Archive | May, 2012

Puff And Pass; Smoking The Life Out Of Love And Getting High On Paranoia: A Sequel To Single And Happy My Ass!

22 May

Funny how one gets in touch with self by thinking out loud in a public spaces and fora such as this. I can’t afford a shrink anyway so thank you in advance dear reader for giving me the time of day. In Single And Happy My Ass! ( I took on the role of a myth buster. Not entirely certain how much busting took place though.


I Still Have Your Photo In My Laptop

The inviting smile
That naughty spark in your eye
The careless pose
I loved you…

I am 34 years old and single. By “single” I mean unattached and in no way referring to marital status. I have little respect for the institution of marriage you see. If marriage is your thing then I’m thrilled for you, each to his own I guess.
Anyway this, for me(my being single), is not exactly a source of joy exceeding. Lonely pangs for companionship, like the proverbial thief in the night, come unannounced catching me off guard threatening to fuck up my delicately balanced world sending it teetering precariously over the black hole of dark and bitter despair and the smoldering ambers of unbridled passion. At such moments a volcanic rage wells in me, threatening to erupt with ferocity second to none. Funniest thing ever if you ask me, I never thought I would see the day when I would gladly and deliberately erect stumbling blocks or create some even to thwart any hope of a new budding liaison.
I’m pissed off as hell that with each potential romantic liaison I instinctively search for lies, inconsistencies and cruel streaks. Me the old-fashioned romantic…

…The change was swift and brutal in it’s wake
We stopped talking; unless we
Were butchering each other with words
Words, the new weapon of choice
We became strangers…
Our experiences, joys, triumphs, hurts, cruelty, love etcetera are imprinted in the hearts of those we meet, more so on those with whom we share moments of intimacy.
The mathematics of interpersonal relationships is that with each encounter we love more or less, trust more or less, multiply our talents or divide them into unrecognizable bits that are just a shadow of our former selves.
Our lives are altered eternally with each encounter.
Some hearts are left with carefully trodden foot steps, with just a hint of a passerby. Some hearts on the other hand are left with muddy footprints.
There comes a time when after vain attempts at salvaging the doomed and the hopeless one is simply smoked out. After much puffing you are ready to be passed on to the next smoker who may or may not smoke out whatever is left of kindness, trust, generosity, compassion and dare I say love.
Puff and pass.

State Of Emergency Lockdown

After one too many relationship mishaps a lockdown takes place. The gates that lead to one seeking, attracting or receiving love are shut with a loud clanging of chains and locks the likes seen in prison dungeons.
Spot The Liar is the hottest hobby since promiscuity.
One almost looks for potential(read available person)in the hope of spotting aforementioned lies and hints of potential cruelty. One is left giddy with the twisted satisfaction that comes in the event that the expected flaws manifest themselves. I KNEW IT! Prior knowledge and expectation of a let-down cushion the vicious blows of the pain. The pain that sucks the air right out of the lungs. Satisfaction, albeit short lived.
In my experience I find that while I run around at fever pitch making sure the relationship works I am also constantly on the lookout to be let down. Masochist tendencies I know.


We stare at each other
You, frozen in digital time
I, quizzing you about the past
You, taunting me with your smile
I, gently caressing the outline of your image, frozen in digital time
You, taunting me with your smile
I still have your photo in my laptop



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I Am An African…As And When It’s Convenient- In Celebration Of Africa Month

20 May

I Am An African…As And When It’s Convenient- In Celebration Of Africa Month.

I Am An African…As And When It’s Convenient- In Celebration Of Africa Month

20 May

Africanness Is Not A Badge Of Honour But The Makings Of Chance

Life is tough, oftentimes unfair and most certainly unpredictable.
The problem is further compounded by the additional burden of appointing self as the champion and guardian of all things African and a connoisseur of cultural ethics. Ethics and culture are usually synonymous whenever it comes to pushing prejudicial bigotry and sanctimonious hollering.
As if cut from the same cloth as organised religion, guardians of “africanism” are more often than not puritanical, moralistic, chauvinistic do-gooders who will defend their “africanness” tooth and nail frothing at the mouth…until the next distraction and then being black and African is dumped in the proverbial sea of forgetfulness. Those with an agenda,I have since realised, any agenda, , have the attention span of a housefly and a memory to match.
In defense of personal prejudices, and there’s an array, being African is suddenly made to sound like divinity and woe unto the transgressor.

