So tonight, at this hour, I find myself sitting at my laptop in the low, sombre light of my bedside lamp. I can only imagine that I am one of a million people doing the exact same thing. I have visions right now of chaotic newsrooms, sleep-deprived editors and exasperated writers scrambling to get comments from government officials. I have visions of people, maybe even strangers, embracing each other in random locations in an attempt to realise the immense impact of what has transpired in the last 4 hours. I also have visions of the people like me, following any and all social media platforms and listening to live news streaming of what is happening in Johannesburg right now. I have visions of people being caught up in all the commotion, and not even realising they are crying. I have visions of news anchors being too full of emotion to speak.
If this was a TV series the cameras would be panning to those people right now while playing a song that suits the occasion. Maybe something like "Fix You" by Coldplay. I wish this was an episode of a TV series.
It will be a while before the effects of this loss will be properly felt. I say that, yet I find myself at a loss for words. I thought about postponing this until I had them, but I realised I might never. This not going to be a night filled with sleep for a large portion of the country, myself included (probably). This is not going to be a night forgotten any time soon. Tonight will go into the history books as the night we lost one of the greatest human beings ever to grace the surface of the Earth, let alone South Africa. Tonight will be the night we mourn as a collective nation, and in doing so, realise our unity. As Gareth Cliff said, this is one of the rare times when the country is on the same side, and we can build our nation.
I'll be listening to a variety of news agencies tonight including BBC, CNN, SKY News, ENews and maybe even a bit of 5fm. Tune in along with me. See you on the other side.
RIP Mandela. Your long walk is finally over.
"And tears stream down your face
When you lose something you cannot replace."
Thursday, 5 December 2013
Monday, 25 November 2013
Scarred for Life
This is my first (and probably last) list post. It stems from a need to talk about the severe psychological scarring I recently received after watching a series of movies suggested by a "friend" after I mentioned my boredom in a lament to him. I have subsequently promised myself to punch him in the face when I get home.
These movies are all deeply unsettling, but brilliant in the comment they deliver on psychology and humanity. Despite their brilliance, I would never, ever want to subject myself to them again. But I'm not saying you shouldn't watch them.
All the movies on this list have been banned somewhere in the world and will require a few hours of unwinding after watching them. This list contains spoilers, is in no particular order, and is entirely my personal opinion.
Another thing: Some of the links to videos and photos in this post are very graphic. Don't say I didn't warn you.
No. 1 - Trainspotting
One of two addict movies on this list, Trainspotting focuses on the lives of a group of Scottish heroine addicts as they deal with their addictions and attempts to get clean. While the movie itself isn't that bad, there is a sequence which really gets under your skin.
There is a scene where Sick Boy (played by the amazing Johnny Lee Miller) is having a nightmare involving his infant daughter who has died of neglect. Can't really get worse than that right? Right? Wrong. In the nightmare, the infant is crawling along the walls of the bedroom and eventually finds its way to the ceiling. Upon reaching the spot on the roof directly above the screaming Sick Boy, the infant proceeds to do an Exorcist-like head spin. Looks something like this.
While this one scene is a bit unsettling (especially if you already have a mild (ir)rational fear of babies, the rest of the movie is brilliant, but why is a post for another day.
No. 2 - Soylent Green
So bare with me real quick. For this one, we have to go back to go forward. Lost? What if I told you this movie was made in 1973 and centres around a dystopian 2022 society where there are 40 million people in New York City alone? Better? Good.
In this movie, food rations have become increasingly limited due to the overpopulation crisis. All food is now compressed into colour-coded post-it note sized wafers. These rations are produced by the Soylent Corporation, and the mad scientists (literally) have developed a new wafer made out of plankton, aptly called Soylent Green. Soylent Green is very popular, as it is more nutritious than the other wafers, and soon there is a shortage which leads to rioting. All is well until a murder occurs in the upper echelon of the corporation and a policeman is called in to investigate. After some investigation, the policeman realises that Soylent Green is not made out of plankton (which has incidentally not grown for a long time - shocker). So what is Soylent Green made of? Well...
This movie disturbed me for a number of reasons, besides the obvious. The overpopulation epidemic is not as big a stretch as it was in the 70's, and with resources dwindling fast, one has to wonder if this is as far-fetched as we think it is. Secondly, 2022 is only 9 years away. Scary in itself. Lastly, I find myself wondering what the world's reaction would have been. Would people still have fought to get their rations of Soylent Green once they knew what it was really made of? I kind of think so. Society nowadays has become increasingly individualistic and will do whatever is necessary to survive, even if that means turning to cannibalism. Scary and unsettling. For me anyway.
No. 3 - A Clockwork Orange
In this instance, the tagline says it all. This movie caused so much related violence that Stanley Kubrick himself withdrew the film in England and Australia, and it is still banned in various countries. It features various graphic scenes such as the brutal beating of a homeless man, two explicit rape scenes and various other wrongdoings by Alex DeLarge and his fellow miscreants who call themselves "droogs". After being arrested, an attempt is made to "cure" Alex using various psychological techniques such as the "Ludovico Technique".
Initially, the reformation appears to be a success, with Alex becoming physically sick at the sight of violent acts, but after hearing Beethoven's Ninth Symphony he throws himself out a window, injuring himself. Upon awaking in hospital, he discovers he no longer has an aversion to violence and we are left to wonder how he spends the rest of his life.
