ABSTRACT SOUNDTRACK

anyone can tell you there’s no more road to ride
everyone will tell you there’s no place to hide
there’s no laws or rules to enchain your life
but the ones who didn’t make it,
the ones who couldn’t take it,
so glad they made it out alive
everyone loves the fun
everyone comes by

in the wind I crunch, I want to die

they can give me pills
or let me drink my fill
the heart wants to explode
far away where nobody knows

do you believe she said that?
do you believe she said that?

I said I hate myself and I want to die.

half of it is innocent
the other half is wise
the whole damn thing makes no sense
I wish I could tell you a lie
hey, come here
let me whisper in your ear

I hate myself and I want to die.

do you believe she said that?
can you believe she repeated that?
I said, I hate me myself and I
said I hate myself and I want to die

 south africa at it's finest;

Ostrich

just wrote my last exam. english lit. wasn't in the mood so i think it was super shitty. it's kinda along the lines of the following, but i ended it by making it a study by some people who rule the world and decide to kill everyone. when i get it back i'll post it. just watched skins scene when chris died. v. sad. it's as hot as a m*****f***** outside, but there is overboard aircon in comp lab so im just chillin like a villan. haha

It is with a flavour of disdain that I come to terms with the obvious fact that I am living among the proletarian.

These common-folk are possessed by below-then-average thought processes, and one wonders how they managed to survive natural selection. Indeed, faced with one of these half-wits, one must extra cautious not to provoke them, for their Neanderthalic roots will surface, as their simple minds will resort to the only answers know to them; violence.

The art of epistemology in know not to them, as is anything else of notable and worthy subsistence in the fields of art and science. Their fear of the unknown attracts them like moths to a light bulb, to the magnet of religion. They turn to ‘god’ so not to face the harsh reality of basic existence.

“By golly” you may have shouted at this particular point, “the lass had implied that existence is basic!”.

Yes, my dear half-witted reader, existence, in its true form is basic. Yet that is another subject all together. Although your semi-intellectual brains demands of a distraction, do not allow it to diverge, for in the words of Lord Alfred Tennyson, “to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield”, we shall not allow pre-stone age instincts to command our destinies.

really wanna go over to harricots and get some pecanut pie (the best in the world) but it's really far and im technically not allowed to go. so spent half of last night unscrewing the nails on amy's bed with my dorm. we heard that there might be an opening to the foundations of the house under tere. so we got the bed away, and there it was. among the dusty floorboards was what certainly was a new squarish plank nailed over a reather large hole. so we spent ages trying to get this plank up, we maneged to get a small part up, and a smell or damp earth rose up. got over it and went to sleep. but couldnt. so tried then to blocck out the sounds of footsteps and weird noises.

