Light My Candles in a Daze

I’m so happy. Today I found my friends. Actually it was last night, as I was doing my obligatory lap around the city, fast black car in a faster black leather jacket (a good black leather jacket should either make you want to commit crime or fight it), I passed a road towards the beach I’d never noticed before. Going nowhere as I was I decided that this was there.

It turned around a row of dunes into a small parking lot, the edge of which had collapsed into the sand below, around 10 meters away from the waters edge. I assume it was damaged in the recent storms or maybe it’s been like that for years and no one pays it any attention. Which is a lie, because there were two other cars there, in that parking lot, hidden from the main road by the dunes, facing the sea, each with one driver and no passengers like me.

There are plenty of other places to go and park your car and stare at the sea here but normally, its families and couples and fishermen. But not here.

So I parked the car, a fair enough distance away to give them their privacy and in our aloneness, we stared at the sea together. One was a girl with a notebook. The other an old man.

I wonder if thousands of years ago, before we had cities and night clubs and single sites and book clubs and your best friend’s birthday party, we would go to the sea and wait for each other there.

The Kid

Some homeless guy first found the kid. Nearly flipped his lid. Ran up to me and said
“Listen to the crazy shit this kid is spewing” which coming from a homeless guy, reeking of cigarettes and stale booze, is a pretty bold statement. So I humoured him and said ok, then turned to the kid. What he said next nearly destroyed the world.

“What if we were all just nice to each other?”

It may seem like a pretty common idea now but back then, you got to remember, we were killing each other ‘n warring ‘n raping the earth, not all peaceful like it is now. So I ask him to repeat himself and he says

“I said, what if we were all just nice to each other?”

So I phone the Chief of police and get him out here to listen to this kid’s crazy political theory, some kind of socialisitimarxisidemocracticthingamaboo that just don’t seem to make sense even though it does.

Chief comes down with a couple of SWAT teams to see what’s going on. By now, there’s a bit of a crowd around the kid, and he’s a dirty little bastard in some torn jeans and what used to be a white t-shirt with some fucked up sneakers and a runny nose and the crowd's doing that “raarraarrarararr” low mosquito noise. The chief yells “What the hell’s going on here?”
“This kid’s lost his mind Chief” says some cop who got their first.
“You called me out here for a kid? Throw him in the back of a van and get him to a home or something I aint got time for shit like this.”
“No Chief, listen to what the kid’s got to say”
“This better be fucking amazing son or you’re going to be working security at a fucking lemonade stand once I’m done with you.”
“It is Chief, listen to him.”

Chief turns to the kid and says “Ok kid, let’s have it. What you got to say?”
“I said” and he clears his throat “What if we were all just nice to each other?”

And at that moment a bead of sweat was born on the Chief’s forehead and I swear I saw it happen. I could see the cogs in his head working and the little puffs of steam coming out his ears.

Ten minutes later there’s a black helicopter touching down in the middle of the street and guys in black suits and black sunglasses hop out and grab the kid, all civilised like because obviously we’re all watching to see what’s going to happen, which is nothing because once he’s in the copter, they take off again. And that’s the last we ever saw of that kid.

I heard that they took him to see the president. And then they took him to this tiny little cement room down in the bottom of the building, and shot him in the back of the head.

It was a while before we managed to get the word out about what the kid said, but we did, the world changed and you’d best be grateful for what that kid did, saying what everyone was thinking before they were even thinking it.

In other news

Editing page styles and layout in blogger is like trying to wrestle greased hippos and only nearly as pointless.

I'm just going to assume the late 90's neon pink and day-glo blue the links on my page have become will eventually disappear once the last post I made goes off the page.

Things I've Eaten Lately

Biltong

Biltong is beef jerky. Basically. Dried meat (kudu, beef, ostrich, springbuck, etc) and spices. It's something to be ridiculously proud of, as a South African. I sincerely doubt it’s as good as I think it is.

But I’m still not going to stop thinking that way.

I ate this for breakfast on the way to Kysna, in the car, driving through the burnt veldt and blasted bush between here and there. I will miss my car when I leave the country. I owned two rusty VW Golfs, illegally, before this car. Getting a driver’s license is not the easiest thing in the world on this side of the world. You can wait up to a year for a test and if you mess it up, you’ll wait another year.

Vida e Café Chorico Misto & Coffee

Vida is the best coffee shop, in the world. Their only downfall is that they’re incredibly trendy and incredibly expensive. I imagine I would like the place more if other people didn’t. They base their menu on Portuguese style food from West Africa.

