Here's a little exercise of mine that turned out well. It's a visual piece.
The grass was long caressing his face in tune with the light breeze passing through it like an intruder. A stone was chewing at his buttocks systematically carving through the naked skin. The sky was like a moving picture; black and white. The white patches were long streaks following the direction of the grass inexorably disappearing in the horizon like so many streams on their journey towards the ocean.
The yellow moon, stark in its contrast with the sky shone dimly over the landscape. He could not look at the moon for its colour forced his sense of smell to focus on sharp, sterile fragrance of his own encrusted urine. His body slowly sank further into the soft earth beneath him; later he would realize that the catalyst for the softening ground had been the taste in his mouth, coppery and fluid.
The papers would later recount the events of this night of horror. The pain he felt in his body was nothing compared to the tortures in his mind. He could deal with his body but the prison of pain kept him trapped there like an inmate, an innocent man serving an inescapable life sentence. He fought through it for the pleasure of physical pain was a prize he wanted but each time he escaped something dripped in his eye, breaking his concentration like wardens that kept dragging him back to his cell. Each time, back in his mind, he started recounting events, recounting to the point where he could no longer accept the truth then he would feel the stone beneath him, notice the red tint on the grass around him, the pain in his joints, the broken toes of his right foot and then; the drip.
The drip would drag him back; a drop at a time bleeding into his eye. The drip painted the sky red and the moon would be a bloody eye staring, accusingly, back at him. The drifting white streams would become torrents of blood rushing over the cliff that was the horizon and again he would recount the blood of the evening and the pain. The drip would once again drag him back to his mind. It never occurred to him to lower his head but then he would want to close his eyes and that would trap him inside all night. He could not have lowered it, had he wanted to.
At one point there was a blue light flashing through the grass and voices of men calling unintelligibly. He had not answered for humans were a threat to him and his new found sense of violation. That sense would concretize in the presence of another human being and he would be forced to physically recount the evening. He did not think that he would be able to survive a retelling; he could barely survive going into his own mind, what with actively recalling.
The moon sank ever lower, his own eyes following its down descent and its occasionally conspiratorial red blink at him, like it knew him, like he knew it. The lower it sank, the dimmer it became; the grass had disappeared in a haze and the stone was now a part of him. As he followed the moon he increasingly felt the physical pain numb even as the mud around him became slicker and slicker. Even his mind became less of a burden as he was only forced to witness the occasional flash of memory running through it.
When he and the moon had almost disappeared the sky was beginning to take on colour; blue. He watched blue gradually overpowering the black and white and the more prominent blue became the less he was aware of himself. He knew he still existed but he did not know how, why or in what form but the moon, the moon was the only entity he could identify with, they were one.
When it was about to expire he reached out to it beseechingly and it blinked once last time as they both died.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Is there really this large a gap between us?
As I was sitting, nursing the remains of last night’s hangover by feeding my caffeine and nicotine addictions; a cool breeze flowed over me, seemingly friendly in its gentle eagerness to address my alcohol induced dehydration. It crept in under my loose shirt, and like a familiar lover, it caressed my back, slowly and coolly it touched the nape of my neck making me shiver. In my ears my phone played Dead Can Dance’s Host of the Seraphim; isolating me audibly from the world. I smiled.
The book in my hands was a Jean Paul-Sartre handling a man’s struggle with an ever increasing awareness of his existential existence in a world of communal experience. The book however, couldn’t succeed in grasping my attention as my mind kept flowing back to last night’s expedition and ironically my communal experience with a friend to break down the barriers of our separate existential awareness’s.
We were bored and had started drinking too fast too early. There was, or still is, a question which has occupied my mind for a few days now; “The female experience of sex as opposed to that of the male”. The table behind us was occupied by three females, girls, young women. I approached them broaching the initial communication barrier frankly and honestly, wanting to know first hand of the differing opinions that separates man from woman in this sacred physical act.