fuck it 

so yeah i've started watching skins again

though not season three

i don't like nightime because everyone's supposed to be doing something. and if you're not you kinda feel alone. so i'm sitting here in this dreary common room in the boarding house, feeling like shit cause i just shat on a grade 8 for being out of bed. sucks being a prefect. but being here isn't SO bad coz there's nothing i can do. well i suppose i could snesk out the window like a bunch of girl going out, but i don't really want to, coz all that they'll do, all that everyone does is just get dressed in uncomfortable clothes to that the insecurities screaming in their faces can shut up a litle. they'll smear some shit on their face and take photos of their good side form a high angle (avoid the chins). then they'll sneak out the cut burglar bars and run from the guards, down the street and into some bar or club. they'll buy drink that don't get them drunk or even tipsy. so they'll smoke a few spliffs, but that just isn't doind the trick either. some badass painkillers are swallowed but you still feel bored. so you'll turn to the giratng (hate that word) mass of people all trying to move to really, really bad music. then you'll suddenly see a boy that looks rather great, so you'll kiss him, and the next one, and the next one, and the next one. then you'll drink some more. then you'll realise that you're still stone cold sober, so you'll mix all the drinks you can find, and have fuck loads of champaign (that'll go staright to your head). it'll hit then and then you'll feel great. so you and your friends, whom all irratate and bore you, run out into the street and procedure is reapeted again and again untill you get bored. you go to the bathroom and look in the crackde mirror at your reflection and feel so shity that you run out of the place (clutching at your bottle of whateverthefuckitis) and aim home. you get tired and walk. and you're walking, walking walking through the lonely street of berlin or moscow or prague or cape town or grahamstown or port elizabeth or wherever. and you're cold and you start crying and you feel like shit. so you sit down on the side of the street, smoking and drinking and crying, people pass you, looking at you with disgust or pity. you can't handle it, so you get up and carry on walking through those fucking cold street - kinda scared. this is why i dont believe in god. coz god supposed to be all about safty and that kinda shit, but even when i think about becoming all relgious i still don't feel safe. so finalyy you get home or to your hotel or whatever. and you go inside, keeping quiet. you shower and vomit and get in bed. but you don't sleep. you just feel shitty. so get up, get changed, and go back walking around, looking for people in cool places, but when you get there, you want to be alone. so you go somewhere that supposed to be the greatest fucking places ever, but that secretlt drive you fucking iinsane. you go to some beach, or park and sit there. waiting, waiting for dawn.

and that's all there is to it. feel nothing, say nothing see nothing. it's easyish, if you don't think to much. and i don't know if i still want more. coz i'm starting not to care. a lot though.

fuck, i dunno. someone once said to me that the worst thing a dictator can be a certain. for if there is any hint of doubt or uncertainty, then second thoughts will be made, and that person can be persauded. i see it as weak. but, i guess i'm not a dictator.

yet.

one of these...

- go to london

- go to hollywood

- get a video camera and travel the world

- india on a bike

- join the mafia/became con artist

- berlin

i dunno

Christina kruse

i don't know who she is, but i really like this picture.

during the day you can be whoever you want.

sometimes.

so i ate a lot today

i looked down at my stomach and felt really gross

kinda because i was at the pool with my dorm, all of whom are

thin. really, really thin.

so i took a walk around gtown with tal and sally. but i wasn't in the mood, and it just mad

me more sad.

the sunset didn't help.

went to town to buy more food and found out that my card is broken - everything for a reason?

i sure as hell hope not.

i wish i hadn't watched all of the true blood espisodes.

it's really warm. like the air. it's so thick.

it's kinda like if i had to jump up into the air, it would hold me and i could float around.

that would be nice.

i think i would like it more if i had somewhere to go. but everything is kinda

FLAVOURED

with sadness.

i'm gonna post a great music video on here when i get it

fever ray - when i grow up

i think she's swedish. totally digging sweden at the mo atcually. well

ever since i fouind out that

eric

is from there.

i don't want to

grow up.

trade runs the world. i therefore need to own trade to own the world.

sigh.

or i could just lie in my room all day playing music and staring out the window, wallowing

wallowing

wallowing

in self-pity and hate.

it must be niced to be loved.

but even better to be powerfull.

Chapter 1

I burnt my diary. It was a big deal to me. Convinced that I will be exceptionally famous once I take over the world one day, I have kept and written in many diaries, yet, I find that, over a period of time, I just lose interest. But this diary was a BIG DEAL though. It was like everything that was on my mind was in that book. Scary concept.

Anyways, I burnt my diary. I started out with just lighting up a few pages (in the middle), saying a brilliant speech about life, and threw it (with all the drama I could possibly muster) into my fire grate.

No sooner had it left my hands; disaster was out to get me. The diary hit off the top left corner of the fire-place and came flying back at me at a ferocious speed, almost taking my poor, unsuspecting eye. Yet, using my super-quick ninja skills, I avoided it. I then proceed to rip it to shreds and then burnt the shreds. Ha! I thought. Success!

Yet, it was not to be. The window was open, and by some freak chance rain managed to get through the 2ms and miraculously destroy the fire of destruction.

