Texting Over The World.

This morning I was sending a text message trying to say something to someone; I found myself editing the sms over and over again so that I can make a clear message but keep within enough characters so I don’t pay more than 80c for the bloody thing.

I always feel like such a retard when I send texts, compared to 16year cousin who sends texts while multitasking, having a conversation with or cooking, bathing and stuff. I mean, my site is bad and when I send a text I have stop whatever I am doing and concentrate on the text message. But I can send PCM’s (please call me’s) pretty quickly. In any case, I have received some strange texts in my life. So, I have compiled a list of top 5 texts my phone from people, mostly friends. I wonder whether they edit their text messages, how many times and what prompts them to say all sorts of things via sms.

1. ‘Ku hectic phela la. Bathi “do it 4 chris hani, vote for anc” ya no. cool 1 can sleep now. Yazazi lezi zikuvusa ulele’

‘it’s hectic here. They say… yes no… you know the kind of thing that wakes you while sleeping.’

1. ‘You know you are full of Shit, well then we dont have to meet at all. See if I give a Fuck.’

1. ‘I must be cursed. So much sexual unluck’

1. ‘gud mornin honey may u rise above any adversity n enjoy each moment… mncwaa’

1. ‘I’m really sorry ne 4 anything. I tink 1^st step is stop alchol 4 a while’

My top 5 sms’s are humorous, political, sad and angry. The oldest person in the list is a 32years old and the youngest 21years old.

When my ma first bought me a cell phone, she checked my sms’s and kept a copy of my phone book. This is my fourth cellphone and I wonder what she would think if she still checked my phone and she read this kind of stuff.

The 32 year old is at number 2, angry and bitter about her little existence in a big Jo’burg. She is a very good person but has a dark depressing energy, complains about everything and is a natural bully. At number 3, is a 23year old, with a 2year old daughter and is a brilliant film/director/scriptwriter or something. She is divorced and she is simply looking for a good shag, since breaking with her previous boyfriend. Number 4 is meant to be someone I am dating, she 26 years old with a 6year old daughter and I never see her. She works for some call centre bull shit company and used to be something now, she is something else in high heels and flashy clothes, hair extensions and wigs. My best friend takes both the number 1 and the number 5 spot, she is 21and floating on cloud nine always-ready-for-a-spliff type of person, she doesn’t kiss and tell but she cries a lot when she is drunk. She says a lot of sensible things and I like her a lot, we like the same things and work well together.

To be continued….

Strings Attached to Peace… a peace of Meropa’s mind.

Our life journeys differ, we could write entire books about them but only a certain few are worth documenting and publishing. So what makes Meropa’s journey worth creating a 12track album about it and making it available to the public. His music is easily accessible on the Unity Design website; where people can listen to or download music by him.

‘My life journey is inspired by all the experiences I have encountered in my life, both good and bad.’ he says behind big shades, an army cap and an almost innocent smile.

Our journeys are all inspired by something or the other, I wonder what his experiences are and what makes them so special. I am baffled, his guitar gives away an identity complex that the youth is trying to grasp; that soul brother, blaque, unique, dreaded hair type of set up, and once again: the guitar…

‘When I realised my passion,’ he says and doesn’t smile, ‘I made a sincere promise to myself that I will not sell my soul for another man’s definition of success.’

Now I start to question how many times in a day I define success to myself, its an ever-evolving concept but he seems to have an understanding of his own. But don’t we all have little ideas that make a world that is either successful or unsuccessful?

Creative people are (in)famous for being ‘unsuccessful’, with the best excuses about being broke, having dirty shoes and addictions.

‘Creativity is a beautiful thing,’ he explains, ‘and once you recognise that you can use it to create peace of mind.’
He smiles again and pats me on the shoulder, I smile back and sip my coffee.

‘My sister, we have principles, ethics and morals that we live by. My philosophy is to show love and less will go wrong.’ he rubs his hands together and laughs a little, ‘When I sing my music, I feel like I am meditating.’

I turn off the dicta-phone and he tells me that he is Meropa from Soweto, born in 1979 raised by two loving parents. His recent launch at Unity Gallery, Meropa the Journey Live at Unity was a collaboration between young actors and the musician. This was his way of presenting his journey to an eclectic crowd.

‘The story is about an AIDS orphan who has lost both his parents and is being raised by his sister,’ he smiles, ‘even my mother saw me performing for the first time…’

Not everyone’s journey is very special, Meropa is worth taking a listen to and deciding if it is. Simple folk music that questions life and its meaning is refreshing. Touching on various topics like his love life, his family, God and social issues, he strums his guitar strings through his life and he is inspiring.

The real reason why today feels like a Monday…

‘Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill;
Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!

The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!’ -William Wordsworth from Westminster Bridge

Why Today still feels Like A Monday

No one told me not to slouch my back

I know that you will forget one day.

You’ll slouch it.

You mustn’t talk to strangers

You shouldn’t play like that

Please share… I never did.