I enjoyed my roll and coffee outside the front of their Knysna branch. For some reason, in Knysna, they bring your food to you, instead of yelling out your order number. This may be because there’re less people there.

My friends, Carl, an eco-car specialist and general do-gooder and Angie, an online fashion journalist, meet me there and we drive to their holiday place, overlooking the Knsyna heads.

Boerewors, Sosaties And Garlic Bread

Boerewors is traditional South African sausage. According to Wikipedia, Sosaties are

Sosatie (pl sosaties) is a traditional South African entree. The term derives from sate ("skewered meat") and saus (spicy sauce). It is of Cape Malay origin, used in Afrikaans, the primary language of the Cape Malays, and the word has gained greater circulation in South Africa.

Carl prepared these on the braai while we caught up and watched the sun set. I burnt my fingers taking the garlic bread off the fire. We then drank an acceptable amount of beer and Jagermeister. I passed out on a chair in the middle of the first Nightmare On Elm Street movie. I own the box set so the irony of falling asleep during a movie, in which the main character attacks you, in your sleep, is not entirely justified.

The Best Pizza In The World

A small padstal (roadside shop) had been recommended to us. Apparently, they sell “the best pizza in the world”. When we got there, there were several messages on the walls, scrawled in thick black pen from previous visitors, about how much they had enjoyed “the best pizza in the world”.

This was not the best pizza in the world. It was just a tribute (I have stolen this joke and several others, unashamedly, from Carl).

A very, very good tribute.

Maybe it was the best pizza in the world and I just haven’t eaten enough pizza in other parts of the world yet.

This was breakfast before we went into the Cango Caves. Once again, we must turn to Wikipedia.

The Cango Caves are located in Precambrian limestones at the foothills of the Swartberg range near the town of Oudtshoorn in the Western Cape Province of South Africa. The principal cave is one of the country's finest, best known and most popular tourist caves and attracts many visitors from overseas. Although the extensive system of tunnels and chambers go on for over four kilometers, only about a quarter of this is open to visitors, who may proceed into the cave only in groups supervised by a guide. Tours are conducted at regular intervals on most days - there is a "Standard Tour" which takes an hour and an "Adventure Tour" which takes an hour and a half. The "Adventure Tour" consists of crawling through narrow passages and climbing up steep rock formations guided by small lights. The caves contain spectacular halls and grand limestone formations (on both tours) as well as some rather small passages on the Adventure Tour. The smallest passage that tourists will have to pass through on the Adventure Tour is just under 30 cm high at the exit.

The caves have an amazing way of making you realise just how soft and squishy you are, compared to several tons of solid rock. They are also incredibly beautiful.

Luckily, none of us got stuck.

Thai Prawn Curry

From the Firefly Eating House.

This is only the second time in my entire life I’ve eaten prawns. Which I’m ashamed of considering I’ve always lived by the coast, I’ve just never really developed a taste for seafood. The first time I ate prawns, I had to be incredibly drunk and it nearly ended a relationship.

Unfortunately, I didn’t enjoy them that much however everyone else seemed to enjoy their food immensely. There is nothing worse than food envy.

We went to two other restaurants before this. However, they were both on a recently developed island for the Mac Nouveau Rich. The first turned us away. Or at least, told us that the kitchen was closed. This may have been because we were lost and so we circled their parking lot several times. During this time, we were listening to AC/DC. Very loudly. With the windows down. It was hot.

You don’t realise how quiet everything around you is until you get out of a very loud car.

We didn’t even bother going into the second restaurant after we saw the velvet lined chairs and neon green placemats.

After our trip to the Cango Caves and dinner, it was deemed necessary that we watch The Descent. I made it three quarters into the movie before other people wanted to go to sleep. I watched the rest the next morning.

Knsyna Heads Club Sandwich

This sandwich consists of a layer of tuna-mayo, a layer of bacon and cheese and a layer of egg. Worth every cent.

This provided enough sustenance for us to make it to Birds of Eden, which is the largest aviary in the world.

Beef Nachos

From the Surf Café. The worst beef nachos, in the world. Ever.

Chips.

An unhealthy supper.

Omelette.

Unknown restaurant.

Dodgy Sandwich.

Petrol station.

Toast.

In front of laptop. Typing.

Sunset

I'm sitting at the table in the lower picture, typing this.

