Our tits, my son

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Our tits, my son.

My son got born earlier in the morning and I am ecstatic. He is a gift from my ancestors and the Universe. I treasure him. He is my gold in a world that’s been digitized; valuable, tangible, priceless. It’s like falling in love for the first time, I am in la, la, land, heaven, a place of pure bliss devoid of the construct of time. I’ve never felt love quite like this, it’s like I am floating on butterflies through the clouds of the light blue sky. He makes me believe in miracles. There is a God, – he is proof, a blessing. I am thankful and grateful for this opportunity. I will teach him everything I know with an open heart and a lot of love. I will guide him. Help strengthen him to make sure he is the great man destiny intended. I’ll teach him about business and wealth creation. I was lucky I was broke and built an empire out of nothing. Being broke is experiencing your own mortality, it is being vulnerable and helpless to effect change or influence outside stimuli, that’s why I worked so hard to be rich, to have the illusion of immortality, to be invincible. You’ll be invincible from the start, girls are going to be sending you pictures captioned “you could tear this up”- I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. I’ll teach him about the importance of having an inner scorecard and not one based on external factors. Don’t claim to be anyone you’re not. Love yourself unconditionally. Respect everyone and beware of placing too much value on material things because they end up owning you, depriving you of your peace and happiness. When you say you are going to do something, do it, no excuses, be a man of your word my son. I’ll teach him about girls and women. True, they are an enigma and I don’t know much about their motivations and thought patterns. They are truly a strange species, unpredictable, highly volitile, sometimes unstable, frightening and devastating like a natural disaster. They are difficult to assess and understand, maybe they really are from Venus and us from Mars, it would certainly explain why it’s inhospitable for man; too much chaos presided, women can’t co-exist with one another and I don’t mean to boast but man is returning to Mars. Mars is a great place filled giant screens that showcase football and other sports daily, the home of Elon Musk, Richard Branson and Jeff Bezos, a place of sport cars and super sleek, fast Teslas, pool tables, infinite alcohol and drugs, no tough decisions, no responsibilities and no circumstances. A place of Goodfellas like Scorsese and De Niro but no death, just collaboration, a brotherhood and positive energy.

But in planet Earth, women are useful as you will soon experience. For one they register and process large quantities of data faster and more efficiently. This is important in the matters of life and death, you need a strong counsel. The trick is just to love and accept them as they are, don’t try to understand them or assert your will on them, understand that disaster might strike at anytime and accept reality for what it is – I think that’s what God intended. Just love them because even with all their uncertainties, they are the most valuable species in the whole Universe, they make life worthwhile, they are the nurturers of life. I’ll give you all the information I’ve attained from my interactions with them. I suggest you seek consultation from other wise men who will also share their experiences and knowledge, this will give you a more wholistic picture. I can’t guarantee concise data regarding women my son, no man can, we are from Mars and they are from Venus.

Of course, there’s this issue of the Oedipus Complex. I suspect there will be some hostility between me and you. You want to possess your mother (my woman) and you are rightly entitled to her. I won’t oppose you son, for the first few months, she is all yours. I will refrain from all acts of jealousy. I know you will appreciate those tits more than anything in the world. Your father is a genius, a visionary and I chose those tits for you. I qualified and discarded a lot of applicants for you to have those perfect tits. That’s my early gift to you because I love you so much. Enjoy them, take your time, don’t rush to get old, drive slow and enjoy the scenery and sensations. Those are our tits, my son, at least for now.

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The suit

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The suit

Sello Maake ka-Ncube, self-explaintory, it sells itself, star power, an absolute legend. Which reminds me. Where is his star? I thought I was hallucinating reality, maybe it’s at the corner? Maybe it’s still in construction? I searched and I searched – nothing. The greats have their star but where is his? He is Archie Moroka, Daniel Nyathi, Sipho Makhaya, a gladiator in the world of T.V and theatre, performed and produced the best, what more must he do? Rueful, a missed opportunity. Give the man his flowers. He deserves them, he is ours.

