Live rAge - 80th birthday tribute to James Matthews.

Dance sequence Part I

Dance sequence Part II

There is a 'u' & 'i' in community

I’m not disconnected, I’m interconnected. I’m connected to so much through so much that I am connected to nothing. I am just like you but I fail to see the similarities: but we are similar yet I’m not like you. We can talk about similar things – even the same things – and we can express similar views, views that may even sound the same. We could even like similar things or dislike other things or support a similar cause, but my cause will never be the same as yours. No more.

No longer am I able to stand aside while everything hurtles headlong into a solid wall – into the nothing beyond oblivion where my neighbours plight is of no concern to me; where my own comfort and safety and prospects are secured. 

Have we learned nothing over the course of the infinite millennia? 

Just the greed and the avarice and the criminally inhumane unconcern: this criminal complicity yet again. 

Unable to reach out the hand that will make you and I, us. 

There is only a ‘u’ in human, but there is an ‘i’ and a ‘u’ in community. 

Until we listen to the music we cannot dance to the song, we’ll never connect the dots unless…

It’s like not caring for a mother, or a lover, or a child. Its not an absence of feeling, its just one crippled emotion: fear and I am not convinced that your fear deserves understanding!

There’s no me in community but there is a ‘u’ and ‘i’. 

Too much talk, too much rhetoric and posturing and self interest. 

Too many processes and seeking approval and ideas that can be implemented once you manage to free some time and write out the plan; to death. The idea seems to die but lays dormant, growing weak: no getting weak, being made weak by inaction, atrophying! Fading, but still there, sometimes waiting to be drawn forth and resuscitated; reconnected to the self to live again. 

‘U’ and ‘I’ are a part of community, remember? Community member…

The Angel In My Bed

Drawing by Francesca Romana Brogani

In the small hours of the night

I awake as you shift

And snuggle tightly against my back

With the sweetest little moan.

I turn to embrace you

As you lie contentedly in my arms

With a hint of a smile

Playing at the corners of your mouth.

I stay unmoving

Just gazing upon your face

Wondering what it is that I do not see

When the windows to your soul have closed.

I breathe deep and hold you tighter

Safe within this embrace

As I close my eyes and drift off

To another bed with you lying safely in my arms.

Just Two Things

I’ve heard it

At least once more

Before:

The yadda-yadda,

The warra-warra

The this is what I do

And you?

This is what I can do

For you.

Always the same

Two things

Either but always

Just the one

Or the other;

This or that

And the conversation

Inevitably

Falls flat.

THE DAUGHTER'S SECRET

She’s so much closer now

And yet it seems the same as before

I’ve seen her but was unable to speak

About how I can love alone.

The distance is reduced

Yet the wall remains impenetrable

I’ve said it all and have no voice

As I wait frustrated for a sign.

The high is suspended in its upward surge

A daunting perpetuation of yesterday’s woes

I sit balancing on the precipice

Preserved by an ailing hope.

Child of my soul speak to me

Let me know the secret of your heart.

So here’s the thing…

The more I think about it, the more I realise that there are but just two inherent human flaws that have and will continue to rule the world and our lives.

We live on a planet with a population of 7billion people. No matter how hard you try you cannot imagine how much that is. In South Africa alone there are 51.7 million and even that fraction is unimaginable to every single one of us.

But I digress…

In 2500 BCE (Before Common Era) the oldest archeologically verified king on the Sumerian List of the Kings is En-me-barage-si who was the ruler of Kish and to whom reference is made in one of the oldest literary works, the Epic of Gilgamesh.

I am however fairly certain that throughout the ages there was a certain type of psychopath who was self-obsessed enough to kill to assert their will. Ruthless, single-minded despots who made ‘lesser men’ bow to their lust for power.

The second type of human being is the rest of us who would rather bow down than be hurt for what we think is right. Most of us would rather change the way we think before standing up to the giant with the blood soaked axe in his hand that subordinates us all.

And in our cowardice and fear and the unthinking constructed state that we call reality we kill each other and treat each other like we are not of the same species because the norm to which we subscribe has been designed by certifiable, criminally insane sociopaths who by might of arms has turned our species into an abomination.

And the worst part is that for all the supposedly growing consciousness, the horror will not change. This reality is as good as it’s ever going to get again. We’ve allowed it to go too far and the only hope left is the total destruction of the hell that is this system.

Only when there is absolutely nothing left, when the destruction is absolute and final, will a new hope be born. And that tomorrow will have to be so completely new that you and I shouldn’t have a part in it.

Personal ad–Wanted, not needed…

Seeking an evolved, mature human being for long term friendship.

Must be an anarcho-anti-theist-sapiosexual with a preference for tri-nogomy and no desire to have kids or pets; must be a strong and confident traveller, warrior and healer; emphatically individualistic, compassionate, empathic, non-materialistic, without unresolved issues or too much baggage.

Must love yourself unconditionally, must be honest with yourself, independent enough to be yourself and must thoroughly enjoy being with yourself.

Must enjoy good music – especially mainstream-leaning-to-third-stream-jazz and avant-garde (those who dig Tom Waits and Frank Zappa and with an aversion to pop will be given preference): well-read with a love for good theatre, film, dance, visual art, street art and socially conscious, honest expression: the successful candidate will also understand the purpose of art.

Must be able to enjoy alcohol, and partake of an occasional toke with a strong possibility of a sporadic lined-up conversation or an infrequent jaunt with the good Doctor Hoffman.

Must enjoy silence and the value of simplicity with no delusions of any nature.

Please Lord?!

There are millions of our brothers and sisters that pray everyday to their God for a meal and security. We are not criminals when our prayers are answered and the food that is prepared is acquired from the proceeds of some criminal deed. I am not a criminal for standing up for what is right and trying to protect myself. (PAUSE) When you close your eyes to pray, what is it that you see in your imagination? Is it the pretty white Jesus that has been fed to us by the popular media or is it some other indefinable thing? Is it a balm for your pain; courage against the crippling fear; a hopeless fight against resignation; or a perfectly blissful, unthinking belief in divine intervention? Dear lord, we have sinned and continue to do so at every possible opportunity. Dear God, forgive us even though we cannot forgive each other. Oh lord my God, who am I? Am I the innocent child in Africa or the mother in the Middle East or the dead father? Am I any different from the mindlessly happy characters that continue to be forced upon me by popular culture? Am I just lazy or am I a reflection of someone else’s branding; just an impression, a stereotype, a typecast, bad actor playing a role in the tragic, sit-com of existence? And even when the programme is no longer appealing, we are told that we should still be happy because at least it is entertainment. Dear lord please increase my viewing pleasure and release me from these burdens I pray, amen.

Reading at Dustcovers Bookshop with Athol Fugard, Nico Zaverdinos and Paula Fourie...

An Ode to Whiskey

These late night libations

Warm comfort for my soul

Hanging out and drinking

I don’t want to go home.

Been staring since morning

Into your golden come-hither eye

And the lip of this glass

Is my temptress’ smile.

These late night libations

Liquid kisses for my soul

I’d rather spend my time with you

I don’t want to go home.

When no-one else had the time

You always stuck around

And always when they closed the door

Your hot embrace is what I found.

So pop that cork and fill me up

Let it spill over the brim

And keep singing your sweet love song

Because it helps to ease the pain.

These late night libations

Like an ever burning flame

Intoxicated conversations

That keeps me sane.

Sing to me and hold me tight

And never let me go

The sweet lullaby of your oblivion

Is all I want to know.

Just keep talking to me Amber

Keep saying that I’m okay

And one day I promise

Your love will be repaid.