When wood rots, it comes alive

Like Pinocchio’s nose, full of s**t, full of lies,

But it’s alive, soft, losing colour,

accumulating stains..

But it’s alive, full of lies..
‘Cos inside, it’s deeply pained
It feels the pain,
But on the hour, every hour
There it goes again..

And it crumbles, ô, it’s crumblin’
On the hour.. with so much power
On the the hour.. crumbles into powder
Pain, like a grain,
Like a grain, of coc**ne….

Ô Pinocchio, ô Pinocchio, why d’you lie ?
Lie to survive? Huh ?

Ô Pinocchio, come alive
Alive to thrive, come alive
Pino-Pino, come…

It dangles in front of you. Already, you’re mesmerised by its imperfect shape, it’s rich colour, it’s daunting size, and above all, the Pleasure it will procure in your life.

It’s right in front of you. You can already imagine what it will feel like in your hand, mouth, beyond.

Stiff, maybe a little bit hairy — but nothing unkempt. Definitely something you can handle.

You know the real fun starts when your mouth opens. The mere thought of this seemingly imminent moment has mobilised each and every one of your taste buds; lest we forget the sensation of your…

Cette fois, c’est la dernière.

On a tous une faiblesse.

Surtout nous, les basanés, les plus méprisés de cette société.

Nous avons besoin de nous en sortir, de s’épanouir.

Ce n’est pas évident, ni facile.

Et ce, valable pour nous tous — ceux qui ont réussis, et ceux qui essaient d’atteindre cet état.

Comment t’en sors-tu d’une situation perpétuelle, fatigante.

Comment t’en sors-tu de ce système,

Ce système, cet environment,

Fait pour t’opprimer, pour te supprimer, pour te réduire,

Ce système qui fait que tous les maux du monde ont le pouvoir de te séduire.

On fait comment ?

Déjà on trime , on rhyme déjà, déjà on chante le même hymne

Mais hélas, sur le spectre , le noir ne figure point.


It’s beautiful

The undulating motions,

Emotions, that guide you gently along certain paths, tug you violently down others, or suddenly abandon you in absolute nothingness, which itself may be fertile, and bear fruit from seemingly nowhere;

Or sterile, leaving your soul to languish in the abyss of darkness – but sill, you exist, Vagabond.

It’s a fork. Omnipresent on your left, always giving you another way out, a minima. Nonetheless the sharp knife is equally present, on your right, ready to blindly pierce that to which your spirit sets it’s sight…

You have the power. Knowing how to use…


This is the articulation of the trains of thought, observations and experiences, mostly jotted down between halves of football matches during the recently ended African Cup of Nations that took place in Egypt. The language I employ is not for the lily-livered, neither will it please the constables and inspectors of the Brigade of Political Correctness — so if this is you, now is the time to go and play in your room. This is a subjective piece, which means I speak of my reality, which may not necessarily align with yours.

The context to this is a personal introspection…

Dear Silence,

We’ve come a long way, you and I.

“Silence is golden, so shut up and get rich” read a poster in the library I frequented as a child. I was always amused by this. Oft excited as a child, Silence was always something I had to achieve growing up as an extrovert. As I grew older my mother instilled in me the need to establish a rapport with Silence. This ever-so-elusive, unattainable girl. I’m still struggling with it.

Nonetheless, I got you. I won you. Boy, are you a handful.

From the power you give me on the…

Table Mountain / Tafelberg, during my last visit.

“Claaaaaaremont-Wynburg” echoes through the morning mist, in a humorous trans-like bellow.

The colour of your skin matters, but doesn’t but does. It changes, like the shades of the Western Cape sun, and it changes under the Moon of Good Hope.

The music brings us together, the hangovers separate us.

The weather brings us together; how we survive, or enjoy it separates us.

Our fears bring us together; and our fears separate us.

And that is the story of South Africa, the Yo-Yo nation.

If you are in Zimbabwe or are a concerned party vis-à-vis the state of affairs in this land, you are probably still trying to interpret the latest and arguably most important monetary policy statement delivered by the central bank since things were normal, once upon a time. To resume this policy change in a sentence: Zimbabwe’s government has introduced the Zimbabwe dollar through the back door.

If there is a back door, simple logic dictates that there is, somewhere under the rainbow, a front door. What is the difference? The difference is that a currency that has entered the market…

גדול אדוני

מלך העולם

אני אוהב אותך

i’m surrounded by people who do things that you despise

which makes me despise them

and I cannot go on despising people i’m supposed to love

at the end of the day, how will i be able to love myself?


Art. Freedom. Politics. Love.

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