While the violent scenes are disturbing in their own right, what really freaked me out about this movie was the Ludovico thing. I wish I could tell you why though. On a deeper level, the film brings the whole "human conditioning" thing into real question with regard to its effectiveness and humaneness. A good movie if you feel like criticising the practice of psychology, much like I did after my Psych 1 November exam.
No. 4 - Requiem for a Dream
A movie I believe everyone needs to see once in their lives (purely because once is all you will be able to stomach), it centres around four drug addicts played by Jared Leto, Marlon Wayans, Ellen Burstyn and Jennifer Connelly. The movie explores the lengths addicts will go to for a hit and the depths of their increasing psychosis. This movie does not have a happy ending, as Leto's character loses his left arm, Wayans's character is arrested and locked up, Burstyn's character is committed and subjected to shock therapy and Connelly's character is forced to participate in orgies and sexual acts for her fix.
While the whole movie is terrifying and depressing at the same time, it asks some rather deep questions. There are also various deeply disturbing images (such as Leto's rotting arm, hallucinations of fridge demons eating people and Connelly's sex scenes) that are hinted at in the theatrical trailer and shown in a countdown video I found on YouTube. Again, I recommend watching it at least once. If you have a strong stomach.
No. 5 - Cannibal Holocaust
"The controversial movie ever made." I concur.
Taking the form of the found footage genre immortalised by the Paranormal Activity franchise, this movie is, in my personal view, the epitome of horror. It is by far the most violent, gruesome and horrific movie on this list.
Banned in over 50 countries (according to the theatrical trailer), this movie centres around a group of film makers shooting a documentary about cannibalistic tribes in South America. Initially, the crew is thought to be held captive by the tribe, a rescue attempt is made, but all that's found in the location are their cameras.
Before even reviewing the footage themselves, a broadcasting company decides to exploit the tapes and make a nice profit by broadcasting the footage as a documentary, but when they actually watch the footage, they change their minds on a dime.
With a name like Cannibal Holocaust you are already not expecting sunshine and daisies, but you will definitely not be prepared for what you see. I have specifically left this one for last, purely because I've been trying to find words to describe it, but I just can't. Its just that bad. The poster should give you some idea. Basically, everyone dies in some horrific way as revenge for their gang-rape and murder of a young tribeswoman. The girlfriend of the director is raped and beheaded, a cameraman is struck with a spear (and shot by the director so they can film how the natives mutilate corpses), and the last two crew members are killed off camera. The found-footage ends with the director's bloody face.
What gets me about this movie is that by the end of the movie, the film crew become just as savage as the people of the tribe they are documenting. They become captivated by the impaled corpses and partake in animal cruelty, and the eventual gang-rape. It shows how, despite the constant effort on our part, we are all innately savage. The final line of the movie echoes this disturbing realisation all too accurately.
"I wonder who the real cannibals are?"
I hope I have sparked your interest a bit. If I have only succeeded in scarring you, let me know so I can punch my friend for you, too. Have a good one.
These movies are all deeply unsettling, but brilliant in the comment they deliver on psychology and humanity. Despite their brilliance, I would never, ever want to subject myself to them again. But I'm not saying you shouldn't watch them.
All the movies on this list have been banned somewhere in the world and will require a few hours of unwinding after watching them. This list contains spoilers, is in no particular order, and is entirely my personal opinion.
Another thing: Some of the links to videos and photos in this post are very graphic. Don't say I didn't warn you.
No. 1 - Trainspotting
 |
| Trainspotting Theatrical Tailor. Photo: Sourced |
One of two addict movies on this list, Trainspotting focuses on the lives of a group of Scottish heroine addicts as they deal with their addictions and attempts to get clean. While the movie itself isn't that bad, there is a sequence which really gets under your skin.
There is a scene where Sick Boy (played by the amazing Johnny Lee Miller) is having a nightmare involving his infant daughter who has died of neglect. Can't really get worse than that right? Right? Wrong. In the nightmare, the infant is crawling along the walls of the bedroom and eventually finds its way to the ceiling. Upon reaching the spot on the roof directly above the screaming Sick Boy, the infant proceeds to do an Exorcist-like head spin. Looks something like this.
While this one scene is a bit unsettling (especially if you already have a mild (ir)rational fear of babies, the rest of the movie is brilliant, but why is a post for another day.
No. 2 - Soylent Green
 |
| Soylent Green Theatrical Poster. Photo: Sourced |
So bare with me real quick. For this one, we have to go back to go forward. Lost? What if I told you this movie was made in 1973 and centres around a dystopian 2022 society where there are 40 million people in New York City alone? Better? Good.
In this movie, food rations have become increasingly limited due to the overpopulation crisis. All food is now compressed into colour-coded post-it note sized wafers. These rations are produced by the Soylent Corporation, and the mad scientists (literally) have developed a new wafer made out of plankton, aptly called Soylent Green. Soylent Green is very popular, as it is more nutritious than the other wafers, and soon there is a shortage which leads to rioting. All is well until a murder occurs in the upper echelon of the corporation and a policeman is called in to investigate. After some investigation, the policeman realises that Soylent Green is not made out of plankton (which has incidentally not grown for a long time - shocker). So what is Soylent Green made of? Well...
No. 3 - A Clockwork Orange
 |
| A Clockwork Orange Theatrical Poster. Photo: Sourced |
In this instance, the tagline says it all. This movie caused so much related violence that Stanley Kubrick himself withdrew the film in England and Australia, and it is still banned in various countries. It features various graphic scenes such as the brutal beating of a homeless man, two explicit rape scenes and various other wrongdoings by Alex DeLarge and his fellow miscreants who call themselves "droogs". After being arrested, an attempt is made to "cure" Alex using various psychological techniques such as the "Ludovico Technique".