Off To Kysna

Check out the This Is A Lie twitter feed on the top right if you're interested, it's a new project I'm working on in a similar vein to I Wrote This For You, only darker. Once again, I'm just trying to find a new way to tell a story.

I'm going to Kysna for a few days which, last time I checked, does have wifi somewhere so I'll hopefully still be able to update from there.

Kysna, according to Wikipedia

...Knysna too is a favourite haunt of artists, restaurateurs and hippies. The nearest beach is located at Brenton-on-sea which lies directly west of the heads and is continuous with Buffels Bay, a popular surf spot.

Knysna's other claims to fame are as the end point of the Outeniqua Choo Tjoe steam railway, and as home to the fabled Knysna forest elephant...

So I'm off to play amongst the hippies and the elephants. I'll also hopefully finish the latest draft of the book while I'm there.

See you later.
- Emo Guy, Ex O Ex O

Ten Minutes Ago (Now Longer)

Ten minutes ago, the ANC announced that they'd be asking president Thabo Mbeki to step down, nine months before the national elections because they believe he may have had something to do with the 'political conspiracy' against Jacob Zuma, who is the current president of the ANC (who has won every single election since democracy in 1994) and without a doubt, the next president of the country.

For those of you who don't know, Jacob Zuma is still currently battling against the fraud, money laundering and the recent rape charges against him. His other claims to fame include saying, in the rape trial, as the head of the National AIDS Council (in a country with the highest HIV/AIDS infection rate in the world, where 5000 people die every single day from this disease), that he "Had a hot shower" after he had sex to make sure he didn't catch AIDS.

His theme song, which he and his supporters sing outside of every single court appearance he has, is "Umshini wami mshini wam" which loosely translates into "Bring me my machine gun." It's an old struggle song from the Apartheid days.

This man is a far cry from Nelson Mandela. And he will be the next president.

Surprisingly enough, me leaving the country next month, has absolutely nothing to do with this.

I've been mugged more times than I can count, several times at knife point and once at gun point. I've learnt that nothing is permanent because whether it's in my home, my car or on my person, it can be taken from me. And so I cling to very little because I know the only important things in life are the things that cannot be taken from you.

Being mugged, at knife point or not, shot at or not, has absolutely nothing to do with me leaving the country.

The fact that most of my friends have already left because they can't get a job, based on the colour of their skin, has got nothing to do with me leaving the country (I honestly don't have a problem with the country's Black Economic Empowerment policies, I do however think they need to start implementing them in more practical ways).

The vitriol hatred and subtle racism I sense from some white people (and black), still, after all these years, is also not a factor.

I'm leaving because I feel like it. Because I feel like seeing Europe and I haven't really travelled and I have the opportunity to do it now. Because as much as I love this place, the cradle of mankind, which I consider to be the most beautiful place on earth, I feel like being somewhere else for a while.

I will return. Because there is no more varied and diverse nation on the planet. Because we have 11 official languages (and sing our national anthem in three of them). Because of Zulu love poems, written entirely in beadwork. Because Afrikaans is the most expressive language to swear in. Because I have yet to see anything manmade that comes close to the clouds covering Table Mountain. Because I refuse to hate.

Because I was born on this patch of dirt on the tip of Africa and, as flawed as it may be, I love it with every single fibre of my being.

The national broadcaster just cut away from some music program to a live broadcast from the ANC NEC's meeting, where they were supposed to announce whether or not Thabo Mbeki, the president, was going to be sacked. They cut over just in time for the ANC spokesperson to say "I'm sorry, we actually have nothing to announce right now"

It seemed pretty awkward for everyone involved.

There's padlocks on the attic door. And I need a key to unlock the gate in the middle of the passage in my house. The alarm will go off if I go outside to have a cigarette, a part of why I've stopped smoking. All I can wonder is if I'm upset at my parents for being paranoid or upset that they have reason to be paranoid.

Electric Woman - Live At Zula 2004/5

A spoken word piece I did several years ago.

Electric Woman

I am my own last boss

And my own last level

And I power up

On your spectacular vernacular

Your secular etcetera

I am four black space invaders

Racing through

Your night

Which is like

This

I write this

But you are your own awkward silence

And your own hesitation

You are your own one player game

But our monsters are still the same

So God forbid player 2 should enter the tournament

Even though he did insert his credit

You let it drop

You bet it dropped

So God forbid I should save over your file

And delete your character

God forbid I should play on without you

God forbid

But God’s never stopped her

Little Miss Game Over

last night

The neighbourhood watch needs to relax, honestly, I'm just driving around slowly because I feel like it, not because I'm getting ready to steal a car.

