I write..

So, that light at the end of the tunnel keeps going on and off like its got a faulty bulb. As soon as I get close enough, I’m going to change that bulb, put something eco-friendly, long lasting and energy saving.

But that might take me while since I’m stuck in career quicksand. Have cracked my own glass ceiling and am now wallowing in that cement like mud of mid-level entrepreneurship. Which can be a lifelong stasis, unless I do something about it now. Like maloba.
(that’s my new phrase, like maloba, because there’s no word in English for maloba).

The only nice thing about the place that I’m at, is that I no longer question my own self worth, am not shy about my ambitions, talking money no longer embarrasses me, and the voices of my past, that made me apologise for wanting to be who I want to be have been drowned out, by the sheer potential of my greatness – yes, I’m aware that I just crossed the line into Kanye West proportions of self adulation.

But it’s not a warped sense of being, I see my faults just as clearly as I see my strengths. I’m just saying… that’s all.

If you want to stand beside me, don’t fear who I am, the fucked-upness and greatness. It’s all me, love it all, or leave it all. UNCONDITIONAL RECIPROCATION. OK that’s a tall order, but something close and I’ll do my best to give you the same. Promise.

Now back to the career, my next move is so crucial, I feel like that band that people keep referring to as “slept on”. Dismissed passed over, ignored. I’m going to make some noise, life is too short.

I thought forever was today
that I’d lost you
that you were lost to me
in fact you are

for a moment there
I reached the zenith of my mind
hit a brick wall
came crashing down

because I thought forever was a day
today

for a moment I bared my soul
then quickly covered up
came crashing down
that day

for a moment
you held my heart, so hard
I couldn’t breathe
Did you know?

I went dizzy from no air
went blind from the constriction
lost my balance
felt forever wouldn’t end

for a moment my regrets choked me

for a moment.

She speaks to me, just like Paulo Coelho said it would. Never has it been so acutely clear. The message being, DISCARD THE FEAR, REGRET NOTHING, LISTEN TO YOUR BEING, LOVE, LOVE, LOVE, LOVE, LOVE!

about facebook that sometimes makes you feel like you’re snooping???

I’m made of reluctant stuff
that fears and yearns.
velcro-like in grasping for its kin
loud and dramatic in parting

I’m made of determined stuff
that cuts and bruises
rubberlike in bounce
but often thin as eggshells

beating heart
clicking joints
winking eyes
opened palms

mortal, simply mortal.

My second baby is about to make her first public appearance on SABC 1 at 20:30 right after that playground bully, Generations. After a 2 and a half year gestation period, a difficult pregnancy, to put it mildly (her baby-daddy had Some financiAl proBlems and then turned into a psyChotic controlling father that made very outrageous demands despite the measly child support he paid). That drama still continues and he’s now being counselled by the Minister, dunno if he’ll ever change though. Anyway, I’m now ready to send her out into the world. And like anyone who’s given birth, the second time isn’t a charm, just different. See the novelty wears off – but the pain remains the same.
She’s finally making her début and what will likely follow is, after not having a moment to myself to breath, let alone live, I’ll probably suffer a nice bout of post natal depression coupled with empty-nest syndrome. Oh the joys of being an workaholic.
But since I’ll be moving to Limpopo to go be a layabout and live off relatives for a while, the only plans I plan to make are to get to and from the FIFA matches at the World Cup next year, and in the process maybe get well (read, crazy) enough to consider making another baby – you in the meantime will tune in, routinely and weekly or pvr’ly to watch SOCIETY II & III on SABC 1 as from tomorrow. Neh?

p.s. check out this on-point we review we got for the film version of Society.

to (name, me)
- who gets it -
fame
a bestseller every decade-
(till eighty);
a lover on every continent
(before the big love)
a soul mate – for life;
the ability to forgive…
and forget;
and to remember the good
stuff – inventing a new medium
a verb named after you IN THE OXFORD DICTIONARY
like “to (name) a screenplay
a situation, a solution”
not minding mistakes
celebrating flaws
a table-full of friends at 90
a happy 30th birthday

WHAT A GIFT, NOTHING TANGIBLE OR MATERIAL CAN TOP GOOD WISHES THAT COME FROM SOMEONE THAT LOVES YOU.

because he’s a bad storyteller?
By bad, I mean, he gives away the punchline or 2nd act climax in the sentence that premises his story. Since he chooses such obvious plotlines that scream the story turns, or the conclusion – jumping up and down in the background, like those guys at cricket matches that notice themselves on the large screen, shouldn’t he just cut to the quick of the story and have it over and done with, instead of dragging me along, ignoring my even gaze that doesn’t flinch when he reveals, what he considers to have been a hidden plot point, then proceeds to laugh at the narrative genius that he is?
Why do that to me?
No, why do that to myself.
I sit there and listen, and go through ten sets of counting to ten – relax – why so up tight. Not everyone you come across is going to be a great storyteller, hell neither are you, except on paper, or around people who’ve known you for years, in their eyes you rival even Dave Chapelle. Give the guy a break, he’s trying to impress you – no don’t think about work, or what to blog, of whether to go to the toilet or not, or about that great memoir you’re reading – now that’s a storyteller, Tennessee Williams. There you go, being unfair. How can you compare him to a Pulitzer Prize winning author and playwright – damn.
Anyway, I’m tolerating, I don’t want to be tolerated, and nor will I put someone through that same tormented feeling.
I guess he’s write-off – except that in this case, I’m not insured, there are no guarantees and I could be walking away from gold…

So, I’ve found a new haunt to work in, I don’t want to give the name away, because it can’t be a haunt if we all hook up there.
So the only problem is that, it being a hotel means there are tons of foreigners, mostly American and I cannot for the life of me stand their accents. Cannot.

ON SCREEN – it’s fine, not only is it fine it’s engaging, I don’t even notice the monotonous tone, it’s funny in comedies, sad in dramas it’s great, can listen, for long stretches of time.

IN SUNG MUSIC – it’s better, almost more musical because they don’t enunciate every syllable or consonant. Even, dare I say, melodic.

IN THE ODD SOLITARY AMERICAN – sure, any time any day, easily ingestible.

IN REAL LIFE – No. not so funny, just irritating.

Only in small doses can I handle the sound, but a whole tour bus of them filling the otherwise quiet lobby and reception of my new favourite work place, with their flat nasal voices, loudly Twaaanging away – is unbearable. OK, they are never that many, but still, they might as well be.
I feel like a hypocrite, I put on an American accent mid conversation for effect or amusement or whatever (how does one say “oh, no he di’n't” or “the thin’ about it is” – “ma-nigga” and “forever, forever-ever” without twanging like a Black American???). I reference this very accent that I can’t stand ALL THE TIME! But the real thing, the real loud real-life THING, which for some reason just comes across as patronizing no matter what the poor Yank could be saying – is unbearable.
How does Dneo stand it????