Having expected immediate reproach in such an endeavour I was surprised by the openness with which I was greeted by these three. Me and my friend were invited to take seats and delve into the depths of this topic. I was listened to interestedly as I stated my case with its relevant specifics, the replies were enthusiastic even if there was a measure of confusion concerning the female perspective. It occurred to me during one of the ladies’ soliloquy that none of the three at the table had ever really been able to answer my stated problem to them with any measure of honesty. The discussion was abruptly cut off when a new face appeared at the table; a male friend of the ladies. Obviously they had a preset of behaviour established with this male friend which did not include frank discussions comparing the male and female experience of the sexual realm.
We retreated from the table. Somehow we were once again engaged with our neighbouring table and its new occupant who presented his case on sexuality from a biblically religious point of view. We did not challenge his views; we simply asked him the questions that we knew would lead him into logical barriers. His enthusiasm wore thin when we inevitably led him to the end of his “logical” alleys. We were then accused of being inappropriate though we had said nothing of our own views and had only prompted him to continue his own train of thought. We then aborted this demographic of enthusiastic and curious young ladies coupled with a religious patriarch.
Disappointed and unsatisfied with the aborted discussion we contemplated going homeward. This plan too was aborted when our neighbouring table’s occupants were replaced by two more ladies and a male friend. I and my friend made our estimations on the new demographic and ultimately I decided to approach the new occupants with the same conundrum. We were met even more enthusiastically by the new occupants and what followed was a frank a ultimately fulfilling discussion.
Though the discussion could come to close on this occasion we were still left wanting with clear answers to the question. “How does the female experience of the physical act of sex differ from that of a man?”
The conclusion I was left with at the end of the evening is this: For a man it is much easier to separate emotion from sex, for us these can easily be two mutually exclusive categories. While on the other hand, the input we had received from the ladies of the evening was that they were either unable or unwilling to separate emotion from sex at all.
“What do I want physically from sex?” one said. She had then gone quiet for several seconds and continued to tell me how she wants to feel considered during the act, how she wants the realization that her sexual partner was thinking of her as well even if she were not to make any physical demands of him herself. She wanted an emotional bond.
“Forget any kind of emotion during the act. Imagine that you have now decided you’re going to take a stranger home tonight in order to fulfil a physical need of yours. What would you want from him physically?” I asked of her. All five ladies we had met last night responded with a certain kind of confusion, as if it were unreasonable of me to expect them to make the distinction between sex and emotion.
These last two finally answered that for themselves at least it was not possible for them to make the distinction. I am not sure if this is the answer that one would get more often than not from a woman but in light of last night’s expedition it certainly seems so. If sex were simply a biological need for a man and emotion was a by product of inter-gender interaction it seems that emotionally charged sex is in itself is the need for the human female.
It seems that a satisfactory summation of last night can be found in the work of Jean Paul which I had neglected only an hour ago. We are all single and lone beings, ultimately trapped within our own bodies and minds, but the sharing of a communal experience can be most strongly felt within the act of copulation; the most sacred of physical human activity.
I guess the most important question here is; Are we biologically one being or two separate beings when we share our bodies with one another?
The book in my hands was a Jean Paul-Sartre handling a man’s struggle with an ever increasing awareness of his existential existence in a world of communal experience. The book however, couldn’t succeed in grasping my attention as my mind kept flowing back to last night’s expedition and ironically my communal experience with a friend to break down the barriers of our separate existential awareness’s.
We were bored and had started drinking too fast too early. There was, or still is, a question which has occupied my mind for a few days now; “The female experience of sex as opposed to that of the male”. The table behind us was occupied by three females, girls, young women. I approached them broaching the initial communication barrier frankly and honestly, wanting to know first hand of the differing opinions that separates man from woman in this sacred physical act.
Having expected immediate reproach in such an endeavour I was surprised by the openness with which I was greeted by these three. Me and my friend were invited to take seats and delve into the depths of this topic. I was listened to interestedly as I stated my case with its relevant specifics, the replies were enthusiastic even if there was a measure of confusion concerning the female perspective. It occurred to me during one of the ladies’ soliloquy that none of the three at the table had ever really been able to answer my stated problem to them with any measure of honesty. The discussion was abruptly cut off when a new face appeared at the table; a male friend of the ladies. Obviously they had a preset of behaviour established with this male friend which did not include frank discussions comparing the male and female experience of the sexual realm.
