The 3 Little Pigs

Once upon a time there was a village in the east where people were free and all had their own sense of awesome. The days were long and warm and the nights had that light breeze that makes the heat bearable. Every day was greeted by a generous smile or a wave. The people were happy and content with life. On the hill lived three little pigs who were the popular people of the time, all their house built from a material that best suited their personality. They were best friends and always had wonderful dinner parties or pool parties. A invite required event that everyone wanted to attend, they were best friends with a little wolf, but when little red riding hood made a huge stink out of a wolf eating her granny, all wolfs were banished to the woods to live a life in the dark. Slowly he was forgotten, yet he still watched from the shadows, and lives vicariously through the pigs and village folk. 

Deep in the woods there was a house made from candy, colourful, tasty with an air of mystery. In this masterpiece of creation lived a wolf, a one man wolf pack. He did his own thing, kept himself company with no-one to speak to because of his exile to the forest. In his home hung the pictures of his favourite memories, all his old friends, the good times that made life fun and happy. He so missed those pigs. He sat and pondered his banishment, why was he cast out of the tribe, then it dawned on him, he did nothing wrong. It was the word of a few that made his departure a reality, he was not told to leave, he was made to feel unwanted, so to save himself from a life of regret and self pity, he left, walked down the long path into the forest, the three little pigs never looked back, they continued to sip their cocktails and take in each other’s awesomeness.

One day while watching from a tree, he noticed the pigs throwing a huge party, the whole town was invited, the bears with goldilocks, jack and Jill, snow white, the whole village came to play. The day was bright and sunny, the music was blaring. The wolf sat in this cabin eating a cookie, the music vibrations got louder and louder, felt like the walls were closing in, the wolfs temperature began to climb, then, BANG, his temper exploding into a violent rage, the clouds became dark and filled with rain and thunder, he rushed outside and began running though the woods, breaking trees, trampling plants and flowers until he reached the end of the woods. The rain began to poor, the guest fled to their house, the pigs all went into their houses to avoid the weather. The wolf watched.

The House of sticks stood upright. A nice simple design. The pig inside was the wolfs longest serving friend, one since back in school. One that cared and worried about the wolf. He was the wolfs best friend through thick and thin, the good and bad. Dress up party buddy, tequila drinker, supporter of anything the wolf did. But a pig that always keep his own emotions to himself, never sharing with the wolf. Kept the wolf in the dark through the pigs very own darkest hour. The wolf tried to knock down the door, but it was barricaded. The pig and wolf drifted slowly, yet both knew if the one really needed the other they would always be there, or so the wolf thought, he was wrong. The wolf snuck from the forest to the doorstep and began to huff and puff, he blew that house down, blew the sticks back into the forest, there the pig stood, shocked. His little pigs ran to the house of straw. The wolf let his run. 

Following the pig steps in the mud the wolf walked straight up to the door of the cute pig. This pig emerged from under cover into the wolfs life back in the day, in the rain they chatted and noticed they were similar, they had a bond that was strange. Not one fight to date, they were always happy and always there. Whether it be rocking a dance floor or trying new things, she made the wolfs life happy. The wolf introduced the 3 pigs, he was the root of their friendship. The pig of straw was the kindest, sweetest, truest friend the wolf ever had. Whatever happened to them? Like a ghost, it faded from the day in the live of. Distance creeped in. She was an awesome piggy. In the house the stick and straw pigs gossiped about the wolf and how he is on the hunt. They were greeted with a ring at the door, too late to respond, the wolf huffed and he puffed and blew that straw up into the sky. There the two pigs stood shivering and clutching each other. They ran to the last remaining strong hold, the house of brick.

In this house of brick lived the princess pig. The funny, loud, witty crazy people, who people either loved or hated, She was the wolfs best friend. They knew each other’s secrets, they never judged each other, they did wild things, they helped each other out, and they were always there. Then one day it all just stopped. It’s like if a river gets rocks in it, it stops, yes there are a few leaks of premeditated happiness, but the river had stopped. And the wolf was banished to the outskirts to roam alone without his best friend. While the three little pigs sat pretty. The 3 pigs were now all together, locked in the brick house as they became accustomed to. There they sat in anticipation to the wolfs next move, the spoke quietly amongst themselves, pondered what he would do. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and a thud. Then the sound of running footsteps. The Princess of brick peeped through the keyhole and saw a present on the doorstep. She opened the door, grabbed the present and slammed the door. Together they stood and were baffled by the gift, scared to open it. Eventually the stick pig began to unwrap the present, there was a box. They opened the box, they found the wolfs heart. Cut into three section, one with a straw, one with sticks and one with bricks. With a note. ‘A piece of me is in you’. The pigs slumped into their seats, their friend the wolf was gone, all they were left was his broken heart. 

Less Yada Yada, More Wrap Wrap.

The iconic christmas we see in the films of age. The velvet snow that lays peace to all where it lands, the snow men with carrots as a nose and buttons for eyes. People having a giggle making snow angels. The turkey that took the day to prep and roast, the crackers laid to await a good pop and crack. the finest dining set spread out and ready for the food to fill the hungry faces. Those beautiful homemade sweaters with a snow man or a snow flake knitted into the fabric, adorned with the wearers smile. Christmas comes around once a year like a birthday but everyone gets gifts. Did you hear that Rudolf's nose is only red because he is a cocaine addict or that santas beard is fake. The  man with a red fluffy suit and 8 charming reindeer. Is Christmas the festive day we all want, what's all the fuss?

Shops crowded with people all trying to get their hands on that game or that dvd. The last promotional item as they have sold out, queues that transcend the once peaceful magazine walkway. Decorations everywhere. The so call 'Santas helper' that offers alot more than a quick wrap, apparently she was oprah. i offered a donation, she offered her opinions on my gift choices. She told me that, Lady Gaga has demons in her music and most people don't know that. When you are at a club and her jams come on, all we want to do is dance in the dark, she says we are possessed and demons are in us because all her music has subliminal backtracks that make our minds cloudy with bad thoughts. She then told me how she watched paranormal activity and then went to church to ask the priest to pray for her. I'm sorry, but when did shopping and getting my presents wrapped get turned into ' Hi, and next on Dr Phil a possessed kid thanks to the Lady Gaga', this Christmas adventure was shaping up to be an interesting gift bonanza. 

During the wrapping of my awesome gifts i learnt alot about this elfish creature from lord of the rings. She told me her life story, where she was from, what she was studying, to which i acted intrigued and decided to see how much help a santas helper was. I asked if she was the only one manning the station to which i learned. She comes from a promotions company, she hates her outfit and refuses to wear a the hat, so she bought a clip that resembles a santa hat. She then began to tell me she dislikes her fellow santa helper because she is just out of matric and she is annoying, and and and. I thought to myself while watching her wrap. This Santa's helper is obviously seeking alot more than santas help. She would tell me her bra size if i asked her I'm sure of it. She then went further and told me her friend was coming so she was just going to sit on the roof and chill as they not busy, well then who would wrap the gifts. While wrapping my gifts she began to judge my spending ' you bought way to much'. i said yes, Christmas may be commercialized and made for making money, but i love to give gifts to special people in my life. She then told me how her and her family doesn't  give gifts as this holiday is more about the religious part. I thought, ah crap, religious banter, I'm the last one you need to speak to about this. I then began to get a little irritated and urged her to wrap quicker. Less Yada Yada, more Wrap Wrap. 