Initially, the reformation appears to be a success, with Alex becoming physically sick at the sight of violent acts, but after hearing Beethoven's Ninth Symphony he throws himself out a window, injuring himself. Upon awaking in hospital, he discovers he no longer has an aversion to violence and we are left to wonder how he spends the rest of his life.
While the violent scenes are disturbing in their own right, what really freaked me out about this movie was the Ludovico thing. I wish I could tell you why though. On a deeper level, the film brings the whole "human conditioning" thing into real question with regard to its effectiveness and humaneness. A good movie if you feel like criticising the practice of psychology, much like I did after my Psych 1 November exam.
No. 4 - Requiem for a Dream
 |
| Requiem for a Dream Theatrical Poster. Photo: Sourced |
A movie I believe everyone needs to see once in their lives (purely because once is all you will be able to stomach), it centres around four drug addicts played by Jared Leto, Marlon Wayans, Ellen Burstyn and Jennifer Connelly. The movie explores the lengths addicts will go to for a hit and the depths of their increasing psychosis. This movie does not have a happy ending, as Leto's character loses his left arm, Wayans's character is arrested and locked up, Burstyn's character is committed and subjected to shock therapy and Connelly's character is forced to participate in orgies and sexual acts for her fix.
While the whole movie is terrifying and depressing at the same time, it asks some rather deep questions. There are also various deeply disturbing images (such as Leto's rotting arm, hallucinations of fridge demons eating people and Connelly's sex scenes) that are hinted at in the theatrical trailer and shown in a countdown video I found on YouTube. Again, I recommend watching it at least once. If you have a strong stomach.
No. 5 - Cannibal Holocaust
 |
| Cannibal Holocaust Theatrical Poster. Photo: Sourced |
"The controversial movie ever made." I concur.
Taking the form of the found footage genre immortalised by the Paranormal Activity franchise, this movie is, in my personal view, the epitome of horror. It is by far the most violent, gruesome and horrific movie on this list.
Banned in over 50 countries (according to the theatrical trailer), this movie centres around a group of film makers shooting a documentary about cannibalistic tribes in South America. Initially, the crew is thought to be held captive by the tribe, a rescue attempt is made, but all that's found in the location are their cameras.
Before even reviewing the footage themselves, a broadcasting company decides to exploit the tapes and make a nice profit by broadcasting the footage as a documentary, but when they actually watch the footage, they change their minds on a dime.
With a name like Cannibal Holocaust you are already not expecting sunshine and daisies, but you will definitely not be prepared for what you see. I have specifically left this one for last, purely because I've been trying to find words to describe it, but I just can't. Its just that bad. The poster should give you some idea. Basically, everyone dies in some horrific way as revenge for their gang-rape and murder of a young tribeswoman. The girlfriend of the director is raped and beheaded, a cameraman is struck with a spear (and shot by the director so they can film how the natives mutilate corpses), and the last two crew members are killed off camera. The found-footage ends with the director's bloody face.
What gets me about this movie is that by the end of the movie, the film crew become just as savage as the people of the tribe they are documenting. They become captivated by the impaled corpses and partake in animal cruelty, and the eventual gang-rape. It shows how, despite the constant effort on our part, we are all innately savage. The final line of the movie echoes this disturbing realisation all too accurately.
"I wonder who the real cannibals are?"
I hope I have sparked your interest a bit. If I have only succeeded in scarring you, let me know so I can punch my friend for you, too. Have a good one.
Sunday, 10 November 2013
Words and other inconceivable concepts
Words have never felt so infinitesimal. Words have never felt so useless. Words have never been a less outrageous concept, a less insane mode of expression or communication. Words fail us. They betray us They cause anarchy and feelings we never wanted or needed to be subjected to. Words are what rips away our souls and throws them on the ground to be trod on in the rain.
And yet words are what make us feel. Words are what create a landscape, a feeling, an environment.
And words are what moved me to write this post.
When did we become so complacent with this society? When did we become okay with the idea that its the norm to oppress others? When did it become okay to judge and exclude others based on their gender, skin colour, sexual preferences or even their taste in music or how they decide to spend their time? When did we decide to glorify those who have instead of those who don't? Why do we glorify the term "victim" instead of "survivor"?
When did humanity become so fucked up that we had the ideas of rape, murder, oppression and degradation? When did we become complacent with ridicule? Who decides what cases become glorified and which cases fall by the wayside, never to be heard of again?
Why do we ignore the cries for help that are so blatantly obvious in someone's silence?
When did it become the norm that half the people we come across have been abused? When did it become an abnormality that we have roofs over our heads? When did being nice and kind and good become a rarity? When did we become so individualistic that we have these meaningless conversations that have no point in the larger scheme of things? Surely life has to amount to something more than pain, inhumanity, uncertainty and pointlessness?
Words fail in expressing any true, real, raw feeling. In this case, the disgust I feel for the human race is more than I can express with my limited vocabulary. I know there are good people in the world. The problem is they get pushed aside for caring in this materialistic individual world. And this needs to change.
And yet words are what make us feel. Words are what create a landscape, a feeling, an environment.
And words are what moved me to write this post.