We retreated from the table. Somehow we were once again engaged with our neighbouring table and its new occupant who presented his case on sexuality from a biblically religious point of view. We did not challenge his views; we simply asked him the questions that we knew would lead him into logical barriers. His enthusiasm wore thin when we inevitably led him to the end of his “logical” alleys. We were then accused of being inappropriate though we had said nothing of our own views and had only prompted him to continue his own train of thought. We then aborted this demographic of enthusiastic and curious young ladies coupled with a religious patriarch.
Disappointed and unsatisfied with the aborted discussion we contemplated going homeward. This plan too was aborted when our neighbouring table’s occupants were replaced by two more ladies and a male friend. I and my friend made our estimations on the new demographic and ultimately I decided to approach the new occupants with the same conundrum. We were met even more enthusiastically by the new occupants and what followed was a frank a ultimately fulfilling discussion.
Though the discussion could come to close on this occasion we were still left wanting with clear answers to the question. “How does the female experience of the physical act of sex differ from that of a man?”
The conclusion I was left with at the end of the evening is this: For a man it is much easier to separate emotion from sex, for us these can easily be two mutually exclusive categories. While on the other hand, the input we had received from the ladies of the evening was that they were either unable or unwilling to separate emotion from sex at all.
“What do I want physically from sex?” one said. She had then gone quiet for several seconds and continued to tell me how she wants to feel considered during the act, how she wants the realization that her sexual partner was thinking of her as well even if she were not to make any physical demands of him herself. She wanted an emotional bond.
“Forget any kind of emotion during the act. Imagine that you have now decided you’re going to take a stranger home tonight in order to fulfil a physical need of yours. What would you want from him physically?” I asked of her. All five ladies we had met last night responded with a certain kind of confusion, as if it were unreasonable of me to expect them to make the distinction between sex and emotion.
These last two finally answered that for themselves at least it was not possible for them to make the distinction. I am not sure if this is the answer that one would get more often than not from a woman but in light of last night’s expedition it certainly seems so. If sex were simply a biological need for a man and emotion was a by product of inter-gender interaction it seems that emotionally charged sex is in itself is the need for the human female.
It seems that a satisfactory summation of last night can be found in the work of Jean Paul which I had neglected only an hour ago. We are all single and lone beings, ultimately trapped within our own bodies and minds, but the sharing of a communal experience can be most strongly felt within the act of copulation; the most sacred of physical human activity.
I guess the most important question here is; Are we biologically one being or two separate beings when we share our bodies with one another?
Friday, January 1, 2010
Microcosm Continued
Happy New Years and all that. Exams and other shit caused me to forget about the blog for a while; that and I’m a lazy little shit.
So yes, the microcosm for a faulty youth, I believe that’s where I was last.
I remember sitting in the back, watching, observing the people my age. All were drunk this time of the morning and this made it just that much easier to observe.
From the pool tables to the left, the dance floor to the right, the bar furthest from the door and the seating behind the dance floor there was an impressive collection of glances being thrown between the 4 areas.
The guys at the pool tables were constantly eyeing the girls on the dance floor. What made this interesting was a group of girls on the dance floor; at one point one stopped dancing, eyeing the pool tables and the guys there with their phallic pool cues. Gradually the group of girls as a unit opened up towards the pool tables to a point where not a single back was turned towards that area with its harvest of males. The males grew more interested and their eyes made the journey towards the dance floor with increased frequency. Admiration from afar.
The tallest girl, I remember, kept swinging her hair over her shoulders, dancing all the while with her eyes closed, breasts pushed out, and lips in a slight pout. Her eyes only opened when her head was up straight allowing her a clear view of the pool tables. I sat there imagining what would happen if one of the pool guys walked over to her and straight out asked if she were interested in him. Consider the possibilities of that sort of approach; they’re eyeing each other and both parties are in some way interested in each other. Come to your own conclusions and I’ll share my own a bit later in this post.
