This short story was inspired by Fictions in Flashes flash fiction, which I liked very much – thank you very much!


I was on my motorbike, going at illegal speeds.

I was not wearing a helmet, and the wind whipped at my hair, pressing curious fingers against my cheeks and neck, all the while screaming in my ears. I did not understand their language, though it might have been forebodingly.

Cars whipped by in a senseless blur, their shapes undefined and their sounds inaudible. Sometimes I imagined shouts, but then reality did not allow me to dwell on that observation.

I was moving forward, and they were staying behind. I was flying, and they no longer existed.

In fact, I knew where I was going.


() () ()


The voices told me truths too hard to contemplate. They were in my ears and told me stories that I found too incredible to believe. However, their incessant recollections started to burn into my mind, scorched its way into my very being, which only left me with one choice: believe. I no longer knew what truth was. I no longer knew who my friends were – even family became strangers. The voices told me that it did not matter. They told me that I was the one with my mask ripped off, that I was beginning to understand the world for what it was. They told me that now I could see through walls, and that nothing was going to hinder me anymore.

I believed them. They told me what I must do.


() () ()


I turned onto an inclining junction that veered to the right. Road signs blurred. Honks became but an easily ignored hindrance nagging at the back of my mind, which frankly could not absorb and analyze any new information. The motorbike underneath me powerful and hungry, eating at the road with shrill delight: it buckled as its tyres held traction and began to climb the unfinished road.

At the end of a long curve, the road ended with a 170-foot drop to the ground.

My heart escalated as I increased speed.

The voices were back, and shrieked against the wails of the wind urging me to slow down.

I ignored it and found solace in the voices instead. Their guidance urged me to approach the end of the road with open eyes, and embrace what is to come next.

Just as I reached the end, a memory burst into bloom, and had me smile. 

I went off the road.

I laughed aloud when I started to soar. The wings of thought took flight, and I soared across the heavens. The bike, unfortunately, exploded upon impact with the ground below. The heat pushed me up, the wind pushed me to the side, and I floated over the highway, much to the surprise of the motorists staring at me with their mouths agape. I was happy, and I shouted at them to hear the voices, let them in and believe whatever they have to say.

The wind of change is upon us.




603995_10201505722503141_1795337201_n I have to admit, while writing this, I have been through some Heinekens, and the intelligent level is up to no good. i really have to concentrate to get this out . . . Had some players who stayed late having a good time, and me with them. one of them gave me the opportunity to have it good in the art world. He gave me the job to draw some of the players’ faces onto a page, in the form of a caricature,  to paste that onto the walls of the club to add character. Now, i did not refuse, and the fee per page is not too bad!! Will be starting as soon as I receive some pics! Sorry, kaereste, for not posting and commenting . . . above work and a portrait and my own novel, I just don’t have the time anymore . . . will try as hard as I can, the rest of the year is going to be busy busy busy! Having all the foster kids over for a day of fun, a local triathlon to attend and celebrating christmas is no joke.


My three Musketeers

Had a weekend with the sister and her husband and three adorable children. Strange how family ties can improve and withstand the hands of time, and prove to be stronger yet. I haven’t seen them in two years, and though two years are a long time, to us it seemed like a day. The smallest of the boys I have only met a second time since his birth, and it kills me to lose so much time of his life growing up, though that is about to change. He was sceptical at first, eyeing me from his mother’s lap, and after a while he just came to me, and would not let me go, which was pretty heart warming indeed. Blood is definitely thicker than water, and could be recognized instantly. Perhaps I am mistaken, but as long as I have these three small people in my life, including my sister and her husband, I would not need any children of my own. For now, I am good . . .


Little PG, the youngest, and a mischievous little devil. Strange thing is, he almost looks like me.


Poenie (Lourens) the eldest, loud and playful, yet so loving!


Little Poplap (Adriandi), the only daughter, a reserved little angel!




My sis and her husband relaxing on a mattress. We celebrated his birthday the previous night, the Saturday, and faced the consequences the following day. This picture was taken just before I, too, decided to have some shut eye on the living room couch . . .

Foster Delight: A Recount


Boys from the left: Rowan, Rolan, Kendro (Foster child)

Girls from the left: Ca-Jen, Johnne, Rebecca (Foster child and sister of Kendro)


Posing like it’s their thang, honey . . .


