.
19/09/06
Doesn't take a Rocket Scientist to figure that out.
It's funny how fate always finds a void to swallow a small segment of your life, no matter the circumstance. Perhaps, because space is so empty, and sparse, our lives always inevitably reflect the cosmos which dictate us.
But if you ask an optimist he'd tell you that space is full, full of stars shining bright, spinning planets, other random floating chunks of rock, and Spice Girls CDs budding rocket scientists decided to get rid off. Well it does all depend on which way you look at the glass (or if you're peering into space, looking into the glass.
Alternately we all know that space contains a myriad black holes which have swallowed up a thousand hopes and dreams, bright stars, and a pet dog called Laika. Which is pretty much what earth is like. Read Anton Chekhov, listen to Kurt Cobain, and visit your local S.P.C.A to confirm the above.
You'd be surprised.
And sorry to burst any bubbles, but all those stars you ponderously look up to every night are actually dead. Ask the scientists. They burnt out a long, long time ago.
Sound familiar?
Now's the time when all of you still listening to Elvis, 2Pac, Bob Marley or John Lennon nod your heads in startled assent.
Space is the literal translation of disconsolate freedom and loneliness enmeshed into one.
I suspect chunks of it fall down to earth when no-one's looking, not even Chicken Little. Last night, on a late night drive, I saw two teenagers riding their bikes on the sidewalk, they seemed happy. Not twenty minutes later I drove past them again, sans their bikes, perched upon the pavement looking dejected. One seemed to be crying, but the streetlight shone too dim for me to tell for certain. It was not only their bikes the thieves had taken though, it was their dreams as well.
It's funny how fate always finds a void to swallow a small segment of your life.
It doesn't take a Rocket Scientist to figure that out, though.
[D]
Doesn't take a Rocket Scientist to figure that out.
It's funny how fate always finds a void to swallow a small segment of your life, no matter the circumstance. Perhaps, because space is so empty, and sparse, our lives always inevitably reflect the cosmos which dictate us.
But if you ask an optimist he'd tell you that space is full, full of stars shining bright, spinning planets, other random floating chunks of rock, and Spice Girls CDs budding rocket scientists decided to get rid off. Well it does all depend on which way you look at the glass (or if you're peering into space, looking into the glass.
Alternately we all know that space contains a myriad black holes which have swallowed up a thousand hopes and dreams, bright stars, and a pet dog called Laika. Which is pretty much what earth is like. Read Anton Chekhov, listen to Kurt Cobain, and visit your local S.P.C.A to confirm the above.
You'd be surprised.
And sorry to burst any bubbles, but all those stars you ponderously look up to every night are actually dead. Ask the scientists. They burnt out a long, long time ago.
Sound familiar?
Now's the time when all of you still listening to Elvis, 2Pac, Bob Marley or John Lennon nod your heads in startled assent.
Space is the literal translation of disconsolate freedom and loneliness enmeshed into one.
I suspect chunks of it fall down to earth when no-one's looking, not even Chicken Little. Last night, on a late night drive, I saw two teenagers riding their bikes on the sidewalk, they seemed happy. Not twenty minutes later I drove past them again, sans their bikes, perched upon the pavement looking dejected. One seemed to be crying, but the streetlight shone too dim for me to tell for certain. It was not only their bikes the thieves had taken though, it was their dreams as well.
It's funny how fate always finds a void to swallow a small segment of your life.
It doesn't take a Rocket Scientist to figure that out, though.
[D]
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Life in a Petri Dish...
06/09/06
Life in a Petri Dish...
So like I write poems and stuff.....
Hopes haunted him
with interminable swiftness.
Like cracks in the ceiling they leapt
out to divide his mind.
Life in a Petri Dish, cracked along the edges.
The edges of tables stared
across their sparse loneliness
to the chairs for comfort.
Life in a Petri Dish, cracked along the edges.
War put out its cigarette on a child's head
under a bright blue sky.
Never-never land and napalm.
Afternoons measured by armed platoons and
Life in a Petri Dish, cracked along the edges.
His heart haunted her,
but she smiled and swallowed sadness,
walking unevenly over the scattered eggshells
and dreams she'd left behind.
A cold wind kissed her and brusquely moved on,
moved on away.
Life in a Petri Dish, cracked along the edges.
Life in a Petri Dish...
So like I write poems and stuff.....
Hopes haunted him
with interminable swiftness.
Like cracks in the ceiling they leapt
out to divide his mind.
Life in a Petri Dish, cracked along the edges.
The edges of tables stared
across their sparse loneliness
to the chairs for comfort.
Life in a Petri Dish, cracked along the edges.
War put out its cigarette on a child's head
under a bright blue sky.
Never-never land and napalm.
Afternoons measured by armed platoons and
Life in a Petri Dish, cracked along the edges.
His heart haunted her,
but she smiled and swallowed sadness,
walking unevenly over the scattered eggshells
and dreams she'd left behind.
A cold wind kissed her and brusquely moved on,
moved on away.
Life in a Petri Dish, cracked along the edges.
When I decide to blog
05/09/06
When I decide to blog
So I'm sitting alone harmlessly, listening to Simon and Garfunkel when I decide to blog.
But Paul Simon's singing Bob Dylan's lyrics so beautifully that I can barely pause to ponder when suddenly a swift realisation (or perhaps an axiom) barges into my thoughts yelling, "Good music died with the 70s!"
But hip-hop's its reincarnation.
Now the alt. rock-heads are smashing their axes and the emo-kids are bawling their eyes out cuz I haven't included their beloved sub-genres in the category. And my Mum shouts from downstairs for me to keep it down but by now the rock-heads are slamming E-chords and F-sharps in quick succession while the emo-kids are furiously scrawling poetry across tear-stained pages when, out of a Picasso painting, the art students stagger and skip in, casting meaningful looks over a room with no meaning. Paul and Art are strumming my heart, with whispers, but no-one really cares because they're all too busy yelling and tearing at the limbs of this child they call Music.