The people i encountered on my shopping trip were entertaining. The child and parent, child only wanting to be home on the couch or drunk, and the parent who irritable, tired and just wanted this trip to be over. The big spenders, the lookers, the window shoppers, the price hunters, the bundle buyers, the spontaneous mega consumers. Christmas time is an interesting time, where all the walks of life come out to play. I could sit and watch all the people move from store to store, like cattle laced in ribbons and bows walking to become less of the cash cow and more of a milk maid. Then comes the thought of what to buy and for whom, this person likes this, that person likes that, what to get granny, what to get mom and dad, what to get the siblings and what to buy the someone special in your life. i wrote a list, i never used it. I saw something and bought it, i really don't like shopping. Then you decide, i have the presents, then you see something else that will bring a smile to a face, so you buy it, a box, a card, wrapping, bows, ribbons, so much of sparkle. Then you become creative lets put all their presents into one big box, so it confuses them into thinking its one present, so much of fun to confuse the gift receiver. Wrapping presents is like wrapping a body with clothes and undies, when is it to much or going over board. After getting my presents i decided to get them wrapped as I'm to lazy and so badly coordinated i would just let the Santa's helper do it, and as i have just said, they help a lot more that they think. They made writing this blog fun, so thank you strange girl from behind the counter, your much sought after advice, just went global, no no, its a pleasure. 

Baked Cupcake in a Wooden Oven.

From birth people and their personalities and comfort zones begin to form and play out. In kinder garden you start to experiment with who you are, play in the sand and get muddy and dirty, or climb a tree and look down on the child in the sandpit, or the indoor child busy playing with play dough, making shapes, or baking a cake in the wooden pink cake oven. These are the days of our lives, ones without a care in the world. Paint in the lines, out the lines, one colour, hand paint, nose paint, don’t paint. Learn to speak, learn to count, learn about the little things that help us plenty in the aged state we are in now. Within those early days, we see the ‘cool kids’, the naughty kids, the quiet dweeb kids and the plain out right strange kids. But we are all an original artwork.

 From the beginning we begin to shape into the people of today, with a little less responsibility and a lot to learn. In primary school the true reflections of how people are start to emerge, the smarty pants that always got the awards, and the jock boy who did all the sports that made him cool. The slightly over friendly girl who is always with the boys. These start to create a stigma, one that stays with us throughout our growing school phase. These groupings of people begin to shape the perceptions of the ones outside that group. Why can’t I be cool, why can’t I be smart. The clicks in school start to create the alienations of certain people, the black sheep. These black sheep go through life expecting the worst from people, never wanting to accept that life and people can change. They start to lose interest in the things people are doing, they withdraw from society norms, wanting to go unnoticed and just fade into the background. But they are noticed. Bullied and cut down to the point you believe the verbal abuse that is thrust upon you like a weight falling on your face. The physical abuse that leaves marks on your body as a constant reminder that you are different. The emotional abuse, the most torturing of all as this abuse stays with you for life. You think about those people and what they said and in some cases what they saw in you, is true. But when young and in that bullied environment, you couldn’t be what they said.

 I know from my days in school, I always wanted to be popular, yet was always on the outside. I wanted to become a star in everything I did, but there was always someone better, or someone who didn’t want to take a chance. So I told myself when I was in my last year of primary school, when I go to high school, I become someone knew, unfortunately  the people you hated, landed up in your high school and this already created the knee jerk upchuck reaction. So I just coasted by, playing some sports, never wanted to stand out or draw attention to the pimple faced person I was.  Yet, the bullies pounced like a ton of bricks, making me hate going to school, moving classes because they were in them, faking sickness just to not go to school. They made me want to not be here, so for years I took the verbal, physical and emotional abuse, digging deeper and deeper into a sea of black loneliness and sadness. Keeping it all inside, I never wanted friends to know I was the victim that would make me seem weak and further lower my self esteem. So I merely just existed.

 Varsity came, and was like a whirlwind, all these people, different types, races, personalities, all chucked into a creative black sheep blender and sprayed across the walls. I was home. I could be myself. I started to explore the hidden caves within myself, became more outrageously attention orientated, wanted to show myself off like a dog at a show. It was awesome. Meeting new people, making friends, losing friends, making art, photographing, writing. I was in heaven. These people made me see, taught me, helped me, guided, and creatively stimulated me. I could be myself and not have to deal with the insecurities that once plagued me. It was awesome. That Kyle was a distant memory, but as we all know memories are never forgotten, they are always there, just like the past.

 And now we get to now. I am loving my life. It’s funny how people come into your life at different stages, the awkward best friend in kinder garden, the one who shoved sand in your mouth, or the little dwarf friends  from primary school. The teachers that helped you all the time. The high school friends that never left, the friends who left and came back and became your best friends. The new friends you picked up in varsity that have stayed close and never gone anyway, but will go anywhere to make you happy. The friends you met through friends who have just become better friends than the ones who introduced you. It’s funny and strange how people can fix the little things you were made to hate back in the day when you thought that peoples gossip and false opinions mattered. And now, I am able to open up to people a lot better that before, but that’s because with every day you learn more about your friends, the things you like, the things you don’t, they things that hurt, the things that heal. Every day I wake up with a smile knowing that everything is okay. And if it’s not. It’s not the end if the world. It can and will be fixed. People make people tick for the good and bad. Whether it is someone special making your break out of your shell and trying things you would never do, that is learning in itself. You never believed you could or would, but you did. Because someone make you so comfortable you would literally get shot in the face by a paintball, or sail a white rapid that makes you shudder at the thought of it. The people who even though you don’t see or speak to them as much as you used to, I can see they are having a good life, and that is all that matters. If I can go a day with making someone smile. My mission for the day is completed.

 I have learned a lot, from being the kid who know one wanted to play with, to being the bullied kid with a tough skin and ever present hard beating heart. To the guy who people loved having around for a quick joke. I have become a better person, because of people who helped shape me along the way, and I’m not done evolving. Watch this space.

il google it

Artificial intelligence, cosmetic surgery and history. Where did all that we see and touch come from? From the great pyramids of Giza, to the Mayan Temples in the Americas, across the bubbling volcanic seas to the cradle of mankind. It all started with a big bang in Africa, and I’m not referring to the mating rituals of cave people whose idea of fun was painting rocket ships and alien beings on the rock walls to confuse the people who discovered it. The dinosaur’s phenomena, such huge beasts that literally could most probably defecate an elephant. The concepts of the ages, the change in religious practices, the challenging of movements, creating the technological boom that makes stalking a china man on the pot easy thanks to Google earth. What made all of this is what I ask.

The whole secret of the race of Homo erectus than spammed from the pages of a religious hard cover paperback book. Adam and eve who are what many people believe are the birth parents of the world. Then you get the argument of evolution due to climate change, years of development. So let’s be frank and just bare with the ramblings of a twisted mind. Lets say that Adam and eve are the birth parents of life, how does this explain black people, white people, Indian people, within in that, eye colours, noses, heights, hair colours, branch down even more health problem, hereditary illnesses, fit people, healthy people, break it down to the fact that we are 70% water yet, yet we have the ability to interact, communicate. Have you ever heard real water speak? What defines the human race, what makes us the only known life forms in the universe? If we did apparently come from monkeys, lets call them Adam and eve, how did the world become 7 billion people. As far as I am aware incest is frowned upon. And if we did maths, 2 people make another person, maybe two, from there how did 2 people make the earth. Or in today’s world, we grow a person in at test-tube and wham. Human.  The whole debate of evolution from apes to people is a strange tail because if true, why are there still apes today, if we are made from the same genetic base, why are they still primitive and roll around at the sight of a free banana. Is Gucci the new banana, or brands in general.