Backstrokes In The Murky Pool Of Double Standards

Where do women get off thinking they deserve as much opportunities as their male counterparts? How dare they speak in public assembly and what’s with wearing pants? I mean everybody knows women should be puttering about the house keeping the home fires burning. That’s the value of the woman in an african and viciously patriarchal society. Or does this brand of africanism a regional peculiarity?
This is the same woman that a man spends almost an entire lifesavings in an attempt to woe(read acquire).
Conversation on women also gets interesting with many waxing lyrical about thighs, ass and boobs. Her signature. The pride of the African woman(sic)
The women issue is just another example from a festering heap of prejudices and stereotypes where being african is used to justify the suppression of others and perpetuating of the status quo.

Only as recent as 2009 the world watched in stupefied horror as African turned on African in cold- blooded savagery to the soundtrack of war songs, ululating, and much cheering.
Stonings and lynch mobs attracted as much fan following as the bull baiting arenas in ancient Rome.
In a cruel twist of irony many of the victims of xenophobic attacks(a nice name for senseless unjustified hatred) were Zimbabwean, a country that had seen similar brutality meted on white farmers.
It was probably the darkest hour in the short history of the new democracy.
It was ugly.
Ubuntu, loving thine neighbour and other lofty ideals were not only suddenly forgotten by the mob but also by an even more sinister player in this orgy of destruction and murder; the viewer at home who silently cheered the mob on because “honestly these people must go back to their countries”.These are the types that only speak in assemblies of like minded cretins whose hate speech is fuel to the xenophobic blaze.
…oh gosh I get lost in my own rants but the point I’m making:

•it is the very same people who will decry practices such as inter-racial relations(something about making ancestors happy-and that’s another topic for another day), same-sex liaisons(some preferring murder rather than have their sons or daughters bonk each other’s brains out)because it is not african
•cultural hypocrisy has as much stench as religious hypocrisy

In conclusion the fact that I am alive today is a celebration of the resilience of African people through centuries of systematic suppression and brutality committed against my people.
The fact that Africans still walk this earth in the face of merciless powerful others is worth celebrating.
I will not, however mount a high horse and pontificate on all things African and denounce all that does not appeal to me as unAfrican. It is disingenuous and mischievous.

That said much strength to you Africa.

Stay blessed, stay focused, stay inspired and do stay in love.



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Zahara: A Classical Tragedy In c~minor

17 May

Zahara: A Classical Tragedy In c~minor.

Zahara: A Classical Tragedy In c~minor

17 May

Bulelwa Mkutukana, Zahara to many, has serenaded her way to our hearts with her iconic voice and soul-stirring ballads. Her charming smile, “pleasant” and “simple disposition” and the Xhosa accent have also endeared this beautiful musician to many.
The fact that Zahara hails from a province that nobody seems to have heard of, government included, is just another addition to her expanding colourful badge collection.
It comes as no shock then that her personal financial affairs should elicit as much interest as the national fiscal.
When a provincial department wants to join in the foray you must know it’s going down.

Meteoric Rise

Spinach(Zahara’s other stage name) seemingly shot out of nowhere to the dazzling lights of stardom.
This has been work long since bubbling under as she was honing her craft in the underground scene according to a tv special I watched but cannot remember.
Suddenly “Zahara” was the buzz word/name in many conversations. She was the nation’s darling overnight.
Zahara’s success as a story teller and musician can be seen for example, in a taxi where a good part of the taxi happily sings along to her songs with the fans coming across the demographic divide. It’s a marvel to behold.
Of course this would be a fabulous rosy picture had cd playing in the taxi not been a pirated copy, which brings me to my next point:

Zahara’s popularity was insaaaane! “Loliwe”, her debut single, was soon replacing the entire fourteenth chapter of John (any version of the bible will do) in popularity.
It was disturbing and hilarious even that few people had given much thought to the meaning of the song. I was and continue to be met with blank stares each time I ask for the meaning of the song. This is funny because the song is in isiXhosa, my home language. I digress.
Zahara was and is suddenly the hottest thing around but in the meantime pardon me while I sprinkle fairy dust all round…