Outside African Weavers cackle mischievously, as a drunken man staggers to his feet, their cachinnations pervading my mind when I decide to blog.
[D]
When I decide to blog
So I'm sitting alone harmlessly, listening to Simon and Garfunkel when I decide to blog.
But Paul Simon's singing Bob Dylan's lyrics so beautifully that I can barely pause to ponder when suddenly a swift realisation (or perhaps an axiom) barges into my thoughts yelling, "Good music died with the 70s!"
But hip-hop's its reincarnation.
Now the alt. rock-heads are smashing their axes and the emo-kids are bawling their eyes out cuz I haven't included their beloved sub-genres in the category. And my Mum shouts from downstairs for me to keep it down but by now the rock-heads are slamming E-chords and F-sharps in quick succession while the emo-kids are furiously scrawling poetry across tear-stained pages when, out of a Picasso painting, the art students stagger and skip in, casting meaningful looks over a room with no meaning. Paul and Art are strumming my heart, with whispers, but no-one really cares because they're all too busy yelling and tearing at the limbs of this child they call Music.
Outside African Weavers cackle mischievously, as a drunken man staggers to his feet, their cachinnations pervading my mind when I decide to blog.
[D]
| Your Blogging Type Is Thoughtful and Considerate |
 You're a well liked, though underrated, blogger. You have a heart of gold, and are likely to blog for a cause. You're a peaceful blogger - no drama for you! A good listener and friend, you tend to leave thoughtful comments for others. |
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Mind your unfinished business
18/07/06
Mind Your Unfinished Business.
Clang! In the impenetrable dark of a South African winter night it's awfully unnerving to hear a grand piano suddenly begin playing. Yet there it was, way beyond midnight, keys crashing together in an eerie crescendo. I sat up straight and swivelled my head in disbelieving fright.
Clang!
There it was again, a strangely discordant harmony of ebony and ivory trailing towards my room. As far as I know none of my neighbours own a piano and if indeed any aspirant musicians decided to practise I highly doubt it would be at one in the morning. My mind racing, without warning, a cloak of darkness swept through my room and a dog howled outside.
I was terrified. My mouth housed my heart for a while.
Now I was really creeped out, duvet crawling closer all around me. Some people dismiss the supernatural as over-imaginative garbage, fair enough, each to his/her own. But I HAVE met a ghost before. It visited me in a public bathroom stall, slamming doors and flushing toilets, with me running out, tail between my legs, and still very much in need of a pee. My brother insists our neighbour's house is haunted telling me of taps turned on late at night, usually when our single neighbour is away. I laughed his suggestions off, but this time I wasn't smiling. Paranormal activities? In my room?
Which way is the toilet?
I'm not sure what a ghost would be doing in my house, they generally have unfinished business to take care of, and in a capitalist society where business is oh so very important I suspect it was a matter of the utmost urgency. I'd be happy if he didn't visit again though!
[D]
Mind Your Unfinished Business.
Clang! In the impenetrable dark of a South African winter night it's awfully unnerving to hear a grand piano suddenly begin playing. Yet there it was, way beyond midnight, keys crashing together in an eerie crescendo. I sat up straight and swivelled my head in disbelieving fright.
Clang!
There it was again, a strangely discordant harmony of ebony and ivory trailing towards my room. As far as I know none of my neighbours own a piano and if indeed any aspirant musicians decided to practise I highly doubt it would be at one in the morning. My mind racing, without warning, a cloak of darkness swept through my room and a dog howled outside.
I was terrified. My mouth housed my heart for a while.
Now I was really creeped out, duvet crawling closer all around me. Some people dismiss the supernatural as over-imaginative garbage, fair enough, each to his/her own. But I HAVE met a ghost before. It visited me in a public bathroom stall, slamming doors and flushing toilets, with me running out, tail between my legs, and still very much in need of a pee. My brother insists our neighbour's house is haunted telling me of taps turned on late at night, usually when our single neighbour is away. I laughed his suggestions off, but this time I wasn't smiling. Paranormal activities? In my room?
Which way is the toilet?
I'm not sure what a ghost would be doing in my house, they generally have unfinished business to take care of, and in a capitalist society where business is oh so very important I suspect it was a matter of the utmost urgency. I'd be happy if he didn't visit again though!
[D]
Positively Putrid. The Flags Are Sailing West.
14/07/06
Positively Putrid. The Flags are sailing West.
Alright. I'll be the first to admit it, most of my life I've been a negative thinking sort of person. Not in a pessimistic manner but more of an existentialist, it doesn't really count does it, so what the hell, kinda way. I guess I have a right to. My life's been littered with mishaps and shit. Copious quantities of it.
You try piss blood.
But occasionally off run a few electrons and my mindset shifts to a more positive, the sky's blue but I'm not outlook.
What would life be without vicissitudes?
So on the thirteenth of July 2006 (maybe I picked the wrong date) my heart smiled for a change and affirmations aplenty were bustling for room within my conscious. I was going to pass my drivers license, her and I would someday be together and things were looking okay, if not good for a change. A nervous sleep lay me to rest that night, albeit one of a positive proleptic.
Flash to 14 July 2006, 14h00 C.A.T.
My house had been broken into, I dismally failed my drivers license and Miss Right is probably out suntanning in Mongolia while I'm here dying.
Wham!
Positive thinking backfires, with a vengeance. So much for that. Guess it doesn't really work when you're five feet deep. Someone pass the shovel already. I'll be at the harbour waiting, let me know if my ship comes.
[D]
Positively Putrid. The Flags are sailing West.
Alright. I'll be the first to admit it, most of my life I've been a negative thinking sort of person. Not in a pessimistic manner but more of an existentialist, it doesn't really count does it, so what the hell, kinda way. I guess I have a right to. My life's been littered with mishaps and shit. Copious quantities of it.
You try piss blood.
But occasionally off run a few electrons and my mindset shifts to a more positive, the sky's blue but I'm not outlook.