That’s my point. Branding and brands has created a unique human, one that is equipped with artificial intelligence, gardened by a creator. We learn what is good, what is bad, what kills, who kills, what’s in, what’s out, trends, fads, accessories.  Who to be, where to be, what to be. The 21^st century Adam and eve is more like I robot on crack with a pair of gold encrusted sandals, and a manicure. Heterosexuals, homosexuals, heterosexuals. Transsexuals, so many sexual aren’t they. Within themselves are sub categories, stereotypes, the good the bad and the ugly. The question I pose. Whose image have we been created in. Based on past, whether we come from apes, or made from an almighty being, who or what have we become.

Take a look at yourself. What are you wearing, what phone do you have, is it in’? Did you go to gym today, did you eat some healthy bar after. What music are you listening to? What shows are you watching? What celebrity are you like. Who do you look like? Questions questions questions! While writing this. I looked, I have Levi on, because it’s an awesome brand, I have an iphone, because it is smarter than any other phones, and because people have told me sold. Word of mouth and gossip is the untapped advertising space. When people speak, what is she wearing? Seriously a nokia, and why that hairstyle. Now think about what I just said. Have you done that? Adam and Eve are still here, making their own rules, creating their own individual Eden. Today has become can I stand, how do I stand out. IL Google it. As Google has become a digital god. Or Wikipedia the best place to find the real facts, magazines to show us lifestyles to buy into, TV shows to make us think. How did we become people filled with less history in their bones and more radiation due to the technological age?

I am who I am because I was shaped by schools, then shaped further by rebellious varsity days, and now I live the independent dream. I like a pair of shoes, I buy, because it’s branded. I have iphone, because it is a pretty stylish modern phone. I drive a mini because the brand has created a mini image, and now one must adhere to this brochure atmosphere. I don’t hate today or what we have become, I just wish I could remember where I came from. The family tree has now become a digital Google maps facebook  nation. And yes, this is blog, on the internet which I would not of had if eve didn’t eat that apple and monkeys didn’t decide to stand upright and speak.

The Cookie Cutter

Carved from bone, constructed with a unique pattern, each bone fitting into a spot, like one big map. From the bone, muscles, organs and skin shape the skeleton. Defining the features, enhancing some areas, making others less bold. What’s left is an anatomy sculpture. A beautiful creature, a being of essence and spirit. From this walking figure, emerges a personality, one that smiles, cries, is happy, can become sad. The emotions that make up a human are unstable. One day you are up and next you are down. You fight, you make up with yourself. At peace, at war, what is clear is we cannot willingly leave this form. If we are angry or happy, they are moods not set in stone, we have the compassion to forgive, the capability to make peace, and the energy to make anyone light up like a sun. Self balance is what we strive for and when we do not find it, like a bomb we explode, either into a monsoon tear river from India, or a sunburnt happy smile from Gabon. How do we make peace with ourselves?

There are things that happen to us, at the time, they are the most painful or happiest time in our life, and when we are young to us they defined us, they made us or broke us. But when we get older we realise I am more than a broken heart or a marriage, success and failure make up my story, but they do not define us. We are we are, we write our own doodles every single day. When we come to realise this self affirmation no one can tear our spirit. We write the script, and yes our family and friends have large contribution and you join books from time to time but it’s still your story. It is a part of your humanity. For every scar you get it remains forever, but as with everything they heal. A really bad skunk style mullet hair cut, your hair will grow back. I live my life like a story, every day I write a new letter into my book called Kyle’s life. It’s a good thing.

Remember when we were kids and we helped mom bake and we had awesome shaped cookie cutters, a closed defined plastic shape, was it a heart, was it a tree or the awesome gingerbread man. A cookie cutter, you ever think about it, add flour and butter and salt into a bowl mix and stir and shimmy and shake until it is cookie dough you can make things with. Now add this to a shape, shove into an oven, set to heat and wait for the outcome. Life is like this cookie cutter. Our parents came together, and made us. From there they raised us as best they could, we grew and grew. We went to school and go accessorised with the learning’s of education and life, and we continued to grow, we faced dangers, we dated, we experimented and faced all the heat yet we grew into adults. And now we were removed from the oven and let to run loose in the world. We are like the cookie cutters, moulded and shaped. But now we live our lives, our way in our time. I’m an awesome ginger bread man and my shiny jelly tot buttons are awesome.

With us making our own life’s we are left to make decisions, and sometimes people cannot face life anymore, to them they have done everything they wanted to do. They have written their story, and they turn to suicide. Their self balance has tipped into the scale of abyss, they do not want to write another dot in their book, instead they weep openly onto the pages, smudging the good and the bad, blurring the line between what is real and what is not. A suicide is not the way to go some say, it is selfish. But before one passes judgement, do you know their story, do you know their life. Simply you don’t. One truly never knows what another person is thinking, or what they feeling. Because we have been shaped to feel a certain way.  A person’s core is a difficult one to balance. Why I am writing a deep memoir about ones true self is because it’s how I feel and how things in my life have made me understand what life is, how people are and how to carry on being.

I have faced a lot of things at the tender age of 23, yet I’m still here, still writing, still living and still making a name for myself. But like us all, I am still on the quest to find true self balance. Fighting off the pass demons and skeletons with an iron fist shoe, not afraid to take leaps to get to the other side.  My life quite simply is not over, and I will outline each letter, highlight the good, cry on the and bad and frown in the uncertain.  My life is not the easiest read when I go back and read the chapters, but they shaped me, they never defined me, so if you feeling off your rocker and need a hug, or you are questioning yourself, and what life will bring. Stop. And just live day by day, we are but human. And human are still evolving and so must your lives. Evolve into a higher place of self acceptance, mould into a better person every day, and life will happen on your terms. So smile and cry, grow and prosper in love, in your career, in friendship. You make your cookie cutter, so cut your path in life.

Peace and Love,

The Box

When we were kids, we couldn’t wait for Santa to come, we would put out the cookies and milk and hope we have been good boys and girls just to get the best gifts. The biggest box, or the one with the prettiest wrapping. A lot of effort was put into making us believe the bearded man existed and we would only get these magical presents if we were on our best behaviour. Once a year if we were fortunate enough, we would celebrate our birthdays, people would give us gifts or cards to make us feel special for turning one year older, oh how excited and special we felt when we received that present which took up half the room, or the gift that sparkled brighter than a clear starry night. Imagine we got a box that was empty, and the card read, it’s the thought that counts. Could a thought be tangible in that tiny box? Or was a box made to be filled. And made to fill what? A diamond ring that announces to the word that two people have committed themselves for life. Or a Barbie doll wrapped in shocking pink paper with the purpose of making a little girl smile. What’s in a box I ask?

With the passing of a Gran, the pain before the death and the anguish after, what are we left with? The tangible being is gone and what is left is a lifeless person. A person that was once smiling or joking. Was walking or running. Was planting new beautiful plants in the garden or removing the weeds that constricted life.  We all must die one day. But what are the people here on earth left with. A tombstone we can visit occasionally and feel the somber sad cold feelings of a cemetery. Leave flowers at the site of the dearly departed. Or in my families case. We are left with a box. My mind is finding it hard to deal with the fact that, the ash is the box is really her. How is that possible that an entire life can be summed up by one pink wooden box?  All the memories, thoughts and past is nested in that tiny box. For someone whose personality was bigger than any mountain, they were now known as a box. And what of the inside? Is it the thought that counts, the final remaining tangible assets of someone moved on. It’s really true.  The hour class of life once tipped, all the sand rests at the bottom, lifeless. The final candle expired and now the sand of time rests in the box from the crematorium.