When did we become so complacent with this society? When did we become okay with the idea that its the norm to oppress others? When did it become okay to judge and exclude others based on their gender, skin colour, sexual preferences or even their taste in music or how they decide to spend their time? When did we decide to glorify those who have instead of those who don't? Why do we glorify the term "victim" instead of "survivor"?
When did humanity become so fucked up that we had the ideas of rape, murder, oppression and degradation? When did we become complacent with ridicule? Who decides what cases become glorified and which cases fall by the wayside, never to be heard of again?
Why do we ignore the cries for help that are so blatantly obvious in someone's silence?
When did it become the norm that half the people we come across have been abused? When did it become an abnormality that we have roofs over our heads? When did being nice and kind and good become a rarity? When did we become so individualistic that we have these meaningless conversations that have no point in the larger scheme of things? Surely life has to amount to something more than pain, inhumanity, uncertainty and pointlessness?
Words fail in expressing any true, real, raw feeling. In this case, the disgust I feel for the human race is more than I can express with my limited vocabulary. I know there are good people in the world. The problem is they get pushed aside for caring in this materialistic individual world. And this needs to change.
Wednesday, 16 October 2013
All Dressed Up and Nowhere to Take a Selfie
Dalk vind jy dat jy jouself te veel vergelyk met ander mense. Miskien is jy vasgevang in iemand anders se Facebook Timeline, foto's van vakansies, partytjies, vriende en status updates oor verlore liefde, maar nuutgevonde wysheid. Miskien eindig jou horison binne die raam van 'n Instagram foto. Miskien bewys die Tweets dat niemand eintlik 'n veer vir jou voel nie. Niemand "like" wat jy doen, se, droom of hoop nie. Niemand "like" wat jy afneem nie. Niemand lewer kommentaar op jou persoonlike rugbywedstryd teen meer as 15 probleme wat jou daagliks tackle nie.
Moenie vrees nie. Daar is n app hier voor.
Whatsapp.
My raad is sluit aan by 'n Whatsapp groep en hou dit dop op 'n Saterdagaand wanneer jy alweer all dressed up and nowhere to take a selfie is, terwyl die res van die wereld die tyd van hille lewens deel en "like," terloops nooit "love" nie. Af en toe op 'n Saterdagaand sal hierdie mense, met hulle eindeloos utopiese lewens, 'n flou grappie, oppervlakkige gedig of 'n foto van 'n dier met menskleure deel op die groep deel, en jy sal iets agterkom.
Soms wens hulle ook die groep sou hulle raaksien. Soms is hulle ook alleen op 'n Saterdagaand, all dressed up and nowhere to take a selfie.
Moenie vrees nie. Daar is n app hier voor.
Whatsapp.
My raad is sluit aan by 'n Whatsapp groep en hou dit dop op 'n Saterdagaand wanneer jy alweer all dressed up and nowhere to take a selfie is, terwyl die res van die wereld die tyd van hille lewens deel en "like," terloops nooit "love" nie. Af en toe op 'n Saterdagaand sal hierdie mense, met hulle eindeloos utopiese lewens, 'n flou grappie, oppervlakkige gedig of 'n foto van 'n dier met menskleure deel op die groep deel, en jy sal iets agterkom.
Soms wens hulle ook die groep sou hulle raaksien. Soms is hulle ook alleen op 'n Saterdagaand, all dressed up and nowhere to take a selfie.
Monday, 14 October 2013
Blogging?
Identity crisis (n): A period of uncertainty and confusion in which a person's sense of identity becomes insecure, typically due to a change in their expected aims or role in society.
The above is courtesy of the great entity that is Google, cited because that is what this blog has been going through lately. And by lately I mean since its inception.
Over the years, this blog has been used as a platform to complain (sometimes with the maturity of a 2-month-old foetus), express my views on topics most people stop thinking about after their fourth birthdays and as a place to store my sad excuses for poetry and songs so they don't get thrown out with other unimportant pieces of paper (like, say, my maths homework from grade 11 and 12).
After recently reading the brilliance of some of my friends' bolgs, I have come to realise what an amazing tool this can be for people who can actually manipulate words to form logical and coherent ideas, and how mine has been doing the exact opposite. As a result, I know I need to make a conscious effort to stick to a writing style and genre of posts. So from now on, no more random, out-of-context laments. No more shameless self-promotion (okay, maybe a little). No more 1000 word posts (unless its passed midnight or I have a really good point) and no more posts on silent horror movies or dead woebegone musicians. From now on, only things people will want to read instead of treating this as a diary.
As a thank you for reading this, here are some links to blogs by some of my friends and fellow journalism students. All considerably better than this one.
Here's an apple having an existential crisis. Just because.
The above is courtesy of the great entity that is Google, cited because that is what this blog has been going through lately. And by lately I mean since its inception.
After recently reading the brilliance of some of my friends' bolgs, I have come to realise what an amazing tool this can be for people who can actually manipulate words to form logical and coherent ideas, and how mine has been doing the exact opposite. As a result, I know I need to make a conscious effort to stick to a writing style and genre of posts. So from now on, no more random, out-of-context laments. No more shameless self-promotion (okay, maybe a little). No more 1000 word posts (unless its passed midnight or I have a really good point) and no more posts on silent horror movies or dead woebegone musicians. From now on, only things people will want to read instead of treating this as a diary.
As a thank you for reading this, here are some links to blogs by some of my friends and fellow journalism students. All considerably better than this one.
