Breaking the Silence (for 16 days)

On Sunday afternoons,
It was her father’s friend The family favourite;
“He’s so good with the children,” they said
The one who stole youth from the young.
And the cousin - the elder, boy, cousin
The one who liked her to play in his room
With the door closed.
No one noticed he was too old for “playing”

It was a Sunday night,
and he, a complete stranger to her.
She a young woman, alone in the night
Who carried within her, a world of possibilities
“What was she doing there anyway, what was she wearing?”
“Was she drunk?” the infamous they, the black hole, they would say
As they recount the story of what was taken from her,
On a library pavement,
Where I spent my childhood years drinking in the innocence,
of Judy Blume and Nancy Drew.

For her, it was Sunday mornings
In the house of God
Defiled by the devil himself,
Approved by the highest universal authority,
Protected by the pact of silence,
“This will be our little secret,”
“No one will believe you anyway.”
A little girl who had not been taught the language of emancipation,
still bound in her adulthood she cries;
“Mama, was I bad mama?”

Everyday for her, it was,
Her father,
Who took her as a wife At age 11,
Becoming the mother of three.
A mother to her own siblings
Before the blood and pubic hair of her womanhood
Had touched the fabric of her panties
As she lay in the big bed
And got to drive a big car at age 11

Breaking the silence
Shattering this non-reality
To see the scars inflicted by the cycle of abuse
That which cannot be seen when we silence the voices
In lies that we feed ourselves
To see that which does not always bear visible marks
As women walk alone in the dark

PMS Hammer

It started like this;
The cat (Spike) was scratching my quilt,
A leg sent her flying as the alarm went off,
tripping out of bed,
and stubbing a toe down the stairs,
waiting at the bottom;
2 dogs with wagging tails (Zuki and Nuno),
and dog piss on the new carpet
= one body boiling on a hot stove.

Screaming “FERK, shit,
Where is the sponge?
Get out the fucking house,
shoo”, shrieks, “get out the fucking house!”
Confused black and tan faces race out the sliding door,
And tails cease to wag.

Get the dogs’ food bowl,
sharp stones pierce my bare feet.
“Shit, where are my fucking shoes?”
Shouting and grinding teeth;
no brain, no kick start, lobotomy please.
The helper is one minute late,
stabbing at my watch,
“I told you not to be late!”

Slam the car door,
and drive past the DVD shop,
remembering the DVD’s 10 minutes post the fact,
when three of them stare back at me.
Angry fingers drum on the steering wheel,
slow assholes drive close to the middle of the road
“move over mother fucker,
father’s bastard,
jissee!”, hands fly.
“Can you not see this is a hand signal, wanker?
Move over!”
Wheels burn rubber,
Over a solid white line.
Evil side GLARE,
Shaking head,
(oblivious fucker),
And me,
the scary road rage bleeder.

At the office;
Grunt at colleagues,
And avoid looking at stray dog hair,
an amused soul offers Nine inch Nails,
Trent Reznor relief?
“No thanks,” sweetly, (fucker),
bullet in my head,
rage, rage
enraged.

The computer chugs along
“hurry up”,
thoughts of plastic and glass,
fast forward,
plastic and a hammer
speed x 4, x 10, x 20
chuck the fucker against the wall
a big hammer,
breaks the sound barrier,
lack of iron in the blood?
Then how does heavy metal pulsate through my veins?
I take the computer
And bashing it against the wall,
either side supported by each hand,
in a tight fist,
as though it were the head of all perpetrators,
smashing it into smithereens
over and over, smash, smash.
Such a bitter-sweet chocolate vision
The shards fall at my feet,
I take the hammer and on my knees,
reduce it to a pile of inconsequential plastic and
unrecognisable shattered glass, scattered
and splintered into my palm
glistening with fresh red drops.
Head-hammer-glass,
Glass,
Head,
Hammer.

“Don’t look at me
Don’t talk to me,
Don’t even think...
about me.” *hiss*

sometimes you have to start back at the beginning

the place of departure and the destination remain the same

apologies to margaret atwood for this blatant plagiary

You Begin
by Margaret Atwood

You begin this way:
this is your hand,
this is your eye,
that is a fish, blue and flat
on the paper, almost
the shape of an eye.
This is your mouth, this is an O
or a moon, whichever
you like. This is yellow.
Outside the window
is the rain, green
because it is summer, and beyond that
the trees and then the world,
which is round and has only
the colors of these nine crayons.
This is the world, which is fuller
and more difficult to learn than I have said.
You are right to smudge it that way
with the red and then
the orange: the world burns.
Once you have learned these words
you will learn that there are more
words than you can ever learn.
The word hand floats above your hand
like a small cloud over a lake.
The word hand anchors
your hand to this table,
your hand is a warm stone
I hold between two words.
This is your hand, these are my hands, this is the world,
which is round but not flat and has more colors
than we can see.
It begins, it has an end,
this is what you will
come back to, this is your hand.