A box to me is a gift, something we keep dear. When I receive a present wrapped up, ribbons, cards. I smile and the thought that someone has gone out and bought me something, a special something. This box however, is it a gift, is it a person, is it a life gone. The post funeral dispersing of ashes is one where you go with the family to lay them to their final path of life. Whether you do it in their favourite garden, or stand on rock and throw the dust into the sea. Once the thoughts of that box are rained out into the wind. They are gone. There will be no sign left that they once were physically here, sure we have photos, we have our own minds, but we all know past fades.  Soon enough my family will embark on the final journey and last chapter of Oumas life. But where to lay her to rest. Me, id keep the box. That little gift is the last present she left us.  

A box, something we may actually not recognise as being meaningful, but remember this. That special moment when you open that box to find a ring, or get that awesome new pair of jeans you have been eyeing out, that happy feeling is one you must cherish when you are alive, as we all know how short life is. Make the most of it, make new memories, and just be. As one day when all is said and done, your family saw you as a gift and will choose to hold you dear. It’s the thought that counts.

Romeo and Julian

The hate of two houses, the swords of the crest locked in translation. Two lovers, hell bent on making a statement, while giving the finger to the man, no pun intended.

Romeo, tall, dark and handsome. Eyes as clear as day and a smile that shatters hearts and mirrors alike. Dressed to impress, Levi Jeans, Gucci boots, Prada button down black collar shirt, revealing the gentle chest hair, teasing the eyes. The iconic star on the modern age, the James Dean of the 21^st Century. Romeo, oh Romeo, where art thou Romeo. In the house of Bolshevik he dwells, captured by his parent’s generous materialistic affection. In his loveless tower, he nests and dreams of the outside world, what is behind those castle walls?

Julian, mystic baby blue eyes, dirty blonde with a laugh that captures an entire genre.  A causal dresser, will wear a shirt from days ago, picks it up and sniffs it, if there is no B.O., he will wear it. Not content with being cooped up in and shelter, he is one with nature and lives day by day to the fullest. The legendary rebel, the dangerous being. In the House of the Tsar, he defies the elders, he defiles the rules of communist household, he selfishly confides in himself and lives for himself, and he believes he is the only person who cannot hurt himself, naive. Blissfully sits on a rock and salutes the sunset. A new dawn will come.

Romeo disputes that he must attend the annual Bolshevik ball extravaganza, yet is forced into it, enticed by the family heirlooms’. He slides on his mask, a pale black shimmer less facade. A limber smile peaks through the open mouth piece, he climbs into the black bronze car, and is escorted to turgid affair. Julian, excited for the chance to cause a stir amongst his families debacles with the Tsars, he attaches a glittered up, sparkled head piece, bound to attract attention and cause a riot in the minds of the family’s opposition. He gladly strides the family’s prized black stallion and gallops confidently towards the ball.

The music blaring, the masses caught in an alien dance, grinding and shaking to the beats of a music box. The glasses cheering each other on, the people laughing and conversating. Enter the dramatic unimpressed son, Romeo, a hint of a fake smile greets his square jaw line. He strides straight to the fish tank, he is like the fish, beautiful and idolised, yet he is trapped in a blue world much the same as the glorious goldfish. He wallows in misery. A sparkle to the left catches Romeos eye, Julian has graced the party with a grand entrance, he slides down the immaculate policed staircase railing straight into the centre of the dance floor and is greeted with a jeer of admiration. He owns the spotlight. Unknown to Romeo the masked bandit is none other the enemy, a Tsar.

The night transcends into a greater darkness, yet by the centre piece the water filled treasury called the fish tank, a lonely Romeo stares blindly into the glass, he places his hand on the glass, and proceeds to stroke the glass. He stares at his hands reflection as they follow each other up and down the water tank. He notices that the hand is larger than his, magnified by the water, he then takes on finger and slides towards the exit, and bang, the glass shatters, water, fish and glass invade the packed ballroom, yet, he is greeted with a smile from the now barrier less room. Who is this masked bandit, and why does he smile at the devastation. Romeo turns to run from the destruction, yet he hears the faint footsteps following his in the darkness. He turns and he greeted face to face by the bandit Julian. Quietly they stand and stare into each other’s radiance. No words uttered, only a connected understanding. They peer into each other’s souls. One loner and one rebel. Julian begins to untie Romeos mask, he falls to the floor with a silence. Julian shocked at the sight of the enemy, Romeo removes Julian’s mask and takes a step back and falls into a crystal clear pool, the splashes pierce the emptiness, he comes up for air. Thinking the enemy has fled, he is dragged out the pool by a worried Julian, lying on the shallow drenched steps, they begin to giggle at how dramatic the pool incident is. Content to sit there in each other’s grace, they sit, and ponder running away together. But, a loud bang is heard, a warning shot the master of the Bolshevik house stand with a gun pointing at Julian. ‘Jail this son of a bitch’, the guards surround him and pull his from Romeo. Romeo stand motionless is the pool, the raging insults run off his like water off a ducks back. He stands defiant, ‘Jail me to father’, the master is silenced by the request. ‘No, you will live a life locked in a tower like that harlot mother of yours ‘. Shackled, he is waltz up the stone stair case, to await his fate.

The next day he is greeted with sounds of an angry mob in the courtyard, he looks out the window and is faced with a terrible sight, Julian is tied to a post and has mountains of hay lying at his feet. The Master Bolshevik stands with a long, thick cigar, smoking and saying a speech of how Julian invaded his palace in attempt to defile and corrupt his only son. Julian and Romeo make a strong locked eye connection. The sadness of an untaken journey is felt in the air. The master see’s this and drops his cigar onto the hay, Julian goes up in flames. Cries and screams rain out of the marbled garden. Romeo see’s Julian in pain and leaps out of the window and falls to his tragic death. The lovers die together with a future unlived, a death made possible by other peoples ignorance and moralistic depravity. Love knows no bounds, let love live.

A Type ?

When you are having the greatest time ever, do you stop and look at everyone and think, is this my life, did I wake up today and plan to be where I am. Most times I know what’s what, and where I’m going, who will be there, it’s the control freak inside me. Sometimes you do the spontaneous thing, jump in your car, drive to a bridge and pretend to pull a titanic move without the jack, or go eat at a dodge Chinese food station. We generally conform to what we like, who we like. All things in life don’t add up to 23, they add up to type.

What is type, what cars we like, food we devour, colours we dabble with, the people we hang with, the shoes I’m wearing? Is everything categorised? Is everything like a world library, arranged by name, style, creed, fashion? How do we mix it up and not stick to the status quo? It’s difficult to break out and do something different. We grew up with a strong hand telling us no and yes, right and wrong, but as we grow up into adults, we find our own paths, we create our own version of a reality untold. Do we really want to be a step ford wife robot doll? The term rebel, someone who gives the finger to the man, does things on his terms, many people in history have been this rebel. Marilyn Monroe, the beautiful curvy lady who came from nothing and no one to become one of the most recognised faces in history, since when did the mistress strike fame and rock the pages and screens of the day. Madonna, the over sexed young girl with cone shaped bras and sex books, coining the taboo crown. A rebel has a voice, and a rebel is a type.