We’re all used to seeing sex as an advertising aid but a realization struck me as I sat there that morning. I’m guessing by this time it was around 2 AM to 2:30 AM. Nightclubs are places where girls (or women for that matter) get attention and guys get to imbibe some liquid courage. Alcohol does not change who you are, it BRINGS OUT who you are. Men are sexual creatures, women less so but they like the attention none the less. So here I had a building full of males (drunk) and females (drunk) to study; the males hoping to high hell to get laid and the females not exactly sure what they want but liking what they were getting.
“Microcosm for a faulty youth”. You may ask me, ‘It’s a building full of drunken people. What’s faulty about this?’ Well you see, the faulty comes in that there’s a huge lack of what everyone within the building wants; sex and/or attention. Why the youth? Because the youth is this mass of awkward half adults who aren’t clear in the first place about what they want, and secondly about how to get it, so yes, a faulty youth. You see, after noticing this interplay of the two groups of male and female I started looking around for more examples. There was a different group of girls there, one girl in particular was interesting; she wore a short dress, so tight and short that she was constantly adjusting it but alas comfort was an aloof beast that morning. She was with three other girls, and after a few minutes of observation three guys joined them, they obviously knew each other very well; this group of male and female. The seven of them danced for a short time before retreating to a table. Further observation led me to conclude, of course, that all three guys were extremely interested in three of the girls in the group. Maddeningly the girls did not seem to share this sentiment in regards to the guys. The body language told all, the girls all had their backs focused towards the guys and their eyes were everywhere but on the unfortunate males. The males constantly tried to engage the females; they were rewarded with short answers and placed in the background thereafter.
This is where I decided to test my theory; I kept my eyes locked on one of the girls, obviously not the most beautiful of the group but attractive none the less. To have focused on the prettiest (Short tight dress) meant an automatic decrease in responsiveness since I don’t exactly fit the picture of traditional manly beauty. The one I focused on met my eyes and looked away; I looked slightly to one side and noted that her eyes kept returning to me. She wasn’t interested in one of the guys at the table, but… the second prettiest one at the table also liked the attention she got from me. Attention she got from afar.
So obviously something is wrong with this picture. Guys unsuccessfully hunting sex, and girls feeding off of attention gotten from afar? Yes this is faulty, very faulty. So here is the microcosm I’ve presented you with. Let’s indulge in some imaginative and idealistic thinking. Imagine this microcosm in our society. Ok? Now remove from the picture ALL thought of rape, violence, STDs, AIDS and the fear of impregnation.
Ok, can you imagine a nightclub where no girl has to fear being raped? Where sex with a stranger has NO chance of giving you a disease? Where sex is without consequence? Imagine it.
Ok, now consider our microcosm again with this idealistic attribute attached to it. A guy wants sex, a girl wants attention. A guy walks up to a girl and tells her he finds her extremely attractive and would be honoured if she were to help him satisfy his cravings. She feels flattered that her fucking tight and uncomfortable dress has lured someone willing to pay homage to her. She accepts his offer and they adjourn to a suitable place to dance the dance; a satisfactory arrangement for both parties.
“But what about monogamy!” you yell.
You need to find someone to be monogamous with before you can practise it. Married couples very rarely were first loves. Unless it was arranged… but this is beside the point.
Our real world microcosm has these fears attached to it. So what happens now? Guys have to work very hard to get girls and they end up not caring who they take home and what they often take home are girls who are so easy to take home because they have tainted pasts or other problems(applicable to guys as well). So in our real world microcosm those who practise indiscriminately are assholes and sluts and the ones who don’t practise out of fear are… frustrated and they go back regularly and get drunk and look and hunt and hunger. Who wins?
Our idealistic microcosm does not have these fears and thus you’d have a population of very happy people. I know many of you are yelling: “Sin! Heathenism! Promiscuity!” Fuck you if you haven’t figured out that I’m describing two extremes here you idiot.
Neither extreme is good. The problem is that we’re stuck with this one extreme in our Western culture and I believe that it extends over a large part of Eastern culture as well. Cultures who practise our idealistic extreme are also faulty because STDs, pregnancy, poverty and so on is prevalent. The point is that either extreme is bad and cultures practicing either cause unnecessary suffering for them. Individuals practising either extreme are in danger of causing themselves harm.