What would life be without vicissitudes?
So on the thirteenth of July 2006 (maybe I picked the wrong date) my heart smiled for a change and affirmations aplenty were bustling for room within my conscious. I was going to pass my drivers license, her and I would someday be together and things were looking okay, if not good for a change. A nervous sleep lay me to rest that night, albeit one of a positive proleptic.
Flash to 14 July 2006, 14h00 C.A.T.
My house had been broken into, I dismally failed my drivers license and Miss Right is probably out suntanning in Mongolia while I'm here dying.
Wham!
Positive thinking backfires, with a vengeance. So much for that. Guess it doesn't really work when you're five feet deep. Someone pass the shovel already. I'll be at the harbour waiting, let me know if my ship comes.
[D]
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Poignantly Pondering - A brief tale of love and heartbreak
28/03/06
Poignantly Pondering - A brief tale of love and heartbreak
Before you know it, it happens. You fall headfirst, stumbling into the stupendous stupour that some call love.
The outdoors seem airier, the sun lighter, birds in trees sing Mozart, and even the neighbourhood stray smiles at you while lifting his leg before catching a whizz on the post-office delivery truck.
Time passes, but it seems a constant. An implacable reverie of good dreams replayed.
Then you trip facefirst, into the hot coals some call heartbreak.
Clouds thunder overhead, vultures encircle your excuse for a heart, and cracks in the pavement seem like earthquakes.
Time passes, yet it feels like a constant. The incessant pecking which Prometheus endured.
And before you know it, it happens. Your indubitable vision of love fails again, shattering your hopes, your dreams, and your heart.
[D]
Poignantly Pondering - A brief tale of love and heartbreak
Before you know it, it happens. You fall headfirst, stumbling into the stupendous stupour that some call love.
The outdoors seem airier, the sun lighter, birds in trees sing Mozart, and even the neighbourhood stray smiles at you while lifting his leg before catching a whizz on the post-office delivery truck.
Time passes, but it seems a constant. An implacable reverie of good dreams replayed.
Then you trip facefirst, into the hot coals some call heartbreak.
Clouds thunder overhead, vultures encircle your excuse for a heart, and cracks in the pavement seem like earthquakes.
Time passes, yet it feels like a constant. The incessant pecking which Prometheus endured.
And before you know it, it happens. Your indubitable vision of love fails again, shattering your hopes, your dreams, and your heart.
[D]
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Carnivalesque Protests
23/03/06
Carnivalesque Protests
Bright lights entice and coerce the unwary, the mangling of man and machine in unmitigating motion, laughter fills the dark night, and feet trod swiftly onward through the maze of amazement. William Wordsworth was shocked and horrified when he first encountered a fair, however, today the Ferris Wheels and Candy Floss of Carnivals allow for beatnik escapism from the drudge of our everyday lives.
Going to a fair in your old hometown can be a little unnerving and yet overwhelmingly exciting. Old schoolfriends, your first crush, fights fought and buried; lost kisses all come to life in your mind, recollected in the ephemeral daze of carnival. Swings and ships swish through the air as do the sounds of joy and exhilaration emanating from the contraptions. Sweet treats placate little children and their overbearing parents.
Yet in the midst of the thronging crowds, in a world packed with nostalgia and sentiment, eyes and experiences connect reminiscing on relationships that could have been, and shouldn't have been. Young girls and boys sway with the movements of their unbridled hearts toward desire and desolation.
Shit! Now look at what I've gone and done, this was supposed to be a perfectly ordinary insight into the fair I'd visited and yet it has become fettered by the fancy-free flux of my feelings.
I should stop writing about love, ah fuck it, I don't think I have the heart to.
[D]
Carnivalesque Protests
Bright lights entice and coerce the unwary, the mangling of man and machine in unmitigating motion, laughter fills the dark night, and feet trod swiftly onward through the maze of amazement. William Wordsworth was shocked and horrified when he first encountered a fair, however, today the Ferris Wheels and Candy Floss of Carnivals allow for beatnik escapism from the drudge of our everyday lives.
Going to a fair in your old hometown can be a little unnerving and yet overwhelmingly exciting. Old schoolfriends, your first crush, fights fought and buried; lost kisses all come to life in your mind, recollected in the ephemeral daze of carnival. Swings and ships swish through the air as do the sounds of joy and exhilaration emanating from the contraptions. Sweet treats placate little children and their overbearing parents.
Yet in the midst of the thronging crowds, in a world packed with nostalgia and sentiment, eyes and experiences connect reminiscing on relationships that could have been, and shouldn't have been. Young girls and boys sway with the movements of their unbridled hearts toward desire and desolation.
Shit! Now look at what I've gone and done, this was supposed to be a perfectly ordinary insight into the fair I'd visited and yet it has become fettered by the fancy-free flux of my feelings.
I should stop writing about love, ah fuck it, I don't think I have the heart to.
[D]
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Walking Downtown
07/03/06
Walking Downtown
There are too many broken hearts here,
stood on, trod over,
crushed, squashed,
torn,
forlorn...
[D]
Picture courtesy apparentlynothing.com
Walking Downtown
There are too many broken hearts here,
stood on, trod over,
crushed, squashed,
torn,
forlorn...
[D]
Picture courtesy apparentlynothing.comFriday, February 24, 2006
Sapphic Burning Sapphire
24/02/06
Sapphic Burning Sapphire
Yesterday I saw lesbians. I don't get it, normally it would excite me but then I realised - even girls get girls before I get girls. I don't get it, I don't think I ever will.
[D]
Sapphic Burning Sapphire
Yesterday I saw lesbians. I don't get it, normally it would excite me but then I realised - even girls get girls before I get girls. I don't get it, I don't think I ever will.
[D]
Thursday, February 23, 2006
A Dreamlike State
23/02/06
A Dreamlike State
Sometimes I ponder, in fact most of the time I ponder, the rest of the time I'm sleeping but that's when I'm dreaming.