What type are you? What is your type? When you pull up your Calvin Klein’s, then the levy skinny’s and a simple yet colourful t-shirt, who are you? Society and media has created your niche and market focus. We all have place in the world, and we define it through fashion, hair styles, careers, and other people. Have you found yourself type and self type? Still looking, yea they make two of us. What I more interested in is the term ‘opposites attract’, is this fact or like a work of Santa Claus fiction. Taking my own life into account, I know what my type is, tall dark and handsome, yes that describes the old school Hollywood leading man of the 60’s. I like someone with ambition, confidence and a sense of unhindering mystery. Smart, funny and witty. And the end of the day the picture in my head is decide, true and won’t change. Yes, I’m single, but my type is something I won’t waver on. It’s not being fussy, its type choice. You might like blondes with blue eyes and size d breasts, or you may like a short hairy man with a bubble butt and glasses. We all have types.  But how do two different types mingle? Are they like a stiff martini or a jumbled up fish bold. Or in a lot of cases just a quick fix shot glass. To keep someone interested, you must not show all your cards, keep some mystery, makes the next coffee just that little more interesting.

A creative meets the law world. One career is colourful, fast paced and fun, what happens when this meets a fact or fiction, right or wrong, hard, dedicated work. Not saying people are defined by their career, but personalities fit into certain aspects of our life’s and work, to be happy, our jobs must enhance our life’s, as must the people.  But when two opposites come together, it’s hard to establish a middle ground, a centre base to build on. People are complicated as it is, but when there is two, the complications get bigger, and it’s how you deal with the type difference that will decide the outcome of the attraction. The more you get to know one another, you start picking up on the little things that make its priceless and happy when you are together. It’s the times you’re not together when the mind ticks, and you try break apart every aspect of them, this causes insecurity. From the get go, establish whether or not, this is someone you want to engage with, someone you can see yourself spending a lot of time together, if you can’t write a list of the pros and cons, and the cons outweigh the pros, nip it in the bud, and walk away. Maybe they weren’t your type. But I always say learn and try everything, you never know what type can swing and change your perception. 

Risk. What is life if you can’t risk a bit, take a leap of fate, try some sushi, try sky diving, try a pair of skinny’s, sure they might crush your testicles, at least you tried something new. Life is for the living, the now, we make mistakes, we date mistakes, but life is like playing Russian roulette with people in the barrel, you never know what you going to get, so take a spin, take a shot, maybe it’s the last time you will blow the single gun. You never know. In my life, it’s a long shot, but I say why not. Trying a new type… wish me luck.

Rules of Engagement

They say people are all unique, all an original soul, as a finger print is one of a kind, so are our hearts. Sure the flesh and blood that make them up are the same, we all work differently, we all love differently. But there are five kinds of love, how we play each other’s hearts depends on the types of roles we play and want to be a part of.

 Acts Of Service, have you ever seen a man cooking dinner, or a woman cutting the grass, they are not a abnormal couple, they are simply showing acts of service, the small things we often overlook as mundane and a must do. Like opening the car door for the wife, or polishing your husband’s shoes and removing the lint from his suit. They are not 1960’s couple who did what was required. They do these small acts to show their affection to one another. As long as there is a smile in the beginning to end and it is done with the intent of helping, not doing it because you were asked. Aka, taking the trash out. Do it because you want to, and the partner will smile.

The Words of Affirmation, this love is when there is a lot of showering of love, we like to hear how nice we look, or how great the clothes we wear are, or even simply, that tea was amaze balls. To simply hear words that make us smile, words that highlight and outline our souls with radiance and love. Giving your partner or someone you are interested these words will build confidence in one another and when they are alone, they will smile at thin air at the thought of something you said. Have you seen those people who walk in a mall and just smile, they are not crazy, they have had their hearts needs tended to. And that is awesome.

Quality time, no they are not being needy and clingy, it’s how they share their affections and heart. They build love through a lot of interaction, communication and spending time together. Whether it is coffee in a booth at a café, or a picnic at the zoo. They focus their energy on one another. This is their love language, close and intimate. They can be in a crowded room, music blaring or shouting and they will have each other’s undivided attention. Have you ever seen those people that even if they stand across the room from each other, one look and they are hooked, drawn to each other? This also happens when people randomly bump into each other, or introduced, the connection and chemistry is instant. They express their heart through time spent together, whether it be in silence or at movie.

Gift. Flowers, chocolates, jewellery .we often misunderstand this love, as a way of buying the heart, yet in fact it is an art form, like watching the mating dance of colourful bird. They give gifts as a way of showing their love, sounds materialistic and superficial. Nut it’s who they are and how they express. Some couples one loves to be given gifts and if the partner forgets, they feel neglected and unloved. It’s not about expense, it about the thought, the message behind the single white daisy, or the card that sings happy songs to the recipient. They find love through objects of affection, not buying of the heart. Often misunderstood.

Physical Touch, often the most powerful sense. The simple touch of holding hands, we take it for granted as it is something we are so used to, but often some people base all their feelings and investments in touch. So if you don’t hug them or hold their hand, they take it as you are not interested. To fulfil this need do what’s in your heart, if the chemistry and the attraction in there, what the worst that can happen if you show a little love through the hug or the peck. People of touch need a lot of love and affection to keep them in the relationship. So shower them with kisses and hugs, cheesy I know.

So no reading this, you are seeing what you are and if involved what they are. How does this affect a relationship? Well, if you do not show your partner their kind of love, they will be feeling left out, and vice versa. To have a great relationship, you need to break down the wall and masks, tell them they look good if that’s the affirmation they seek, or hold their hand in the park. Give them a rose, mop the floor or just snuggle on the couch and watch Law and Order. Simple as these love types sound, they are far from. The problem with new relationships is to try figure them out straight away, we do this because we want to know if you should invest time. Not hearing from, or hearing you are beautiful pushes you away as your think they are not interested, when in fact it’s probably because they express love through another channel, it may be gifts like taking your for dinner and getting you a teddy bear at the toy store, or they may just like the quality time. We tend to over analyze affection and words. This causes confusion and often drives people away from each other as they don’t understand. So which type are you and how do you come to terms with it? You look to see what you complain a lot about. I know I am the love that needs affirmation, I need to hear interest and like compliments, it’s not ego, and it’s how I see if someone likes me.  What do you request often is the next question. What do you complain about when you start seeing someone?  That will help highlight what channel of love you are. Speaking your partner’s language won’t be easy or feel natural, but in time it will pay off as you will get each other on a different level. Love is something we want and is something that takes two to tango, so play the right beats, do the right dance steps and soon your relationship will get better, and potential relationships can take a step to the right space by understanding one another.

So now you sit staring at the words and things will blow off in your head like many bulbs going off. You are linking your own thoughts and memories, things that have happened in the past, what could be happening now, well now you have the tools to help. So find your channel, and express it, and then express their love to.

Go forth and prosper all the lovers.

Holding Yourself Hostage

n an alternate universe would I be me, would I look the same, act the same, have the same life. If so, I hope that planet burns from the sun. As I want to be unique and original. But I am human, and being this being I go through hardships, heartaches and face the bumps in the road. How I come out after each great journey or great escape depends on the moods and the feelings in the moment, in that second. We create our destiny, we shape others lives, but when do we become selfish, and give up on saving you and them and finally care for ourselves?