- Book of Aces by Khanyi Mlaba
- The Negative Capability by Chelsea Haith
- Hombacucumber Musings by Mitchell Parker
- Creatures of Cape Town by Charles MacKenzie
- PhotoFashJourn by Sara Steiniger
- Greyhamstown by Ash Erasmus
Here's an apple having an existential crisis. Just because.
Sunday, 15 September 2013
As Ek Ooit
A poem about perfection in imperfection.
As ek ooit 'n sneeuman word
Maak dan seker dat ek smelt
Dat ek kan vloei tot in die see
Dat ek verdamp tot dit weer reën
As ek ooit 'n kaart moet wees
Maak dan seker dat ek moeilik lees
Dat reisigers deur my verdwaal
Die vreugdes leer van swerwer wees
As ek ooit 'n plafon moet wees
Maak dan seker ek is vol gate
Sodat mense nat kan reën
Na sterre kan kyk in die aande
As ek ooit 'n ligtoring word
Maak dan seker ek is eensaam
Dat my strale uit kan staan
Teen matrose se donker aand
As ek bloot 'n mens moet wees
Laat ek aanhou dwaal en beweeg
As ek dan 'n mens moet wees
Dan is dit so
Dan is dit so
As ek ooit 'n sneeuman word
Maak dan seker dat ek smelt
Dat ek kan vloei tot in die see
Dat ek verdamp tot dit weer reën
As ek ooit 'n kaart moet wees
Maak dan seker dat ek moeilik lees
Dat reisigers deur my verdwaal
Die vreugdes leer van swerwer wees
As ek ooit 'n plafon moet wees
Maak dan seker ek is vol gate
Sodat mense nat kan reën
Na sterre kan kyk in die aande
As ek ooit 'n ligtoring word
Maak dan seker ek is eensaam
Dat my strale uit kan staan
Teen matrose se donker aand
As ek bloot 'n mens moet wees
Laat ek aanhou dwaal en beweeg
As ek dan 'n mens moet wees
Dan is dit so
Dan is dit so
Monday, 19 August 2013
Voetgangers
I recently wrote this on a mission back from PE after covering the Intervarsity tournament. The bus was silent, a window was open and the light on the road was rather eerie. Don't know why it came to me in Afrikaans though. Oh well.
Dit is koud
Kom kyk na my asem
Rookseine dat ek bestaan
Daar is iemand
In hierdie liggaam
Wat sal mense daarmee maak?
Daar is ligte wat dreun oor die hoofpad
Almal êrens om te gaan in die donker
Op soek na 'n rigting
Ten minste tot waar die strale val
Ek is moontlik uitgedoof
Maar ek is lankal nie meer blind nie
Hierdie voete sal iets vind
Al het ek min om op te staan
In 'n stad saamgestel uit fragmente
Word ek so klein soos 'n atoom
Met jou sintuie op my polse
Kan jy hoor hoe klink my bloed?
Lees my leidrade agter my krake
Buitelyne teen die skemeraand
Tussen bome, duiwe, figure
Voetganger, verbyganger
Tog iemand
Ek is moontlik uitgedoof
Maar ek is lankal nie meer blind nie
Hierdie voete sal iets vind
Al het ek min om op te staan
Dit is koud
Kom kyk na my asem
Rookseine dat ek bestaan
Daar is iemand
In hierdie liggaam
Wat sal mense daarmee maak?
Daar is ligte wat dreun oor die hoofpad
Almal êrens om te gaan in die donker
Op soek na 'n rigting
Ten minste tot waar die strale val
Ek is moontlik uitgedoof
Maar ek is lankal nie meer blind nie
Hierdie voete sal iets vind
Al het ek min om op te staan
In 'n stad saamgestel uit fragmente
Word ek so klein soos 'n atoom
Met jou sintuie op my polse
Kan jy hoor hoe klink my bloed?
Lees my leidrade agter my krake
Buitelyne teen die skemeraand
Tussen bome, duiwe, figure
Voetganger, verbyganger
Tog iemand
Ek is moontlik uitgedoof
Maar ek is lankal nie meer blind nie
Hierdie voete sal iets vind
Al het ek min om op te staan
Wednesday, 31 July 2013
Ode to a Memory
Far Leys is a comfortable red brick house at the end of a tree-lined cul de sac. The rooms are painted in subdued swirls of yellow and blue, and the practical furnishings put the guest at ease. The grounds are lovely, with carefully tended flower gardens and walkways that overlook the sweeping view of the distant hills. Far Leys is where he grew up. And where he spent his final hours.
His room is quiet now. The bed is neatly made, above it hangs a framed picture of a rough-and-tumble sea storm. His old school desk, complete with coffee stain and pen, is pressed against the far wall. Volumes of Chaucer, Blake, Flaubert and Shakespeare peer down from a corner bookshelf. An old-fashioned radio sits ready and lonesome on his bedside table. His shirts are carefully folded in his dresser, his black sport-coat hangs loosely in his closet. But Nick Drake isn't coming home tonight.
Nick Drake isn't a name you come across in every-day conversations. He never made it to the Billboard Hot 100, nor did he ever have a best-selling album on iTunes. In fact, he never sold more than 5 000 copies of any of his records during his lifetime. You would also consider yourself very lucky of you found any of his lesser-known songs on the interwebs. Despite this, his songs cast an eerie spell on first-time listeners. The haunting melodies and thoughtful lyrics hold you in their grip and never really let go. But this is not why you find yourself wanting more after the last song starts to fade out. The emotional intensity and sincerity of all the components coming together is what teases and bewitches you, and what makes you keep hitting the repeat button.