I ponder - what if life was like dreams, not dreams in general but those special ones that stand out like a black dude at an opera. Where soulless sports stadiums and tepidly decorated shopping malls could transcend their status to unobtrusive (with the only camera being your mind) locations where trysts are formed and forged. Where my mind gently lets go of reason and allows intuition to create my ethereal path without wondering why the path gets so hilly. Where I get you and you get me, mentally. Where she gets me and I get her, physically. Where amazing experiences are encapsulated and captured, rather than dilapidating in the old attic filled with grey matter upstairs.
But then I ponder, nightmares are dreams that stand out too.
Maybe life is a lot like dreams or maybe dreams are a lot like life, fused between our conscious and subconscious.
Or perhaps our lives forever aspire to be like our dreams and dreams subtly desire to come to life.
Dreams give us the opportunity to live the alternate lives we crave for.
[D]
A Dreamlike State
Sometimes I ponder, in fact most of the time I ponder, the rest of the time I'm sleeping but that's when I'm dreaming.
I ponder - what if life was like dreams, not dreams in general but those special ones that stand out like a black dude at an opera. Where soulless sports stadiums and tepidly decorated shopping malls could transcend their status to unobtrusive (with the only camera being your mind) locations where trysts are formed and forged. Where my mind gently lets go of reason and allows intuition to create my ethereal path without wondering why the path gets so hilly. Where I get you and you get me, mentally. Where she gets me and I get her, physically. Where amazing experiences are encapsulated and captured, rather than dilapidating in the old attic filled with grey matter upstairs.
But then I ponder, nightmares are dreams that stand out too.
Maybe life is a lot like dreams or maybe dreams are a lot like life, fused between our conscious and subconscious.
Or perhaps our lives forever aspire to be like our dreams and dreams subtly desire to come to life.
Dreams give us the opportunity to live the alternate lives we crave for.
[D]
Monday, December 19, 2005
The Tale of a Lost Night
19/12/05
The Tale of a Lost Night
Outside, the security guard loses his sanity, the barking of dogs hounding him with spectres of monsters and nightmares.
Inside, a light flickers waywardly, unevenly distributing the infringing darkness.
Outside, my eyes droop toward slumber s l o w l y.
Inside, my heart shifts on its orbit, and my mind shuffles incessantly towards her with the passing of another night.
The Tale of a Lost Night
Outside, the security guard loses his sanity, the barking of dogs hounding him with spectres of monsters and nightmares.
Inside, a light flickers waywardly, unevenly distributing the infringing darkness.
Outside, my eyes droop toward slumber s l o w l y.
Inside, my heart shifts on its orbit, and my mind shuffles incessantly towards her with the passing of another night.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
The Rubicon Cube
13/12/05
The Rubicon Cube.
The other day my parents got back from a flea market, and my Dad toyed with something in his hand. He held it up, a box-like structure lacking any special lustre or immediate appeal. His concentration was snatched away by this ostensibly magic tool as he tinkered with it for hours, implacably. He finally grunted something under his breath and went to bed, drunk. I quickly abducted the inanimate object with swift stealth and hurried off to my room, with my newfound ‘precious.’ It seemed so colourful yet dastardly disappointing, how could this grab your attention so indelibly? So I set off to work, uh, play with this souvenir of the 80s (I wonder if it comes with a free mullet and Hi-Tops?) with 99 Red Balloons aurally scratching the top of my head.
Interesting, engrossing, absorbing, fucking irritating. Those are the words which sum up those frustratingly fun feelings you get inside while trying to figure the bastard out. After spending what was probably an eternity, but felt like a couple of seconds hacking away at its enigmatic soul, the unthinkable happened.
In a myriad colours and maculations the cube’s lower half shattered at my expense. I saw and felt it then, the unnerving feeling of a puzzle you haven’t solved shattering before you got the chance to unlock its oracular mystery. A guilt hung over my head, what was my Dad going to think? I shuffled along picking up the pieces of the puzzle and ran to my parent’s room throwing the unidentifiable blobs onto their table, then skulked off into the clutches of sleep.
The dude that my Dad bought it from probably had a million of them from a toy store he used to own during the 80s and now he’s trying to sell them off to nostalgic or unwitting customers. I plan to go to his stall and give him a piece of my mind; maybe I’ll buy one from him. I can’t go back now, the Rubicon has been crossed.
But then again, there are more important things in life than consuming your mind with a girl you never really knew in the first place.
(D)
The Rubicon Cube.
The other day my parents got back from a flea market, and my Dad toyed with something in his hand. He held it up, a box-like structure lacking any special lustre or immediate appeal. His concentration was snatched away by this ostensibly magic tool as he tinkered with it for hours, implacably. He finally grunted something under his breath and went to bed, drunk. I quickly abducted the inanimate object with swift stealth and hurried off to my room, with my newfound ‘precious.’ It seemed so colourful yet dastardly disappointing, how could this grab your attention so indelibly? So I set off to work, uh, play with this souvenir of the 80s (I wonder if it comes with a free mullet and Hi-Tops?) with 99 Red Balloons aurally scratching the top of my head.
Interesting, engrossing, absorbing, fucking irritating. Those are the words which sum up those frustratingly fun feelings you get inside while trying to figure the bastard out. After spending what was probably an eternity, but felt like a couple of seconds hacking away at its enigmatic soul, the unthinkable happened.
In a myriad colours and maculations the cube’s lower half shattered at my expense. I saw and felt it then, the unnerving feeling of a puzzle you haven’t solved shattering before you got the chance to unlock its oracular mystery. A guilt hung over my head, what was my Dad going to think? I shuffled along picking up the pieces of the puzzle and ran to my parent’s room throwing the unidentifiable blobs onto their table, then skulked off into the clutches of sleep.