In the end, it took me about 2 hours, 6 burnt fingers, and a back that was fucking killing me. But the deed was done. I had burnt my diary.

I’m in grade 10 now. So last year, I was at this other school. It was a day school. It was a revolting ugly building. It used to be a hospital, so it smelt like death, was terribly depressing and was just plain fucking weird. Anyways, the school was on park drive. Opposite the school were a park and a tennis court. And a cemetery. Seriously. Told you it was fucking weird. What kind of hospital is placed next to a cemetery? So much for being positive…

Anyways (again), there was this car guard, who just so happened to guard the cars on this particular section of park drive. There are certain things in life that we cannot be certain about. That car guard is one of them. Because I don’t know his name, we shall simple name him Sipho (as john is not really African).

So one pretty average day, I arrived at school, and to my horror, found out that it was school photos! Ahhhhhh! No matter how hard I desperately try to look civilized, I always end up looking like some deranged psychopath. Honestly. It’s quite upsetting.

But ANYWAYS (I tend to diverge a bit), so our whole school trooped over to the park to get the wicked deed done.

So there we all were. Perfect and prim in our uniforms, hair tucked away, and everyone grinning away (bunch of phonies… (Damn you photo first, damn you…)), and then just before the photographer could click, out of the bush came the car guard (he had obviously slept there that night), and he saw what was going on, and snuck up to the side of the school, did a thumbs up, smiling (with all his 2 teeth), and was cemented in our 7 year school history forever. Hahaha but really. If you look into our school records, at that photo, you will always see old Sipho in our school photo.

Ow. I just clicked my fingers. Completely by mistake! God, there’s nothing worse than some revolting person cracking away like there’s no tomorrow. Drive me up the wall. Sets the teeth on edge, ekse.

Chapter 2

So, there I was, sitting on the floor of the dance studio, still in costume after performing our play to hear the results. I heard the results. I heard what the teachers/examiners thought about my play. I then watched as my dream of acting drifted slowly out of my right ear, spread it’s large wings, and flew slowly out the window into the sunset (it was actually mid-day, but whatever).

This set me in a bad mood for the rest of the day. Unfortunately for me (you see, Life hates me. I’m not some sad emo who just stalks around mumbling something about hating life and having razor-blades in their pockets. No, I do not hate life. The dilemma which faces me is that Life hates me. Honest to the pope (old Benedict), life is a big mean old fart who is out to get me), anyways, unfortunately for me, my next lesson was chemistry. Yea. I can almost taste the pity being reaped upon me by yourself. Tastes like chicken.

Anyways, so I arrive in chemistry, moody as hell and convinced that I will spend the rest of my life working at checkers. I was already practising my lines; “do you want a plastic bag with that. That will be 25c more, Please come again (which they obviously will because if you’re shopping at checkers you haven’t got anywhere else to really go).

Yes, my future is a grim one. And so, because I’m not talking to anyone now (partly because everyone here is so fucking stupid, and partly because I’m sulking), I took my charming USB thingy out, skulked down to the comp lab and typed this mess out. It’s times like this when I need a diary. However that is in a thousand ashes flying all over SA and probably the world.

FML

(Fuck my life)

So I was sitting in maths, and still feeling a bit down about my kak life, and I thought, why don’t I write a poem. I’ll write a whole lot and make a book and sell it for millions then I’ll run away to Mexico, sneak under the border and go to Hollywood and make it big (never heard of that idea before).

So I started writing about life and death, and love and going on, and the heart, when I realised that I had just written out all the lyrics from the titanic song. Dammit.

Chapter 3

My story. I’ve told you a whole fucking load of wacko-jacko shit that’s been happening to me lately, but you hardly even know me.

So let’s get started. I’m tall. I’m one of those people who, as kids, were always at the end of the line when class photographs were taken. However, for some strange reason, they (being the evil teachers) always put someone who was taller than me, slap bang in front of me. My face is never visible in school photos. They even forgot to put my name.