Drake was an original, a man who dared to throw his hat into the wind. He had a vision of what his songs should be and how he wanted them presented to his audience. And those songs, those few minutes of absolute perfection, are now all that remain to tell the story of his life under his Northern Sky.
Drake was born on June 19, 1948 in Rangoon, Burma, where his father, Rodney Drake, was an engineer sent to work with the Bombay Burmah Trading Company. The family (including Drake's elder sister Gabriella) returned to Warwickshire in 1950, when they moved into Far Leys, a house in the sleepy English hamlet of Tanworth-in-Arden. It was here, in the large, snug house that Drake first displayed his vast talents.
In 1957, Drake attended Eagle House School, a private boarding school in Berkshire. Five years later, he enrolled in Marlborough College, where he excelled at sport, becoming one of the school's top sprinters. Here, Drake also played piano for the school's orchestra and even formed a band with fellow school mates.
After his time at Marlborough College had ended, Drake won a scholarship to study English literature at the University of Cambridge. He delayed attending by spending six months at a university in France, where he began practicing guitar in earnest and spent most of his time busking in the city centres with friends.
During his time at home, Drake would spend many hours, often early in the morning, in an old, orange armchair practicing and recording tapes. These early tapes reveal the desolate themes, such as defeat and heartbreak that would inspire his later work. The songs "Princess of Sand" and "Joey" are romantic odes to lost youth, and so beautiful in simplicity and intent, yet uncommonly sad. If you listen attentively, you can almost hear the makings of a lonely boy caught up in a world he doesn't quite understand, and one that doesn't understand him.
Drake's first album, Five Leaves Left, takes its name from something that seemed to be tongue-in-cheek on his part. Taking its name form a warning sign printed on a carton of cigarettes, the album is an anthem to grand unrealised dreams and desires, as made evident by "Time Has Told Me". It sets the theme of the album by creating a world-weary melody. Another standout from this album is one of Drake's most well-known songs; "River Man" (which happens to be one of my personal favourites) sets the listener adrift on a small boat on some long forgotten river of time.
"Going to see the river man
Going to tell him all I can
About the ban
On feeling free."
Another one of my personal favourites, "Cello Song" produces a rich, sombre atmosphere with the beautiful cello melody echoing in your eardrums long after the song has ended. The song deals with leaving something of great value behind forever. "Cello Song" has risen to great acclaim in the last few years, being featured in the Academy Award nominated film "The Blind Side".
"You sail to the skies
On the crest of a wave."
Drake's next attempt, Pink Moon, didn't do much better in the sales department, though it gathered very high critical acclaim. Pink Moon explored Drake's guitar ability more than his lyrical ability (though it was compromised) and does so exceptionally well. "Things Behind the Sun" explores this really well, his guitar sometimes goes into an absolute frenzy, chopping off notes and bending them to breaking point.
In these songs, the messages are very clear. The lines from "Place to Be" and "Parasite" spell it out, but the message was no clearer than in the song "Know".
"Know that I love you
Know I don't care
Know that I see you
Know I'm not there."
Drake's ghosts were closing in fast.
After the commercial failure of Pink Moon, Drake retreated back to Far Leys. He sat in the orange armchair, refusing to see friends. He was so far gone, not even the anti-depressant pills could bring him back.
Then, unexpectedly, life picked up. Drake found himself back in the studio in 1974 and recorded four very rare songs that gave the listener more of an insight to his private hell. "Hanging on a Star" is perhaps the most well-known and common of these four, and to call that song "depressing" is way too kind a word. But Drake was not finished yet. In October 1974, he found himself back in France, meeting with a French folk singer who had expressed interest in recording with him. He returned to Far Leys confident that he had finally found direction.
But life plays cruel jokes. One night in November that same year, Drake was up in the early hours, as he had been plagued by insomnia for most of his life. According to his parents, he was in a good mood, and had Brandenburg Concerto on the turntable. Drake mistook his anti-depressants, Tryptizol, for sleeping pills, and took a few, not knowing they were lethal if even one pill was taken over the limit. His mother found him dead on the morning of 25 November, 1974. He was 26 years old.
The beasts were silent at last.
Drake lies buried in a Tanworth-in-Arden churchyard, his crumbling gravestone, engraved with the words "And now we rise, and we are everywhere," overlooking a wide expanse of closely-cropped hills and carefully tended meadows.
Inside the church, there is a pipe organ used to accompany the church hymns and devotionals. Above one of the organ stops sits a brass plaque with Drake's name on it, donated by his mother and father to keep the church going. Once a year, the church plans a recital of Drake's songs. The church is still packed with locals long after the deaths of Drake and his parents who lift their voices high to pay tribute to their native son. They say you can hear the singing from miles around.
After his death, the last four recorded songs were tacked into Pink Moon, and in spite of it being a good seller, it was deleted by Island Records in 1983.
Of all the things about Nick Drake that captivate me, this is the one that haunts me the most whenever I listen to his music. He never made it. The beautiful melodies that plagued him throughout his life barely made it to the ears of 5 000 people when he was alive. Hardly anyone has heard of him, despite the moderate success he achieved after his death. He is just another singer/songwriter who fell victim to his inner demons. I can't help but think that, had he been given the recognition he deserved, he would still be alive today, making more music with legends such as Bob Dylan, John Martyn and Elton John.
His true genius was never realised, and his timeless songs go largely unheard, lost in a sea of pop hits that don't last two months before they are played out. And that bothers me more than I can put into words.