The dude that my Dad bought it from probably had a million of them from a toy store he used to own during the 80s and now he’s trying to sell them off to nostalgic or unwitting customers. I plan to go to his stall and give him a piece of my mind; maybe I’ll buy one from him. I can’t go back now, the Rubicon has been crossed.
But then again, there are more important things in life than consuming your mind with a girl you never really knew in the first place.
(D)
Monday, September 12, 2005
Monday Blues
12/09/05
Monday Blues
I'm going to make this more like a blog. It's Monday and I'm feeling bloggy and blogged down with the Monday Blues.
The CRUSHING futility of hope in a prejudiced world,
drowns me, overpoweringly, devouring me,
as PILLARS of darkness tower me,
like a far-away monsoon blown over my tropical island.
The Deluge of Destructive Depression Dangerously Drowning me.
I hate Mondays.
Monday Blues
I'm going to make this more like a blog. It's Monday and I'm feeling bloggy and blogged down with the Monday Blues.
The CRUSHING futility of hope in a prejudiced world,
drowns me, overpoweringly, devouring me,
as PILLARS of darkness tower me,
like a far-away monsoon blown over my tropical island.
The Deluge of Destructive Depression Dangerously Drowning me.
I hate Mondays.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Poignantly Pondering - What happened to love?
08/09/05
Poignantly Pondering - What happened to love?
Love used to be gentle hugs on snow-frosted Christmas evenings and heartfelt conversations at candle-lit dinners. It used to be late-night drives, under the stars, to places where trysts were forged, love used to be iridescent sunrises on the beach and content heads on the sand.
What happened?
Love has either disappeared, found a new meaning in the ever-changing dictionary of modern times, or is taking a small break while we search fruitlessly for it. Love in the new age seems to be losing its impetus becoming, along with marriage and relationships, more disposable than one-ply toilet paper. As we become enamoured with narcissism and social conditioning encourages transience, love loses its place because it's supposed to be everlasting. Romanticising history is probably because of this - if the demise of love is inevitable, we might as well remember something so beautiful and unique. Economics are the future so money can buy you love, but it cannot make you love. We have become so obsessed with finding love but so pre-occupied with sex that our lives become nothing more than constant conflict. We yearn for love (of all types) but the media shove their ideology of sex down our throats on a daily basis. With a partner, love and sex should be co-related but we have separated them. Sex is great, but love and sex together are amazingly explosive. What's pancakes and cinnamon without the sugar? These days it seems cornerstones of relationships have been abandoned. Women are like,"Virginity. What's that? Let's shag," and men think, "Chivalry. Huh? Let's fuck." How sad. Yet love exists in various kinds and it seems scarce in all these types.
Since when was love storming into a country and killing thousands of civilians in their own interest, since when was love cruelly raping a naive child, since when was love confining and starving your pet dog in harsh quarantine, and is it love if you neglect your true character to fit others' expectations. Love seems to be the missing link in our evolution. We dropped it along the way and haven't been able to fully recover it. I hope that some miniscule chance (even if it is smaller than shrunken midgets) exists for it to be regained to the ideal we held dear.
Excuse my pessimism, however. I tend to see things negatively, like a photographer in a dark room. Keep on looking for love, though, or unless I've got this whole rant horribly wrong - enjoy your star-lit dinner on the banks of the Rhine with your soulmate tonight.
[D]
Poignantly Pondering - What happened to love?
Love used to be gentle hugs on snow-frosted Christmas evenings and heartfelt conversations at candle-lit dinners. It used to be late-night drives, under the stars, to places where trysts were forged, love used to be iridescent sunrises on the beach and content heads on the sand.
What happened?
Love has either disappeared, found a new meaning in the ever-changing dictionary of modern times, or is taking a small break while we search fruitlessly for it. Love in the new age seems to be losing its impetus becoming, along with marriage and relationships, more disposable than one-ply toilet paper. As we become enamoured with narcissism and social conditioning encourages transience, love loses its place because it's supposed to be everlasting. Romanticising history is probably because of this - if the demise of love is inevitable, we might as well remember something so beautiful and unique. Economics are the future so money can buy you love, but it cannot make you love. We have become so obsessed with finding love but so pre-occupied with sex that our lives become nothing more than constant conflict. We yearn for love (of all types) but the media shove their ideology of sex down our throats on a daily basis. With a partner, love and sex should be co-related but we have separated them. Sex is great, but love and sex together are amazingly explosive. What's pancakes and cinnamon without the sugar? These days it seems cornerstones of relationships have been abandoned. Women are like,"Virginity. What's that? Let's shag," and men think, "Chivalry. Huh? Let's fuck." How sad. Yet love exists in various kinds and it seems scarce in all these types.
Since when was love storming into a country and killing thousands of civilians in their own interest, since when was love cruelly raping a naive child, since when was love confining and starving your pet dog in harsh quarantine, and is it love if you neglect your true character to fit others' expectations. Love seems to be the missing link in our evolution. We dropped it along the way and haven't been able to fully recover it. I hope that some miniscule chance (even if it is smaller than shrunken midgets) exists for it to be regained to the ideal we held dear.
Excuse my pessimism, however. I tend to see things negatively, like a photographer in a dark room. Keep on looking for love, though, or unless I've got this whole rant horribly wrong - enjoy your star-lit dinner on the banks of the Rhine with your soulmate tonight.
[D]
Friday, August 05, 2005
Memoirs - Why do I love skateboarding?
05/08/05
Memoirs - Why do I love skateboarding?