Welcome to our world Dylan James Robert

It doesn't get more engleeeeeeeeeeesh than this...

My first blood nephew welcome to the world! It's sad because my sis is so far from me... it's hard the older you get when all these "family" things start happening in the family and your are separated by hours by plane... and $$$ etc... I am sad I wont get to see this little guy growing up much.... he might even be jetting to Singapore soon to live there..but i am so glad he's in the world...

no surprises

So Helen Zille is leader of the DA and apparently this means "a nail in the Afrikaners coffin". Does this include Afrikaans speaking? This was sent by a person who it actually wasn't sent by, because they are English? go figure.

Dina Rodriquez is GUILTY and going to jail, for ordering a hit on a man's child that she never really loved that much? Apparently this snob was mortified that her boyfriend had a baby with a "coloured" woman, so she dashed over the nearest taxi rank to find herself some black boys/men to do her dirty work for her.

Community members in Lenasia burnt down their community center because they are angry with bad service delivery? Who are they screwing over?

Jacob Zuma has been ordained an honourary pastor, probably of the shower denomination.

Some old guy chucked an axe at a four year old to keep him quiet? Well that should do it.

arbitrary crap, but i had to put a new post..seeing Vinnie everytime i open my blog was getting me down.

Vinnie 14/02/2007 -7/05/2007

Unfortunately, this is goodbye. The vet called me this morning, and he said to me that this little puppy is really suffering. I have seen this puppy suffering since Wednesday last week. He was almost emaciated, his body was in pain and he had literally been vomiting for 6 days and he was such a small little guy. After seeing the drip in his leg the pipe in his nose, and yesterday a blood transfusion, he's gone through so much. They said they have done everything they could possibly do for him and he is just not responding to the medication and they suggested he get put "to sleep".

Everything inside of me at this point wants to scream, I've come this far with him but I cannot possibly let this little guy suffer anymore, so I have agreed to this. I cannot keep him alive because I want him to be a part of mine and Ali's family.

Little Vinnie, it was a pleasure to know you for such a short time. Thank you for coming into my life, even in that short time you taught me something and I'm setting you free into that better place so that you dont have to suffer anymore.

Luckily Tears have offered to cover all the costs I have incurred which is really nice of them. I just thought I would mention that in this obituary.

Hang in there little Vinnie...

It's Ali and I, Nuno and little Vinnie and we are all running down Muizenberg beach with the wind at our heels.. Nuno runs into the sea to grab a falling ball that I have thrown her. The ball bounces several times and she catches it in her mouth. Little Vinnie is right behind her and tries to take the ball from her. They pull and tug at the ball from opposing sides, until finally Nuno lets him think he has won.

I am visualising all of this because little Vinnie is very sick, little Vinnie has been at the animal hospital the whole weekend and at just a mere 11 weeks of age, he has a drip in his leg, a pipe in his nose and had a blood transfusion yesterday. Little Vinnie has parva.

Little Vinnie, I've lit a candle for you, I've visualised you in our life. Ali hasn't even gotten to meet you yet. Hang in there little guy, we want you in our family.

