Her left hand wistfully caressed the contours of the red ribboned straw fedora hat which she clutched in her other hand. She couldn't help but inhale the intoxicating aroma that lingered as she drew it close to her face and closed her eyes. The scent was mesmerizing; it sent a flurry of waves through her body. It was familiar yet difficult to describe, a mélange of sandalwood, cedar and sage. It r... (read more)

I read on ‘Although Bhabha published the book in which he specifically…’. My eyes race to the mid section of the next page ‘Caroline Mackenzie, The Nativity’ describing the image of Madonna in a manger. The nativity, I think. The cow on the left. Nurturing mother of humanity. Where did this image originate? 10:14 pm on the right corner of the screen. Just an hour and the eyelids would succu... (read more)

The dust is settling again. The roosters cannot sing. The rooftops boast of few pigeons. They sunbathe until mellowness is all juiced out. And now, the town is going back to sleep.

They've been induced in it for few years now, the swallows young and old. Some fledglings were never taught to fly. They were fed the pleasure pill too soon. Earning one's worm had become an afterthought. The... (read more)

To Kill a Buffalo.
It doesn’t hurt.
That’s what the ranger said. The lion was attached firmly to the buffalo’s neck as the great animal stood, dazed, while life ebbed from his tired body. We had watched in awed silence as the lioness stalked, waited and finally surprised the old bull at the water hole. Now he didn’t fight back, just stood there and waited for the end. A tired old animal wishing ... (read more)

Yellow is my favourite colour. That’s what I’d like you to believe. Other things you should believe if we are to remain friends: That my gender is female. That my birthday is 19 August 1988 with its pleasing arrangement of numbers. That I am interested in women and men but currently single, although you may find that hard to believe.

My religious views are “eyes on eternity”, which is vague en... (read more)

You had to keep your sense of humour around here.
Ja, just laugh it off. Laugh it off was the magic phrase.

Loaf had done a stint as a carguard and if you really knew Loaf (like only Rose really did), you would have known that he was no skabenga.

You would have know that, okay sure, he was just a little flesh and a little stack of bones underneath, not exactly intimidating, but he wasn't... (read more)

Turn your thoughts inward.
What do you find?
Anxiety, sadness, anger?
Joy, contentment, pride?
Envy, hate, spite?

What images flicker?
What symbols inspire?

I assure you that,
What you find inside you,
Is all you will ever know.
There will be things,
You wish were not present.

Things which were you to
Find in others, would repel you,
If they ever made the error of
Admission.... (read more)

Hello.
It’s me.
Me who?
Me you!
I know.
You do?
I see.

And so?
Not much.
Just stuff
And such.
Yes? No?

Enough!
It’s time.
So soon?
Yes. Climb.
I’ll try.

Tick tock.
Goodbye.
Click.
Boom.... (read more)

You are my memory of love,
I picked wild flowers
For you.
I gave them to you
In your hand.
You smiled,
So I smiled.
(read more)

I don’t like the feel of it. The deep brown straight up chair. Far too much support for my desired slouching posture. Bits of a tree that managed to reach far further up, probably, when they were part of a bigger living thing. Now forced to force me to straighten up.

I wonder if some part of Simon, somewhere, feels that way. Lying flat against the wood. His body stretched out, respectably. Ver... (read more)

The back of the Simba pack
Was no doubt
Written by someone
Very much like me.

Instead of producing
Timeless classics
As once he dreamed of,
You know
'Saying Something'
His work
Is in the trash.

Who cares about classics?
Simba
Pay a buck fifty a word. ... (read more)

If the world was
Just
My writing would be
As good
As my feelings as true.... (read more)

What's left to write about,
Except,
How nothing
That is ever said
Makes any fucking difference,

To anyone?... (read more)

Grateful I am to find a friend like you,
Who is so sweet, caring and understanding
Like a much-loved blanket on an unpleasantly cold night
Your warm and tender affection swathes itself around me

It’s funny that our relationship is laced with our miseries,
Sometimes we exchange guidance and suggestions
Hoping to find tranquillity in our lives

I know this sounds crazy
Bu... (read more)

You had to keep your sense of humour around here.
Ja, just laugh it off. Laugh it off was the magic phrase.

Loaf had done a stint as a carguard and if you really knew Loaf (like only Rose really did), you would have known that he was no skabenga.

You would have know that, okay sure, he was just a little flesh and a little stack of bones underneath, not exactly intimidating, but he wasn't... (read more)

Joe comes in one day and I can tell immediately something drastic is up. He's got a dream draped around him like a pageant sash, I can almost see it. Like he's just won the bloody lotto. And old Shorty will tell you that good news makes very bad news, when it ferments. The same old shit and there's no bad news around the corner. Love, bad news, the rest, bad news ... but let me continue.

Joe's ... (read more)

Gork had attacked just over a week ago. Sending his drones in first, he had struck hard everywhere on the planet. Not enough to really upset things, but enough to make sure that just about everyone knew trouble was coming – a wave or three to inspire terror. He easily decoded their languages, arriving in orbit he had sent out an automatic claim of responsibility and a general order of surrende... (read more)

The peace one feels spraying cool earthy paint onto the canvas is so unlike the primness that rudely invites itself at one’s art exhibition. Amit looked around quite disconcerted by the shimmer and rouge, the ladies in stilettos curving their long fingers up wine glasses eying each other mockingly, the businessmen fidgeting about finalizing last minute deals on their phones. Tch-tch-tch, Amit sh... (read more)

A quick look at the local crime scene, the players evolving and energising the genre and who to keep an eye on. (Nonfiction) (read more)

They sat by the window sill on the blue cane chairs, overlooking the fynbos hedges on the greener mountain side, and the fat Mama poured more words into her ears.

‘While Ormus and Vina chatted to the jazzmen, their hands and bodies were talking to each other.’ She nodded slightly. ‘Click, click. I can see you, you two. Click. Peekaboo!’
‘Click Peekaboo,’ Nina repeated delightfully... (read more)

It was one of those formal socialite ridden parties. The kind where pomp and ceremony are used as a thin veneer to make the wealthy feel better about getting drunk and going home to fuck their friends' wives. The place looked like it belonged in a Victorian novel, with massive chandeliers and waiters that acted more like hand servants than free men and women. The only thing out of place was the m... (read more)

A quick look at the local crime scene, the players evolving and energising the genre and who to keep an eye on. (Nonfiction) (read more)