Why do I love skateboarding? It's probably a never-ending question that skateboarders ask themselves but doesn't need answering. It's as if we rush into skateboarding as fools rush into love. Yet maybe it's precisely that - we are all fools caught up in our endless love affair with skateboarding, but joyous fools nonetheless. I found myself retracing my steps before I actually "met" my first love, and fell head over heels (in most cases literally) for skateboarding. To explain why I love skateboarding, carving out creative lines under cloudless skies, screaming in stoke at new skate vids, marvelling at the mad trickery the pros master, would take forever and my mind would be warped from unparallelled ecstacy as I relay all the times I've spent in absolute awe of skateboarding. But I'll try, here are my memoirs -
When I first started skateboarding it enveloped me completely, it was a giant force swallowing me whole and I couldn't escape, or at least I didn't want to. Reminiscing, I often wonder how such a simple act could give me such happiness but as I was initiated into its lifestyle I realised it was far from simple, and that's excluding the skateboarding part. It was a completely new, almost esoteric, culture that contained so many new facets and constituents it was truly eye-opening. I found myself opening new doors everyday, music that drove me and shaped my love for music today, magazines with artistic elements and literature (hmm..?) that sparked a creative fervour inside me, it was too good to be true, and inevitably it was. I picked up a susceptibility to idiotic injuries that was startling (how do you bust your elbow doing a harmless switch tic-tac, well I can comfort myself with the fact that it was switch.) I tried to come up with agonising explanations, maybe skateboarding wasn't meant for me (excuse me?) , maybe I was just clumsy, or perhaps that same force that had swallowed me was experiencing a little indigestion and wanted me out. Whatever it was out of the five years I've been "skateboarding" I've only been on a skateboard for about three. And it would always be the dumbest shit. Instead of cracking my knee on a 10 stair half cab, I cracked it on a ten brick ollie drop, instead of concussing myself on a helicopter acid drop, I concussed myself on my first mini-ramp drop in. Yet still I had developed a religous zeal for skateboarding that would have frightened even the early missionaries back to England. Whatever I did, whatever I didn't, revolved around skateboarding. I would rope it into all my conversations I had whatsoever, I would talk about skateboarding whilst others were talking about soccer, I would talk about skateboarding while others were talking about geology, I would even talk about skateboarding whilst others discussed the socio-economic progress of Argentina post-Evita, damn it was crazy. "Oh does your new car have four wheels? You know my skateboard also has..." It took over my somewhat academic tendencies at school, "So does thirty squared equal nine-hundred? You know Tony Hawk once..."
But it changed me into what I am today, shrugging my timid nature to scream at my parents when I couldn't go to the park (or maybe it was those teenage hormones) and creating a critical, discerning mindset in today's age of baa, baa, black sheep. Physically skateboarding has done my body far more harm than it has good, but mentally the pleasure it has given me is uncomparable. When I'm not skateboarding I long to go back, skateboarding is my drug, and I'm completely addicted.
(D)
Picture Perfect
Memoirs - Why do I love skateboarding?
Why do I love skateboarding? It's probably a never-ending question that skateboarders ask themselves but doesn't need answering. It's as if we rush into skateboarding as fools rush into love. Yet maybe it's precisely that - we are all fools caught up in our endless love affair with skateboarding, but joyous fools nonetheless. I found myself retracing my steps before I actually "met" my first love, and fell head over heels (in most cases literally) for skateboarding. To explain why I love skateboarding, carving out creative lines under cloudless skies, screaming in stoke at new skate vids, marvelling at the mad trickery the pros master, would take forever and my mind would be warped from unparallelled ecstacy as I relay all the times I've spent in absolute awe of skateboarding. But I'll try, here are my memoirs -
When I first started skateboarding it enveloped me completely, it was a giant force swallowing me whole and I couldn't escape, or at least I didn't want to. Reminiscing, I often wonder how such a simple act could give me such happiness but as I was initiated into its lifestyle I realised it was far from simple, and that's excluding the skateboarding part. It was a completely new, almost esoteric, culture that contained so many new facets and constituents it was truly eye-opening. I found myself opening new doors everyday, music that drove me and shaped my love for music today, magazines with artistic elements and literature (hmm..?) that sparked a creative fervour inside me, it was too good to be true, and inevitably it was. I picked up a susceptibility to idiotic injuries that was startling (how do you bust your elbow doing a harmless switch tic-tac, well I can comfort myself with the fact that it was switch.) I tried to come up with agonising explanations, maybe skateboarding wasn't meant for me (excuse me?) , maybe I was just clumsy, or perhaps that same force that had swallowed me was experiencing a little indigestion and wanted me out. Whatever it was out of the five years I've been "skateboarding" I've only been on a skateboard for about three. And it would always be the dumbest shit. Instead of cracking my knee on a 10 stair half cab, I cracked it on a ten brick ollie drop, instead of concussing myself on a helicopter acid drop, I concussed myself on my first mini-ramp drop in. Yet still I had developed a religous zeal for skateboarding that would have frightened even the early missionaries back to England. Whatever I did, whatever I didn't, revolved around skateboarding. I would rope it into all my conversations I had whatsoever, I would talk about skateboarding whilst others were talking about soccer, I would talk about skateboarding while others were talking about geology, I would even talk about skateboarding whilst others discussed the socio-economic progress of Argentina post-Evita, damn it was crazy. "Oh does your new car have four wheels? You know my skateboard also has..." It took over my somewhat academic tendencies at school, "So does thirty squared equal nine-hundred? You know Tony Hawk once..."
But it changed me into what I am today, shrugging my timid nature to scream at my parents when I couldn't go to the park (or maybe it was those teenage hormones) and creating a critical, discerning mindset in today's age of baa, baa, black sheep. Physically skateboarding has done my body far more harm than it has good, but mentally the pleasure it has given me is uncomparable. When I'm not skateboarding I long to go back, skateboarding is my drug, and I'm completely addicted.