I leave you now with the first song of Nick Drake's that I heard, the song that reeled me in and has yet to let me go. Enjoy.
From the Morning - Nick Drake
His room is quiet now. The bed is neatly made, above it hangs a framed picture of a rough-and-tumble sea storm. His old school desk, complete with coffee stain and pen, is pressed against the far wall. Volumes of Chaucer, Blake, Flaubert and Shakespeare peer down from a corner bookshelf. An old-fashioned radio sits ready and lonesome on his bedside table. His shirts are carefully folded in his dresser, his black sport-coat hangs loosely in his closet. But Nick Drake isn't coming home tonight.
Nick Drake isn't a name you come across in every-day conversations. He never made it to the Billboard Hot 100, nor did he ever have a best-selling album on iTunes. In fact, he never sold more than 5 000 copies of any of his records during his lifetime. You would also consider yourself very lucky of you found any of his lesser-known songs on the interwebs. Despite this, his songs cast an eerie spell on first-time listeners. The haunting melodies and thoughtful lyrics hold you in their grip and never really let go. But this is not why you find yourself wanting more after the last song starts to fade out. The emotional intensity and sincerity of all the components coming together is what teases and bewitches you, and what makes you keep hitting the repeat button.
Drake was an original, a man who dared to throw his hat into the wind. He had a vision of what his songs should be and how he wanted them presented to his audience. And those songs, those few minutes of absolute perfection, are now all that remain to tell the story of his life under his Northern Sky.
Drake was born on June 19, 1948 in Rangoon, Burma, where his father, Rodney Drake, was an engineer sent to work with the Bombay Burmah Trading Company. The family (including Drake's elder sister Gabriella) returned to Warwickshire in 1950, when they moved into Far Leys, a house in the sleepy English hamlet of Tanworth-in-Arden. It was here, in the large, snug house that Drake first displayed his vast talents.
In 1957, Drake attended Eagle House School, a private boarding school in Berkshire. Five years later, he enrolled in Marlborough College, where he excelled at sport, becoming one of the school's top sprinters. Here, Drake also played piano for the school's orchestra and even formed a band with fellow school mates.
After his time at Marlborough College had ended, Drake won a scholarship to study English literature at the University of Cambridge. He delayed attending by spending six months at a university in France, where he began practicing guitar in earnest and spent most of his time busking in the city centres with friends.
During his time at home, Drake would spend many hours, often early in the morning, in an old, orange armchair practicing and recording tapes. These early tapes reveal the desolate themes, such as defeat and heartbreak that would inspire his later work. The songs "Princess of Sand" and "Joey" are romantic odes to lost youth, and so beautiful in simplicity and intent, yet uncommonly sad. If you listen attentively, you can almost hear the makings of a lonely boy caught up in a world he doesn't quite understand, and one that doesn't understand him.
Drake's first album, Five Leaves Left, takes its name from something that seemed to be tongue-in-cheek on his part. Taking its name form a warning sign printed on a carton of cigarettes, the album is an anthem to grand unrealised dreams and desires, as made evident by "Time Has Told Me". It sets the theme of the album by creating a world-weary melody. Another standout from this album is one of Drake's most well-known songs; "River Man" (which happens to be one of my personal favourites) sets the listener adrift on a small boat on some long forgotten river of time.
"Going to see the river man
Going to tell him all I can
About the ban
On feeling free."
Another one of my personal favourites, "Cello Song" produces a rich, sombre atmosphere with the beautiful cello melody echoing in your eardrums long after the song has ended. The song deals with leaving something of great value behind forever. "Cello Song" has risen to great acclaim in the last few years, being featured in the Academy Award nominated film "The Blind Side".
"You sail to the skies
On the crest of a wave."
Drake's next attempt, Pink Moon, didn't do much better in the sales department, though it gathered very high critical acclaim. Pink Moon explored Drake's guitar ability more than his lyrical ability (though it was compromised) and does so exceptionally well. "Things Behind the Sun" explores this really well, his guitar sometimes goes into an absolute frenzy, chopping off notes and bending them to breaking point.
In these songs, the messages are very clear. The lines from "Place to Be" and "Parasite" spell it out, but the message was no clearer than in the song "Know".
"Know that I love you
Know I don't care
Know that I see you
Know I'm not there."
Drake's ghosts were closing in fast.
After the commercial failure of Pink Moon, Drake retreated back to Far Leys. He sat in the orange armchair, refusing to see friends. He was so far gone, not even the anti-depressant pills could bring him back.
Then, unexpectedly, life picked up. Drake found himself back in the studio in 1974 and recorded four very rare songs that gave the listener more of an insight to his private hell. "Hanging on a Star" is perhaps the most well-known and common of these four, and to call that song "depressing" is way too kind a word. But Drake was not finished yet. In October 1974, he found himself back in France, meeting with a French folk singer who had expressed interest in recording with him. He returned to Far Leys confident that he had finally found direction.
But life plays cruel jokes. One night in November that same year, Drake was up in the early hours, as he had been plagued by insomnia for most of his life. According to his parents, he was in a good mood, and had Brandenburg Concerto on the turntable. Drake mistook his anti-depressants, Tryptizol, for sleeping pills, and took a few, not knowing they were lethal if even one pill was taken over the limit. His mother found him dead on the morning of 25 November, 1974. He was 26 years old.
The beasts were silent at last.
