A slice of Sunday – “Be still and know that I am God”

Swaying comfortingly on a hammock, hiding under the cloak of night sky, the hum of Sunday traffic anchors my thoughts from wondering further than I have the will to pull myself back from. Zoning in on my here & now; the memory of my today. The days lesson.

Once Upon just moping about the studio earlier, I struck up a conversation. A conversation that began with text book niceties; then strolled into a full fledged interaction until somewhere in the midst of it all, I misheard him.

“What was that about your baby being here?” I asked

“I said no such. . . besides we ended it” , he shares with me.

I express my empathetic sentiments of sympathy, then tactlessly allow the cynic in me to retort; “If there’s one thing I don’t miss, It’s having someone to miss.”

Perhaps I was hoping for an “Amen”, but instead I was crucified with the argument of being a coward (in far more polite words). His train of thoughts lead to our covering the notion of the things one misses out on, solely because of the fear of taking a risk. Emails you post pone sending, for no rational reason other than avoiding the rejection that could come from not receiving a reply. Chances we don’t take in fear of failure. Adding up the opportunities missed out on; applying the same principles to Love . . . suddenly it all amounted to loss. 

“It’s awesome when it pays off. When it’s right & it works, that’s worth it” he preaches with much enthusiasm.

I know he’s right.

Just moments before our dialogue, I was behind the desk running the show solo. Me in studio alone, driving a show being broad cast to streams of listeners!? It takes knowing me intricately in order to overstand just how big a deal this is.

Fearful me would not have ever agreed to such; and even if she had, she would have flown below the radar & simply let track play after track without ever uttering a word. Sunday me on the other hand, spoke.

Spoke to the  no one that is “everyone”, when effectively just talking to myself. I did it! Diving into this very easily avoidable deep-end, paid off! It didn’t hurt.

I know he’s right.

There I sat, being still & listening. I knew who it was.

Lesson noted & Tone set for the week ahead. . . Off I go on my journey home.

In my still state of mind I over hear two friends moseying ahead of me.

“I wonder where that plane’s flying to?” one asks the other.

“London”, she answers so convinced that it’s truth. “Do you think we’ll get to go altogether?” she proceeds to ask, as my brisk strides propel me past them.

“Hopefully.” Answers the friend with her gaze fixed on the plane soaring through a cloudless jo-hustleburg sky.

“Dreams Can come true”, I think encouragingly to myself. I stopped dreaming some time ago, when I gave up trying . But right then and there, I dared to dream for them. With them. . .  that flicker of a dream tasted like my 1^st breathe.

Tastes out of this world!!

Just then my smile jolts me from wonderland and my eye glances out the window of the moving taxi. My heart grins knowingly.

“Stop being so hard on yourself, Self” , chirps my heart to my ego. “Just yesterday you challenged yourself to walking from Craighall Park to here within an hour, and you made it in less. You chanced & you passed. We aren’t past our sell-by-date just yet.” I re-assure myself as Zoo Lake drifts out of site.

Fittingly, a poem by Tupac waltzes it’s way into this very conversation between me myself and this page. It ends , as I shall end this entry. . .

“But Tomorrow I see change

A chance to build anew.

Build on spirit intent of heart

And ideals based on truth.

And tomorrow I wake with second mind

And strong because of pride.

To know I fought with all my heart, to keep my dream alive”

18 March 2012

Thinking Things Through

It wont be the end of the world & neither is this predicament a catch 22; yet there are still no satisfactory solutions to this quagmire.  As always you can trust that, that which I’m blabbing on about, reliably leans towards being a complete non-issue; so let’s get to filling you in.

Once upon a gathering last month, photo’s were taken. People posed; smiles showed their faces; fingers pressed click & flashes flashed. Harmless for the most part, even despite the very blatant traces of drunken merriment written all over the faces of many. The conflict lies with what one wishes to do with these pictures. For storytelling purposes, we shall Christen this “one” with an asexual name; we shall call “sh-im” Karabo. 

