Mulletized!

So Just[B}coz has tagged me with a meme: Addictions!

Sounds scary. Shame I think shes trying to nudge me to put (something) on this blog. So I’ll say thankyou

Ok, so the rules are:

* Post at least five current addictions and why you’re addicted to them
* Link to the creator of the meme (Being Brazen) and to the person who tagged you
* Head your post with “Current addictions”
* Tag at least two people and pass on the above rules.

1. Writing on paper with black fineliners. Ok, I’m going to clump a fineliner addiction with this one. Ive bought 5 in a week. So back to the writing - in a spell of about 3 weeks I’ve been drunk with writing creativity. But whatever writing boogie I feel evaporates if I’m not writing on paper. I think the radio-waves from the computer screen shrink my juice. Awesome thing is, that almost unknown to me and automatically without any struggle, I have managed to come up with a very rough outline for an actual book. And if I write the thing in a year, or in 10 years, I WILL write it. My promise. Swear to blog.

1. I’m addicted to constantly checking my eyebrows in the mirror. On a whim I decided to dye my hair dark recently. Only thing is, I have very light eyebrows. So naturally, I dyed them too. The box said brown, not “Black like Me”! They are so dark, I look like a travelling Cuban sideshow clown. I never realized how caterpillar-like my eyebrows really were because they they’re so light. Now I know. I move them up and down and pull unthought of before facial expressions in the mirror accompanied by various South American accents. It’s definitely an addiction. I’m not sure if a support group exists though.

1. Jeans. I have about 12 pairs.

1. When I’m driving alone in my car, cranking up the music till it bleeds my ears, and screaming at the top of my lungs at the chorus. Accompanied by slightly too fast driving…

1. The folder 2008_03_02

I know I’m supposed to tag 2 people, but - seriously, have you seen my blogroll…

I am stick man, but this morning that stick is on fire - a molten barbarian. Just out of bed, and only wearing my underpants, I had to be physically held back and my car keys taken from me this morning. I could kill.

My beautiful and loving sister who has been married for 8 months has found out that she has been betrayed. And I seriously want to rip his fucking throat out.

I believe in people, I really do. But my faith is being tested by constant testimonies to selfish assholes. This is worse than murder - its a death of spirit and a person’s sense of worth. Do people have no strength of character, no backbone, no loyalty, no compassion, no love?

I seriously want to fucking kill him for doing this to her.

Ive deleted my last post. It isnt me at all. Ive come to the realization that something in my past has screwed with me. I am not that heavy beast. Im casting you off and going for lightness - going for goodness instead of  hurt that is long gone. I choose to make it not belong to me anymore. I will NOT let it fuck up my life and everything important to me. Allow me to introduce myself. I am stick man. Light.

He was thinking of changing his name as he was walking. He was thinking of something baddass. Hes a tough guy, see this jaw, see this frame. He could knock out people twice his size. Johnny-be-Cool stuck with him - a greaser hybrid and 70’s Tarantino alter universe of always slickness. Then he was sidetracked.

Is the road hes walking on a man or a woman? The straight looks simple, archaic. Maybe its a man? But if he float upwards the curves will be revealed. Its a woman clearly. Magical. Genius is in simplicity and complexity he thought. The basic structure hides the seductress, the mercurial beauty, the unseen. The captivating charm is in the unknown, the mystery behind the possibilities. When the hard sun cascades up from the gravel upon sunset and makes him squint, she might be punishing him for staring at her winding curves too longingly, for thinking of her as he walks head down. She might be smiling at him, she might be laughing at his manly stupidity, she might be looking kindly. She will make him second guess his direction as she changes form like vapours. Roadsigns invert at every look. Solitary confinement thoughts cannabilizing themselves - playing games with his isolated road walking sensibilities. He falls in love with her. That’s the most natural thing. His steps echo like a hypnotising trance spell around his heart. It will resonate. Forever. The cold wind aches his knuckles. He enjoys it. Its intense feeling. Alive. Out of mind. And for a moment he understands why people self inflict cuts in thin chapters for pleasure and the ecstasy of unworthiness. His imagination might betray him. Perfectly formed hills will look like tender breasts in the distance. Everything looks like a woman now. Everything may seem out of reach. Antennas on top looking like tophat nipples teasing heaven above. Pervert.

Kicking a stone. Back to the name. It really sucks, but its all hes got. It wont leave him. He realizes that If someone pauses too long between Johnny and be Cool, it’ll sound like they’re telling you to be cool, to relax, instead of emphasising the unity of Johnny and Cool. Totally undercutting the intention. Badass becomes Softass. That’s the illusion anyway. Names, roads, woman, men, intention. Its all in the space, and its not there at all.

There is no illusion. There is no imagination. Its just the climate of the road. Its what it is until you make it what it isn’t. Its all simple, all beautiful, all genius. He reluctantly sticks to his old name - Gertrude. And if you snicker he will come out punching baby.

How fast can my car go? Let me push it. Give me a racetrack and the fastest car. Don’t worry about the handling I will control anything. I will take it to its peak with a universe of time around me. See that gap, I wasn’t asking for it, its  mine. Power in a tight fist on the wheel. You can misinterpret it for anger, but i don’t even see you behind me,  never mind hear your faint whimper. Energy. Overflowing the brim. Bubbling over. No red, just focus. Overfocus. Overfocus. Time is slow, its bending to my whim. Don’t be blinded by my feminine gifts. My mixture is housed in visceral tendons and muscles. An undeniable animal.

