A moment alone, a dream, a lie.

Driving, thats what you do in Joburg. You drive and drive and drive. Drive from the airport, drive to Woolworths, Drive yourself to work harder, drive someone insane. Most of these thoughts occurred to me while being ushered around in a brilliant black VW Beetle.

The shining cimmerian princess and the stock broker frisking the dirty streets of Joburg for proper company. As the world swam by in a rush of colour, it felt like watching a fast moving film reel really close up, while Florance and the machines were castigating our ears and minds we drove and drove.

I was Lounging with my feet up on the seat, I leaned back to reach for the forlorn box of marlboro’s that had spilled from the mess that resembled my handbag. I fumbled cigarette and lighter, my hands shaking in testimony of the night before. That first double drag of a cigarette is always the best, like kissing someone for the first time.

The billowing smoke was causing a haze, I quickly wound my window down, the passing scene sucked the haze out the car to reveal yet again the passing Jo-scape. The cimmerian lit a sin, and the smell filled my body like water rising all the way up to my eyeballs. I read “Sms “BOOBS” to 34573 to win a set of INCREDIBLE ASSETS” , the add on the lamp post spoke to me in a male infomercial voice in my head. Win boobs, really? Jesus…

Every city block we passed seemed to have a suit or wedding dress hire shop embedded somewhere in its structure. We came to a stop at a red robot, I took a long drag, the sin burning in my chest the smoke curling around my fingers like a fast growing creeper. The wedding dress in the shop window came to life, doing a turn and curtsying to me then returning to her original stance.

Who would hire a wedding dress, I was wondering. Why would you hire a wedding dress? – Well the blatant reason would be to wear it to your wedding. Just then I started thinking about that dress as the person wearing it, hired for a special day, perhaps some part of a life time. Giving your best years to one, just to be returned, perhaps rehired in the future. Every time the dress gets tailored to fit the new bride, the next bride… One does that,  gets tailored, over and over again till you cant remember what you originally looked like.

My cigarette was almost finished, I could feel the heat closer to my lips every time I took drag. I hate the last part of a cigarette, I dislike the taste of it, hot and almost desperate. I brought the cigarette to my face, and looked at it for a moment, then to my mouth, I hesitated just then. I didn’t feel like it, but I want the smoke, it is disgusting….

Later that night we found ourselves at Steve Aoki in some warehouse in New Town, it reminded me of Harrington street… The loud music was electric, besides from the Lion King intro mind you.

The cimmerian was dancing, some guy next to her, clearly trying to impress her by dancing like a dead body with it’s last fits of life. Shaking my head and smiling to myself, I walked over to advise my client against any investment in such a poor commodity. The tequila had started doing it’s job, and I was feeling oddly mean.

I strategically put my dancing in between her and death, but he was to persist. It made me wonder, we would never make ourselves seem so foolish, and then it dawned on me that this guy was taking such a chance, and he didn’t care to seem foolish, I considered the prize if his investment payed out, very brave.

I remembered the last time I took a risk, the last time something went right… to be gazed upon in such a way, to feel like the sun glows from your skin at a touch. In that happy thought, I was suddenly shocked back into the present, back to the cynical me, when some tart dropped a bottle of vodka on the floor next to me, the alcohol burning disinfectantly in a little cut from one of the shards. Thank god, I thought, because for a moment there I could feel my heart beating.

The hit miss theory

“The Guide says that there is an art to flying,” said Ford, “or rather a knack. The knack lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss.”
Douglas Adams

This quote got me thinking… “throw yourself at the ground and miss”…. right. So flying would be tricking yourself into thinking you are okay with it if you hit the ground, but you are going to make a concerted effort to miss, because if one was not accepting of the idea that this whole “hitting the ground” vibe might very well happen, it is fair to say that “flying ” would not be considered in the first place.

Let me clarify, because I’m even confusing myself now. If you want to experience something and live, you need to take a risk, I believe there is no such thing as a calculated risk, because if you could truly calculate it, it wouldn’t be a risk. There are of course ways of bettering you chances, for instance, I recon you should never  swim in the ocean alone, or walk down a dark alley in Salt River alone, because if there’s more than one person, perhaps someone else will be eaten or stabbed or whatever. So yes, safety in numbers.

But alas, there are simply some things one cannot attend in groups. Falling in love, going overseas, leaving home, eating a BP pie… They are individual things.

Now how do you convince yourself that you will be okay with, oh lets say, breaking your heart, becoming a drug mule, losing your way, or having food poisoning. What, you convince yourself they payout will be worth it, you will be stronger and wiser if it doesn’t work out, you’ll lose 5kg’s in two days… I suppose it’s  not that difficult to convince yourself to leap off a cliff, and honestly, lately I personally have decided to not pay much attention to the consequences, to just close my eyes and hope for the best, and while I have the wind whipping past my face, and I can feel the fall, I just hope to god that if I do wipe out, that I won’t live to tell the tale.

What goes up must come down, they say. Fuck they by the way, if they didn’t say all those retarded things, it probably wouldn’t have to work that way. In any event, it stands to reason then, that what hits, must also miss. Now there is something to think about, you just want to synchronize your hit miss pattern in such a way that you miss the ground when it’s love, and you hit when it’s food poisoning, that way you will be in a reciprocated loving grownup relationship and lose 5kg’s, bonus.

So without the risk, there be no reward, and perhaps without having your heart-broken, you would never have had the courage to eat the PB pie after too much Patrone, causing you to lose 5kg’s, which in turn got you spotted by a model scout at the pharmacy which lead to you going overseas and once there getting lost and being found again by a lover who would cradle your heart, that is until you eat some dodgy over seas pies, gain a couple of pounds and he dumps your ass…. chance… ha! You have to try or you’ll never know.