This Thing

Sadness, we don’t always scrutinize its history its root cause. I’m not a shrink so I am not about to provide Latin definitions of depression, sadness and general lowness.

What I do know is there’s this thing that makes me sad…this thing ...sucks the joy out of me...hell I can’t even mention it because well it jeopardises one of my most favourite things in the world. 

When this thing is done with me I feel...worthless, unappreciated and enslaved. I feel a level of fury cannot contain.

A speck of dust a wrongly constructed sentence could send sparks flying. This thing... is Diablo inspired...rooted in evil...covered in the blood of others just as me who are stuck in a thorny place of passion and poverty.

Love and contaminated efforts flushed down with semantics and sanitizer.

This place may be destiny fulfilled...it may be a truck stop of severely stale food in a shitty service station. 

Fuck!

It might even be my penance for passion over the realities of life.

 Everything about it is worn and torn out by pigs who’d sooner eat their own flesh than save another. This thing is life as I know it... my moulded, rat nibbled, super skinny slice of daily bread.

There’s this thing that makes me sad.

#TSKC

Closure

I start with a smile, I wear it,

Not sure why though

It stands there in full pride teeth gleaming, eyes mischievous.

 The very fact that I have imagined it proves that I am both slightly delirious and definitely hilarious…

Mostly to myself

Alas the audience is my own…

The shadow that has grown with me reasons…

Telling me stories of thoughts and fissures in my reality.

 What SHOULD be?

How my emotions in the widened oceans of known speculations

SHOULD be

Anger, maliciousness, even hatred

All these leave a putrid scent in the air

I dare not take it in…

Deep inhalations of Mary J’s finest

Call it uncensored courage for the hours of confrontation

They lie ahead

Sleeplessness

There is no rest for the wicked

 Paces quickened to a place of light…

Arms shifting, bodies speaking subliminally in our opposites

We fought war not with each other but ourselves  

I took a ride…by choice this time I ran in the darkness towards the stories I needed him to tell

Closure

A potion I drank to my fill…

I never want to crave his again

He took me for a ride…

One, two, three were pleasurable the rest were plain miserable so…

 I NEEDED his closure...NO I needed his to be mine

Damn it!

I needed it

I had it

He gave it to me

Closure

Wounds wide open, dirt he threw…

One day it would be infectious, THIS he knew

Another day at the office I assumed

Thanks to his Closure

That night I knew…

That for certain

 I was right

But we were not!

Try as we might

Pigs and unicorns would sooner take flight on the strongest of wishes

But

NOTHING could keep US afloat

Unless passion and ripped clothing sufficed as sole relational currency

His loss seeing as I’m strung on celibacy and it would never be enough for me so I Closed in on the Closure he gave to me

A multitude of give and take was that night

My gratitude is immense

It was the best he could he could give in replacement

The clearest rhapsody of reality that sat across from me

  CLOSURE.  

Listen To Closure HERE      

Winter 'Ronelines'

Welcome one and all my fingers literally itch I’ve wanted to feel up on this keyboard like a horny drunkard would during the bars’ last call. Not because my options are as limited as the poor under sexed drunk dude BUT well because I have options and I’m not necessarily undersexed. (If my imaginary vibrator counts). Speaking of good vibrations those of which are on the African end of life are in the dreaded baby-making winter times. Don’t you just love winter? All those hunger pangs; the THIRSTS and overall sluggishness? The need to be cuddled and that cold unloved side of your bed for some and yet so many? The massive amounts of second and extra helpings of everything edible? Ah! winter is indeed upon us as the sassiest dressers pull on the most hideous legging and fuzzy boot combos known to men. I refer to ‘men’ because some of the boots look alive I kid you not, I may only be a hipster at heart but I get the need to protest every now and then when live foxes are publically used as footwear. These awful boots manage to lure the hunter within the most urban of men.

Winter highlights the greatest conspiracy against students of all time though, Winter Exams. Since Primary throughout High School I’ve thrown on the woollies and bared it, through varsity? Not so much.  How is any normal human being capable of normal bodily function (i.e. anyone who can feel their balls or nipples freeze) suppose to comprehend any form literature in this weather? I do declare Africa needs some timetable changes for real. I don’t care what you give me to read a Mill’s & Boons couldn’t preoccupy me for a full fifteen minutes without at least three Hagrid-sized mugs of coffee. So which real adult came up with the idea that bloody exams should be written in this blistering cold? Is it not torture enough that many a student’s bed remain lonely, no body warmth just a cheap hot-water bottle. (Pro: At least it won’t sleep with your best friend, well not intimately) as if misplaced exams and empty beds aren’t torture enough there’s all this greasy food around that seems to catch you and your appetite just in time (EVERYTIME)for a ‘small snack’. You’ll notice my ranting is in complete ‘anti-winter’ fashion. Speaking of the lumpy sweaters make for good camouflage right now but highlight my text, when temperatures will change o’ and it will be ten times ten at the scale by the end of winter oh!

Frozen StudentsJust what the Canibal Ordered

Namibian, Windhoek weather doesn’t help as indecisive as ever. I retract that it decidedly is dedicated towards fooling all into believing the bright sunlight brings warmth and that the icy breeze is non-existent! (Don’t believe the sunshine!) And what’s with those overly publicly affectionate knitted couples on campus, knitted in terms of out fits and the well maintained lip locked position,( bear in mind this is blatant ‘haterade’ so just roll with it) I often secretly wonder if frost could them hard and quick enough their tongues would get stuck together  quite similar to having a really cold ice block/popsicle sticking onto your tongue as a kid. (nobody remembers that? Am I the only victim of this?)But no chances of that I suppose (It’s cold in Namibia but not cold enough for my evil plots!).

I would carry on with my complaints but I feel the need to nurture and not scare (Piss Off!)the few readers I have right now, speaking of which please do share these written ramblings with your mates, I hear the power of the social network(definitely not the movie at the box office) has reached Greek God/dess levels so do spread the madness like Herpes!