I kept wishing that I had some place to go and relax but the truth is, there's nowhere I could go that would allow me to just sit there, looking forward, listening to music.

I have touched snow once in my life. It was colder than I expected.

Something I Remembered

My dad lives in his wheelchair, has done since I was born. One day, when I was about 7 or 8 years old, he calls me over and says

"I want to see how strong you are."

Of course, when you're a boy, showing your dad how strong you are is a big deal. So I go over.
He tells me

"Put your hand in front of your face like this, now pull a fist. I'm going to try and pull your hand away and you've got to try and keep it there."

So I say ok. I'm 8, remember. My dad starts pulling and I'm holding my own and doing quite well in my humble opinion when he lets go.

I smash my fist into my face so hard, I give myself a blood nose and end up on my ass on the floor. My mom comes through when she hears the commotion, my dad's laughing his ass off and manages to help me get up. He looks at me and says

"Let that be a lesson to you. Trust no one. Not even your own father."

It may not sound like it, but there was a tremendous amount of love in those words that's hard to explain or quantify. Now, 20 years later, if he thinks I'm about to do something stupid, he still says

"Or you could just put your hand in front of your face."

He's the strongest man I know.

I often find that the people who read my blog are far more interesting than the person who writes it.

Round Here

She says "Did you think that you were dreaming?"

I say "No."

She says "Did you think that you were dreaming?"

I say "No."

She says "Did you think that you were dreaming?"

I say "Sometimes I don't know."

- Counting Crows

Strange flags

The guys looking for work sit at the side of the road, row upon row of them. 1 in 6 or so with an extended paint brush, leaning out against a tree, like a flag saying "You don't have to buy me a paint brush, I've got my own. I will paint your house, your wall, your floor, your door, your window, your anything if you'll let me. Please." But I need nothing painted and I don't live here anymore.

In a dream, I woke up inside a CD the other night. I'm not used to dreaming. It was bright and reflective and full of colour and I was there with people I didn't know. I'm not sure what album it was either.

Taking this time off before I started working again has been the best thing I've done in a long time. I feel more in touch with myself than I have in years. The longest break I've taken in 7 years has been about 2 or three weeks. I could probably keep doing this. But I also really like being busy.

The best girls are the ones that want to stay in bed and listen to music afterwards. I don't think I can ever have another night holding someone knowing it'll be the last night I hold them. If and when it happens again, it'll happen during the day. It will be a surprise for both of us.

It's like getting in a car and knowing it's going to crash. But both of you get in anyway and you hold each others hands and you cry. Waiting for the glass to shatter.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe we shouldn't try and feel everything. Or maybe I'm just tired of feeling it.

While You're Here

Try and leave the place a little better than you found it.
Keep it tidy.
Make stupid, rash mistakes.
Learn from those mistakes.
Try not to make mistakes with other people's hearts.
Understand when people make mistakes with yours.
Make sure you don't let them do it again.
Do what you want as long as it makes you happy.
Make sure youre happiness doesn't become anyone's sadness.
Listen to the people who have already been here for a while.
They seem to know what they're talking about.
Try and be the person you think you could be.
Don't get upset when you aren't.
Keep trying until you are.
Find people to love and to love you back.
Get mad at them.
Forgive them.
Repeat as needed.

Hurt.
Love.
Lose.
Win.
Dream.
Fear.
Dare.
Cry.
Smile.
As often as possible. Try and do all of them at the same time if you can.

Make lots of money.
Be poor.

Do both at least once and see which one you prefer.

Love.
Love.
Love.
Love.
Love.
Love.
Love.
Love.

A lack of work means I'll make music videos.

My cat has unfortunately passed since this footage was taken. I think I knew he was about to go which is why I started filming him.



I had a band/lived here with some friends for a while, many, many years ago (this song is not soft on the ears, at all).

I am only effective as part of an energy controlled balanced diet.

I got a friend to take pictures of me smoking with my shirt off when I was 16 so I could send them in a letter to you.

I went to a whites only, boys only school. Until around 1993 when it became just boys only.

I need to start working again soon before I disappear up my own ass and come out the other side.

I land in Amsterdam on October 10.

Either I am getting more offensive as I get older or the world has become a more sensitive place.

Self-analysis is not entertaining or art.