(D)
Picture Perfect
Friday, May 27, 2005
The Evils Of Capitalism
27/05/05
The Evils of Capitalism (Academic thinking at its most furious)
The cliche 'money is the root of all evil' is well known but is this statement wholly accurate? Money is more likely the 'catalyst of all evil' serving as the vile river whereby all the injustices and scurvies of humanity flourish and flow. Money is said to be able to buy you anything apart from happiness and love. Yet by living in our capitalistically economic society we rely on money to live and survive, and thus by giving money precedence we distance ourselves from happiness and love. A simple syllogism which is accepted by many people, who carry on hegemonically passing out their inane, meaningless lives, in our world. Money drives the lust for greed and kicks open the door to an incessant hunger for it, no matter what the circumstances may be. It feeds on the power-hungry characteristic aspect inherent in every individual and torments and taunts them into believing that it is an elusive elixir able to buy them instant success or, even, instant suck sex. That is what it has driven humanity to, selling their bodies, in return for its sullen filth which in turn sullies them. The ideology of capitalism pretends to lie on success, yet it is obvious that capitalism, in fact, lies on principles of greed and lust and it is these (note, deadly) sins that tear apart the virtues of humankind and rip apart friendships and relationships. In capitalist societies our morals, hence, rot away from the centre spreading outward like a disease (just look at what has happened to America, which is arguably the most prominent capitalist state in the world). Claiming to be built for success, it is a euphemism for being built up for greed and by distancing ourselves from happiness and love, we are distancing ourselves from what is truly important in our lives. I don't mean to get all hippy or preachy on your ass (maybe hoppy and peachy if you're female, hmm...) but rather than scorning your true lives and selves for money, scorn the evil of money for your true self. We have become enslaved into this system and to scorn money completely would be certain death (so I'm not asking you to do that dumb fuck.) I'm merely informing you about the sickness and wrongs that have plagued our planet via humankind. Remember what Biggie said, "Mo Money Mo Problems", and he was a wise man.
Capitalism makes evil. Evil made capitalism.
(D)
The Evils of Capitalism (Academic thinking at its most furious)
The cliche 'money is the root of all evil' is well known but is this statement wholly accurate? Money is more likely the 'catalyst of all evil' serving as the vile river whereby all the injustices and scurvies of humanity flourish and flow. Money is said to be able to buy you anything apart from happiness and love. Yet by living in our capitalistically economic society we rely on money to live and survive, and thus by giving money precedence we distance ourselves from happiness and love. A simple syllogism which is accepted by many people, who carry on hegemonically passing out their inane, meaningless lives, in our world. Money drives the lust for greed and kicks open the door to an incessant hunger for it, no matter what the circumstances may be. It feeds on the power-hungry characteristic aspect inherent in every individual and torments and taunts them into believing that it is an elusive elixir able to buy them instant success or, even, instant suck sex. That is what it has driven humanity to, selling their bodies, in return for its sullen filth which in turn sullies them. The ideology of capitalism pretends to lie on success, yet it is obvious that capitalism, in fact, lies on principles of greed and lust and it is these (note, deadly) sins that tear apart the virtues of humankind and rip apart friendships and relationships. In capitalist societies our morals, hence, rot away from the centre spreading outward like a disease (just look at what has happened to America, which is arguably the most prominent capitalist state in the world). Claiming to be built for success, it is a euphemism for being built up for greed and by distancing ourselves from happiness and love, we are distancing ourselves from what is truly important in our lives. I don't mean to get all hippy or preachy on your ass (maybe hoppy and peachy if you're female, hmm...) but rather than scorning your true lives and selves for money, scorn the evil of money for your true self. We have become enslaved into this system and to scorn money completely would be certain death (so I'm not asking you to do that dumb fuck.) I'm merely informing you about the sickness and wrongs that have plagued our planet via humankind. Remember what Biggie said, "Mo Money Mo Problems", and he was a wise man.
Capitalism makes evil. Evil made capitalism.
(D)
Friday, April 15, 2005
The SPLASHY adFENture 2005
15/04/05
The SPLASHY adFENture 2005
I set out to the annual Splashy Fen music festival(one of the biggest, if not the largest of its kind in South Africa) with the amp-o-meter not rating too highly. Due to some dismal planning and failing car brakes I wasn't too sure if the trip was going to happen, let alone be successful, but brakes or no brakes I was on my way to Splashy. But how would this year's Splashy match up to the year before, undoubtedly one of the best times of my life. From crowdsurfing to 16 Stitch and going crazy-mad in the Sibling Rivalry and Mr. Smug moshpits to telling stupid jokes around the campfire with the dudes from What Now?! to watching topless lesbians make out in seductive Sapphic pleasure right before my very eyes to emceeing in a cipher with the South African emcee of the year(at B.O.T.Y) Ewok, Quincy Fynn from the Big Idea, and Jet and Sage from the former Nomadz to having an unlimited supply of nature's finest. Splashy Fen 2004 was unsurpassable in experience and events, almost surreal - maybe it was all that nature's finest... Back to this year's trip, once the car was sorted out(yeah right) and fully packed Matt and I set out on our rooaad triip! Big ups to Matt for taking the wheel with the shitty brakes(we almost ploughed into the back of a taxi, cuz of them damn brakes.) After picking up another bud (Cas) on the way, there was a quick stop for the stocking up of vital fluids. Quick stop my ass, Cas bought a whole case of brandy just for five days, looking at it made me feel sick. Instead I was content with Captain Morgan, the Brothers as well as a couple of six packs of coolers keeping me company. We had already set out late and that 'quick' stop saw the sun dip even lower over the picturesque vallies of the Natal Midlands. By the time we were in Splashy territory it was already dark and, for those of you who don't know, Splashy's quite a bitch to find, especially for novices in the blanket of darkness that is the Midlands sky, so inevitably we got lost. After travelling for about 30km in the wrong direction and endless, "it's just around the corner"s, with not a car or homestead in sight it finally sunk in that we were truly lost. Stopping on a desolate road with nothing but the eerily slow sway of the grass and the encroaching darkness in sight is pretty creepy. But we still had Sibling Rivalry to watch, "dude it's past 6", okay scrap that. After endless searching for signals and phone call attempts we finally got back on track. By the time we arrived even the cold weather couldn't put a hold on our super-amped states, Matt and I attempted to put up the tent in the darkness(another bitch) while the Diesel Whores were putting up their darkness in the music tent. The cracking open of Klippies & Cola signalled that we were in town and off we set for some debilitating, drunken debauchery. Apart from the prior dismal planning one thing did go exactly according to plan, a few internet searches and MS Word edits, along with some ingenious presentation work led to 'The Press Passes.' 'The Press Passes' were our ticket to backstage heaven. I wasn't quite sure if they were gonna work but pulling the right moves and brimming with the right confidence they worked alright. Think unlimited access to a fridge full of Heineken, a fridge full of Archer's Aqua, fridge full of Lipton Ice Tea, fridge full of pristine mineral water, hot chicks on standby to make you milo or hot chocolate or coffee, not to mention getting to watch the bands and chilling with them from backstage. It was unbe-fucken-lievable! Watching waves of people mosh in unison to The Narrow frontman, Hanu's haunting voice and the rest of the band's hard sound from backstage plus scooping free shit was definitely a defining moment of Splashy 2005. Matt hit the hay(more like the ditch in the ground) early cuz he wasn't feeling too good and I carried on the endless search for Splashy satisfaction. After a couple of bouts with the bong I was K-O'd and looking forward to the next day.