One of Karabo’s greatest thrills in life is that of being able to share their every captured moment on the virtual streets of spaces like Facebook. As far as Karabo’s concerned, the fun is tripled by the ability to tag people in the photo’s which they permitted themselves to be taken in. I (as the narrator that is), have almost -1 sympathy for those in the pictures; should the pictures go on to be uploaded and tagged. Karabo is seemingly way more considerate than that, and thus somewhat torn about whether or not to include the pictures with a certain someone in them. You might ask why any one someone should be exempt from this very standard grade task. The answer has everything to do with whether or not the consequences of not considering what the consequences of so doing would be; could come back to bite Someone.

Let’s play them out.

A)  All the pics are uploaded & every single someone is aptly tagged. In the lifeline of Someone’s FB photo’s, these particular ones would make zero sense & in turn raise a few eyebrows. Beyond just that; you’d then get those who know too much, & would in turn post incriminating commentary about Someone’s presence at this affair. At the end of the day; Someone could wind up in hot water having to answer too many questions about that 1 evening in their life. . . & maybe even another someone.   

B)  All the pics are uploaded, but everyone EXCLUDING Someone is tagged. In a world where God is real, then no nosey individual would help themselves to tagging the omitted Someone, nor make any fishy comments. This is still not that shatterproof a way for things to play out because the world is unfortunately smaller than it needs to be. Karabo & Someone have mutual friends, with whom they are individually friends; exclusive of each other. i.e. Karabo is friends with Alex because they went to school together; yet Alex and Someone are acquaintances because their sisters are best friends. So whether Someone is tagged in these pics or not, the threat still exists that anyone else could spot Someone in the pics & casually mention it in an unfitting situation that could yet again land Someone in hot water.

C)   No pics of Someone are uploaded. This in essence takes away the joy of it all for Karabo, who would like nothing more than share the complete experience; Someone included. Other people present at the soirée in question, may even go ahead & post comments enquiring about the whereabouts of Someone in the pictures. Someone themselves could also have their ego bruised at such an exclusion; they would however be completely free from any consequential baggage that could have come from being included. This still wouldn’t be a happy ending though.

D)  An even unhappier ending. . .  No pictures uploaded whatsoever :(

So what’s conflicted Karabo to do?

A; B; C or D?

Either which way, I’ve learnt my lesson. There’s just no fun in thinking things through.

Happy Birthday To Me!

I’m being bullied by a blank page into stringing sensible sentiments together, purely on account of having had a birthday.  What bollocks truly, that  like clockwork every year comes an unspoken compulsion to get introspective and such.  I’m all thunk out . . .  though my birthday memory crate may just be worth digging through.

Once upon the earliest  memory of my worst birthday, I was turning  10 … I think. As misfortune would have it, my textbook Wicked (i.e. Evil. NOT slang for cool) step mother ,decided that throwing a party would be a delightful idea. It would have been a down right stellar occasion, had she not been quite so dreadful.  Bare in mind that although she disapproved; she knew all too well that  I was textbook Tomboy, yet insisted on my wearing  an itchy white meringue of a poofy dress, that I was prohibited from getting out of. This meant that I floated dismally on land, while watching all the other children  splash about gleefully in the pool.  So much for happy on that birthday.

Fast forward to what I suspect may have been  my 19^th birthday. What a surprise of a day.  Assuming that I have the correct year in question; I would’ve been a 2^nd time first year at WITS; and had by this point accumulated a vast array of friends , who for the most part knew very little of each other.  One can imagine the happy lump in my throat when  2 friends from res, collaborated with my “Masters” (a trio of boys I spent countless occasions drinking with, at on off campus dodge spot called Veers); who in turn touched Base with the likes of  Gareth (a notorious master mind).  I was positively flabbergasted to find them all gathered at someone’s spot , in the name of surprising me with a celebration of ME! We all got our guzzle on; I cursed my way through a verbal altercation,  & at some point I was suitably caught doing a smudge more than just making out in the bathroom with whomever’s spot we were at.  That was a swell time.