I was on the square for the opening of “The Suit”. Full house, esteemed individuals and celebrities, the excitement was contagious, Covid style. Everyone was infected by the spirit of the show. A story about betrayal, set in Sophiatown. Tells the story of a wife who commits adultery when his husband is at work and is one day caught in the act. The man flees leaving his suit behind. As a form of punishment, the spiteful husband forces the wife to integrate the suit in their every day life, dinners, social gathering, church, everything. What used to be a duo is now a trio. Humiliated at the gazing and the constant talk behind her back, the wife ultimately takes her own life. The show was humorous, gritty and serious, I appreciated the work of artists. They did their best to tell the story as authentically as they could. However, I did have a couple of issues with the story-telling techniques. Great story but it could have been executed better. Too much telling and not showing. Although the writing was great, it was descriptive and emotive. You got the two perspectives of the partners. They shared their inner most thoughts and communicated their state of mind. We know that Matilda (the wife) felt lonely and the husband oppressed due to his long hours at work. It still felt like a recital, a book reading. Felt rushed and we were manipulated into feeling a certain way. We couldn’t come up with our own conclusions. The audience’s imagination was not allowed to roam around.The show needed to be longer with an interval. Character arcs and ending predictable. I never read the book but I knew the conclusion before time because the narration was leading me there, it told me what to think. The show had elements of physical theatre. It was a good show and the character of Mr. Maphikela provided the comic relief, the audience loved him. He saved the show for me. The set evoked the feeling of Sophiatown. The music added an element of drama and the lighting moved the story. Maybe I went to the theatre expecting another “Nothing but the truth”, maybe I am disappointed it was not that. Tshireletso Nkoane is beautiful, I understand the intruder in her marriage. Job Kubatsi and Lebohang Motaung humorous and didn’t put a foot wrong. They were relatable and when we did have a scene with dialogue and the characters interacting with each other, the show was gold. The show had a lot for 80 minutes, the narration of the story compressed and minimized the performance arts element in it. However, it was still a great show. The audience loved it and it garnered a standing ovation. Congratulations J. Bobs Tshabalala and the whole team and a deserved standing ovation.

Marisa Tomei

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Marisa Tomei

A beautiful creature you are, Marisa Tomei, you light up the room with a smile, a man would go the extra mile to please you. Your beauty makes the orbit move slower, paralyzes like an epileptic with a fit, gives proof to the atheist of your existence, oh yes he exists, you are the proof. A beautiful work of art, talented beyond comprehension, you attract all of the attention and dispel of the tension. Marisa Tomei, you have grace like no other, poise that is regal and a laugh that it not legal. It violates my conscious mind and leaves it in tatters, after that I am weak, unable to speak, incapacitated. It is not of my own volition, your aura is too strong, it makes me act like a little boy and behavior that’s just wrong. Marisa Tomei, you are just my type, perfect in every way. I’ll love you now and forever and there’s nothing anybody can say. You moving at your own pace, living in your own place and winning your own race. Marisa Tomei, I can’t stop thinking about you, you run through my mind like  marathon champion, for hours, for days, for months. I could day-dream about you all day, every day for the rest of my life. I love you. You are everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman.

Strap-on

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Strap-on

I’ve got the real thing here, strap-on’s not necessary, have you clutching your fists, screaming your lungs out, child birth not necessary, avoiding the c-word but I know the section, cutting through the game to reveal that I am the technician. Dildos and vibrators also not listed, girl-on-girl is hot but scissoring is conceited. If you want penetration stay on your back or stay sitted, open your legs and I’ll send you into the abyss like you pitted. Strap-on’s are dumb besides I lick ice cream cones too, lick the top mercilessly to send you outta space, then parachute you back to earth cause this is your base. The G-spot is on the first floor at the back window. I can send my inhabitants if you are a widow. Another metaphor, what? Cake? I am cookie monster for heavens sakes. Give me eggs and I’ll butter her up to show you I can bake. Rising to the moment to stick my warm meat, while strap-on’s are cold like an empty seat. Strap-on’s and vibrators got no soul, while my creampie you can contain in a bowl. I’ve got the real thing here and it’s better than a strap-on, it’s warm, goes all night, can work at a moments notice and something you can rely on, different strokes means different tempos, a race you can bet on. Strap-on’s are ridiculous, vibrators and dildos too, I also suck like I came to lose, present your breasts and I’ll never choose, devour your whole body like an alcoholic with booze. Girl-on-girl hot but stupid with a strap-on, pussy tantalizing but a corpse with a strap-on, if your nigga a pussy with a Strap-on, get a real nigga with a dick you can slide on.

