Suckling’s Plea to its Mother

It envelopes. Takes you quickly. The lights and music and art all scream deeply from the vocal cords of an Africa that pleas for more! More of us running around in the streets of its heart singing the songs of Ubuntu. Take me in Mother, for I have come to drink!

It envelopes. Takes you quickly. The lights and music and art all scream deeply from the vocal cords of an Africa that pleas for more! More of us running around in the streets of its heart singing the songs of Ubuntu. Take me in Mother, for I have come to drink!

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Kobus “Rot” de Kock

Some moments are perfect. Pure ecstasy courses through your every fibre and you would do anything to hold on to that feeling, anything at all. Every reservation, confinement, prejudice, sadness, heaviness, insecurity is purged from your body for those few seconds and you become free. Free from the world's bullshit and that is worth getting addicted for.

Some moments are perfect. Pure ecstasy courses through your every fibre and you would do anything to hold on to that feeling, anything at all. Every reservation, confinement, prejudice, sadness, heaviness, insecurity is purged from your body for those few seconds and you become free. Free from the world’s bullshit and that is worth getting addicted for.

Cardboard Lies

Nothing quite like a blind sight. It is a folly of routine, prejudice, assumption and all those adjectives that make you experience a human being, an animal, indeed any other life form, as far away, apart, separated when in reality it is never evident that they look back and see you, see some part of you that feels that a dismissive wave of the hand is an acceptable way of dealing with those that do not fit into your budget of alcohol, cigarettes, treat foods and all that other shit you think you so desperately need.

Nothing quite like a blind sight. It is a folly of routine, prejudice, assumption and all those adjectives that make you experience a human being, an animal, indeed any other life form, as far away, apart, separated when in reality it is never evident that they look back and see you, see some part of you that feels that a dismissive wave of the hand is an acceptable way of dealing with those that do not fit into your budget of alcohol, cigarettes, treat foods and all that other shit you think you so desperately need.

The Beautiful People of Johannesburg

These are the people of a new world who slowly wash the blood stains from the streets with paints and songs and photographs and fashion. They dance freely, love openly, and influence actively. This is the New York of Africa where building walls tell the stories of a new future whilst slowly lifting the lingering undertones of a dark shadow left by the generations who could have been similarly overwhelming in presence when witnessed in such vibrant arenas of thought and exploration. But alas, they are not to be mourned, but remembered, celebrated. Do this dance with me Jozi, for I have come and I brought with me incredible beat.

These are the people of a new world who slowly wash the blood stains from the streets with paints and songs and photographs and fashion. They dance freely, love openly, and influence actively. This is the New York of Africa where building walls tell the stories of a new future whilst slowly lifting the lingering undertones of a dark shadow left by the generations who could have been similarly overwhelming in presence when witnessed in such vibrant arenas of thought and exploration. But alas, they are not to be mourned, but remembered, celebrated. Do this dance with me Jozi, for I have come and I brought with me incredible beat.

We’ve been smoking

You caught me with the fag in my hand and all I could do was to flick it lightly over my shoulder turn around and walk away with my friends as a full bag of groceries fell to the floor. The eggs broke. The eggs broke all over the floor and then it came. That booming sound from the machine that had lost it's purpose many years previously and now primarily occupied itself with sounding a meaningless alarm every time the smallest of incidents disrupted its sensitive space, paid for and therefor its rightful field of dominance. The machine did not care about the smoking, but it did not like the cigarette on the floor, it did not care that the eggs would now never be eaten but that new eggs had to be purchased, it did not care for the tears that mommy cried, just that they were cried for me.

You caught me with the fag in my hand and all I could do was to flick it lightly over my shoulder turn around and walk away with my friends as a full bag of groceries fell to the floor. The eggs broke. The eggs broke all over the floor and then it came. That booming sound from the machine that had lost its purpose many years previously and now primarily occupied itself with sounding a meaningless alarm every time the smallest of incidents disrupted its sensitive space, paid for and therefor its rightful field of dominance. The machine did not care about the smoking, but it did not like the cigarette on the floor, it did not care that the eggs would now never be eaten but that new eggs had to be purchased, it did not care for the tears that mommy cried, just that they were cried for me.