But, I suppose, they didn’t hate me that much. I was made captain of third team hockey. But, now that I think about it, there only were two teams. FML.

More on this later.

So it was just before Afrikaans, and Fi and I were quite late, as usual, but whatever. So we started messing around. Punching each other, foot skating, etc, when suddenly my watch broke! I didn’t even notice it was gone till about 5 mins into the lesson I released a gasp of horror and ran off to search for my missing companion; my watch. I found it, and one of the straps had broken. It matched that of my heart! My watch! We had been through so much together, and now, it was no more. My wrist looked so forlorn without it! I decided that I was so stressed and upset to concentrate now, so I bunked class and went to the college caf to watch TV. After a while I got bored so I spent about R50 buying food and then wretchedly walked off to a nearby field to sit under a tree and wallow in my sorrow. There is no point trying to escape sorrow. None at all. So don’t try it. Don’t even mention it to me if we happen to be engaging in a light conversation. Just wallow in the feeling that is sorrow. Self-pity’s great.

So there I was, thinking about life, and time, and death, and my watch when some asshole in a truck drove passed and did the most revolting thing with his tongue in my direction. I won’t write it down. I just stopped having nightmares. So I thought to myself: “just let it GO, ****. Fuck him”. So I thought what a normal person would do in this situation. So I rolled my eyes, but regretted it immediately as my 2 month old contact lens plastered itself rather stubbornly to the back of my eyeball. The gardener watched me slightly amused and interested as I (relatively painfully) repeatedly stuck myself on the back of my head with the scary-lady-who-always-seems-to-be-hovering-arounf-the-school-for-no-apperant-reason’s pet cat, Butch, which was an fascinating mix-breed of a overlarge canary, a rat by the name of Joseph, a Siamese twin poodle and human. Yes, I said a human being. God knows how it turned out being a cat, but that is a completely different story.

I recovered after about a half-an hour. And that’s the story of why I have one fake eye. Anyways after that whole epidemic, I decided that now was a perfect time as ever to bring out the water of life. Cane. Cape to Rio, est. in 1856.

I was slugging this motherfucker down, when a nearby passing old woman gave a start, crossed herself, hiked up her skirts far to high for any passing pedestrian to have wished and ran (with surprising speed for a woman of such age) to the closest building, ready to start with the latest gossip.

Whatever. I hate my life.

Chapter 4

Oh God. The holidays have started. Don’t get me wrong, they’re not as bad as school, yet after about the first week of exceptional boredom, when I start hearing voices and all the David Copperfield shit (I spy with my little eye…. Hehehe), then I start getting worried. If you come looking for me in the second week of any holiday, you will find me sprawled out on my bathroom floor. I go delirious. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat (quickly hides a packet of Doritos in the cupboard). Dangerous stuff ekse.

By week 3 I resemble the frozen caveman discovered in the French/Swiss Alps. Uri, I think his name is.

Not this holiday! I convinced myself when I was on the bus from school with my guitar squashed besides me and my skateboard basically balancing on my head. I was also supporting Bob, my cactus, on my leg.

But that didn’t matter, it also didn’t matter that I was so fortunately seated next to the gardener, Gift, who had a tendency to fart every few minutes and scratch his balls. It really didn’t matter at all that the retarded (and I suspect he may be blind) bus driver got pulled over 6 times for speeding and then we had to stop another time to change the wheel. It was great that the bus trip was 3 hours longer than it normally would be.

We got to pe and I was alive. Dammit.

I arrived and went (in normal teenage fashion) straight to my room and locked my door. I then proceeded to write down all the things that I could do these holidays.  “Great” I thought, I have a starting point. Among others on the list were; find the magical faraway tree (Enid blyton), stop the trading of blood diamonds (the 7 o’ clock news), finish this book, learn Arabic (online), have some sort of mystical adventure, kiss at least 6 people, get a new ipod and try to shower more than twice a week.