Zahara’s popularity was soon proving to be a liability. A dear one at that.
Hundreds of thousands of rands’ worth of her work was shamelessly looted by enterprising geeks and lapped up by an excited fan base who either unwittingly bought pirated cd’s and those whose consciences have long since been numbed by the daily struggles to keep it together. The irony that they are ripping Zahara right off to the bare bone is totally lost to the adoring fans. When the story broke of Zahara’s pirated work there was little sympathy from the adoring throngs and instead snide remarks and dry jokes were made about Lusanda(of the Lusanda Spiritual Group~notorious for taking on illegal music vendors) and those that sympathized did so in an attempt to purge the guilt of having purchased a pirated copy or to still the determination to purchase one in the very near future in spite of the general prevailing rebuke and condemnation.
To own a Zahara was en vogue period.

I suspect Zahara is also popular for all the wrong and far from flattering reasons. Much has been said of her “simplistic demeanor”, “humble persona” and other epithets that the Glam establishment coins so they can feel good about themselves. This has largely worked to her advantage. Most people don’t take very well to divas you see. Divas stir up all sorts of insecurities in their female fan base and intimidate the balls off the men until some campaign is hatched to bring them to their place with much aplomb. Pronto! The earthier you sound and look in Glamourville the longer the shelf life of some shell-shocked lass from Back of Beyond. The humble earthy look has done wonders for the likes of Siphokazi, Tandiswa, Erykah, Simphiwe and the legendary Busi Mhlongo.

The Goose That Lays The Platinum Egg

Apparently, and this is a very big “apparently”, Zahara’s recording company and management are not doing good by her. You will find a link to the detailed story below.
What drew my interest to the story was Zahara’s consistently worded denial. I heard her speak on umhlobo wenene fm- (twice) and on safm – and on both occasions she used the same words. Almost verbatim. Left me wondering though.
South Africa has seen a lot of artists die as paupers after recording moguls apparently horde the takings and the poor desperate and often uneducated artists languish in silence for fear of being “cut off” from the game and mich worse from the scene, and the glamorous illusion is exposed for what it is, an illusion, posthumously.

Chronicles In Song

Zahara’s music, I suspect, is by far and large a chronicle of her life….in c minor. It is raw, pure and angelic. It is honest and she makes no attempt at being pretentious.
I shall gush no further, I promise.

After the hype has died down I do hope Zahara will be appreciated for the mastery of her craft and not just played for the sake of owning a “zahara”. It would be tragic if people have not realised that Zahara’s music, just like classical music, is not just to be listened to, but savoured.

The song Destiny is prophetic in it’s lyrical content. It’s almost like a predetermined response to a predicted inquiry into her life.

Talent in shovel loads, an adoring and yet in some sick twisted paradoxical way parasitic fan base, allegations of being hoodwinked by her employers(few were surprised at this) and a loud silence on her love life(and I suspect soon our local sludge pages(tabloids in other countries)will be dishing the dirt on how much of a threat she is to Mrs Ncinza, in between tokoloshe sightings in Limpompo and talking goats in Transkei), Zahara fits the archetypal tragic heroine to the T. I hope the script doesn’t get any more exciting, for Zahara’s sake.
I haven’t seen a South African musician riding on such a tsunami wave of support within such a short space of time. I’m thrilled for Bulelwa but somewhere deep in the recess of my soul I am frightened for her. Hers is a vicious and cruel industry.

Below is a link as reported by the Sunday World on Zahara’s financial state and wealth.—sisters-believe-nciza-is-ripping-her-off
And for good measure

Stay blessed, stay inspired, stay true to yourselves and do stay in love.



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Single And Happy My Ass!

10 May

The biggest delusion, second only to organized religion is the idea of being single and happy at it.
If truth be told there’s nothing fun about being single and it hardly ever by choice more than circumstance.
I suspect the genesis of this delusion can be traced back to life coaches and other assorted experts(bitter lesbians, divorcees, suicidal gays and advocates of celibacy ad nauseum). Anything to dilute the searing pain of loneliness.
At this point I need to make it clear that not all single people are lonely. There’s a big difference between being alone and lonely.
At the risk of reinventing the English language I believe being “alone” one is by oneself, not in the company of another or others.
“Loneliness” on the other hand, speaks to the desire for companionship. One can and is often lonely in the company of a hundred people.

