Friday, October 1, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Woman
defending myself
constantly
defending myself
deafening
it's deafening
she cries
deafening
as she tries
defending herself
i cry
it's deafening
constantly
defending myself
deafening
it's deafening
she cries
deafening
as she tries
defending herself
i cry
it's deafening
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
The Messiah

Somewhere deep within the jungles of Saint City lived a man who dwelt inside a boy. He had a vast appetite. Devoured books for breakfast and often took them with his tea. Sometimes we made fun of him when he chewed. He chewed like a goat you see. Dwelling on every thought like it was his last meal. It is not polite to bring up your food so he kept most of it inside. Until there was too much in his head and nobody understood.
We could see each other you see. I looked at him, and he into me. I believed in him. Those were the best times of my life; a melting pot of two wandering souls. Although he was gone far deeper than any of us had been. Often I wondered if he knew that I was there. Well, nearly there if all things are considered.
But there is no space for a man in this world, let alone inside a boy. I watched him try to stretch out his limbs, lift his head to Horus so his soul could be set free.
There is no room for a man inside a boy. Yet he grew and he grew until he was too much of a man. He had to drain himself out somehow. He regurgitated his tea like a man deranged. Drools and spools of secrets from caves unfathomable to most. I had no doubt that he could understand. Spoke in tales and fables you could chew on for days.
They soon removed him from the city; there simply was no room.
Oh when will I ever see my boy again? Every now and then I think I hear him whisper, “Zizipo, beware the bird of prey. Beware the bird of prey”.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
To know body is to know self
One day I grew tired of trying to maintain this body. It is only a vessel after all. It comes and it goes in this quest to grab hold of eternity.
So I chucked the deoderants in the bin and shoved the lotions aside in search of my natural body odour.
I am sure everybody has one. But as we walk down a crowded street or pack ourselves like wholesale into a taxi, all we give off are the pungent smells of Hugo Boss, Clinique Happiness, and that perfume...you know, that one that Britney Spears has claimed as her exclusive scent. Where is the self beneath all this?
In an attempt to defy yet another convention I refused to smell of anything in particular. The rest of the world might think it is normal for one's armpits to smell of babmboo and a tropical rainforest. I do not. I cannot.
For a week I went without applying lotion to my body; willing my skin to give off that natural glow. Until one morning, while walking down the street lodged between Lonwabo and Awonke, Lonwabo turns to me and makes a comment about how ashy my face is. As grey as a cloud, he said. Or something clever like that. Awonke took out her bite sized vaseline container, every girl should have one apparantly, and right there, in the middle of the street, she dabbed it like a doting mother onto my face.
I was cut, and went to buy my own handy vaseline that same afternoon.
Then for three weeks I did not apply any deoderant on. No perfumes or any of those fancies. I had to smell like something.
By the end of the experiment I found myself smelling exactly like what the world calls BODY ODOUR! Who would have guessed?
Yes, that scent that makes everyone's nose cringe and leaves at least two empty seat between you and everyone else on the train.
I am ashamed to say that I found my own smell so revolting that I opted to cover it up with bamboo instead. I do not understand. At what point did my senses get conditioned to this? Would it have been the same if, from birth my mother put nothing on my body, simply let it be. If the world allowed me to perspire in peace. For that is what the body does; sweat.
Daily, as I apply that bamboo stick under my arms and grease up my body, I grieve for that part of this self I will never know.
So I chucked the deoderants in the bin and shoved the lotions aside in search of my natural body odour.
I am sure everybody has one. But as we walk down a crowded street or pack ourselves like wholesale into a taxi, all we give off are the pungent smells of Hugo Boss, Clinique Happiness, and that perfume...you know, that one that Britney Spears has claimed as her exclusive scent. Where is the self beneath all this?
In an attempt to defy yet another convention I refused to smell of anything in particular. The rest of the world might think it is normal for one's armpits to smell of babmboo and a tropical rainforest. I do not. I cannot.
For a week I went without applying lotion to my body; willing my skin to give off that natural glow. Until one morning, while walking down the street lodged between Lonwabo and Awonke, Lonwabo turns to me and makes a comment about how ashy my face is. As grey as a cloud, he said. Or something clever like that. Awonke took out her bite sized vaseline container, every girl should have one apparantly, and right there, in the middle of the street, she dabbed it like a doting mother onto my face.
I was cut, and went to buy my own handy vaseline that same afternoon.
Then for three weeks I did not apply any deoderant on. No perfumes or any of those fancies. I had to smell like something.
By the end of the experiment I found myself smelling exactly like what the world calls BODY ODOUR! Who would have guessed?
Yes, that scent that makes everyone's nose cringe and leaves at least two empty seat between you and everyone else on the train.
I am ashamed to say that I found my own smell so revolting that I opted to cover it up with bamboo instead. I do not understand. At what point did my senses get conditioned to this? Would it have been the same if, from birth my mother put nothing on my body, simply let it be. If the world allowed me to perspire in peace. For that is what the body does; sweat.
Daily, as I apply that bamboo stick under my arms and grease up my body, I grieve for that part of this self I will never know.
Labels:
bamboo,
body odour,
tropical rain forest,
vaseline
Monday, July 26, 2010
Edge of the Earth by Zizipo Mgobo
My first book is finally on the road to being published. I cannot even articulate my excitement, so I would rather not talk about it and pretend it is just one of those things...
Synopsis:
There is a thin grey area between life and death, and that is where she has learnt to live.
Asanda is a quiet and pensive 20 something year old who asks for very little in life. If you ask for nothing then you are required to give nothing in return. At least that is how it supposed to work. When Regina sweeps into her life unexpectedly, like the breeze of a warm summer night passing through an open window and scattering all the neatly stacked papers onto the floor, she is faced with the monumental burden of making a choice.
How could she ever be certain she made the right one? But when all else fails, there is always the unspoken grey area.
Synopsis:
There is a thin grey area between life and death, and that is where she has learnt to live.
Asanda is a quiet and pensive 20 something year old who asks for very little in life. If you ask for nothing then you are required to give nothing in return. At least that is how it supposed to work. When Regina sweeps into her life unexpectedly, like the breeze of a warm summer night passing through an open window and scattering all the neatly stacked papers onto the floor, she is faced with the monumental burden of making a choice.
How could she ever be certain she made the right one? But when all else fails, there is always the unspoken grey area.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
To Simone with love

I have developed a mild obsession with Simone de Beauvior. I think I came across her after I finished reading John Paul Satre's 'Being and Nothingness', a rather riveting book I might add, and was researching a bit about him and came across the part about his illicit affair with Simone. NO, actually I came across her in a novel I was reading and one of the characters was comparing her love affair to that of Satre and Simone's.
Anyway, however it happened it does not matter.
I find her terribly intriguing. She invited various young women into her bed and wrote volumes of Philosophy. I must admit that I don't know that much about her, yet. But watch this space. Besides, i haven't heard of any other female existential philosopher. Why would I NOT be interested.
Started reading her book "Ethics of Ambiguity' online, but stopped. It is a rare privilege to read and I would rather wait to get an actual copy of the book.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Courage
Love is like a cloud blown hither and thither by a passing breeze. Impetuous in its creation. Fragile in its existence.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
To Autumn
My 21st has come and gone and already the half way mark for 2010 is slowly creeping in under the door. I cannot tell you for sure where the year has gone. All I remember are random events, moments and emotions; a basket full of myself.
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