Dink jy ook soms jou kollega gaan nie hemel toe nie?
Of dat die meewerking tot jou eie dood met die styging van elke pakkie sigarette se prys heeltemal buite bereik is?
Of dat die lewe groter is as al die antwoorde in ’n 30 seconds-speletjie?
En wonder jy ook soms wat gaan ná kleurtelevisie kom?
En hoop jy ook dat rekenaars uiteindelik die mens gaan vervang?
Raak jy ook soms weg in koerantopskrifte vol bloed wat jou jou hart uit jou borskas wil laat ruk en op ’n tafel sit omdat dit jou te veel aan “mens” herinner?
En ook omdat dit jou te na aan die rand van vóél bring?
Huil jy ook saans oor klein meisietjies en seuntjies wie se onskuld met die lewe gedans en toe verloor het?
En as jy op ’n dag Kaap toe ry en soos ’n mier al vorentoe druk deur die Karoo-maag van ons land, dink jy dan in jou stilte dat Suid-Afrika ’n ver pad gekom het, maar jý het nie? En indien nie, waaraan dink jy dan?
Kyk jy ook weg by verkeerskruisings as die ou man wat sy lewe op sy gesig dra, met handgebare na sy mond vir kos vra? Of kýk jy?
Sién jy die blinde Zimbabwiese vrou wat begelei word met ’n blikbeker – meestal leeg?
Of kyk jy af en skakel jou radio oor na ’n ander stasie?
Is jy daarna dan ook soms lus om uit jou motor te klim en ’n taxibestuurder te lyf te gaan, of skel jy in jou binneste?
Voel jy ook skuldig as jy bruin is en ’n swart huishulp het? En dryf dié skuldgevoel jou om die aand voordat die huishulp die volgende oggend kom, jou kombuis op te ruim?
Of voel jy skuldig as jy bruin is en die outjie op die hoek vra jou of “mêrrim” nie ’n “ôht” (geldjie) het nie?
Selfs as jy wit is, óf swart?
Wonder jy ook soms wie jy is sonder om dit in geografie of taal of ras te probeer verwoord?
Staan jy ook soms kaal voor die spieël en lag vir jouself bloot omdat jy dink jy snaaks is?
Sê jy ook soms vir jouself: “Eendag as ek die Lotto wen . . .” en raak dan paniekbevange omdat daar dalk nie genoeg gas vir die borrel in gaskoeldranke gaan wees nie?
En as jy op ’n Sondag oor middagete in Kentucky se drivethru staan en wag . . . 
En jy sien ’n seuntjie van so sewe of agt wie se gesiggie deur vuur geëien is – hy het nie ’n neus nie, sy vel is nie glad nie, hy het nie hare op sy kop nie en sy een oog is heeltemal toe gebrand, en hy dra sy wêreld aan die buitekant, jy nie . . .
En jy kyk weg soos jy vir die blinde Zimbabwiër wegkyk en die man wat sy lewe op sy gesig dra. En jy huil . . .
In jou binneste . . .
Omdat jy nie antwoorde het op al die wonder, en dink en (skuldge-)voel nie . . .
En dan kom staan die seuntjie wat sy wonde aan die buitekant dra, by jou motorvenster en lag en waai vir jou . . .
Hy lag en jy huil . . .
En hy sê peep-peep as jy wegry en hy lag en jy huil, want hy dra sy wêreld aan die buitekant . . .
Jy nie.
So jy kom skryf dan die binnekant buitentoe om sin te maak van die stiltes tussen woorde wat niemand wil eien nie.
Ali

the POWER of the big word with a little name

aka LOVE

Enter Vinnie...


He's just a little guy. So small compared to me, so vulnerable to me. So needy of me.

He's just a sensitive little guy who yelps at these larger, more powerful animals around him.

I find myself looking at the back and front of these hands, questioning the power I hold in these hands. A part of me wants to keep vulnerable and needy far from me. This weekend I pushed the little guy away emotionally in fear of lashing out at him. When I think back on my life, and I remember what these hands have done when I didn't understand. I remembered my little sister, who was once smaller than me felt the wrath of these hands when we were kids. It's been a long time but I still have that fear.

My fear is my own vulnerability and neediness and so this little symbol of these things, scare me. It's a challenge to hold this power and be responsible with it, to make it beautiful. This sensitive little guy who just needs a little love has walked slap bang into one of my walls of complications.

I remember feeling this way when I got Nuno. I was completely overwhelmed by the whole experience. After she had been with me for a day, I had to leave the house and runaway for a few hours because I felt like she was going to consume me. Such a little thing that needs so much and is at the mercy of what strength I contain in these hands and the darkness I hide in my heart.

He doesn't smell like us yet, but he'll smell like us soon.

Yep, it'll just take some time to warm all of me to little Vinnie... it will just take some time like it does with everyone who comes into my life.

Nuno on the other hand is the complete opposite, I must have done something right yay(you always hear parents say that). She is incredibly delicate with him, except for the claws, most of you know the claws personally, and know they leave even humans yelping but beyond the unintentionally brutal talons, she's so cotton wool with him, even when she puts his head in her mouth!

Vinnie is fascinated by the cats, which dog isn't? He isn't too hysterical with them though. He'll still learn than bum sniffing is not a cat thing, he's had a few swipes already from both Sophie and Spike. I think this time they are a bit more vigilant than they were with Nuno, they've probably learnt be militant now before the dog gets bigger than them.... and that's that for now from Capricorn, Muizenberg this is Vee signing out!

Goeie ou Breyten

Daar is baie baie mooi
belewenisse in die wêreld
en meeste van hulle het
'n snytjie tussen die bene
soos die proegang
tot 'n geheime vrug
van doodgaan...Breyten Breytenbach