Humans are social creatures by design. You only need to look at hermits who more often than not present an array of symptoms that point to dementia.

So what is this single and happy phenomenon that’s doing the rounds lately? Are we being true to ourselves(I was hoping to stay away from cliches… honestly)?

My take is after a number of spectacular failures and aborted relationships a fatigue of sorts sets in. One simply gets tired of smooching non-transforming toads, errant damsels in most probably self-imposed distress or piecing together shattered hearts in a vain attempt to make whole wounded souls only to end up with a mosaic tragedy.

There are people such as myself, who have made a conscious decision to simply live with it. Embracing one’s solitude as it were. It’s not a choice but I’m living with it.
There comes a point when the same lies in the same predictable pattern get tedious.
The bewilderment that comes with being betrayed and deceived by those who supposedly love you can also be taken just so far.
Oh but for that sensation of independence after a break up! Exhilarating!…or is it?
Life is easier for the single because of the convenience factor. Not having to account for anything to anyone can easily give a false sense of liberty.
A single person is often complimented and congratulated on a spontaneously acquired glow, bounce or swag. It’s not always the benefits of newly found happiness that this metamorphosis can be attributed.
I believe we automatically prepare for the next encounter as soon after a hasty eulogy of the previous failed relationship.
We suddenly take care of ourselves, eat better and discover gym(or similar equivalent) which would explain the sudden glow. Back in the market but blocking all possible love interests with “I’m happily single.”

The decision(not choice) to stay single is all about self preservation…let’s not get it twisted.

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BigBrother Africa: A Celebration Of Raw Testesterone And Heterosexual “Superiority”

9 May

Hi my name is Vk, and I’m a big brother addict.
I’m not about to spend time writing on the morbid fascination of watching people go on with their “lives.” I suppose BigBrother appeals to the voyeurist in all of us. Well at least in all of me. Let me write of my observation.

The Contestants

As usual Biggie went all out as it seems like most of the contestants have been refereed by model agencies. The girls are beautiful little(some far from little) missies with curves in all the right places.
This is complimented by bristling brawn with lumps and bumbs in just the right places.
As the norm this year’s house comes with a full compliment of intellectuals, pseudo-intellectuals, wannabees and the mandotory weed head.

Homophobia is a phenomenon that raises it’s ugly head a number of times in the BB house(Amplified House included).
According to my knowledge this has never been blatant or in-your-face; just dropped titbits in conversation followed by macho guffaw and much back slapping in congratulation. Bits like” hey I love you dude but I’m no homo” or my favourite from last night “don’t drop the soap” or the tired “that’s so gay”
I felt the compulsion to throw in my five cents’ worth after last night’s drama with the soaping activity.
The game was almost brought to a stand still as our African brothers refused to be sopaped by other guys. That’s fine with me but I took issue with the gems that were thrown in in defense for such a stance.
To sit there and listen to people who’s
Africanness is only evident in their skin colour wax lyrical about what an African man should and should not do is laughable.
I cannot for the life figure out why these guys are petrified of physical proximity. The fear is almost pathaological.
Are these beefy housemates at ease and comfortable in their own skins? Why does macho talk translate to hate speech and warped lectures on morality?


This year’s group doesn’t do things subtley. A script was executed from day one and some of these poor kids are struggling top keep up the momentum.
Prezzo(he of the bongo lips) is a philosopher of sorts, a “regular Voltaire”(to steal line from Les Miserables) Prezzo, by the way, is also the one if the Adam&Steve gems.
If the rest of the housemates are not careful this is one charecter that will have them tearing each others’s hair out and scuttle back to him for comfort.

I like Barbz. I have heard a read a lot of bitchy comments but I suspect it’s from envy more than anything else. Envious is our fourtheenth odfficial language.
Another one that sticks out for me is Lady May. I could serve her on a place with loads of cream.
This girl is in touch with every part of her body and her personality is infectious. Loving the high-heel routine when she exercises.

In conclusion: BigBrother is such an unreal world so to expect perfection or even a semblence of reality is a tall order. I would, however, would like to point out that prejudice of any sort that goes unchallenged in the House is almost like advocacy for bigotry. I’m jus’ sayin’