TIME TO FEEL

Rain clouds gather

Rolling from the horizon

Carried by a brisk, moist breeze

Ruffling the feathers of birds

A story being written.

No walls, no traffic

Just the sounds of abundant life

Without the cacophonous clamour

Of modern, city living

With pollutant smog.

Time to be

Time to feel

Space to breath and think

About the magic

Sitting beneath a tree.

THE TEN COMMANDMENTS REVISITED IN THE 21ST CENTURY...

1. God is supposed to have said: I am the Lord your God, you shall have no other gods before me, you shall not make for yourself an idol…

Now imagine if your wife, or husband should say the same thing, what would you think?

I am your wife/husband, you will not look at other women/men, and you will not think that anyone else is more good looking or sexy than me!

2. Do not use the Lord’s name in vain…

Interpreted could mean: Don’t call me I’ll call you! / Don’t backchat! / Don’t even think about it!

3. Remember the Sabbath and keep it holy…

Stop drinking, tomorrow’s work!

4. Honour your father and your mother…

If you know who they are!

5. You shall not kill or murder…

Unless the MF deserves it or you have armed troops who can do it for you!

6. You shall not commit adultery…

Unless he/she is too damn hot and then make sure you are not caught and don’t take any diseases home with you. And don’t make more babies; and use a fucking condom!

7. You shall not steal…

Unless its public funds and or an African country’s natural resources and its people!

8. You shall not bear false witness against your neighbour…

Unless you have a couple of friends who are willing to bear false witness with you!

9. You shall not covet your neighbour’s wife…

Unless she begs you and he is not at home; your neighbour’s husband on the other hand is a whole different kettle of fish altogether. And use a fucking condom!

10. You shall not covet anything that belongs to your neighbour…

So stop trying to keep up with the fucking Joneses!

UNTIL SUCH TIME...

Humanity is crippled

Limbs lying broken with shattered bones exposed

Ripped flesh, wounds gaping and rent

Spilled blood soaking the earth

Flaked skin blown away.

We turn away

Unable to comprehend

Not willing, refusing

To take it all in, to accept

We condone the raging hatred.

The words we use are of peace and love

Our actions the syntax of another idiom

An alternate tongue that informs our apathy

Forked and venomous, dangerous

Buried beneath tombs of a castrated knowledge.

Desensitized, cold and far removed

Looking in through the double-glazed glass

Not quite seeing the muted inaction

Breathing, the vapour, the curtains closed

Closed doors, closed minds, terminally unthinking.

Still-born, stunted thoughts un-living

The pretty decay of in-substance

Turning away again

Convinced that nothing’s happening

Dancing in a crowd after the band’s stopped playing.

Graceless epileptics’ grotesque antics

Twisting and twirling and scaring the children

Unwilling to stop or drop the baton

Unable to do what really matters

Un-named, unconscious and faceless.

Not willing, not able

Unthinking, not stable

Holding desperately onto outdated views

A concept of faith that’s intrinsically skewed

Believing the lies while the executioner smiles.

Until such time that we all wake up; that we all face up

To the unavoidable fact that we’re just playing bit parts in a terminal farce

Fulfilling our roles with a gormless aplomb while humanity dies around us

We will continue to look at real life as if it’s a screen-saver

Pointing a crooked finger at an indistinct reflection, convinced that its entertainment.

"What is this place?" - From The Exodus Motel...

Sarge : Officially this place doesn't have a name, everyone just calls it ERF twenty-seven, but I like to think of it as the Exodus Motel. Don't you like the sound of it? The Exodus Motel... It sounds like the title of a movie or something, right? (HE CHUCKLES AND TAKES OUT A CIGARETTE.)

Braam : Please blow the smoke the other way, I don't smoke...

Sarge : (HE EXHALES IN BRAAM'S DIRECTION) Sure thing captain...

Braam : (SWIPING TO CLEAR THE AIR) Why do you call this place the exodus motel?