Eddie Vedder thank you for being my gracious friend. Eyes escape me.  Leave me. Dont leave me. Truth leave me today. Fanstasy take me. Take me away to some other place. Lie to me please. Dont touch me please. Please touch me. I say kindly and softly please dont look at me.  Please look at me. Take everything I have, it doesnt mean anything to me.  Just whisper in my ear, but dont let me see you. Oh, please let me see you. Trace your fingertips over my shoulder in ghosts.  Let me know you are there. I will see you later when i have more grace. The world escapes me.

On the drive to work today I had this incredibly strange flashback. I saw myself as a little school boy. I was the tiniest little thing you have ever seen. My mom used to struggle to kit me out in a school uniform. All the primary school sizes were too big for my little body and she used to have to hunt for grey shorts in preschool sizes.

Friends were everywhere. I was always the sports day mascot because i looked like a Buddha baby. Fat cheeks with dimples i couldn’t hide, girls used to always want to carry my Mr Men school-case because it was half my size, and i mustve looked like like it was attacking my lobsided hip as a waddled around with it.

In my flashback I saw I was in my own universe. Content. Kids wanting to be close to me, mommies wanting to steal me and put me in their cubbyholes as they were waiting for their giant kids after school. But i didn’t see them. I liked being on my own - kicking a stone alone around the sports field at break time. I think i looked sad to everyone. A sad, cute, dimple smiling, gentle little boy. I wasn’t sad - I loved my own universe. My best times were when it had been raining and puddles of water were scattered around the outside of the school. I always had to wait for my mom to pick me up. She was always late, but i didn’t mind.

I looked at this boy smiling to himself - hunched over and breaking up twigs and laying stones delicately and thoughtfully in the puddles - creating a little paradise with imagination unbounded in puddles. I was always creating. 3 paint colours, a piece of paper and i was in heaven.

Its a gentle reminder to me - its OK if my view isn’t understood. I didn’t care what other kids thought of my paradises in puddles - I thought they were amazing. I used to wave goodbye to them as i sat with my face to the back car window - hoping they would survive the night. Ive been swamped with the need to be appreciated lately, maybe somehow validated for my outlook. Doubting myself for the first time ever. But seeing that little happy ball of love all by himself was amazing. I have grown the strongest desire to share myself. That’s a good thing I think, but its not the only thing. Things exist on their own, they exist with you being there to witness them, they are best when shared, but they are all equally important.

Back to creating. Its what i was born to do. I am never alone. Thank you for showing me that Bem Bem. You cute little zen fucker.

Drove around and sat under the naughty tree around the block. Flood. Blessed and burdened with not only photographic impressions, but a memory beyond three dimensions. The atmosphere, the feeling in the air, the words, the ideas I formulated at the thoughts behind the glimpses.

Like the first day of school holidays when it seemed like it was summer for the first time. Excitement, spontaneity, and all possibilities in the air. Blue Peter skirts and the smell of perfume and freshly blowdryed hair, glimpses of leg and grins. “Why do you keep looking out of the window?” at the tree. “I don’t know”. Meaning I’m afraid. Inexperienced in these moments. Excited to a standstill. In awe of the energy. Afraid of it. Sea air at night time. I can smell it. The way the moon hit the sea that night was something I will never be able to forget. Beautiful, beautiful, so beautiful. The moon stood no chance. It never will. Take a walk with me. I look different in the moonlight. I look different under this tree. Chasing the memory and imagination, I will always believe in the possibility. Fool maybe, most probably. Always the fool. My stories are old now and listening to them may not sound like they do on the beach or under the tree. But they are the same, they are the same they were back then. Its the same eyes behind this smile. Its the same warmth to my skin. Whatever beauty that made you grin is here. Its the same heartbeat you would do anything to get close to. No plea in any way. That’s not me. Desperate to treasure the good and not cling to the dying. I just cant believe in the death as I sat under the tree. I will trot along in my funny hat towards the treeless future if that’s what it holds.  My disclaimer is that i know I’m the fool. I would just rather be this fool than any thing else. I will take moonlight and oceans over any kind of nuts and bolts. Maybe that is the sign of a true fool. Dying needs, routine - moonlight replaced with tv, I still always watched an angel sleeping with absolute love and a rainbow smile.

The road was silent. But thats all it was. We were born in a night to perish in a night. All we can do with the breathe we have to is to move into the open spaces before us. Move. Feel where we need to be and listen. Touch the space with whatever light is inherent to us. Make dark lighter if we can. Nothing can be more meaningful. Thats our meaning in this breathe.

It should have been an ugly morning. Cape Town is cold and dripping out of its seams. Late for work as usual and traffic slow and bubbling.

But my seat was comfortable, and as much as I squinted my eyes I couldnt help but see the magic everywhere, in everything. The steering wheel felt like a part of me, and the steering wheel felt like a part of everything. Dark clouds rumbling with energy in the distance could have been the coffee swirling in my stomach.

Thoughts are only limited to smirks at how simple it all is. Simple, and insanely beautiful.

Had this Amos Lee song on repeat. Playing it over and over for when he says “we all got the same bloodflow”.

“The people on the street, out on buses or on feet, we all got the same bloodflow.
Oh and society, every dollar got a D, we all need a place where we can go, and feel over the rainbow. Sometimes we forget what we got, who we are, oh who we are now.”

Amos Lee - Keep it loose, keep it tight