 This story is not one of vanity or ego. It is my skin deep truth, the truth of Kyle, and what he struggles with everyday. Because that smile or pout are the masks that shield the insecure person below. I have learnt a lot I life at the tender age of 23, I know people, and some say I judge too early, it’s just my barrier. Keeping people on the other side of the csi tape is how I cope. To scared of the reality of having a crush, or falling in love, or simply to being my true self with someone. We just want to have a avatars tail and connect on a level that goes beyond reason. The difficulty is finding that someone to connect with, and if you do, then what? Play games, be completely honest and make yourself as vulnerable as a baby bambi deer in a lion’s den. What scares us most was shaped by past experiences, as we see the flaws of past friendships, relationships. How do we move forward, how do we move on. All I know is that I have always been the stepping stone to someone or something better. They not over their ex, they are still in a relationship, they are single and want to play, they are married, they are in the closet. I have been there, I have done it, and I have come to become who I am. A hostage to myself. I want people to experience life their own way, I want them to become happy with themselves in order to be happy with someone else, but like in every relationship you garden someone to the point that you become just that, you garden this rose, and they get picked and you don’t. It’s like wasting all your time to be cut from the picture time and time again. So now I just stay out of people’s way. Let them do what they need to find self love. I respect the fact that people change their minds, but with that change comes consequence, and people have to come to not care about others feelings, why, because it’s so easy to find someone new. So like in the movies there is that person sitting crying in the rain, that is me, but I will not let people define me or my outcomes, all I want is to share all I have, my heart, my mind and my soul. But, time and people are something I have started losing patience with. So for now,  I will be me, myself and I. and then you and I, one day.

 With this negative outlook on love and attraction I have become numb to feeling, this cold feeling gives off this bitch expression, I’m just scared. And when I do let someone in, I have to try so hard to show I care, I have to always justify my attraction, I have to prove I want to try be happy with someone, and like Kurt Cobains face, I get shot every single time. My best friend said to me once, I build fantasies in my head, I build an imaginary friend in my life, and rip myself to shreds when things don’t work out. But this life we live is not a fairytale, it’s a reality. And sure I’m emotional at the moment post tragic events in my life, a break up from a first love, a treasured family member passing. But we only live once, so I plan to make the best of it, from today. After this post I will make things happen, not for anyone else but Kyle, build my own reality, and what comes, comes. I won’t chase that highway unicorn. I will ride the white horse into the distance, who ever jumps on the horses back and rides with me into the sunset, time can tell. I can’t, so cheers to life, cheers to dreams, cheers to my avatar connection, I look forward to meeting you, one day.

Superheroes

If we go back in history and look at the mighty men and woman who graced the pages of the comics, blew our minds and eye sockets on the big screen or the toys that we eventually threw away with age. But lets be honest, we never grow up, we love the mystery, the romance and the action they portray. What we would give to be the damsel in distress being saved by a hunky beefy man with a skintight  super suit. How are they made? Some radioactive freaks made from a genetic spill gone bad making a huge giant of man, who is green and sports a pair of purple pants that expand and contract and never rip off with every change. or the Dork turned superhero from a tiny spider, one little bite had him spewing webs and climbing on walls. Then comes superheroes that are made from money, the dark knight with the man abilities of flight and awesome gadgets that will make any girls panties flair up or at least explode. The man from a distant planet with the ability to crush a car, or fly and hear a cat peeing on a tree. all these guys either are dressed skin tight, or half naked, muscles rippling and have girls and sometimes boys fainting. Why are we mesmerized? Why do we want to super powers, we are human, we have enough power within ourselves to do anything. Save the Rhinos, protect a president from a bullet, trying to stop global warming. We have it in us to be great, and some people just have 'IT'. For me the people that are lights in the darkness, or the people in white coats, they are our superheroes, they save life's, they make it better. They are our doctors.

Doctors are magical, with the ability to fly from one side of the hospital to the other in the blink of a human eye. or the ability to bring someone back from the brink of death with some magic beans aka medication. They never stop to amaze me, inspiring me want to be a better person. Want to help the needy, but we weren't all born with the ability to heal and cut, some of  us paint and write. While my Grandmother was sick and in the hospital, i never wanted to go to the hospital, never wanted to see her ill, i wanted to remember her as she was, not the lady in the bed. But the day i went i was not disappointed with the angels in whites ability to care, to help to make the family feel better, then it dawned on me, why do they do it? why do they want to help and heal, because they are superheroes, they dont need purple short shorts no matter how awesome and funny that would be , they don't need to flash their abilities. They dont need muscles to fix and help you, they need hands, miracle hands. Like the dark knight they are driven to do good, like the hulk they change and adapt to their surroundings, like the superman they hear the pain, cure the pain and then fly off into the distance to next needy person. The radioactive spiderman, not saying they can hang upside down, but they do have the energy of an atom bomb, doing 24 hours shifts and still put on a comforting smile. Doctorman doesn't really have that awesome ring to it , but who needs tights and spandex when they have white coats. The rock the wards, they rocked my mind. They are a blinding inspiration.

Internal War

For centuries people have fought for beliefs, religion or land, now a new battle line has been made, you need to divulge a plan to defeat the new threat, problem is, you can’t see it with the naked eye. An internal war within the micro organisms that make up a body, although we cant see the war, we feel it. Violent Guerilla tactics are deployed in a battle between a foreign invasion. The conflict between the forces that heal and grow our being. The struggle within your own body sometimes causes an unexpected and spontaneous combustion from within, an escalation of inside happenings causes the wheels and cogs to turn backwards, they loose control. The foreign intruder nests in the places where the cogs steadily grinded, there it has waited. The battles have just begun.

Making a castle in your temple of self worship, the invasion has reached maximum effect, tanks, guns and bullets echo off the walls of your once proud cavity. Inflicting pain and suffering within your home. The foreigners patrol the hallways, gate keep and watch and inflict torture on the captives they hold in their cages of emptiness.  The invaders kill their king and divide and spread, making new places to carry out their deeds. They hurt you deeper as the tunnel into your soul. Their fighting amongst each other causes them to barricade themselves into the carved and hollowed out spaces they once held in high esteem, now they cower, not afraid of themselves but the impending doom. The final hour is near, they wait. Bitter, they try hurting you to the full force of their capability, fight to the death, they say no white flag. Hearing the trumpets and horns of heavens army, their blades of renewal and goodness are coming. Hold on, the Armageddon for the enemy of the body is here, sounds of the white army killing the corrupted cells can be heard in every fibre of your human form.

One by one the soldiers perish, they are devoured by the sound of slaughter, cut from cavities they carved, removed from the places they called theirs, they are annihilated. With the sound of sweet silence, and stench of sterility, the holes start to mend, using hope as the thread and life as the needle. Sewn closed, the soul replenishes and gives birth to a new existence. With the invaders removed from the gaps that cogs once rotated, new wheels and cogs form, stronger and more resistant to intruders, now cogs do not roll over for foreign policies, they roll over them, crushing their envious, futile lives. You prevail. You succeed. You win.

With the battle won, you are the victor and conqueror of invasion. Hail the greatness and beauty you are, go on and prosper.

Alpha Barbie

Plastic, perfection and beautiful? The little, young minded girl, playing with her dollies, seeing the beauty the doll is, and never realising real people are not perfect until it is to late. Mis-guided fantasy to reality. Does the playing imagination, get shaped into a false perception of the ‘real’ world? Barbie, the must have toy for girls everywhere, behind the plastic see through box is the biggest liar in toy history.