So I’m currently on day, um (counts on fingers), 5. Day 5.

Achievements so far: got new ipod speakers (ipod yet to come)

Googled various universities in South Africa. Am considering becoming a full-time hippy. Or rock star.

Things I have done so far in the holidays

Have acquired an infatuation (true love, I promise you) to Christian bale (he’s currently the background of my cellphone. can’t wait to see the new batman. It’s just come out)

Finished two really good books

Had numerous fantasies about people that will probably never come true

Imagined myself as Diana (the princess of whales. Yea. Her.)

Scowered the house at 3 am, convinced that the CIA had teamed up with zuma and were now tracking me down

Put up make-shift curtains in my bathroom

All in all, I’ve done pretty much fuck all so far. The other day, when I ventured out of my bedroom (I was almost knocked dead by the fresh air and sunlight. I maintained a Gollum-like posture making strange sounds the whole time), I came across my fathers new laptop. He doesn’t even use it! There’s dust on it for god sake! Anyways, I took it to my room, plugged it in, checked my facebook, and then detectivated my brother’s room for his hundreds of copied DVDs. I got immensely excited and resolved to spend my holidays lying in bed watching movies. Woohoo it sounds fantastic. Anyways I gotta dash, going to some random friends of my mothers for dinner. I can barely contain my joy. I now go to spend about 2 hours with that boring bunch of people and their retarded son.

It’s the next day. When I came back I was not tired (as I do not sleep at night, but skulk around), however I was mentally and emotionally drained, so I knocked myself out with vast quantities of alcohol and then woke up this morning to make a record of last night’s events.

What happened last night: So we arrived there, and I glanced around the room seeing which sad people were here. It was the usuals. Mark, Janice, Debbie, Debbie’s husband (can’t remember his name. I think its grant or something), the frankenstines, etc etc. we were at Debbie’s house, so her charming children, Brad and the sister (can’t remember her name either). The first time I met brad, I shook his hand and said: “hi, I’m ****. Nice to meet you.” I was met by silence. So I continued, “So, err, what’s your name?” (He was watching a couple of pigeons screwing in the car park. I must admit, I did look rather interesting), without looking away, he replied: “braaaad”. Great first impression.

Anyways I tried to mingle with the adults, discussing politics and philosophy, but the stupid people were too shallow and one of the stupid men shouted out; “haha, ok, it’s adult time!” (he obviously doesn’t get enough sex). This is usually the younger member of the party to retreat to someone room or the TV room or other various assorted rooms. Not wanting a make a fuss, I trudged up the stairs and slouched in front of their massive TV. About 10 minutes into the movie I was watching (the da Vinci code. The book’s better. Curse you authors who sell out to Hollywood. Curse you all), I saw brad slide in, and slump himself on the couch. Joy. We watched the movie (well I think brad was watching. You can’t really be sure with him. His eyes were sort of glazed over and he was drooling like crazy), but the one part came with the pope, so, being interested in perspectives of faith, I turned to brad and asked: “are you Christian, brad?” he looked at me and shook his head. “Ok, cool”, I replied, “so are you Jewish, Atheist, scientologist (god forbid (no pun intended))? What are you?”

He looked at me strangely, furrowing his brow and lifting his eyebrows (well, I think he was trying to do this. He actually just kinda squinted, and opened his mouth, making the drool increase 100 fold), and he then said; “I’m South African. Duh”

I blinked at him a few times, suppressed a laugh, and continued to watch the movie, the whole time ‘napoleon dynamite’ screaming in my head. Hehe. A few other scenes followed but I don’t feel like typing them down. I might start screaming.

You see, brad’s not retarded. I would never mock a mentally disabled person. Brad is just fucking stupid, and there’s no other way to put it.

Chapter 5

Oh God, fear that I’m am in the mists of a quarter life crises. Will consult the internet and consume vast amounts of ice-cream.

Had a dream about flying last night. It was nice.