shutting out the noise

when thoughts suffocate in exhaust fumes
and time can't keep up with itself
as though the hour hand is chasing the minute
hand's tail

when emotions spell
fatigue
in neon lights

and Originality is a name brand perfume
when spontaneity needs to be scheduled in

then it's time to take myself to the mountains

while this body may be pummeled
into shape
by the city and all it contains,

my heart lies buried on the river bed,
dancing in the directed current
it rides the tide of the ocean's breath
as it heaves and sighs to the shore

my heart edges on the mountain's cliff
to greet every sunrise with a prayer

and it knows that there will always be
a disconnect unless
this stubborn trunk
decides to uproot

One Dollar

How does art traverse the canvas and settle the soul ?

How is it that magnificent strokes evoke a yearning

to access the eternal?

i drown in serenity

i awaken to reality

Romance off the coast of Africa

Whoever wrote that previous blog post about Africa lacking authenticity obviously hadn't been to Zanzibar yet.



Zanzibar was the romance and character that I was hoping to extract from Africa.

The place is authentic, unique - stuck somewhre in the 17th century, yet the faces of the people tell the story of present day Africa.



While the streets are saturated with an 'old-world' type charm , the delapidated infrastructure is very evident. Zanzibar is dependant on income from tourism and spice trade and the recent econimic slump has seen the Island take strain.



There is a palpable fusion of cultures and a background that is difficult to pin down. The Arab influence is noted and this is whispered in the architecture. I always associate those arabic arches with a great time in Islamic History without wondering about the cultural imperialism that comes along with conquests of great nations. But that's just the way of the world perhaps.

The search for authenticity

Identity and culture are now fluid . Certainties erode as the world decreases. Innovation breeds convenience, but also mistrust. Globalisation is real and here - deal with it.
With greater stimulus to encapsulate identity formation, the complexities are astounding. Nothing fits into neat boxes anymore, not even filing cabinets - maybe try a flash-drive.

Communication has made distances evaporate and trade expansion has seen uniformity proliferate.

In this steamrolling of 'progress' and development, I strain to find authenticity. Humanity is loosing that 'signature identity' . Is this just the next phase in development - a diverse hegemony?

Africa's diversity should be guarded more than she has allowed her chastity to be guarded.

The Process or the destination ?

I'm all workshopped out. My right brain has been jogged after slouching around for a couple of years. Space for expression is important, it's essential to 'hear' and 'be heard' , but to what end is all this jabbering?
Maybe it's a clinical approach that I've developed : symptoms, possibilities, solutions and prescriptions. I want to see tangible outcomes - in as short a time as possible . I find it almost painful engaging in a drawn out process whose goal is not clearly defined. I do see value in the 'process' , as no engagement is wasted , it has either positive or negative implications.

Workshopping is a culture with it's own jargon, methodology of operation and mode of thinking. Can strategic thinking be presented or formulated in a non-conventional format?

And when the destination is not clearly defined the route there becomes an arduous path to tread.
Is there a deficiency in the conditioning of my thinking ? do I need to be more 'abstract' or is there a space for us all in this hodge-podge of ideas?

I never thought of myself as a left-brainer . Maybe my right brain has atrophied through disuse.

MySpace...OurSpace

It's sometimes only possible to value something when it is measured against its variant.
Along the lines of 'you don't know what you've got till it's gone' - albeit gone for only a weekend.

I would like to view myself as a fiercely (not in the aggressive sense but in the 'quite/very' sense) independent woman (shoutout to beyonce and the girls - throw your hands up at me). With the husband away riding the Argus this weekend, I felt a void. It wasn't a Hollywood type pining or a dysfunctional type of missing. I was missing that space ... our space. That space that allows you to speak your mind without having to give a preamble or disclaimer. That space that allows for compliments and insults to be contained within an insular capsule of acceptance - most of the time.

Now let me add that this phenomenon is not exclusive to me. A friend of mine (who would also like to view herself a a non-dependant personality) dealt with similar issues when her husband visited the middle east recently - it scared her.

It scares me too .

There is something both scary and beautiful in realising that you have grown into a space with another person. The thing about this is that it is a closed entity but it is not stifling. There is breathing space , space to grow and then to come back and enhance the core. Maybe this is what forming the 'new family' is all about.

It was reassuring to hear my husband echo these sentiments when he returned.