Skinny, flat, toned and ‘natural’, some words to describe Barbie body, like a one faced army lying in wait to bought and played with. Who is playing with who? Making Barbie’s perfect world, cars, houses, Ken, all accessories to her existence, all objects. The little world absorbs the girls imagination, making it her place, as she is living through Barbie, basing all decisions on what the Barbie ranges carry. There is only a pink car, the girls new favourite colour is pink, Barbie has make up on, the little girl is 6, wearing make-up. Basing sanity and rational thought on a ‘toy’. Barbie has a variety of dolls, Theresa the Brunette doll, so the dark haired girls can find common ground with the doll and in essence see themselves in her when they are playing ‘House, House’. Making dolls in different races reaches every little girl. If they can afford it.

Barbie has its own idealization and standards, its all about status and having more. My Barbie has fifty eight outfits, three cars, two houses, three Kens…the more the girl has promotes and shows dominance and a sense of power over the girls with less, becoming the talked about ‘it girl’ or ‘queen bee’. In having the best and becoming the best does this come out in latter teenage life when talking behind backs and being jealous takes place. The quest to stand out and be noticed starts at a young age, when Barbie is being played with, or Barbie playing the girls strings like a puppet?

Shaping on Barbie, her beauty, perfection, the femme fatal. All the glam she stands for hits the girl’s reality when they see pimples, hair growth, body changes… normal reality is nothing like the Barbie said it would be. Thus the girls esteem is dented when the ‘it girl’ strides past all beautiful and lustful, as Barbie is. Barbie makes rivalry, if her range carried the fat friend or the spotted geek,  in society it would be ok, because in the girls shaping of the mind days, she would see a difference, and something’s are not perfect, thus it would be normal to see difference and parodies to beauty.

One of the riches brands in the world, a perfect woman made out of plastic. Older woman even shape themselves on the plastic notions of a toy. Barbie has small facial features, tight skin, and huge breasts, therefore I want that, so I can be noticed. Barbie makes everyone want attention, and to get it you must have the best weapon, to make someone stare. Paparazzi love celebs because they love attention, they stride for perfection and when not found the world see’s their true forms and flaws, and disregards them because media considers them to not be ‘it’ anymore.

The questions is, will the big lie of beauty ever be stopped, or will the brain washing continue, all told without words, without a voice. Just a smile through a pink plastic box. Mommy, can I have a Barbie, pretty please!

Beating an Angel.

A casual greeting at the entrance to an elegant home, an invite to grace the couches presence, the ambience is relaxed. The nanny nestles the toddler on her lap, braiding her long blonde angelic hair, she watches the brightly coloured animals dancing across the television screen. The care giver chatting to her ‘friend’, and then without warning chaos erupts like the Icelandic volcano. The home invader whose smile and friendliness was only a mask to gain access into the house forces himself forward off the couch, lunging at the unsuspecting nanny and child. He brutally attacks the nanny, punching her in the face, with the jolt the baby hits the floor. The caregiver flops back into the sofa, blood rushing from her bloating nose and eye, she is dazed and confused. She tries to focus and all she can see is a figure moving, dancing on the defenseless toddler. The cries and shrieks of the baby raining through the house, cries for help, the intruder beats on the child, kicking , hitting and damaging the powerless angel. Satisfied, he walks back to the nanny, wails on her for abit. Ties her up, has a last kick at the now unconscious baby. And begins to rummage through the house.

Hearing a knock at the door, he invites his friends for a quick free sale of stealing. They walk past the nanny who is crying, and they politely step over the toddler, giggling. The home invaders who are alien to the house examine every inch of where the valuables could be stored or hidden. Pulling out draws, throwing the objects they don’t suffice as being worthy enough for them to take. Breaking glasses like the bones of the child who is battling to breathe on the soft green carpet. Laptops, money in the draws and the television they were all watching earlier is unplugged and carried out by the intruder’s friends. They have completed their mission of hatred and crime. They bid farewell to their ‘friend’ who remains shocked and disfigured on the one seater couch. They aren’t without manners you know.

Now alone in the house, she tries to untie herself but is unsuccessful. She watches the lifeless body at her feet drift in and out of consciousness, she sheds more tears, this is her fault, she invited in the assault. Trust is earned not based on a casual hello. A little while later she hears the door unlock, fearing it is the criminals coming to do further damage she lets out a boisterous scream for help. It’s the little girls mother, she runs into the lounge to find destruction, blood and a dwindling soul. Frantic she phones the ambulance, the police and her husband. She is mortified and distraught at the situation, she helps the beaten caregiver, and holds her baby who is bleeding and blue, but thankfully still breathing and fighting for life. She is rushed to the hospital, the nanny accompanies.

In intensive care the life force of a courageous fighter continues to grasp at her yet unlived life that has been dented by criminals. A few days on, the nanny admits defeat and reveals the truth. They never broke in, they were invited in. A toddler is fighting for life due to someone else’s negligence. It is time for South Africa to stop these death dealers, bolt them into a dirty, cold cell and leave them to rot. That’s the easy way out, they should be beaten until they cry and bleed, they should be dealt what they give out, pain. This little fragile angel was defenseless and powerless, and they still wailed on with the full force of a thousand suns. Now she lies in a sterile bed instead of playing with toys and smiling. They have now influenced the whole course of her life, she will never be the same. And neither should these humans, and I use the term ‘humans’ loosely, as they are not worth the oxygen provided by the earth. Now suspects have been arrested, who turns out are foreigners from one of our neighbouring countries, did they only come to South Africa to commit horrendous acts of violence? The law must back hand them with a sentence worth the suffering of bloody battle of war. Let’s hope and pray this baby lives and gets better. It is time for us too take the land back, take the criminals by their dirty paws, and string them up like cattle, and impose sentences that are worth their devious and demented crimes. They must suffer the full force of the law, and then some. No mercy, no easy way out. The only place they are going is best described as the ‘hard house’, for many reasons…

 The question, do we need the death penalty? Or is that not humane, well neither is beating a toddler.

Night with Edward Cullen the Rapist

The smell of antique pine and the soothe smell of aged leather filled the nostrils of the flustered onlookers. The heat in the room soared to the catacombs of the suns fiery pits, the sweat dripped from the faces; they politely wiped the intrusion of the unplanned lactation of the forehead, they then continued their irreverent conversation. The cautious prowl, the sound of footsteps, the soft breeze caresses your soft skin as someone passes by, the glance to see who it was that changed the air. A mysterious, dark person gazed into your eyes, stealing a moment. Your heart began to beat like a marching bands drum, the vibrations as the wooden floor boards shuddered at the presence walking across the Persian rugs, roaming through the crowded drawing room.

A boisterous voice bellowed from the stranger, they greeted your ambience. Anxious, you replied with an honest, warm gesture of appreciation. The conversation was guarded, mature and deep. Through the misty mumblings protruding from the mouths, subtle eyes wandered, examining the clothing, the hand movements, the masked smiles and laughs. The empty void that protected the strangers disappeared as the chat became fluffy, cheeky and humorous. The chemistry flowed like the words from a history book that nestled in the dust on the cherry oak wood bookcase that towered above the two caught up souls.

 The sound of the coming storm bustled in the distance, wise cracks of thunder and powerful bolts of lightning sexed the landscape. The two captured people continued their conversation, reluctant to stop talking, they wanted to explore the vast playground that imploded in the other’s mind. Eager to fish for truth, extract the past and pierce any hint of emotion. Yet the mysterious fellow did not express any sign of emotion, bordering on absent. Why was I so captured by this person’s aura?

 As the days pasted, the truth I longed for was juiced out onto a canvas, in all shades and demeanors, this mystery was art. This being was built like a sculpture, pure clayed perfection. Their mind rained from the eras, expressing a vast amount of knowledge and ideas, showing the history that passioned them, exploring the mind was as if he was reading the pages off that reflected off their soulful eyes. I was glamoured.

