Archive for the ‘Literature’ Category

Without a doubt, I should have been urging myself to board the train of thought. It’s been beckoning, yet I could not write it. Only thing is… I could. It was there for the penning. It always has been.


I could have. I should have, but…


What’s an excuse, really? I will not applaud my avoidance of escapism. I shall laud it. I shall wear it as I have the misfortunes of the rugged, as I have the opportunities of the lost.


May your pride sink into the spittle flooding your throat.


To write. To live. To Breathe. To Feel. I missed that euphoric escape. I missed losing myself and channelling the conveyances. How lacking in fabric this is. Yet, I have an ingrained sense of integrity that renders this piece lofty.


You and I are the lechers of texts…



Written by a dude for poop and squiggles.


Warrup warrup! I bring ye the gift of motivation. I bring you the gift of inspiration.


 Get up. Get out and do something.


Nay my peoples, I am not talking about Macy Gray. Entering the arena, we have Big K.R.I.T. The number that we have in mind is “Boobie Miles”. I kid you not.

So, I don’t think this dude is the dopest emcee out there, but I like the message of this particular track: never give up. It’s friggin dope. The visuals reinforce this considerably.


 The only di[fference] between a winner and a loser is that a winner plays until he wins.


That’s the message and the money today. See your ish through to the end. The production is superb. That saxophone threatens to steal the show though. A buddy of mine, Complex Individual, loves the chilled stuff, and he would agree undoubtedly. The visuals are also crisp. Homie has extended the message to the visuals too. All of the imagery seems to reflect this determination or add to the integrity of the track. Stay in your lane. Stay focus. You need that “Eye of the tiger”, man. A sprinter only looks at the finish line.


Eye of the Tiger


Loving his “champion” tee though. The other notable would be:


If it do[es]n’t touch my Soul, I can’t listen to it.

I need to start printing my own tees. Without further ado:




Written by a dude for poop and squiggles.

If you thought Hip Hop was sleeping, you must have been sleeping. Awake from your slumber now. I say this in the hopes that it would happen in the rudest and crudest sense. Check out his dope free E.P. entitled, Art of Raw. If you’re tired of hearing the same ol’ same ol’, then you’ve been dealt a proper blow.

Click on image to preview album (external link).

“Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.

Thy freedom come.

Thy will be done in South Africa, as it is in Lusaka.

Give those weapons, our daily millitary training.

And forgive the South Africans, our leaders.

And lead us not to Apartheid.

For thy is the kingdom, the power and the victory.

For whatever, be what never.

Aluta continua.


~ Kaapse Woordenaar ~ Art of Raw

This is on the intro to the E.P. It’s a looped sample. I’m not sure where it comes from, or if they called the guy in to spew it on the mic, but it gets looped about 5 times over some ill production. It sets the tone for the rest of the collection, which is a militaristic political approach to governance in South Africa.

Though I don’t want to do an album review or anything, there is one notable mention that I’d like to proffer. I said in an earlier post that your past is your present and your past is your future (Street Fighters on the Up ‘N Up). Well, this track, Voyage, literally brings that notion to life. There are great mentions, recounts and an apparent presence of an awakening of consciousness. Not only does this voyage take us to the socio-politico-economic backdrop from which the Art of Raw, emerges, it also takes to those whose memories must never die.

“A lyricist with mass appeal, inspired by Ashley Kriel.”

“Anton Fransch, another fallen comrade”

“This Song is also dedicated to the fallen Hector Pieterson, Harry Gwala, Colleen Williams, Matthew Goniwe…”

Check out the rest of the E.P. for yourself. Experience its entirety.

The E.P. is recorded mostly in Afrikaans, so if you don’t speak the language, you’re probably going to have to listen to the dope beats and rhythmic flows. There’s plenty of English, so don’t be dismayed by the first half of the E.P. I think Saturn (link below) is even involved in this one, though I ‘m not sure which tracks. Some beats are obvious bangers, others are rehashes of a dopeness laced eons before.

Click on the image to listen to some of Saturn’s stuff (external link).

The rawness is there. The message is there. The delivery is there. Think of this release as a breath of fresh air. It just goes to show, that soul will never die. And by “soul” I mean integrity. There’s plenty of soul in this mix.


Written by a dude for poop and squiggles.

I ain’t your daddy, but where I lay my hat, I sleep. It’s about time that I lay my hat somewhere else. The time has come. As my tenure in this place on this planet draws to a close, I find myself becoming quite excitable, anxious and freer.

It’s like my heart dares the unknown to taunt it with voyeuristic tendencies. It whispers lewd nothings that stimulate me to euphoric heights. Every now and then, I come down and while I’m sliding down that frictionless slope, I get to thinking.

I think about a great many things, ~ what I want to be when I grow up ~ what I’d like to do on the other side ~ What I don’t want to be ~ what choices I’d make, given I’d have had them to make ~ the list goes on. On this particular day, I was struck by the things that I would miss about this place and the things that I would not.

Somehow this all seemed like a concept in progress for the blogosphere. Hell, I am a lazy dreamer. It is now the basis and concept behind this particular post. He we go:

I will miss the brats, not the ones that cry when they see my face. I will miss the brats at my school, especially their squeaky voices. I will miss their big heads and tiny bodies, waha. I will miss that old aunty from the kitchen who always smirks when she talks to me in the kitchen. I never know what to do, so I pretend not to understand.