You shouldn’t be so mean

is the world so deceptive?

Is the world so cruel?

I have failed, indeed.

the words are lost

I strive to love you

You should share

Remember them

Oh, little one…

Oh, little one…

Little One

Little One

slowly

Sit up

Why Today Feels Like a Monday

You shouldn’t play like that

You shouldn’t be so mean

Sit up

You should share

You mustn’t talk to strangers

Little One

No one told me not to slouch my back

Powerful words?

Remember them

when you did listen to them

you slouch waiting for someone

to tell you never to slouch.

Oh, little one…

Is the world so cruel?

Oh, little one…

is the world so deceptive?

Little One

Please share… I never did.

I strive to love you

I have failed, indeed.

slowly

the words are lost

somewhere and nowhere

I know that you will forget one day

3part implosion

Implosion, phase1

Although I was raised to believe, I have certainly lost hope in my society when certain things are ignored and we all run around playing the activist, the humanitarian, the good Samaritan and all sorts of other shit. In my little life, I have grown hatred for so many things, but maybe I am just a confused 20something year old. On a Sunday evening I was watching a pre-Election Debate, where women from all the political parties came together to discuss something or the other. One woman made a good point, maybe we should all come together as political parties and work as a united force instead of constantly fighting each other. This really stuck out in my head, but then another woman quickly dismissed her and said that they are trying win the elections and not come together, it would defeat the purpose. The first thing that came to mind was: divide and conquer!

I really hate trying to prove myself as a woman each time, I am in anyone’s company. I hate knowing what things mean and why they are so relevant to me. I hate learning to unlearn my old habits and become something other than what I know. I don’t like to be seen as a particular person but as I am. I change a million times in a day, I think it’s okay.

Implosion, part 2

At times I feel like I am in the infamous corner at pre school. where I can’t talk be cause I am on time out. My class mates laugh at me and I cry buckets and buckets of tears. I know, it’s really sad but I am still that girl somewhere deep inside. Things are rapidly changing and I need to keep up.

Implosion, part 3

What is a story with out a lie.

why not lie?

see what happens,

see who believes,

to hell with the truth,

it has no use…

especially when you can use lies.

In any case,

the truth is over rated.

A lesson in patience

The traffic lights turn green,

Two little girls walk across

first they look left, right, left again…

One wears a bright pink dress

the other blue…

They look left, right, left again

Holding hands they walk

They don’t run but walk

The taller one carefully

slows her pace down

for the shorter, younger one

and they walk…

a crazy scary intersection

cnr John Voster and Beyers Naude.

cars make intricate patterns around them

turning left, right, circles, sharp turns…

The taller one guides the shorter, younger one

unphased by cars driven by raging lunatics

that need to be on time!

They walk hand in hand

looking left, right, left.

Not running just walking.

Their attention is not deterred

by morning traffic.

They simply walk to the other side…

it is their turn after all…

a little one to warm the heart.

INNOCENCE

Little One…

You shouldn’t play like that, little one

You might fall and hurt yourself!

You should be so mean, little one

Its Rude!

Sit up, little one

You’ll have a curved back when you grow old!

You should share little one

God says so!

You mustn’t talk to strangers, little one

They must just steal you!

Powerful words?

Remember them like it was yesterday

when you did listen to them

Because you don’t know them anymore.

There is no one to tell you not to slouch your back

so you slouch waiting for someone

to tell you never to slouch.

You don’t share anymore, because you have too little.

Oh, little one…

Isn’t the world so cruel? Coercing into forgetting

who, what and when

moulded you into this being that dances in strange places.

Oh, little one…

is the world so deceptive it made you think

it’s okay its okay its okay

when it is not…

Manic young adult,

digressing slowly, slowly until the original intention

of the words are lost somewhere and in the middle

of somewhere and nowhere in the head that thinks nomadically.

That is why you forgot, little one!

For all you Adults…

Blinking only because I must to let some sunshine in to soften this harden heart that knows nothing but just enough to get through an entire day…

Adulthood is not as blissful as childhood

Not as adventurous as teenagehood

or as curious as toddlerhood

Instead adulthood seems to be a black bag we carry

around everywhere,

A black bag filled with self doubt

self criticism and self hatred

Adults are never good enough,

they don’t get gold stars on the foreheads any more.

Adults are too busy to play,

instead they play in night clubs

having clever conversation that won’t change the world over red wine.

In a day, they have to count their blessings in cents

Then account for each cent spent on happiness

Each cent spent on searching for a stupid soul mate

Each cent spent on sadness and feelings of inadequacy

Each spent on filling up your tummy, seeing friends, entertaining guests

and of course pay the rent.

Thinking about the future,

Brooding over the past

unable to tap into pure happiness

they fall into a trap…

misery, depression, disease, stress, tablets, doctors, fits of rage.

Without realising that all these things wouldn’t exist

had you not created them,

first in your head…

then in your conversation

then they feel and seem so real.

Adults are too miserable for my liking.