There’s a statistic, high income families have 2.5 children and low income families have 7 plus children worldwide. Two extremes, how do we balance this out? By educating ourselves and making a conscious effort to NOT BE A DUMBFUCK!
So yes, the microcosm for a faulty youth, I believe that’s where I was last.
I remember sitting in the back, watching, observing the people my age. All were drunk this time of the morning and this made it just that much easier to observe.
From the pool tables to the left, the dance floor to the right, the bar furthest from the door and the seating behind the dance floor there was an impressive collection of glances being thrown between the 4 areas.
The guys at the pool tables were constantly eyeing the girls on the dance floor. What made this interesting was a group of girls on the dance floor; at one point one stopped dancing, eyeing the pool tables and the guys there with their phallic pool cues. Gradually the group of girls as a unit opened up towards the pool tables to a point where not a single back was turned towards that area with its harvest of males. The males grew more interested and their eyes made the journey towards the dance floor with increased frequency. Admiration from afar.
The tallest girl, I remember, kept swinging her hair over her shoulders, dancing all the while with her eyes closed, breasts pushed out, and lips in a slight pout. Her eyes only opened when her head was up straight allowing her a clear view of the pool tables. I sat there imagining what would happen if one of the pool guys walked over to her and straight out asked if she were interested in him. Consider the possibilities of that sort of approach; they’re eyeing each other and both parties are in some way interested in each other. Come to your own conclusions and I’ll share my own a bit later in this post.
We’re all used to seeing sex as an advertising aid but a realization struck me as I sat there that morning. I’m guessing by this time it was around 2 AM to 2:30 AM. Nightclubs are places where girls (or women for that matter) get attention and guys get to imbibe some liquid courage. Alcohol does not change who you are, it BRINGS OUT who you are. Men are sexual creatures, women less so but they like the attention none the less. So here I had a building full of males (drunk) and females (drunk) to study; the males hoping to high hell to get laid and the females not exactly sure what they want but liking what they were getting.
“Microcosm for a faulty youth”. You may ask me, ‘It’s a building full of drunken people. What’s faulty about this?’ Well you see, the faulty comes in that there’s a huge lack of what everyone within the building wants; sex and/or attention. Why the youth? Because the youth is this mass of awkward half adults who aren’t clear in the first place about what they want, and secondly about how to get it, so yes, a faulty youth. You see, after noticing this interplay of the two groups of male and female I started looking around for more examples. There was a different group of girls there, one girl in particular was interesting; she wore a short dress, so tight and short that she was constantly adjusting it but alas comfort was an aloof beast that morning. She was with three other girls, and after a few minutes of observation three guys joined them, they obviously knew each other very well; this group of male and female. The seven of them danced for a short time before retreating to a table. Further observation led me to conclude, of course, that all three guys were extremely interested in three of the girls in the group. Maddeningly the girls did not seem to share this sentiment in regards to the guys. The body language told all, the girls all had their backs focused towards the guys and their eyes were everywhere but on the unfortunate males. The males constantly tried to engage the females; they were rewarded with short answers and placed in the background thereafter.
This is where I decided to test my theory; I kept my eyes locked on one of the girls, obviously not the most beautiful of the group but attractive none the less. To have focused on the prettiest (Short tight dress) meant an automatic decrease in responsiveness since I don’t exactly fit the picture of traditional manly beauty. The one I focused on met my eyes and looked away; I looked slightly to one side and noted that her eyes kept returning to me. She wasn’t interested in one of the guys at the table, but… the second prettiest one at the table also liked the attention she got from me. Attention she got from afar.
So obviously something is wrong with this picture. Guys unsuccessfully hunting sex, and girls feeding off of attention gotten from afar? Yes this is faulty, very faulty. So here is the microcosm I’ve presented you with. Let’s indulge in some imaginative and idealistic thinking. Imagine this microcosm in our society. Ok? Now remove from the picture ALL thought of rape, violence, STDs, AIDS and the fear of impregnation.
Ok, can you imagine a nightclub where no girl has to fear being raped? Where sex with a stranger has NO chance of giving you a disease? Where sex is without consequence? Imagine it.
