Flesh
Things
My SISTER and I used to play circus-circus in the back yard for anyone who wanted to watch (i.e. nobody) and I would walk the high wire (a builders plank on a couple of bricks) while she did an impromptu dance of sorts and said "ladies and gentlemen we now present" quite often. I used to rescue her (Jane) by swimming across the crocodile invested lawn and then inadvertently stabbing my brother in the foot cause he was lying next to me and I didn't see him as I (Tarzan style) stuck my sheath knife into the ground next to me for it to be close at hand.
The Knife was taken away and I was only allowed to play with the sheath.
My dad broke my colt 45 capguns by smashing them on the front stoep (veranda) where my mother lay unconscious after I let her have it with both barrels in a surprise ambush. In those days she lived with her nose in a bottle of smelling salts.
The smell of Lucerne in the evenings after a hot day, thick in the warm air...like breathing in nectar...breathing pure honey as my friend 'A' and I sat hidden among the plants thumbing through v.d.Veldes' "The Ideal Marriage" to get to the illustrations. My favourite was position no 7.
We also stole a book on Auschwitz from his grandfather and used to just sit and stare at the black and white photographs in the middle.
We never said anything...except Jesus......we just stared and stared.
In the beginning, there was a Massey Ferguson tractor. My dad found an old hand-held ox plough that we hooked up behind the tractor with a chain. On an icy autumn morning, before the sun was up I was walking behind, holding the plough upright, dressed in my school clothes, frozen hands slipping and me sliding in the mud and trying to keep the damned thing straight and my dad screaming blue murder on the tractor as we tore up two long rows of potatoes, which I would have to pick up by hand that afternoon after school and bag, weigh, sew up, load onto a trailer which I would hook up to the tractor and take to the Co-op.
Once I got lazy and loaded on twice as much as I was told to. Burst the tractors' petrol pump diaphragm halfway there. Nothing daunted I walked back, got the V.W. Combi and some rope, put my eight year old brother on the tractor to steer, hooked up the combi to the tractor, and off we went. Three quarters of mile later the V.W.'s petrol pump diaphragm burst. It was a hell of a load. My dad didn't even ask.
My mother did a similar thing - overloaded the Combi with peaches and broke the back axle going too fast into the dip under the railway-bridge in Germiston.
Us kids used to have to pick and sell peaches from our roadside stall and once a lady unpacked all the fifteen or so from the brown paper packet to see if they had marks on them and then stole them! She just closed the window and drove off. After that we asked for the money first. It was here that I learned there are three types of people. Bad tempered, friendly and neutral.
I have to take a urine sample!
Preparing to negotiate the rapids ahead.
My mom used to read Angelique books.....but that's nothing new either....pining for the dark man in a mask who sings romantic love songs and is said to be hideously disfigured but isn't really. Should women be reading this kind of rubbish? I'm sure it just feeds her depression.
Laughing at the boss's jokes.
It's all about power...who can steal it from whom. Parents feeding off their children. Succubi like black shadows hanging on your shoulder, clinging to your knees...freeze...squeezing out the juice.....I'm so sorry my baby......please don't look at me like that.
A child NEVER forgets.
(Although the adult does....when he's not a child anymore)
I drew a dirty picture once (click here)......and said another boy had put it in my pocket. My mother sobbed and said....."I believe you." (Where thousands wouldn't) What was the point of that? If she only knew. the cat is sleeping on the key pad so i can't do capitals at the moment. she likes to be where the action is then go to sleep on it. hannah's recording a flute piece in the other room on her computer. Now she wants to sit on my lap. The cat that is. Cars shushing by the window.....you can hear that I'm bored. What shall we do? Play a game. My friend Alan once called me 'mince meat mentality'.
For example. . Say...everything is the opposite of what it seems to be. Them's the rules.
I'm the king of the castle an you're the dirty arsehole.
Now. Now what.
And who do you think you're talking to down there?
And so on to the Double Focal Point.
Here is a diagram done by my friend Alan. (There are two Alans. One is my so-called-friend Alan and the other is my friend Alan who is openly gay and the other isn't.)
CLICK ME
focal point 1 focal point 2
(unconscious) (conscious)
He doesn't know he's looking. He only sees good tree, bad tree. This is called projection.
CLICK ME 2
double focal point.
This is the blindspot of man. He doesn't see himself .....looking at the tree. He only sees the tree.
He doesn't know what he looks like when he's shouting at someone else......he only knows he's feeling awful...or upset. I happened to glance at the mirror one day just as I was saying......... I'M NOT SHOUTING! Boy. What a shock.
The man and the tree. Who is me....at the moment of looking, falling into everything we see....that's just so me....I gotta have it......or I'm gonna kill it.
Love and hate.....the left and right hands of the average schizophrenic.
Inner and outer, the one unseen (Atlantis floating in the underwater skull when it's alive) and the
outer bright and shocking and oh so absorbing with it's temptations and dangers and where the hell did he go and day and night and nothings still and time moves as place deteriorates into the same old whitewash told to every new generation.
Do you laugh at the bosses jokes. It used to be called hypocrisy....now it's called getting ahead....two faced......split personality training begins early. One thing in front of them.....and yourself behind their backs. I've got a headache but this is getting interesting. All things to all men and one thing to your psychiatrist.
WHO LET THE MAD WOMAN IN WITH THE LOONIES?
In Amsterdam we knew ourselves as the Kruger Plein crowd.
And this mad girl, high on who knows what, took a liking to me and my songs and came home with us one night and stayed till dawn doing mad things like reading my thoughts and suggesting if I don't sleep with her she's going to tell......god what a nerve wracking night and drawing with crayons on paintings and walls and leaving menstrual blood all over the place as part of her therapy for not being ashamed of her body and its functions and my girlfriend came in and saw her sitting on my lap trying to talk sense into her and she picked up a broom and thrashed her round the room while across the road in another flat overlooking ours was a string quartet with suspended notes watching with open mouths.
The mad girl then threatened to jump off the balcony....teetering on the edge of five floors while my girlfriend shouted....GO ON...JUMP YOU BITCH.....JUMP.
She was a real witch cause she said she could make my cat leap off the balcony........and a few months later the fat old thing slipped and fell and was only found two days later.....but recovered in time. I hate people who hurt animals.
Anyway. My cat and I are going to go and wash the dishes and make supper and watch the BOER WAR> 30'000women and children die in British concentration camps.
Hitler was such a copy cat.
I watched the Boer War dead and Tom Jones live.
The thing that was so enticing about Kruger Plein was that I was for once free of having to serve a woman. I didn't have to go home on time or nuthin, i could just play my guitar all the time. And I had about 5 girlfriends at the same time. I suppose you could say it all came to a head. (Click for music from the Kruger Plein crowd. Alan is playing the toy piano. Neville and I are playing guitars.)