Meet me at the place
where we hit a dead end
in the woods I lead you into
to steal a kiss that day.
I hesitated in the awkward silence
because I wasn’t there
and I thought that you weren’t there either
And then I lost my way
for another year or two
but I did look for you
to say I’m sorry.
I fell in love
when I looked at your shoes
accidentally, so you did too with sweet uncertainty.
By the way, my favourite colour is blue.
Have you figured out
by now that
Another week and Sarah is becoming comfortable walking the side streets and back alleys in her area. Car in view of sight and things in car to sell, just to get through the day. It’s expensive being poor.
It began on a Sunday. Second hand stores closed and no coffee, nicotine and, more importantly, toasted cheese sandwiches and doughnut Sunday for her child. Bread and cheese to feed a child and goddamned coffee for the adult as bare minimum at least. As if it’s not hard enough to face another day of this seemingly endless struggle. Some depression has…
It’s a year and more after what Sarah can only rightly call her disintegration.
Initially, she was shell shocked. She floated for months in what she had, jokingly at first, called her voluntary dissociation. She had chosen to step back from those pesky feelings. A conscious decision that had become impossible to return from.
Drifting. Detached. Going through the motions. Casually observing. No longer participating. Feeling little. Not even the good stuff anymore. It all seemed fucking surreal. Entirely pointless. Sometimes amusing. Frequently really fucking sad. Life and the endless striving. The compulsively avoided fear. Greed. The selfishness because…
2014 — The work begins…
Sarah’s story only really begins at the age of 44, even though it seems impossible for a person to be born this late in life. But things are not always what they seem, and learning is not always linear in time. Neither is life, as it turns out. If you don’t quite believe this I can, perhaps, try to show you why I think this may be entirely true.
Sarah is sitting on the floor in her living room, when suddenly she is back. She makes eye contact with her three year old son and…
That is what this part of the journey is for Sarah, despite the solo walk and loneliness.
Just a bit over two years and some time ago, there had been a banal, mediocre semblance of what she had thought might be peace. A bit of what she had thought may be genuine connection and happiness in between that, as well. But beneath it all… pushed down deep but always rising up again to choke the light, lay the ever present barely muted voice of anxiety and depression.
Nobody would have guessed it though. Nobody ever did. Even when…
Just do it
And it’ll be fine
and I’ll be enough
I can achieve it
Am I happy
Maybe I just
It ain’t there
looking, seeking, searching,
trying , trying, trying -
to find -
take a fucking breath
open, open -
It’s in the smile
of a dog
the pebbles of a stream
of a stranger’s hug
and the light from
the wind in the leaves…
Why the Psychedelic Trance “Scene” isn’t “working”
I made my first EDM track as a, now grateful, dedication to a scene that I still happen to think is cool, even though they don’t believe that they are. Yet.
Because that is how this all works. And they have enlightened me.
I grew up in the Trance scene in South Africa. The one where everybody signs off their emails and social media posts with “Love and Light.” What a load of bullshit. Although it was a blast. I’ll give it that. But then I got sober.
I was introduced to the…
I’m a “white” (skin tone only) South African so I get to say this, I think.
It’s kinda like being African American and so being able to use the “N-word.” Or being a Lesbian and being able to use the “D-word.” Which I do as well because I think Dykes are sexy as fuck.
I know any statement that defines an entire demographic or group of humans is fucking stupid. I send this story into the world with this awareness and the humor with which it is intended.
What I will do is speak from my stupid white South African…
Part of a short story entered into a Challenge that may afford me the time to write the book that may never be written…
I met Sarah some time ago on a walk in a wild place, where dogs were still allowed to run off-lead. Perhaps this was why she went there so often. I had seen her there for over a year by the time we began to talk.
She was a slender woman with a beauty that could only be seen by those looking deeper than themselves. High cheekbones, now too pointed thin. Long wavy sun-striped hair, usually…