Ok, now consider our microcosm again with this idealistic attribute attached to it. A guy wants sex, a girl wants attention. A guy walks up to a girl and tells her he finds her extremely attractive and would be honoured if she were to help him satisfy his cravings. She feels flattered that her fucking tight and uncomfortable dress has lured someone willing to pay homage to her. She accepts his offer and they adjourn to a suitable place to dance the dance; a satisfactory arrangement for both parties.
“But what about monogamy!” you yell.
You need to find someone to be monogamous with before you can practise it. Married couples very rarely were first loves. Unless it was arranged… but this is beside the point.
Our real world microcosm has these fears attached to it. So what happens now? Guys have to work very hard to get girls and they end up not caring who they take home and what they often take home are girls who are so easy to take home because they have tainted pasts or other problems(applicable to guys as well). So in our real world microcosm those who practise indiscriminately are assholes and sluts and the ones who don’t practise out of fear are… frustrated and they go back regularly and get drunk and look and hunt and hunger. Who wins?
Our idealistic microcosm does not have these fears and thus you’d have a population of very happy people. I know many of you are yelling: “Sin! Heathenism! Promiscuity!” Fuck you if you haven’t figured out that I’m describing two extremes here you idiot.
Neither extreme is good. The problem is that we’re stuck with this one extreme in our Western culture and I believe that it extends over a large part of Eastern culture as well. Cultures who practise our idealistic extreme are also faulty because STDs, pregnancy, poverty and so on is prevalent. The point is that either extreme is bad and cultures practicing either cause unnecessary suffering for them. Individuals practising either extreme are in danger of causing themselves harm.
There’s a statistic, high income families have 2.5 children and low income families have 7 plus children worldwide. Two extremes, how do we balance this out? By educating ourselves and making a conscious effort to NOT BE A DUMBFUCK!
Friday, October 16, 2009
Insomnia? Boredom? Here's how to not solve either.
At home last night I felt the impending threat of insomnia. Your body tells you it needs to shut down and rest but your brain wants to know nothing of it. This clash between body and mind is a constant annoyance I’m sure many people can relate to. With me it’s a semi-permanent state of being. “Sleeping Without Pills” is how I’ve come to think of it.
This threat of sleeplessness was worsened by the fact that I was bored at 1:30 AM. How would one overcome both boredom and insomnia? One was easy; just do something, the other… well that would have to take care of itself.
I grabbed the car keys and made the 15 minute trek into town to a local nightclub named Midnights, definitely not one of my favourite places, but I figured that wearing my sobriety-goggles would offer a new perspective. What I found was a microcosm of what I believe to be today’s youth. Here’s what happened.
The entrance is built into the side of the building accessible by going along a small alleyway. Heading in, there was a guy passed out against the wall with his friend next him, elbows on knees. Two girls were sitting to the left back in a corner, one obviously upset and the other apparently frustrated at something on her cell phone, a bailed ride home most probably.
At the entrance: a skinny guy whom you pay for the luxury of entering and a burly bouncer standing close by studying the faces of those coming in and checking their wrist marks to make sure no chancers were trying to slip through. I paid my monies and as I held up my right wrist to be stamped for entrance the bouncer yelled at me through the excruciatingly loud music “Are you here to pick someone up?!?!” I looked at him shook my head and crossed the partition into the club.
The music’s volume intensified, becoming a grey buzz with the heavy bass that seemed like an infant not quite born yet; the speakers did not like the volume the either and was straining to produce a sound recognizable as music. I smiled to myself at that point as I remember thinking to myself that after consuming half the month’s food budget in alcohol any music would sound like… music at least.
Opposite from me was the bar, to my left the pool tables and to my right the dance floor. I made my way down the middle isle consciously lifting my feet as each step was opposed by the sticky layer of alcohol and broken glass on the tiled floors. The strobe lights, disco ball lights and random flashing lights weren’t in sync with the music or each other, or anything at all. They seemed to be having an orgy of their own, oblivious to the tribal dancing that they were lighting. I wonder how responsible adults could ever have considered Pokemon a valid epilepsy threat with these kinds of luminescent erotica in nightclubs.