I will not miss the dude that lives upstairs, nor his three reining terrors, nor his wife who turnings into a wailing banshee when their love is manifested. What a flower. I will not miss the regular thumping that accelerates and decelerates as they guide themselves to pleasurable heights. I will miss this view. It’s beautiful. I get to see all of the rice paddies, the town and ummm them a bit of the mountain. I will miss these sliding doors and windows. I will miss the smell of organic fertilizer in summer.

I will miss the bus rides in the morning, evening and weekends. I will miss being largely alone on these trips, but they give me such pleasure. I will miss the serenity of the countryside. I will not miss how far out there this place is (“somebody give me a sign!”).

I will miss the new faces, mostly. I will not miss the disrespectful, ignorant ones. I will miss how we came together with such randomness. I will not miss getting hit on every other day I went into the city. I will miss having an excuse to keep my hair covered most of the time. I will miss the cheap love motels and even cheaper guest houses.

I will not miss the light of love, for that is with me every day. I will not miss the fact that I have touched many and vice versa, for they and I have grown for the better. I will miss a great many things, but what I will not miss is not what I will miss.


Written by a dude for poop and squiggles.

I am travelling to step

because the slow boat

smokes in slow motion.

I long for the scent of home

dissolved in the void consuming this ocean.

I fear no spear even the void that sears,

but to be cut by my own tears

as they gush to satiate my burning vessel.

nay, I shall lay waste to the weakness of mine temple.

may the embers reduce this boat to a raft

and the raft to a crisp skeleton.

may that crisp skeleton bring me home.

This travelling man that I am,

I am coming home.

I am



Written by a dude for poop and squiggles.

I pledge allegiance. I do pledge it solemnly. Today brings the initiation of what we, in the land of the Nappy Ones, would like to call mast-probation. Yeah, I know. That complex noun seems a bit too twisted. Could it be…? Well, it is. Let’s explicate, shall we?


 I shall undertake to contribute meaningfully and earnestly to this blog daily for a period of seven days. For every day that I do not contribute, I shall endure the pen[is]alty. That is to beat and spank that limbless monkey attached to the nether regions of my anatomy till it yields. Needless to say, I would have to expose my inner workings as a part of this punishment.


 Good Lordy! After a successful week, the undertaking shall be extended to a period of 30 days. Upon the completion of 30 days, I shall endeavour to continue contributing for another 30 days. Hopefully, we can see this to the end.


I hope that by now, we’ve gotten past the shock and into the humour-zone.  I have no intention of sharing my wankskepades with any of you, but should I fail… dun dun dunnnn.

***Think Lonely Island***

I promise you nothing but fleshy, savoury texts ~ guaranteed to satiate your qualitative appetites. Sign up to the blog make sure you get the daily scoop. Try being my friend on facesbook: I’m dying to meet you all. Show support, but don’t give me a hand.


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Enjoy the poetry, short stories, scenic descriptions, opinion pieces, and apparent utter nonsensical rhetoric at times.


Written by a dude for poop and squiggles.

Buchu Business

I found this quaint, anecdotal blog the other day. It’s simplistic and therefore easy to comprehend. It gives the impression that each post is merely a musing of interest. They seem to reflect the ideological and political disposition of the author. Imagine a quaint way of saying, “Dear diary, to day I had a thought…”

To all my people staying in your own lane, keep it rock steady.


Written by a dude for poop and squiggles.

Buchu Business

I found this quaint, anecdotal blog the other day. It’s simplistic and therefore easy to comprehend. It gives the impression that each post is merely a musing of interest. They seem to reflect the ideological and political disposition of the author. Imagine a quaint way of saying, “Dear diary, to day I had a thought…”

To all my people staying in your own lane, keep it rock steady.


Written by a dude for poop and squiggles.

My soul remembers the days spent gazing if you don’t remember. My heart inspired the flames that ignited the rain, showering pain from it’s burning embers. How we resisted the noose, when their approach was obtuse as freedoms fell from the truth. Like raping women as proof that our women were loose, and passion was and is the path that we choose. Now, they are are fueling the fire when they claim that our ire is a consequence of desire unchecked of OUR own mire.

Those were the days spent gazing and we all still remember

those memories of times that we cannot forget.

Soon our memories of now will be then.

Back, back and forth.

We play the audience to this ugly dance.

We gaze resolutely upon the arena.

Yet we grimace at the ugly.

We are the ugly.

We have become our own ugly.

In ugliness lies the pretext of beauty.

Written by a dude for poop and squiggles.

Click on the image to connect to the blog.

I am way too nostalgic. This blog  is focused on South African goodies. It’s got entertainment and fashion jiggy type stuff. It hails form Cape Town. You’ll find out exactly how lively and diverse the Z to the A  can be.  Lala hasn’t posted since November 28, 2011, but that just means that she is coming up with something splendiferous for you.

Don’t forget to check out the affiliated Bow-Peep, if you’re into the quirky fashion stuff.  They’re based in Cape Town, so holler!

Click on the image to connect.