Sarge : Exodus, a noun meaning a departure of many people. Motel, a noun meaning a roadside hotel for motorists; you mean you can't put one and one together?

Braam : (HE FROWNS CONFUSEDLY FOR A MOMENT.) I don't understand...

Sarge : Well obviously, it’s not quite a motel in that you are not exactly a motorist right now, but I sort of like the whole roadside reference...

Braam : What are you talking about?

Sarge : The Exodus Motel, the last stop on the road to your destiny! That's almost pure poetry for you...

Gwi tells Sasha about Love - Gwi's Version of Why he had to Retire on the Thirteenth Morning....

“Everyone deserves to find happiness my dove, but it is pure foolishness to expect to find it through someone else. It’s the same with love; everyone always says how much they love whoever else, but no one actually can tell you exactly what they mean because the whole concept of being in love is pure vanity. “

“That’s a bit harsh.”

“Not really if you think about it. I mean take the words I love you. If you break it down, you can write an autobiographical thesis about just who ‘I’ is. Only then can you move on to love because love doesn’t exist autonomously somewhere out there; it only exists within the individual. So without a true knowledge of the self to begin with, you cannot even begin to define what love is and what it means to love or to be in love. And then, after all of that, you have to start from the very beginning to get to know the person you claim to be in love with. It’s insane and quite presumptuous to even begin to imagine that it is truly possible to remove your own needs and wants so much that it is not a defining part of any relationship. I mean you don’t say to someone, you are loved by me: you say I love you. I first, then you afterwards: that’s just how it is.”

Excerpt from Gwi's Version of why he had to Retire on the Thirteenth Morning...

And so the lost souls arrive at the gate without a clue. Bereft of substance and presence, desperate for answers which only they can provide and yet they persist with their futile enquiries. Has it always been like this? How sad; how sorry: what is life without the certain prospect of death? And yet it remains a surprise to the unsuspecting fools, these corruptors of words who remain fumbling in the dark because they cannot explain what it is that they think or feel with all of their pretty words dressed up in their deceptive Sunday best. And I must just be patient, lest I in my haste condemn their souls to eternal damnation.

SILVER AND GOLD

The day fades unhurriedly

To the accompaniment of a riotous avian symphony

While the setting sun explodes

Its crimson hues violently tainting the clouds

The breeze expires, finally exhausted

A cacophonous quiet embracing the dying day.

Like the dawn, the dusk is a time of reflection

A time given to a different calm, of contemplation

But the mother tonight has different designs

As from behind a hill with a wisp of cloud there rises

On the Eastern horizon a silvery, gold-tinted moon.

Smiling demurely like a self-conscious lover, teasing

Delicate, revealing, suggestive charms; the night’s eye watching.

COURAGEOUS COWARDS

The willfully ignorant

Opinionated and ill-informed

Soullessly faithful

The blinkered believers

Deceptively constructed

The arrogantly educated

Rhetorically intelligent

The conversational acrobats

The guiltless jugglers

Socially irresponsible

Thoughtless fakes

Mindless followers

The unquestioning masses

The unthinking public

Blissfully unconcerned

Endlessly forgiving

Pathetically accepting

The foolishly brave

Collectively audacious

Separately bowed

Individually impotent

The grinning shadows

The skeletal remains

A crippled society

Singularly unjust

Blindly intolerant

Complacently complicit

Courageous cowards

Selfishly inhumane.

BRUTHERS EN SUSTERS...

Bruda’s en susta’s

Ons sit hier en bek verkoep

Nog one-way bymekaa met die ding

Wat moet sukkel om te kan is.

Ek en djy is mos vol gedagtes

Ma’ eintlik is ons koppe kla’ vrot

Met al die kak wat ons gesien het

En al daai’s waa’ die oë toe was.

Tong en lip is nog altyd’ie n bewystuk nie

Die ouens sal volraak met jou trap

En daar waar djy ‘n nwata dala

Sal ek jou nogal reg help.