The large wood bar that spanned the entire back wall of the place was just as sticky as the floor, this was the fault of one of the barlady who recklessly poured as many drinks in as short a period of time as she possibly could. A shooter glass over a row of drinking glasses, she upended the whiskey bottle pouring the whiskey into the shooter glass, into the drinking glass and so she went until it was time for the coke to be added. I stood back a bit, slightly revolted at all the stickiness that was being spread around.
I was slightly annoyed at the butch barlady, whose top seemed to want to crush her breasts through the cleavage hole, as she entertained a loud drunkard who repeatedly showed two fingers then one, two then one; congratulations guy, you’re 21 and a man now, get the fuck away so I can get a beer. He bought 2 shooters from a bottle I identified as Stroh Rum, 80% alcohol, she had to drink one and he drank one.
Eventually “Two And One” took his excitement somewhere else and I got my beer. I scanned the place through the mass of bodies on the dance floor and decided to situate myself in the back behind the dance floor. From there I could survey the entire club and drink my beer in peace.
The real fun started when I’d seated myself and lit my cigarette. Coming next; a nightclub as a microcosm for faulty youth.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
And Welcome
Apart from my mediocre title and vague name, welcome to my blog.
Now, to negate the vagueness, I suppose it would be a good thing to give a brief overview of what I'm hoping to achieve here.
I am a man of many opinions and very few convictions and I filter most of these opinions through the people that I know and in most cases call friends. To Start this blog off I'm going to give you, the reader, some background into who I am and how I experience the world; this will hopefully provide a lucid and transparent platform from which you can share my experiences and opinions.
I am a 23 year old white South-African who grew up in a former homeland named Boputhatswana. Bop, as a country, was integrated into South Africa after the fall of apartheid after 1994. The Bop capital city named Mmabatho became the capital of the North West province (1 of 9 provinces).
My father moved us (I wasn't born yet) to Boputhatswana to get away from the "broederbond" mentality. That means he wanted to get away from the overly conservative socialist environment that the apartheid regime had nurtured.
The idea that I have is that many of the white families in Bop had gone there for similar reasons as that of my father. The white population in Bop was a professional one, engineers, architects, intellectuals etc. Of course the whites were the vast minority in Bop but the atmosphere there was one of co-operation; and Mangope, the president, understood that these white "immigrants" were there for the same reasons that the local black population avoided the rest of South Africa.
Bop boasted the best recording studios in the southern hemisphere (Elton John's soundtrack for the Lion King), a world class sports stadium, an international standard university, a proper airport, and all these facilities are today still within a 20 minutes' drive of each other. Bop was a small but prosperous homeland and I believe it was the archetype of what the South African government wanted to create for the black population.
Do not misunderstand me, I like my father, still have strong feelings about the abuses and stupidity that was Apartheid. What I'm saying simply is that Boputhatswana was a wonderful place for black, white, indian, colored, chinese or whoever to live in. It was wonderful because Mangope was a great leader who used the finances he recieved from the Apartheid government to build a prosperous and apartheid free homeland. Mangope achieved the multi-cutlural dream that the ANC today still uses as a propoganda vision.
The ANC tried to smother the whole region that used to be Bop after 1994. The Airport has only recently started working again, the stadium is in ruins, BopTV has long since closed down, the recording studios are in disrepair, its safer for your car's health to drive on a Tswana Chief's dirt road than on municipal controlled tar roads. According to the ANC, Boputhatswana was run by a traitor who led a failed experiment. If you speak to any Tswana person (the local tribe) they'll tell you in bitter tones that the ANC is run by Xhosas and Zulus who cannot control their tempers.
What's happened in Mmabatho since it became the capital of North West Province South Africa, is alot worse than what happened in Mmabatho as the capital of Bophutatswana.
I'll just briefly attend to my personal experiences. I was in dual medium schools where whites were the minority. I played with the neighbors' children; guess their ethnicities. I was never even aware of what apartheid was until I was much much older than 8 years old (in 1994). I was only exposed to the white apartheid mindset when at 17 I went to a white school in a conservative white town.