Yesterday I considered myself the luckiest person on this world. I came home after work, and as per weekend usual, we had guests. One of the ladies brought two foster kids to be spoiled with a day of fun. It was amazing. Immediately after arriving home, I joined the kids in the pool. For Rowan and Ca-Jen, the kids of family friends and constantly present, it was but natural to cling onto me, and inviting everyone to do the same. So I felt like a tree bearing fruit. We had meat on the braai, there was all sorts of goodies (for the kids to enjoy), all the other children’s mothers enjoying each other’s company around the table under the lapa, and apart from the three boys, I was the only adult male. Which suited me just fine. After the fun in the pool, the kids enjoyed boerewors rolls, after which they finished off with sweets and colorful cupcakes, of course. With lots of energy still coursing through their veins, the boys decided to play cops and robbers. I joined forces and the game resulted in a bloodbath of imaginary origins. The girls later decided to play too. With no guns (we used the cricket bats as guns), we boys decided that, of the four of us, two should be ‘bad’, and two should be ‘good’, and the good should rescue the maidens in distress from the clutches of the bad guys, having hidden them somewhere within the confines of the yard. I felt like a kid, and every single child had so much fun. Perhaps the neighbors are a little angry at us shouting and the girls screaming up until nine, at least.

What really warmed my heart was the message the lady sent who looked after the two foster kids for the weekend. The kids all thanked Lee, their aunty, for the braai, since it was so delicious, and thanked Mum for being their granny, and above all, thanking me for being their hero.

Sometimes being a kid is making a kid happy. I think that, if I should die today, I would die happy. There is nothing more joyous than placing a smile on a kid’s face who really, completely deserves it, no questions asked.


Backpacking: Kibbutz


I’ve felt a little compressed these last two days. What am I doing with my life? Haven’t the slightest clue. Indecision is the culprit, spinning webs of confusion throughout my mind, and ultimately just exhausts me to a point where mind switches off and instinct takes over. It seems feeling like an animal contributed to my decision.

So I’ve made up my mind.

Kibbutz, meaning ‘community’ of sorts, is a communal settlement in Israel, or a type of farm, if you will, which I will be joining having made my arrangements in the next year. A friend and I discussed this at length, to which she told me of her experience there, and how life changing it was. She warned me that too much research would never prepare me for the experience, so I’ve only read a few things – what it’s going to be like living there, what to expect in the ways of voluntary work, as you go as a volunteer, and whatever have you, and it would seem that this decision might take my life into a whole new direction. Perhaps not, no one will know what the future holds, and will only be revealed as the appropriate time announces, but it’s something to do other than going nowhere.

As a naive child, believing what the ‘grownups’ had told about changing the world, be as successful as one can be, ‘make the difference’, they did not prepare me for the wake-up call that is adulthood, carrying all that into the fold. There is nothing as debilitating as coming to terms with the difference between what I believed then, to what I know and believe now. Was it all lies, or just a means of motivation? Did they believe what they told us, being teachers; fathers; family friends, or did they even care? Don’t get me wrong, I agree in regards to making the difference and being successful, but that only applies to those who want to study, want to make lots of money and ultimately chase the ‘dream’, whatever that might be. As a fantasist, a dreamer, an idealist who doesn’t care about any scientific to corporate breakthroughs, any political disputes or compromise, I want to live my life by living on the whims of myself this time. Giving a helping hand, smile, live free, travel and see the world, for when I die, I would like to be able to say that I’ve seen everything, I’ve seen how every country has come to be the way they are, successful or no, and no office or limiting career has contained the wild beast that only lived on instinct alone. As selfish as we are, it’s the world that gives us lodging, the earth that provides us with food. I want to think of her for a change. It’s us who’ve decided to profit from that given and make living an ultimate nightmare, so we have to live up to those consequences.

I don’t have any roots. It was cut off at birth, and that was the umbilical cord that still connected me to the placenta. After that, my spirit has fled and fused with the universe. I am in everything and everything is in me. I have to venture out, and explore everything there is to know. One other thing my friend also told me was that when about this Kibbutz, she came to know herself better, as well. She was a shy girl (she told me), introverted and had difficulty at making conversation, and after the Kibbutz experience, she does not shut up, which to me, if you’re speaking things I approve of, is a very good trait, as I hate making conversation myself. Perhaps afterwards I will never shut up. I don’t want restraints, not even in speech. I want to be the real me that resides deep down inside. Fact is, no one is true to him/herself when not doing what you really want to do . . . not even me. I’m not going to elaborate on that, for I won’t  what misguided decisions people can make, but if they’re happy, who am I to deny them that when in fact my happiness lies elsewhere.

The Kibbutz is just a start, and after that, who knows where the winds will take me. Eurasia, Northern Africa, the America’s, Australia. The main idea is to see and feel and express the world as I want, rather than just taking it by word of mouth. Then, just then will I have the experience, knowledge, inspiration to become the artist I want to be. I did not have the opportunity yet, but this is just as good as any.