Want alles kom op een ding nee

Die laaities se liewens wat ons raak.

The end of the tale...

 And as the first draft of this Tale of Extra Ordinary Madness draws to its conclusion and my time here in Nieu Bethesda draws to a close, I am already dreading the return to the city.

Just this afternoon I was walking with Spooky and Gump - my walking companions - as the sun was setting with the sound of the wind in the trees, the rustle of leaves, birdsong, geese and chickens; a wind pump, the water flowing steadily in the furrow; timeless and soothing.

Soon all of this will be just a memory and I thought about the constant, furious, cacophonous rush and fearful vigilance of life in the city and my soul sighed with the wind.

My last few weeks here will be filled with a sad nostalgia for the beauty that I have been privileged to be a part of. The people, the children, the souls' calm. Talk of stock theft and petty crime will be replaced by sirens and burglar bars and the constant fear. No more moonlit walks, no more silence, no more tranquility. Just the rush...

WHERE DO I BEGIN / THANK YOU

Often life’s journey presents so much more

Than all the anticipation; exceeding every expectation

More even than can be conjured by my most vivid imagination

Such is the case within this landscape which I now traverse

Which has served to restore my faith in the universe.

I came to this place with a singular focus

Intent that nothing would detract from my purpose

To record a tale of my own mad creation

A tale of pain and triumph; a story of this nation

I travelled alone, companioned only by my own jaded preconception.

From the moment that I arrived I was made to feel at home

Here where a part of my soul will now always reside

A solitary wanderer but no longer alone

Amidst the silence and birdsong and the freedom to be

Amongst strangers, no longer, where I could just be me.

And from that very first moment I’ve been struggling to put down

The words that would suitably express my heartfelt gratitude

My deepest, humble appreciation of your kindness

For having had the honour and the pleasure

For having been granted this opportunity to be a part of this beauty.

And still the words fail to convey all that I feel

So instead I will just say my Thank You to you now

For your open arms and the bounty of your hearts

For sharing your lives and your love and the ready laughter

But thank you most of all for your honesty and being all of you.

DESIRE'S SPEECH - FROM 'WAITING'

(STANDS AND BEGINS TO CARESS THE DRAPE BEFORE TYING THE FIRST KNOT) Men believe that they are the stronger sex. (SNORTS DERISIVELY) They believe that they have to go through life conquering anything and everything with their dicks. Look at what’s happening in the world – in fact think back on what’s been happening all along. Men have been running the show for forever and look where it’s left us; wars, ignorance, hatred, poverty, suffering and the ever present fear. Most of the time, they are all delusional and yet they believe that they are wise and powerful. Fucking arseholes! They wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between night and day if they were not told. They really think that they are Kings but the truth is…  Women are Goddesses and our vaginas are the altars at which men bow down and pray. (PAUSE) When I was just a little girl, life decided to teach me one of the most valuable lessons that I would ever learn. I had to sacrifice my virginity and my innocence to a stranger who turned around and told me that it was my fault that he had to rape me. (DERISIVE LAUGHTER) Sometimes life’s lessons are sweet and endearing, but most of the time, the things we are taught are cruel and heartless. I learned that no matter how powerful men may think they are, women are even more powerful because we are the mothers and nurturers of creation.

EVEN WHEN I DIE

The band is still playing

Even though some of the musicians are dead

The melody is unchanged

While the harmonies soar instead.

We dance closer than ever

Every pore receptive to the sentient certainty

Of the immortal accord of this love that cannot die

An immortal love that embraces this mortal union.

Your skin burns beneath my fingers

My tongue tracing poetry upon your body

Your ragged breath, the primal groan and your unerring gaze

A minor harmonic trio at the heart of this sensory symphony.

Our beings emptied, drained and refilled complete

Two parts of a single soul once again abounding

The past and the future crystallized in the perpetual moment

The present, an ubiquitous ideal; assiduous perfection.