Coal Yard

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Coal Yard

Just about the greatest thing I’ve ever seen. Story-telling on another level. Outstanding show, amazing performers. They were filled with enthusiasm and outflowed with energy. They were relentless on the stage, they were always moving, doing something, complimenting the current act, serving out sound effects, being props – I am not surprised they were sweating. Absolutely no set, just an empty stage and they created magic. Effective story-telling is centered around the premise of showing not telling. The show is a prime example of that premise. Since there is no set, the performers imitate the sound of props. From vacuum cleaners, matches, chairs streetching on the floor, cars, doors, just about everything. The show also has a catchy soundtrack that is sang by the cast members to indicate that time has past or a change of scenes or tempo. It’s literally like watching a movie on stage without the sets and big budget. They paint a picture so effective with the mimicry of props and their sounds and their movements on the stage. The performers are in sync, they work well with each other and assist each other all the way through. Every scene is clear and vivid, it’s descriptive and rich in detail. The transition from scene to scene is seamless, it just flows, it doesn’t even matter that the performers, perform multiple characters. All gents cast and they managed to play ladies, comical but convincing too, they captured the essence of being a woman. It’s unbelievable how they played so many characters effectively. The show is supremely entertaining and funny. It captured the human condition beautifully, they imitated life on the stage and it was artful. The performers are expressive, they make use of the stage to perfection, jumping, running, crawling all about. They have energy. They are full of life. They are humorous. It’s difficult to look away, they are captivating and the different characters command your attention. I have to say Mr. Naidoo is exploitative. Paying someone half-price because he is shorter is ridiculous.

The show contains a three act structure and the hero has an redemptive arc at the end. A story of a man fleeing home owing to sexual abuse by his father. The depiction of this sexual abuse is tasteful and not vulgar and forceful. Instead a container of “Baseline” (Vaseline) is held up for the audience to see, this communicates what is transpiring in the scene. An effective way of saying something, without really saying it. It’s suggestive and effective and works well considering the sensitivity of the subject matter. After the hero flees from home, he gets a job working at a Coal mine and later meets a girl he falls in love with. Traumatized by his father’s sexual abuse, he has a problem performing and ultimately the girl looks the other way, searching for greener pastures. The story comes full-circle when the hero comfronts his father now in prison for his sexual abuse. The story is told by committed actors who are creative and have a lot of range in their arsenal. They love what they do, they were having the time of their lives on the stage. The tone is easy-going and relatable for the average South African of color. No need for fancy dialogue and words, a mixture of “vernac”, “tsotsi taal” and English will do. The lighting of the show is incredible, it too tells and moves the story. Powerful piece of theatre, so artistic and satisfying.

My hat goes off to the performers, Diphapang Mokoena, Tumelo Mokoena, Abongile Matyutyu and Mbovu Malinga, one word – unbelievable! Amazing creatives who literally created magic on the stage. Also, well done to Nomvula Molepo, the lighting designer who helped the artists create this magic. The lighter was gorgeous! SamSays on the credits, another great one Sam. Thank you for sending me out to review this masterpiece. Congratulations Prince Lamla and a raucous standing ovation.

Second chance

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Second chance

I satisfied 3 women this month, it’s been a good month. I worked hard, I deserve all the acclaim. Of course it could be hot air, women fake all the time. A woman friend of mine spilled the beans and notified me she was faking when we were together. All the moans and groans were an act, she was faking her orgasms. Worse is that I thought I gave a good account of myself, when she broke the news I was devastated because everything was predicated on that moment. It made me think of how many women were faking when were together. She doesn’t even want to give me another chance to redeem myself. She says it would be weird and would ruin our friendship. Disappointing analysis, when has sex ever ruined a good thing? Ironically, not having sex is what will ruin our relationship. Cause right now I am all insecure and I need some feedback, I know I could do better, time has elapsed and I have experience under my belt, the act of lovemaking has become an art, I could make her orgasm and it won’t be an act. I hate it, it’s like she’s got weight over me, she’s got control and power, says she was sparing my feelings and boosting my confidence, how emasculating is that? I’d rather she lay in bed a mute, at least I’d know I wasn’t doing shit. But the faking, the deception, that’s unforgivable! I feel like my whole life is a lie. Still I doubt it, I’d know if she were faking, I mean, what am I a moron? I know myself, I am industrious, I work hard, I don’t believe it, she sang high notes. Being stoic is good and all but women talk, the grapevine is a dangerous place for a bachelor. I don’t think I am crap but I need a second chance to redeem myself. I could do better, I need more raving reviews. We can make it transactional, it doesn’t need to mean anything, I am enlightened, I pay attention, I can deliver a cascade of orgasms, I can prove it, I have 3 happy reviews and it’s midway through the month. I need my second chance or we won’t survive as friends.

