Mulletized!

Oh man, I just want to say sorry for three things.

Firstly, its for the picture. I wanted a picture for the post, so I arbitrarily picked this -  you can go wrong with a drawing of two fat (one hairy) man beasts getting it on. Its possible.  Next, for the intensely crap content on this blog of late. And lastly, for not really adding new posts for ages. To my 5 readers - apologies…

The only time I get to work on this is at night after a long drive and a serious working day inspired computer allergy.

But!

Although I haven’t been writing on this blog, I am very happy to announce that I have been writing at night. By hand with a black fineliner. Old school baby! I have a black fineliner fetish.  Even people who know me well dont really know the ticking in me to create shit. I used to draw and paint thought the night, completely fill an A4 hardcover book in one sitting with writing writing writing and scribbles and diagrams and drawings…

I haven’t created in a long time. And its knocking the door down. I’m trying lots of new cool things with my writing - short stories, crazy short prose, character scetches, scenarios, ideas - anything goes. And I’m stoked at whats coming out. You wouldn’t recognise the writing from this blog. Its playful. I’m slowly getting the idea of how I should write. I’m excited.

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.

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

I’m a secret scribbler.

I think it was about 2 years ago that you went into hospital for a little procedure. I waited outside your ward for an eternity.

I wrote this down while I was thinking of you in theatre:

Dance baby, you want to

Smile baby, you’re beautiful

Set the past ablaze complex little heart

Beatbox machine of rhythm only

The rhythms are simple

Theyre your own

Never imperfect