One thing I'd like to add concerning South Africa is that it seems to me today that the number of BMW driving government officials is increasing steadily, poverty is increasing steadily, emmigration is increasing steadily... Wait wait wait wait, there's a more efficient way of saying this.
As time goes by there is/are:
MORE: BMWs, poor people, crime, emmigration of professionals.
LESS: Money, jobs, development.
Newspapers have great fun documenting these things.
So there is a brief summation of my background. I hope it isnt too boring or still too vague, these things are the impressions that I carry around with me today. This blog is NOT intended as a political platform with which to express my opinions on South Africa. This first post is simply meant to give the reader a general idea of where I come from.
Now, to negate the vagueness, I suppose it would be a good thing to give a brief overview of what I'm hoping to achieve here.
I am a man of many opinions and very few convictions and I filter most of these opinions through the people that I know and in most cases call friends. To Start this blog off I'm going to give you, the reader, some background into who I am and how I experience the world; this will hopefully provide a lucid and transparent platform from which you can share my experiences and opinions.
I am a 23 year old white South-African who grew up in a former homeland named Boputhatswana. Bop, as a country, was integrated into South Africa after the fall of apartheid after 1994. The Bop capital city named Mmabatho became the capital of the North West province (1 of 9 provinces).
My father moved us (I wasn't born yet) to Boputhatswana to get away from the "broederbond" mentality. That means he wanted to get away from the overly conservative socialist environment that the apartheid regime had nurtured.
The idea that I have is that many of the white families in Bop had gone there for similar reasons as that of my father. The white population in Bop was a professional one, engineers, architects, intellectuals etc. Of course the whites were the vast minority in Bop but the atmosphere there was one of co-operation; and Mangope, the president, understood that these white "immigrants" were there for the same reasons that the local black population avoided the rest of South Africa.
Bop boasted the best recording studios in the southern hemisphere (Elton John's soundtrack for the Lion King), a world class sports stadium, an international standard university, a proper airport, and all these facilities are today still within a 20 minutes' drive of each other. Bop was a small but prosperous homeland and I believe it was the archetype of what the South African government wanted to create for the black population.
Do not misunderstand me, I like my father, still have strong feelings about the abuses and stupidity that was Apartheid. What I'm saying simply is that Boputhatswana was a wonderful place for black, white, indian, colored, chinese or whoever to live in. It was wonderful because Mangope was a great leader who used the finances he recieved from the Apartheid government to build a prosperous and apartheid free homeland. Mangope achieved the multi-cutlural dream that the ANC today still uses as a propoganda vision.
The ANC tried to smother the whole region that used to be Bop after 1994. The Airport has only recently started working again, the stadium is in ruins, BopTV has long since closed down, the recording studios are in disrepair, its safer for your car's health to drive on a Tswana Chief's dirt road than on municipal controlled tar roads. According to the ANC, Boputhatswana was run by a traitor who led a failed experiment. If you speak to any Tswana person (the local tribe) they'll tell you in bitter tones that the ANC is run by Xhosas and Zulus who cannot control their tempers.
What's happened in Mmabatho since it became the capital of North West Province South Africa, is alot worse than what happened in Mmabatho as the capital of Bophutatswana.
I'll just briefly attend to my personal experiences. I was in dual medium schools where whites were the minority. I played with the neighbors' children; guess their ethnicities. I was never even aware of what apartheid was until I was much much older than 8 years old (in 1994). I was only exposed to the white apartheid mindset when at 17 I went to a white school in a conservative white town.
One thing I'd like to add concerning South Africa is that it seems to me today that the number of BMW driving government officials is increasing steadily, poverty is increasing steadily, emmigration is increasing steadily... Wait wait wait wait, there's a more efficient way of saying this.
As time goes by there is/are:
MORE: BMWs, poor people, crime, emmigration of professionals.
LESS: Money, jobs, development.
Newspapers have great fun documenting these things.
So there is a brief summation of my background. I hope it isnt too boring or still too vague, these things are the impressions that I carry around with me today. This blog is NOT intended as a political platform with which to express my opinions on South Africa. This first post is simply meant to give the reader a general idea of where I come from.
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