There's all these studies that say people are more depressed now than they were then or the economy (global) isn't doing as well as it should, as if we're not sure of these things and we need studies to confirm that the world is a scary place right now.

Of course the world is a scary place right now. You can feel it, I can feel it. I don't need a researcher to tell me that 9 out of 10 people they called out of the blue felt the same way too.

I'll talk about anything but my life.

A diary is a long winded letter you write to a person who used to be you.

I've said that already. I repeat myself constantly. I just phrase it differently each time.

Love one another or perish. - Auden.

Love each other. Love each other. I write this for you. What did you do for someone else?

In a world is filled with people whispering "I did this for you" we all care for each other more than we care about ourselves and we don't have anything left to worry about. And the world will be a paradise.

There seems to be a distinct lack of accountants who visit my blog.

Sketchbook

Writing a blog is like standing up at a flea market to tell your life story. A picture contains a thousand words but a word can contain a thousand pictures; Love.

Commas, commas, commas, commas, commas, commas, commas and no more commas.

Each comma, hyphen, colon and full stop is just a drawing in of breath. A capital letter running down a hill. This is how we breathe. This, is how we breathe. This: is how we breathe.

Here, I am constantly surrounded by the ghosts of the person I used to be.

Here I am. Constantly surrounded by the ghosts of the person I used to be.

I tried to explain to my mother how to pause live TV on my parents new PVR decoder (like Tivo). After the third or fourth time of trying to explain it to her, I realised I had to start a little further back. “30 years ago or so, someone created this symbol consisting of two vertical white bars that introduced us to the concept of ‘pausing’”

Then I had to go through the ‘play’ symbol and why it shared space with the ‘pause’ button. And then the abstract concept of being able to push one button to do two things, like a garage door button that both closes and opens the garage door, to use my exact words.

Then I came back here to write that down and started wondering where the icon for the pause button comes from. No one seems to know.

Why I'm Leaving South Africa

South Africa has a lot of problems, as we all know. And while many will call me a whiner and a naysayer I feel obliged to stand up and start addressing one of these problems in particular. Every South African reading this knows what I’m talking about. It’s a problem that Thabo Mbeki and this post-apartheid government have failed to address time and time again.

Lions. Fucking lions. Everywhere. You can’t leave your house without becoming another statistic, a victim of these savage carnivores. We’re prisoners in our own home Mr President because, since the advent of democracy in 1994, you have time and time again failed to address the ever increasing lion population.

It used to be that if you found one rummaging through your garbage at 5 o’clock in the morning, a hearty thwack on the nose with a rolled up newspaper would sort the problem out quick sticks.

But not anymore. Now we must dash madly, shopping bags clutched desperately to our bosoms, heels a clicker-clacker, from the store to our car before we are mauled and ravaged like tiny mice.

I am sick of hearing the terrified screams of the poor unfortunate bastards caught out in the open after dark.

Every South African, no matter the colour of their skin or their HIV status can relate to the feeling of walking alone at night and freezing, suddenly, fingers on cell phones, hands in purses, urine flowing unabated down your inner thighs as you hear the low, rumbling growl of a hungry lion.

And who can forget Emily Daniels? The poor girl who dove into the ocean to avoid being eaten, only to be ripped limb from limb by the distant cousins of these evil animals, sea lions.

Or when you’re driving along and you come to a four-way stop and an entire fucking pride of the bastards are SITTING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD. And God forbid you should hoot unless you want your car to look like a Nine Inch Nails Album cover.

Where is my cat Mr President? I heard him getting into a fight with, what I thought was, another cat last night and I haven’t seen him since. WHERE. THE. FUCK. IS. MY. CAT. MR. PRESIDENT?

I hope he was delicious.

But of course, Lions are only one aspect of what’s slowly tearing this country apart. I’m not even going to start on the diamonds that are strewn across and litter this once great nation of ours. I dream of living in a country where I can go jogging and not stub my toe against the hardest substance known to man.

You have a responsibility Mr President. A responsibility to this country and its people to start catching these lions and putting them back in the zoos and safari parks where they belong. To clean up the diamonds that blind us as we drive home along our temptingly meaty freeways. And return this country to its former glory. I refuse to continue to live in fear of becoming a midday snack.

When this is done and I and other South Africans can walk the streets without an emergency sack of decoy meat, I will return.

I love and will miss all of you, especially the more tasty looking among you. Good luck.

Iain Thomas

Life, Death & The Stuff In The Middle