DP: Six of One, Half a Dozen of the Other

108676Write a six-word story about what you think the future holds for you, and then expand on it in a post.

Live, dream, fantasize, travel, sleep, findthefountainofyouthandneverdie.          –          .Get to know me a little 🙂

Live – in the true sense of the word. Use all your senses when you perform this act, including that elusive sixth. It’s a choice, and with any choice, you have to face up to the consequences, whether good or bad. I want to do that, every day, for while “I have air in my lungs and a few blank sheets of paper”, living life is awesome!

Dream – When dreaming, one might as well dream big. My dream (modified) is to travel the world (backpacking) and see everything there is to see, even from a distance; 100 Places You Will Never Visit. Dreaming are for those with a thirst for life.

Fantasize – I’m a twenty-four-year old who still loves to watch cartoons, whenever, and eat my cereal during nighttime. Stories is my life, writing and reading. Everyone’s life is a story. Perhaps the reality of this world (war, racism, distrust, all the bad things) does not accommodate my preference to fiction, fantasy, and that is why I push away from all that crap, and make my own. But what is ‘bad’ really? This event has ways to disintegrate, leaving you with alternatives, round the house and back into the front yard. A bad experience is nothing but the title of a choice you make.

Travel – One cannot live in the seclusion of your house, work, house, and still enjoy whatever the Internet offers you by means of pictures into which you cannot climb. Traveling, and seeing will ease that burden, even if it takes my entire life in its stride. It will be a journey, an adventure so much worth of discovering.

Sleep –  Returning to a bit of normalcy, perhaps no one loves sleep as much as I do . . . I guess for earning great stamina during the day, one must rest the body – for a few hours more than necessary. Gonna have to have that balance.

Findthefountainofyouthandneverdie – First of all, this is one word of my own making (temporarily), so as to stick with the six-word rule/guideline. I am not going to regard antiquated ideologies, set up by some moron who got the hang of being a leader, as rules/guidelines to influence the way I live my life. It’s not suppose to work like that, anyway. I am but one person, not a fledgling but a fledgling, perceiving the world and the way it works by my own terms, on my own time. However, to get to the content of the ‘word’, I think secretly everyone wants to live forever. Perhaps, after your body dies, something will stay; what that’s going to be, no one will ever know. But like I said, if one wants to dream, dream big, and realize that sometimes, dreams are not meant to come true. Just don’t let that keep you from dreaming and be the best that you can be in this one life, or many others after this one.

Beauty: Evelyn Mchale


Perhaps some of you would find this a tad disconcerting, or morbid considering this brand new weekend, but it’s rather interesting and I’d like to share before I meet mine. Evelyn Mchale. To any of those who don’t know her, she was a pretty twenty three year old who threw herself off the observation deck of the Empire State Building, May 1, 1947. Engaged, beautiful, presumably happy, who would ever have the answer to why people do what they do? As seen in the picture below, you might even say that she made peace, with whatever, and that she thought the way she chose had to be the correct one . . .

To that, happy weekend to y’all!!


And a tune to kick-start this sucker 😉 To all the beautiful ladies out there

There Was A Dream

White Horse Eye

I had a very strange dream some days ago, and thought I would share it in quite a different fashion. In some ways dreams may be entertaining, whereupon others may help you remember stuff, or see dilemmas in different ways. This just alarmed.


It was a small boy of about seven who was standing in the middle of the road while chaos seemed to overwhelm everything around him, not blinking an eye but looking, transfixed onto something I could not see. An explosion rendered me incapable of getting anywhere near him, leaning against a smoldering car. I guess my legs deemed useless, as did my voice. All I could do was watch in abject horror; a witness within the grip of complete inaction. 

He was tall for his age, black hair, big brown eyes that perceived everything going on around him, as if by digital means adding to the surface of his eyes pictures of what he saw, making it seem even bigger. I must’ve seen him somewhere before; perhaps in another lifetime where happy endings had been worth the wait. Soot covered his face and once white clothes, now haggard and worn, as if he had been crawling and running his entire life. It brought dusty tears to my eyes. His feet were bare, covered in dirt and ash. If not for his head of hair and big eyes, tears glistening on the periphery of expulsion, the boy’s drab figure might have successfully blended with his surroundings, as gray and dull as he looked, and I might have missed him.

