A shitty day


I woke up this morning with a pain in my gut and a desperate need to relieve myself. I sat on the white plastic toilet seat and let go. It came flooding out all at once. It probably had something to do with the mutton curry roti I ate at Abby’s house last night. 
I wanted to go for a drive, the car began to give trouble and never left the garage. It would start, but died as soon as I stepped on the brakes or took my foot off the accelerator. Damn death machine wanting to drive me to my doom
About the third or fourth visit to the toilet, my asshole burned like hellfire. Wiping began to hurt and I could see red on the toilet paper – You sensitive asshole
My woman and I never spoke much, work kept her busy, that was a good enough reason for us not to talk. We’d been going at it ever since Saturday afternoon. Our differences in ideologies about the purpose of life being the cause. No tickets aboard Cloud 9 this week, we’d try again next week if they had bookings.


A Death in the family


It’s been a while since the last time all of us came together like this. Everyone was there, except for Morne’ who moved to America a few years ago. Abby and I arrived in a gray Avanza soccer mom van. Donay and Alicetine were parked across Gershwin’s house when we got there. They assumed that nobody was home and didn’t bother to knock. It turned out that Gershwin was inside the entire time. Donay gained a bit of weight since the last time I saw her, the navy blue frame hugging dress did not hide anything, but she still had those cute dimples embedded in her cheeks. Lesley, Cleaven and Kyle arrived later to complete the party of friends. We were all there for Gershwin whose father passed away last week after losing a battle to cancer. The lounge was filled with more laughter than sadness due to nostalgia and memories we replayed to each other. Abby and I were the subject of ridicule about our virginity, Alicetine being the main instigator as usual. Inside we knew that he was hurting, the laughter a temporary relief from the pain.
The group began to thin out eventually with Lesley leaving first. Gershwin and I walked her to her Volkswagen mini van. It was dark then, close to 8PM. Abby and I left after she did, but not before Gershwin stopped me saying he needed to speak to me.

“Look bra, I just want to thank you for being there for my father whenever he needed to go to the hospital when I was away in Kimberley. Thank you for being there as a friend when I needed you. You have no idea how much I appreiciate it and how much it means to me.”  he said.

“You don’t need to thank me, G. It was a pleasure. It’s what friends are for” I replied

“I still want to say thank you” he ended off
In the process of shaking hands and bumping shoulders, his head fell against my chest. He couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, crying into my maroon shirt, penetrating tears. Lifting his head, I saw the tears streaming down his face. I could feel the tears that I’d been holding back, wanting to burst forth as I hugged him, but I had to be strong and keep them at bay.
Growing up, death never really affected me. I felt no need to shed a tear when seeing others around me weeping, my tear ducts dry as desert sands. I always thought that it would happen when my grandmother or one of my parents descended into the the brown earth, never to return. Yet it happened with someone who I never knew very long. In the short space of time of getting to know Gershwin’s father – two or three drives to the hospital and sitting together in the waiting room two hours early – He had such a strong impact in such a short amount of time. When I think about him no longer being around, a tear falls down the side of my face. Who knew that his father, a man I knew for less than a year… Would be the one to teach me about loss? 



Usually when I did my business, it would glide out, I’d wipe and then flush. Quick as a drive thru. I don’t know how people can sit on the crapper and read a book or magazine. I tried it, but I needed to push a bit this time. The toilet is the only place one can truly be alone, meditate and find a fragment of peace. The smell, more than enough to ward off anyone and the rest of the world. Washing my hands, I looked into the mirror above the basin. The white of my right eye was red and I could finally see what people were talking about when they said “you look just like your father”

Confession to my typewriter


The real reason as to why I rarely sit my ass on that short rectangular stool anymore is because I’m scared, perhaps intimidated by you. I’m scared that I don’t have anything concrete; that you’ll end up hating me for making you do something you don’t really want to do. I don’t know how many more empty promises I can make to you. You’re faithful, I’m not. Everyday I come home, you’re there waiting for me, and I lie to myself that I’ll spend time with you once I arrive home. Forgive me, I want to be better

Summers day


It was a hot day and a good excuse for the bums to go swimming. If you dared opening your window, the mosquitoes would come and suck your warm blood. They liked it warm, the same way you loved your coffee in the morning
Ice creams fell off their cones, dessert for the ants and sex in the bedroom felt like sex in a sauna, no 48 hour protection roll on could mask the scent of hot sex.
The heat got into your bones and under your skin until you soaked in it. Hopefully the cold comes tomorrow and lifts the skirts and dresses of the women walking by. It’s not summer without a flash of flesh

Dangerous legs


I woke up feeling like shit expelled from the tightest asshole. The sky glowed amber like the tip of a cigarette, minus the ashes. Throwing the duvet aside, I rolled my brown 87kg body out of bed and landed on the floor. A bit of brown liquid floated in the black labelled bottle of Johnnie Walker, standing upright in front of me. I took a swig and got up, finding my balance. Upon entering the lounge, I  heard a crumpling sound underneath my right foot. Had I just crushed someones bones? No, it was just an empty beer can. There was a note lying on the table that read “Come watch me tonight. C” marked with cherry red lipstick underneath the words.

    I slept as most of the day passed by. Listening to the sounds of hooters, bumper to bumper traffic and road rage all in the beautiful name of capitalism, the thing that fucked us over after democracy. I got a white shirt, blue jeans and black shoes out of the cupboard, got dressed and sprayed on some generic cologne. The lights in the club were dim, except in the center of the stage where the band played. They looked like penguins in their tuxedos. The double bass player plucked on his strings vigorously. I ordered a whiskey from the bar man who was dressed like the band and didn’t make the cut. It was only after taking a sip of whiskey that I found her amongst thr identically dressed cabaret girls, swinging their legs high up in the air and she had the best pair of legs on stage. The men jeered as soon as the legs went up, hoping to something magical up there. Chelsea’s show ended after my second whiskey. She approached me with arms spread out, wearinga black fur coat, white tank top and black booty shorts hidden behind all the fur.

    “Hey, you came” she said, her smile wide and her arms around me.

    “Of course. I couldn’t miss those legs. They got everybody excited” I replied.

    She was beautiful with those full Angelina Jolie lips of hers. I kept that to myself. Compliments sent a chill of discomfort throughout her body and made her anus clench up tight.
    We walked down the crowded street. The dry pavement quenched of its thirst as neon lights reflected off of it, rippling in the puddles.

    “Let’s get something to eat” I said after five minutes down the road.

    We headed inside an old diner that looked like a recycled prop out of the film Grease. The neon sign flickered outside from “open 24 hours” to “open 2 hours”. We ordered waffles. Hers with ice-cream, mine with whipped cream and maple syrup. Suddenly two men came bursting through the door, each with his own pistol. “Do as we say and nobody gets hurt” said the short one. Everybody froze and I wondered if waffles would be my last meal. They took everyone’s wallets, cleaned out the cash register and left the same way they came in. They didn’t bother with the bum in the corner who came in every night for a free cup of coffee. He still had his foam cup full of coins. The waffles were free and Chelsea’s legs were safe. Everything seemed alright.

    Wine Haiku’s


    Hi fine wine,

    Good for my health

    Better than dessert

    Bottle on the shelf

    Come home with me

    Safe inside my glass
    For out of wine

    comes a splendid truth 

    That won’t be sober