My Name is Lucy Barton

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My Name is Lucy Barton

Opening night for My Name is Lucy Barton on the square. Full house, intimate. Nothing beats a full house on the square. I was with Sam, Lorrie, Bronwen and Sharon – Yahto too. Thank you for the invite Collett Dawson. I was excited for this one. I was also with Leigh Harrison, the CEO of Wisdoms123, that made my day! Julie-Anne McDowell amazing on the stage, expressive, animated, lively and alive. There’s emotion in her words, she even sheds a tear or two. That’s when you realise that theatre is serious business, better than moving pictures because you can’t fake it. Theatre is for real actors. No second take, no rerun, run now and do it perfect. Julie-Anne did it perfect, no mistakes, line over line executed perfectly. Theatre is athletic, it’s endurance, enthusiasm, I mean doing the same show around the country everyday. Same intensity, same force, same emotion! Julie-Anne has been captivating audiences nationwide. Cape Town aghast and Joburg pretty much the same. Wonderful show, expert storyteller. The writing is unbelievable! It’s a writers fairy-tale. The words are descriptive and emotive, they transport you to her world, her perspective. Family dynamics and personal identity always triumphs. Key questions as a writer though. The two articles published in the magazine, what were they about? What was the book about? That felt rushed and suddenly it popped into my consciousness. I wish more time was spent on delivering these details, I felt it would have connected more with the audience. I was curious. She’s a writer, right? Surely her subject matter matters. That wasn’t explored. When the audience is invested in the plot the pay-off is sweeter. It’s a pay-off without fireworks but it was dramatic – the lights and the music ensured that. Julie-Anne is captivating and enthralling. She is a natural born performer. There is range in her performance, how she switches tempos and emotion. She is 3 dimensional, leaping from one state and emotion to another, she had the audience spellbound throughout. The delivery in her words, no mistakes and the cues on time. She is talented. She is expressive. She gives all of herself. Again, delivery spot-on – she was totally in the moment. She makes use of the stage to perfection. She is effective. The performance was a definition of flow, she was automatic, she was pretty much great. She is a serious performer. The lighting was nauced and subtle but moved the story in a major way. It dictated the tempo and the beats of the script. Feeling; in the words, it was a performers show. One woman show, great script, wonderful lighting, minimalistic set and an outstanding performance. Shout-out Rona Munro, the script is awesome! Congratulations Charmaine Weir-Smith and the whole team and a deserved standing ovation.

Conscious Idiot

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Conscious Idiot

Everything I am I learned from the streets, I learned to keep my head down to feel the pulse and listen to the beat. To narrow the circumference of my circle to ensure I live through more cycles. Moving through culture like Armstrong on his bicycle. I am consciousness, taking care of the game like a nurse, spoonfeeding invalids to fatten my purse, living through the spells to break down the curse. I am the greatest of all time, the conscious Idiot, emphatic, compassionate, unassuming but also ready to leave you fuming, some niggas be pests, so I terminate cause talking is time consuming. Usually a cool guy but if you get on my face, I’ll push you aside like you nothing to me. Haters think they are important when they mean nothing to me. Conscious Idiot, I ain’t got beef with anyone, I am just living my life. If you stepped on my shoe I’d probably apologize, it ain’t worth it to get in a fistfight with someone who has nothing to lose, I am pretty, my face is my livelihood. I grew up in the hood, gunfights are generally not good, so I avoid like an anorexic with food. Conscious Idiot, you can have the glory, I am leaving with the honey with the fantastic body. Trying to get me to react but sorry, you are not a character in my story. Conscious Idiot, emphatic, compassionate, kind and unassuming but it ain’t a weakness cause I deliver receipts like a cashier working back to back shifts whose sleepless.