 Amidst the happiness, I found myself being drawn like a stick figure next to the Mona Lisa. My thoughts were not mine, they were shared, the way I dressed was styled by the lovers ensemble of servants in the decadent Victorian castle where a portrayed my life. I had fell victim to an entity that was like no other.

So I began to watch, they would never enter into a place without being asked in, they were very pale and in some instances glowed like diamonds, they never shared dinner time. Were they just private, or too chivalrous and courteous to enter ones home, did they have thick skin and did not burn and when did they eat to keep in such pristine condition.

I then felt a cold chill down my spine, and a warm body behind my back, I turned around only to be met by the face, the beautiful face of the mystery miracle.I wanted to express my heartfelt need for the truth, so I poured out my soul. Taken back they stepped back into the shadows, stood there, heavy breathing. And in an instant they were right next to me, breathing on my neck, their strength and power could be felt as they smelled my soft clean skin, I wanted to scream. But, I was strangely captivated. I glanced back into their eyes, they opened their mouth, and two fangs relaxed into their jaws. My heart sank, my body collapsed, my mind was left wandering.

I woke up the next day in my king sized bed, met with the greeting sun’s hello, I was dazed and confused, was it all a dream? Then a warm hand expelled itself from the sheets, caressing my lower back as the tiny hairs began to stand at attention, Goosebumps railed and brailed my skin. Our eyes caught, raw animalistic love was bound in the cris crossed stare, I felt one, I felt connected, I felt free and immortal. They grinned and those two little fangs made an appearance, yet I smiled and rubbed the healing bite marks in my hot laced neck, I truly was now bound to another, drawn as an equal and sexed like a demon, I could not wait to spend another night with a vampire…

Huma[phobia]

A phobia, an extreme irrational fear or an aversion to something. A dislike for a specific group or thing. Someone who has the fear is met with horror, terror and neurosis. They are scared of the different and the unwritten, they fear change and the out of the ordinary. Huma[phobia] – a misunderstanding of individuals lifestyles.

To the people who are not considered as ‘normal’ by society, the ‘trans-gendered’, the ‘gays’, the ‘transvestites’, the ‘nudists’, the ‘fetishist’s’. They suffer from a condition called Humaphobia, the fear of the people who are different to themselves, the majority of society. The people, who judge them, point and stare, the bullies of the minorities. Not all people hate the ‘expressionists’ of society, they try and understand it without being judgmental. Life through the magnifying glass is not an easy cross to bare, but these ‘colourful’ people can’t be anything else except for themselves, so why ridicule and crush their spirits? It all stems back to those seven ‘deadly’ sins, although we all have them, people who suffer from insecurities are more prone to them.

Pride, the addiction and desire to be more important and superior to another, they achieve this by either physical or verbal abuse, this transpires into the eventual emotional abuse, as the ‘colourful’ person will be left in the shadows, bludgeoned, bleeding and crying. Envy, the resentment of another person who has something they perceive themselves as lacking. If a trans-gendered person drives the latest BMW, and has the best house and perfect lawn, an envious person will look on in jealousy and may often act out. Wrath, the destructiveness, violence and hate that explodes. Looking at the current, take a club that has been cut in half, half straight, half gay, when someone who is consumed by wrath moves into the ‘gays’ designated area, he may explode in a fit of anger and rage and hurt someone because of his lack of understanding and hatred for a group.

Greed, the pursuit of wealth, status and power. The person will stand on anyone to get to the top, and stay there. Whether it is by spreading rumours, exposing secrets and threatening blackmail. For example, knowing someone as the hardcore businessman by day and the floating Bella Bella Dona by night, laced in pearls and dowsed in glitter and makeup. The person, who lusts for greed, will use this information to get a foot up. Pouncing on someone’s alternative lifestyle is a huge flaw in the human character. Sloth,

The failure to use ones gifts and talents, if a person is lazy and has no ambition, they will sponge off others to feel part of something. They go through life like a tortoise, expecting people to just give. They use minorities to do their work, they are good at manipulating and will work someone over because they make them feel inferior because of a particular orientation. Lust, excessive love of others. If a straight guy sleeps with a few girls over weekend he is the ‘man’, if a girl does it she is a slut. If a gay does it, it’s like the ‘oh well’ effect, because through stereotypical views it is considered part of the lifestyle, to sleep with every tom dick and dick. This perception of the alterative lifestyle is frowned upon by main stream society and therefore an intense dislike for that minority manifests, yet in ‘straight’ life, it still ok. Just because its two men, or two woman makes the majority uncomfortable. But, after the thought of hate for the alternatives, they get on the phone and call their swing buddies for a F***fest.

Unfortunately, this is how the world works, the world is not balanced between the ‘normal’ and the ‘alternative’ lifestyles. It is either right or wrong. So there is a sense of Homophobia and a new kind of phobia, Humaphobia, the fear of mainstream society hurling bricks into their faces. To make it clear, everyone has phobias, but people who take certain phobias to the extreme where they act out verbally, physically or emotionally, they are what is wrong with society, not people who are ‘different’. If you don’t understand something and are not willing to try find out, shut your pie hole and just look on. There is no point in someone getting angry at someone because they like being naked in public, or they like the same sex, just let it be. If this mindset of just letting people be was in all members of society brains, the world would be a better place. So whether you are gay, straight, bisexual, transgendered, just live your life to the full and let others do the same. Free yourself, free your mind and free your heart. 

 Like I said, it is just a fear, not a reality in all.

Lonely Crystal

Inside, within and enveloped, your mind knows best, yet your heart lingers on banter and crumbs of obsession. Hanging on the words of a dream, a twisted reality, you beg and pine for them to end your crush, yet they spin webs. Webs spun from silk and happiness, your body sewn, entombed. Warm and cozy your soul lays and dwindles, feeding off tossed hope and pieces of you. Your darkness talk comes from a place that you keep at bay and to yourself, you store yourself within yourself, to hide from your own insecurities. Like a crystal you are born from the depths, the bowls of a foreign existence.

The heart of a crystal is jaded, edgy and hard, and like its heart, yours mirrors a crystal only it’s encased in cages, sealed with muscles, lined with tissue and opening valves only at the right instances, filtering what you deem inappropriate to help you live. You filtered me out, made me part of the monotone colours that cover your canvas that you call the life. Born from earth, yet like a rock from distant galaxies, your mystery, your uniqueness captivates us. You crash into our soil with no respect for where you land or for who you land on, your crash took us by surprise and blinded me with your illusion and intrigue.

Sparks deter our vision and thoughts, your crystal blinds the mere mortal rocks, we lie around your crash sight, charred and burnt, yet not broken or faded. We heal ourselves by having happiness and support in our mortal mass, you stand alone, defiant and beautiful. As the tears of rain fall, water moves the crystal and stones together, like a blender we wash, rub and cut the crystal, deep, long and often painful cuts along the circumference of your body, yet, we still can’t penetrate the cages that guard your icy core. Unable to cut to change you, we cut to shape your fragile existence.

Through it all our journey was good, only deceit and strings pulled me away and got the better of me. The new carver is amazing, may they clean up your sharpness, abrasiveness and roughness, you need a strong steady hand to move your marble covered emotion. Play hard little crystal, you will end up wrapped around some body’s finger, an aesthetic, an object, a thing.


Sparkle, shine and gleam, self love, self hate, you are the perfect stone. Cold!