Black tinged smoke sifted across the road, made the windows move in mirror images, and wafted up and into cleaner air above the burning city. Walls, as lifeless as it had always been, looked bleaker still, painted thereon black elongated patterns that only bombs had the vision to create. The road was littered with scattered debris, but no bodies. That was a relief. I did not dare look elsewhere is search of any, though.

Somehow, this whole scene looked beautiful, in some twisted kind of sense. Perhaps it was the thought of how impossible it seemed to be in the middle of some kind of war, looking as if hope was lost, wondering over and over: Why me? Why here? Why us? Perhaps it felt to be the last thing I will ever see, and being the person that I am, I might just see the beauty when all else fails. Perhaps it was the movement all around, slow but sure, moving as if unable to stop. Wars had to pass sooner than later, right?

Movement to my right caught my attention. I saw a woman, black hair, sad brown eyes, her mouth agape as she screamed and reached for something. The boy, I realized. She screamed and screamed his name, of which I could not hear a single syllable. I was deaf, too, which was a funny surprise. I did not realize until then. She clambered over boxes and desks and burning tires, her state of mind all but oblivious to the danger, whilst everything around her exploded into little fragments. Someone was shooting at her. I tried to warn her, but she had only eyes for her son. She did not seem to care about whatever shot at her from behind, like cowards in a bad cowboy movie. The boy did not lose his stance, nor did it look like his face had any more emotion left. His youth was yanked from him the moment they started to run and got separated along the way.

Mother caught up to him and yanked him from the ground, encircling her one arm around his waist while she placed the other behind his head, burying his face against her shoulder. Bullets shimmered and bounced off every surface except her back. I was glad. I watched them as they ran to my left, towards the curb, where she could easily vanish behind the corner of the building behind me. Despite the danger ahead, I got to see someone survive.

A bomb exploded next to her. Dread filled my world and made everything real. 

She ducked, and covered her son’s body with her own. At first, it looked like the bomb would do no damage, perhaps just scar some tissue, until a second bomb enshrouded them in flame and pure white smoke, twirling into the air like a tornado.

I got my voice back and screamed: NO! NO! WHY, you son of a bitch? NO!  

The next moment I was walking on a cobbled road, with a huge boulder barring my way. Except for tendrils of white fog drifting like a forlorn soul, the day was clear with little to no clouds. Mother and son stood next to the road, looking at me. They were holding hands. They were still covered in soot. Yet, they seemed free. The mother smiled at me as I started to climb the boulder, urging her son forward.

She told him, Go on, son, show him the rain.

Panda Ross

A friend of mine showed me this video yesterday, and well, just fell in love. Furthermore, I would consider myself damn right to think you guys would too. She is gorgeous, soulful, beautiful as any woman could be, and just spreads a warmth through your heart, and makes you happy even if you feel particularly sad. Enjoy 😉



“You had a relapse?”

“I said I’m fine.’

“When was this?”

“Yesterday, now drop it.”

“Who have you told?”

“No one. No one knows. Knew. Knows.”

“What did you feel?”

“Do we really have to go into this? It’s over.”

“What did you feel?”

“Nothing . . .”

“I know you’re lying.”

“No, really, there was nothing. I don’t even know how I got through the day. It was weird.”

“Anything else?”

“Probably remorse.”


“This guy I know. He’s lost almost everything, including this irrelevant belief we all know as hope. The Fates are alert and waiting for things to develop down here, and they don’t grant true any wishes one might still have. Selfish bitches. Ha ha.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We’re talking about yesterday, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, but what’s this man got to do with anything?”

”It made me realize how superfluous my relapse was. Don’t you think?”

“I guess. But we’re talking about you now. How did you get through it?”

“He could still smile. That was what made me cringe. In disgust? In Fear? He could, and I wanted to ruin this world and everything on it. Of course, nothing was true. It couldn’t be. But his was.”

“I’m not following you. Did you feel like ending everything? You know that’s a bad thing, and you should always call when something like this happens.”

“No. it wasn’t like that. Yes, I was angry and crazy all at the same time, and I wanted to crawl under a rock and become it, or become a dust particle and float around until the first rain falls. For what reasons I’m not entirely sure. However, it was there and knowing that this man, this person with an entirely different life than mine, has it so much worse, I could have scolded myself for being such an arse. I was selfish, but unfortunately that did not change anything. I have an internal problem that goes away after a while. His problems are as real as you and me, as the trees and the skies, and it never leaves. It’s a constant and staring him in the face each day. Yet, he smiles. How pathetic am I to think I have it so much worse, because fleeting thoughts instructs false truths?”


“I told you I was fine, didn’t I? My relapse was but a minor inevitability. Now leave be.”