Charlie and the Chocolate factory

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Charlie and the Chocolate factory

Follow the music of the Maestro, feel it, let it envelop your whole being, breath through your pores and express itself in your movements. Ballet, sensitivity, technique, balance, composure, calm, grace, poise and beauty. Let go, immerse yourself in the present moment, time moves for you, stretch your anatomy, be the pulse in which life revolves around, be one with all of life, be vulnerable, feel. Conductor, conductor, conductor, I love it when they walk on their toes, it’s like they are floating, spinning like tops in the air, like gravity isn’t a factor, like clouds are made of concrete but it doesn’t matter because they are skipping ahead. It’s unbelievable how they do splits in the air, complete 180 degrees airborne and they stick the landing. The leap in the air is totally gorgeous. Sam and I were excited for this one weeks prior and it delivered with flying colors. SamSays on the credits. It’s mind-boggling how the ballet dancers can support the whole of their weight on their toes, it’s like they don’t have ankles, it’s effortless too, like it’s not a big deal, like this is how I walk, like I make time slow down. The beauty of the human anatomy, finally I understand. It’s art, how it stretches, the muscles, how it bends, how flexible it is, and how glorious it is when it has attained mastery. It’s pure awe, it takes your breath away. Ballet is the celebration of God’s glory, he is showing off. The motion of their hands when they move on stage, it’s like current is flowing through their bodies, it’s slow motion, freeze frame, photogenic, zen, graceful, absolutely beautiful.

I was at the opening of the Mario Gaglione ballet show at the Joburg Theatre, “Charlie and the Chocolate factory” by Roald Dahl, music by Mark Cheyne and the Johannesburg Philharmonic Orchestra. Full house, no empty seat. Unbelievable show, loved every moment of it. A complete theatrical experience with an emsemble that featured all age groups. The show is visually rich and is paced through the Johannesburg Philharmonic Orchestra. The performers are expressive facially and they explore the stage like voyagers, skipping, leaping throughout. The performers are mesmerizing. They dance with complete freedom and expression, like demons allowed to leave hell for a couple of minutes, but it’s not demonic, it’s beautiful – everything is beautiful. No dialogue, the classic story of “Charlie and the Chocolate factory” is told through the medium of ballet, dance, visuals and glorious music that strings you along from the first minute to it’s climax. Even Willy Wanka is a ballet dancer. The dancers are exquisite even the kids. The costumes have personality and the set keeps changing to add to the texture and dimension of the show. The Orchestra have range and have the ability to make you happy, sad or to make you laugh. They are the backbone of the show and keep you hooked from the start. Perfect show, beautifully told and executed with precision and attention to detail. I loved the show, a must watch for theatre enthusiasts. Special praise and reverence for Monike Cristina, I understand beauty because I witnessed her on the stage, her level of focus and execution is second to none, she moved like a swan. Congratulations to Mario Gaglione and the whole team for a beautiful show and a deserved standing ovation.

Live Feed

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Live Feed

You will always find me at the table with pretty girls or the cool guys. When I walk in everyone is eager to give me a beer. Like “take one in the cooler, we are together”. Thanks mpinch, my throat was dry. Black Label, Heineken, Castle it’s all the same to me. But I prefer Corona, it’s lighter and I can cover more distance. To the stoners, I see you, I’ll be with you shortly, I got some stuff I got in the jungle that will make you wanna bless the good stuff, I got you, I am here, always the herb man, I should be spice. Ice cold charisma that will have reminencing ice, mixing Hennessy dry gin with no ice, take it straight to the head. When my nigga Stee pull up, it’s Convosier, Monkey Shoulder, Remy Martin, 48, Heiger or some stuff I’ve never had before. Bottles on bottles, everyone loves him, he’s a charismatic guy. VSOP on a typical Tuesday, Yea he’s a legend, respect. The great man on the credits, he is the greatest of all time. Critical analysis, I think the pals I drink with love me more than my church mates. Cause after a days work, I be drunk and out of my mind, I don’t have transport but my drinking buddies always find me on the road and deliver me to my doorstep. It’s different with my church mates, they just drive past me, it’s like I am invisible, they don’t care whether I make it home safely or not. A couple puffs of the hubbly and I feel light headed, I am dizzy, but the girls are here so what can I do, I keep puffying, hoping my clouds will get me to heaven. Thank you God for the experience. This is my live feed, having fun, drinking and smoking with beautiful girls. The tough guys who start up shit on the playground, we cowards nigga we just gon shoot you and kill you, ain’t nobody got time for that. You narcissistic niggas, you think everything is about you don’t you? Tough luck tonight. This is my live feed, chilling with beautiful girls, puffing hubbly.