As have been the past three years.

25 was a blast out at the park with  unforgiving punch ; interruptive rain  & an affair that was brewing right underneath my plastered nose.

26 entailed a road trip to Polokwane. A couple’s retreat of sorts.  A scrumptious braai on the Saturday; where my sweet corn stuffed gem squash was quite the hit among all 3 couples (including the one I was one half of).  Sunday began with champagne; then followed a late breakfast out somewhere with horses, & a squabble filled drive back to GP; with me as the boozy birthday girl of a passenger.

27 was a whimsical  affair with masks & all & all. The Olive garden with it’s fitting fairy lights & palette pleasing Mediterranean menu, could not have been a better venue. It would just so happen that on that day I had to compete with a Chiefs vs Pirates match, so by default the celebrations in question verged on being  a ladies luncheon.  Gifts galore I tell you. I was blessed to the power of infinity on that day & everyday thereafter to be honest.

Along came 28 . LOVE! LOVE! LOVE!  Apparently I’m bordering on depressed, so when this year came around, I wasn’t moved to be festive. Thank goodness that Lindy wouldn’t have it any other way & proceeded to invite someone’s to have birthday drinks with us at the pub across the road. The turn out touched me; the blunt fucked me & the shots kicked us ALL in the ass.

That being said. . . .Thank You!  To anyone and everyone whose mind I ever crossed on any of my hatch days. Those who love me enough to stand me & especially those  who made it a point to be part of my Tuesday: Lindy ; Taz; Nelis; Anele; Mimi; Tshego; Miss Mokoena;  Foreman a.k.a Swiss Beats;  Du Preez; Ntshepi ; Teddy; Spanky & brother; Lyric & George (in order of arrival. . . I think)

Thank You!

The night before The Morning After

"Hi! Forgive my father's efforts" , was the beginning of a text I received once upon a morning after the night before.

It began with a much dreaded photo shoot. The facing of the fellow DJ who had the honour of a steamy swimming pool make out session, on the eve of our year end function. The eve I lost my BlackBerry. A very VERY drunken eve. . . Hence my not appreciating that he went ahead and sat bang smack across the table from me; during the whose who in the Trans Africa Zoo meeting. Meeting ajourned. Now onto striking poses!


Snap! Flash! Snap!
The madness of people gathering
Clique-ing
Slam. . .
Right into the man.

A boy man at that. All of 25 years old.
#DeathByMe
Courteous Hug. Unexpected kiss on the cheek. Sweet and short.
It's over!
Now to get the fuck out of there.

Whew!

We that is the Stereo Dtox crew, moseyed on to greener pastures. Puff, puff pass pastures. Black Label all around as we settled ourselves at the Lamunu Hotel; nestled amidst the backdrop of a bustling Braamfontein. Never in the history of my Braamfontein escapades have I seen that many white folk fluttering in and out of the cafe's and alleys of good old Braam. Suddenly all the friggin Cafe's begin to make sense. This is who they were developed for in the first place. Light Bulb Moment!

That aside, we mingled. . .with white folk nogal. Canadian Patricia and Texas born Susan; whom Ade kept well entertained with talk of Africa and introducing them to The Fridge!! Then along came Samthing Soweto. It was all too YAY for words, till Sam called me a bad fan. Pity Thusi didn't surface before Gideon ushered them away. The Fridge posy cruised off to prepare for their performance at Dub Saved my life; while Mr Jones and I hopped on over to greener-er pastures.

Colonial Kitcheners!

The dark grungy textures of Kitcheners fed our photographic thirst. We would've soaked up every crevice if we could have, however my one armed companion failed as dismally as jittery me to take a successful pic of the fantastic shot opportunities with which our setting blessed us. Naturally, he casually asked equally casual surfer boy to shoot at whatever we wished him to aim.
Aim. Shoot. Aim. Shoot.