The SPLASHY adFENture 2005
I set out to the annual Splashy Fen music festival(one of the biggest, if not the largest of its kind in South Africa) with the amp-o-meter not rating too highly. Due to some dismal planning and failing car brakes I wasn't too sure if the trip was going to happen, let alone be successful, but brakes or no brakes I was on my way to Splashy. But how would this year's Splashy match up to the year before, undoubtedly one of the best times of my life. From crowdsurfing to 16 Stitch and going crazy-mad in the Sibling Rivalry and Mr. Smug moshpits to telling stupid jokes around the campfire with the dudes from What Now?! to watching topless lesbians make out in seductive Sapphic pleasure right before my very eyes to emceeing in a cipher with the South African emcee of the year(at B.O.T.Y) Ewok, Quincy Fynn from the Big Idea, and Jet and Sage from the former Nomadz to having an unlimited supply of nature's finest. Splashy Fen 2004 was unsurpassable in experience and events, almost surreal - maybe it was all that nature's finest... Back to this year's trip, once the car was sorted out(yeah right) and fully packed Matt and I set out on our rooaad triip! Big ups to Matt for taking the wheel with the shitty brakes(we almost ploughed into the back of a taxi, cuz of them damn brakes.) After picking up another bud (Cas) on the way, there was a quick stop for the stocking up of vital fluids. Quick stop my ass, Cas bought a whole case of brandy just for five days, looking at it made me feel sick. Instead I was content with Captain Morgan, the Brothers as well as a couple of six packs of coolers keeping me company. We had already set out late and that 'quick' stop saw the sun dip even lower over the picturesque vallies of the Natal Midlands. By the time we were in Splashy territory it was already dark and, for those of you who don't know, Splashy's quite a bitch to find, especially for novices in the blanket of darkness that is the Midlands sky, so inevitably we got lost. After travelling for about 30km in the wrong direction and endless, "it's just around the corner"s, with not a car or homestead in sight it finally sunk in that we were truly lost. Stopping on a desolate road with nothing but the eerily slow sway of the grass and the encroaching darkness in sight is pretty creepy. But we still had Sibling Rivalry to watch, "dude it's past 6", okay scrap that. After endless searching for signals and phone call attempts we finally got back on track. By the time we arrived even the cold weather couldn't put a hold on our super-amped states, Matt and I attempted to put up the tent in the darkness(another bitch) while the Diesel Whores were putting up their darkness in the music tent. The cracking open of Klippies & Cola signalled that we were in town and off we set for some debilitating, drunken debauchery. Apart from the prior dismal planning one thing did go exactly according to plan, a few internet searches and MS Word edits, along with some ingenious presentation work led to 'The Press Passes.' 'The Press Passes' were our ticket to backstage heaven. I wasn't quite sure if they were gonna work but pulling the right moves and brimming with the right confidence they worked alright. Think unlimited access to a fridge full of Heineken, a fridge full of Archer's Aqua, fridge full of Lipton Ice Tea, fridge full of pristine mineral water, hot chicks on standby to make you milo or hot chocolate or coffee, not to mention getting to watch the bands and chilling with them from backstage. It was unbe-fucken-lievable! Watching waves of people mosh in unison to The Narrow frontman, Hanu's haunting voice and the rest of the band's hard sound from backstage plus scooping free shit was definitely a defining moment of Splashy 2005. Matt hit the hay(more like the ditch in the ground) early cuz he wasn't feeling too good and I carried on the endless search for Splashy satisfaction. After a couple of bouts with the bong I was K-O'd and looking forward to the next day.
The rest of Splashy was just as rad and followed pretty much the same suit - wake up, piss on the neighbour's tent, eat breakfast, take a swim in the Alaskan-like temperatured river(while watching half-naked hippies frolick in the water), roam around the place and scope out the eye-candy, then get back to rocking out to some of S.A's best bands and emptying out some of S.A's best band's fridges. Apart from major action attractions like the above 2005 was also spent the true Splashy way - playing hacky sack with dudes I'd never seen before; playing guitar, singing songs and telling dumbass, but funny, stories around campfires with good company; broken hearts and broken guitar strings; and spending some time with sweet Mary-Jane. The amazing brotherhood, togetherness, and chilled vibe at Splashy, as well as the partying and punking and the amazingly majestic splendour of the sky and surrounding mountains make it one of the most unique and special places on this earth. Leaving Splashy in a 2 hour traffic delay, thanks to major rains turning the dirt roads into mudslides and some dude flipping his bakkie into the river, my heart ached along with my liver and kidneys(but that was from something else) to say goodbye to Splashy once again. Splashy Fen 2005 was just as good if not better than Splashy Fen 2004(and that's saying a lot.) Back at home unloading my bag was a tedious and time-consuming task but unloading the memories of Splashy, I'll be willing to do anytime (at least what I can remember.)
Splashy Fen story by Dashy En. (D)
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