Drake lies buried in a Tanworth-in-Arden churchyard, his crumbling gravestone, engraved with the words "And now we rise, and we are everywhere," overlooking a wide expanse of closely-cropped hills and carefully tended meadows.
Inside the church, there is a pipe organ used to accompany the church hymns and devotionals. Above one of the organ stops sits a brass plaque with Drake's name on it, donated by his mother and father to keep the church going. Once a year, the church plans a recital of Drake's songs. The church is still packed with locals long after the deaths of Drake and his parents who lift their voices high to pay tribute to their native son. They say you can hear the singing from miles around.
After his death, the last four recorded songs were tacked into Pink Moon, and in spite of it being a good seller, it was deleted by Island Records in 1983.
Of all the things about Nick Drake that captivate me, this is the one that haunts me the most whenever I listen to his music. He never made it. The beautiful melodies that plagued him throughout his life barely made it to the ears of 5 000 people when he was alive. Hardly anyone has heard of him, despite the moderate success he achieved after his death. He is just another singer/songwriter who fell victim to his inner demons. I can't help but think that, had he been given the recognition he deserved, he would still be alive today, making more music with legends such as Bob Dylan, John Martyn and Elton John.
His true genius was never realised, and his timeless songs go largely unheard, lost in a sea of pop hits that don't last two months before they are played out. And that bothers me more than I can put into words.
I leave you now with the first song of Nick Drake's that I heard, the song that reeled me in and has yet to let me go. Enjoy.
From the Morning - Nick Drake
Wednesday, 12 June 2013
I'll Take You - Phantom Tortoise
This song requires no introduction or explanation. And though I am attempting one, nothing I could say about it would come remotely close to accurately portraying the sheer beauty of the melody, lyrics and the harmony of the voices. The only words I can use to describe this song are "hauntingly beautiful." And on a personal note, a song has not made me feel this way in a long, long time. It makes my soul ache.
I'll Take You - Phantom Tortoise
I'll Take You - Phantom Tortoise
Monday, 10 June 2013
Letters to My Imagination
This is the first of what I think will be a regular feature. Letters containing what I wish I had said, would like to one day say and random other statements. I hope I can keep it regularly updated, interesting and coherent. If not, whatever.
As I write this, you lie fast asleep with your arm draped
over my stomach. You fell asleep like that some time ago. The only noise in the
silence is your rhythmic breathing, my only sight in the darkness the gentle
rise and fall of your chest.
You are a million leagues away in a world known only to you.
A world where you are safe from danger. A world where you can scale the highest
mountains, and where your deepest desires and wildest dreams become realities.
A world I will do everything in my power to give you.
When I started this letter, I knew exactly what I wanted it
to contain. I wanted to write to you 10 000 words on why I love you, how
you brighten my world with your presence and how you are the most spectacularly
beautiful being to ever grace the face of the earth. I wanted to bare my soul
to you. But now I cannot summon from my hand, nor from this pen, the words
needed to express my feelings in a way that would make you understand.
All that comes to mind at this moment is the feeling of your
skin under my fingertips. Of your gentle heartbeat against my chest when you
hold me close. Of the moment your eyes meet mine and you stare down to the
deepest caverns of my existence. Of your fingers intertwined with mine. The
feeling of your tender voice in my ear at the beginning of every new day. Of
your head on my chest. And the way you make my soul ache simply by smiling. And
for this there are no words in any language.
But you make me want to find them. And for the rest of my
life, I will try to find them.
How I wish you would believe me when I tell you how
beautiful you are. I wish you would believe me when I say I will always love
you. I wish you would believe me when I say that I will never hurt you. I wish
you would believe me when I say there is no better ecstasy than the rush of
when your lips meet mine. But tonight, in the lonely silence with the darkness
as my witness, I make this solemn promise that I will spend the rest of my life
proving these declarations to you.
I don’t know when, if ever, you will read this, but it does
not matter, as these words will remain true until the end of my days and
beyond.
I love you with everything I am and everything I ever hope
to be, now, and forever.
Monday, 22 April 2013
For You
If your wondering ever leads you
To a place where you don't know
Which road to choose
Leave your worries behind
Take the road that leads to mine
And I'll be waiting there for you
If your dreaming ever wakes you
And you find what you were dreaming wasn't true
Wipe the sleep from your eyes
Leave those nightmares behind
And I'll dream a better dream for you
If your fortune ever fails you
And you're down without a dime
To see you through
There's still luck that you can find
You can have a piece of mine
I'll make a wish for you
If your lover ever leaves you
And you find yourself with no one left to lose
You don't have to be alone
Take the road that leads you home
I'll be waiting there for you
To a place where you don't know
Which road to choose
Leave your worries behind
Take the road that leads to mine
And I'll be waiting there for you
If your dreaming ever wakes you
And you find what you were dreaming wasn't true
Wipe the sleep from your eyes
Leave those nightmares behind
And I'll dream a better dream for you
If your fortune ever fails you
And you're down without a dime
To see you through
There's still luck that you can find
You can have a piece of mine
I'll make a wish for you
If your lover ever leaves you
And you find yourself with no one left to lose
You don't have to be alone
Take the road that leads you home
I'll be waiting there for you
Wednesday, 27 February 2013
Washington, DC
The Smithsonian Castle
The Washington Monument
WW II Memorial
Pool of Reflection
Wall of Rememberance
Lincoln Memorial
The White House
The Willard Continental Hotel
New York
View from the hotel
Bryant Park
World Trade Center Memorial
Central Park
5th Avenue
Rockefeller Plaza
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