Surfer boy's equally pretty accomplice joined in on our newly formed collaborative acquaintanceship. Twas a serene dilly dallying of minds. Banter in abundance. . .Blunt too mind you.

Puff, Puff, Pass.

Like a well rolled joint, I passed myself on from the "aim shoot" escapade, over to the passionate debate in the colourful characters corner.
"Hi. Sorry to intrude, I couldn't help but overhear. Mind if I sit and listen silently?"
Talk about an enthusiastic reception. Before I knew it, I was the topic at hand. That's not what I signed up for though? Turns out that the Father to my right had an agenda of his own, and wasted no time asking "So where's your boyfriend?". I made the mistake of assuming what this mans intentions were, when meanwhile; Daddy Dearest was simply having a go at playing cupid. A look to my left and there was the suitor in question. I size him up favourably. Me likes what I see!

"You two should really get together again soon. You have lots to offer each other." Two guesses who had that to say? Daddy dearest of course. Cupid was all out in full force. "Obvious" is an understatement; and "Awkward" is oddly enough everything that that moment in time, wasn't. Son and I flirted subtly; while Father and I chatted fluidly.
"Thank you", I say softly expressing my appreciation for Black Label number who knows what. Suitor mentions knowing a shop where I can get my hands on some exciting African fabrics. Hmm, he heard my comment drinks ago about getting a dress made. Brownie points for this well versed man. His opinions excite me. Did I mention his being handsome in a non-offensive way?

"Take her number", insists Father.
"What's your number?" asks Son.

As they say, "Ask and it shall be given you; seek and ye shall find".

Goodbye's are said somewhere at this point. "You really made an impression on me", says cupid. I can't offer him anymore than a humble smile. I'm moved mind you. Even merely at the memory of his sentiments; I'm moved.
I'd saved Cupid's suitor son for last. Planted my arms gracefully around his torso and wished him well.
A comfortable parting. Gentle... Perhaps even too short?

The solemn moment was aptly shattered by shutter-bug Solomon and my main man Medicine. Merriment all around! A tequilla or 2; a drink or more. . .who knows. The buzz of evening was in full swing, and my tipsy was on the verge of drunk. A good time for home time; after a day which was indisputably a GRAND time!

"Hope the rest of your weekend was as delightful for you, as meeting the lot of you; was for me" , ended my reply to a text I received, Once Upon the morning after.

Q & A

Once Upon a new year, I’m haunted by a memory bank of some retarded questions I’ve either asked or answered… or more truthfully; harmless questions that I was retarded enough to either ask or answer.

Q) How many people have I slept with in 2011?

A) ***CLASSIFIED INFORMATION***

But like really? Why was I asking myself such? My reaction would have still been the same irrespective of the answer.  Let’s say I’d slept with all of 2 people in 2011, I would’ve perched on some moral high horse & patted myself on the back. Had the answer been “too many to count”; I still would have been gloating about how much game I have. Not to say it’s not important in this day and age to keep tabs of who you’re sleeping with, just that I was asking for all the wrong reasons.  Much like the time I once asked;

Q) And me?

To which he answered

A) She’s better than you.

In my defence, he asked the question 1^st. I’m just the sorry sucker who decided to play the comparison game; hoping that the praises I had just sung, would’ve been reciprocated.  

Questions that can be thrown back at you, should never be asked if your own answer to the same question, is not the kind of thing you want to be disclosing.  I learnt this the sticky way when my curiosity propelled me to ask :

Q) So when was the last time you got any?

An acceptable enough question; so long as you aren’t getting your flirt on with a Hottie who might be put off by the fact that your answer to the question is

A) This morning.

Why is it though (she makes the mistake of asking herself) that men are repelled by honest answers such as the one above; yet I’m indifferent to the answer:

A) Yeah, 14 years now

When the question I asked was:

Q) Are you in a relationship?

For what it’s worth, I’m all flirt and very little action & have no intention of physically disrespecting that High school sweetheart romance. . . Can’t say the same for him though; but that’s her baggage.

Truth be told; we all have some kind of baggage, so perhaps questions can be a great deal more remedial and a whole lot less catastrophic, if utilised correctly?

Granted I won’t vow to ask less, because then I’ll tragically learn less. Instead I’ll make a major effort to live this year in such a fashion whereby, irrespective of what the question might be when I have my next reflective episode in 2013, the answers won’t spazz me out.

Cheers to the friggin New Year! I’ll drink to that.

ENTER!

My lips don't lie.

My lips don't lie, but my parts pretend.
What flavour am I?

Taste Me
Touch Me if you will.
Stroke away
Supple Huh?
I don't bite,

May I nibble at your you,
While you flip through the pages of my me?
Limb by Limb
What flavour am I?

A snack perhaps?
Sink in
Indulge
Crunch
Cherish

You're liking this aren't you?
Is it me?
Or is it the moment?
The mood
The melody that is us.
Ambience
Atmosphere
I'm right here.

Sentence by sentence
You seep into my skin.
Settled in.

What do you find?
Toffee flavoured me. . .

Nah!
Not toffee.

I could be your favourite song.

Fancy Me!
I'll be her
Still be me.
Your Fantasy
Hopefully

I aim to please.

Sex personified
Puns aside
I aim to please.
What flavour am I?

Is that a satisfied smile on your face?
The pleasure was ALL mine.
Help yourself to me anytime.
Quarter past just now
Tomorrow
Forever.
Whenever

I'm here

Tangible

Buzzing on the intimacy of sharing me with you.

Here's a piece of me
For you
Can I treat myself to some of you?
A secret slice
A secret.

Slice through me
Beneath
Within
Beside
On Top.

I'm allowing you in.

ENTER!

Hi!
My name is Christine.
Feel free to know me.
Inhale
Savour
Live
Smell
Listen
Taste!

Nestled on the tip of your tongue
Swallow!

Take another bite.
Am I your flavour?

What flavour am I?

I like what I like

I LURVE Pizza!
Love it! Love it! Love it!
I hate certain toppings though. Chicken pizza's; barbeque sauce. . .EEW!
The same with men, I LURVE Men! Love them from their "hair follicles, all the way down to their toe nails", as Miss Scott would say.

Once upon the full stop at the end of a piece I won't publish, I caught myself feeling defensive about peoples judgement of my preferences.

Why is it that there is little to be said about the fact that I loathe pineapple on pizza; yet it's obscene that I discard a man the moment he opens his mouth & can't speak proper English? Beyond how you speak your English, if you don't speak to ME in English, well then. . .loose my number. It's not discrimination, it's MY preference.
On top of the politics of English being my 1st language, I have to duck for cover because light skinned brothers are my cup of tea. These penchants of mine tend to aggravate those bopping along to the surging trend of Africanism & what have you.

If Steve Biko could write what he likes; can I not like what I like?

A big bulk of both my female & gay friends, like very manly men; I personally don't , but you don't hear me accusing them of discriminating against skinny pretty boys?

What few stop to recognise, is that when I've been the prey in the game of conquests; I've been quite a good sport about trying out toppings outside of my natural palette. I've tried girls; guys with gold teeth & many other sorts that I'd rather not re-live. When I'm the hunter on the other hand; light skinny pretty boys with nappy hair & a firm grasp of the English language; are what it takes me to get into hunt mode.

The bitch is that I actually hunt very little. Of the handful of times that I could concretely (without confusion) call someone "My Man"; only 20% was head hunted by yours truly. Best I embrace the Lioness in me & get my hunt on, because that's a dismal statistic.

So like really now, I'm done!
Done with Cringing. Done with tasting. Done being hunted.

As for being done with Pizza. . .
Come now! A girls gotta eat.