Jy
Vir jou het ek lief soos die Kaap
Soos die berge
Soos my self
Vir jou gee ek my laaste hemp
Die laaste kriesel kos
Die laaste bier in die fridge
Vir jou mis ek die bus
die laaste show
kom ek laat vir werk
Jy mag maar jou voete op my tafel sit
jou hemp oor die stoel hang
en by my kom le
01 February 2011
02 February 2010
Grey
Grey, grey
The colour of the mountain
As I stand here
The colour of my mood
Grey, grey
The mountain and my mood
As I stand here
alone, where we once stood
The colour of the mountain
As I stand here
The colour of my mood
Grey, grey
The mountain and my mood
As I stand here
alone, where we once stood
10 October 2009
Mystic
he's running out again,
he's running out
he's run run run running out...
Whatever makes you happy
Whatever you want
You're so fuckin' special
I wish I was special...
But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo,
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here.
I don't belong here.
[from the song, Creep, with apologies to Radio Head]
he's running out
he's run run run running out...
Whatever makes you happy
Whatever you want
You're so fuckin' special
I wish I was special...
But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo,
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here.
I don't belong here.
[from the song, Creep, with apologies to Radio Head]
10 May 2009
Briefly Boston
Hours before the onset of my 11 day vacation in Boston, Massachusetts, the reluctance to travel 24 hours to the other side of the earth was still heavy on my mind. The past 11 months back in Stellenbosch had been thoroughly rewarding. My longing to return home had finally been answered in a reasonably sustainable manner. Yet, my life was not the same as 7 years before. Truth is, my life was spanning two countries; two hemispheres; two cultures. My horizons had been irreversibly expanded. And yet my sentiment was mostly rooted in Stellenbosch. So, this trip loomed long and tedious before me.
Quite uneventful is how one could describe the flight to Boston. Except for the fact that my suitcase and I got separated in my mad dash to the connecting flight for Boston. In fact, United ensured that my suitcase did not board the same flight to Boston as I. In fact, United, at their leasure, only sent my suitcase two flights later - disrupting an evening of relaxation with mates in Cambridge after a exhausting 24 h trip.
But my mood turned quickly. Before I knew it, social events came fast and thick, one every evening. I had two official appointments during office hours. Monday night, my old music group delivered their annual recital. How odd was it not to take part. Some performances were staggeringly exquisite. I left newly inspired to revive my ailing dedication to piano and enter a piece in next year's recital. Thursday night introduced me to Gilbert and Sullivan's Iolanthe, charmingly performed by students of MIT. Singing God Save the Queen on US soil did carry a measure of mischief and irony not lost on me.
For the sake of maintaining my Green Card, I have to return to Boston next year this time. I also require a travel document from the US Embassy in Cape Town to ensure my reentry.
My old friend of Boston all seemed quite chuffed with my visit. Our weekly Wednesday evening at the pub was revisited; a barbecue followed on the second Saturday. My trademark Italian breakfast sausages featured with the usual lamb chops.
One felt at home 17000km away from home. And yet, that old yearning to have all of this down there in my home town, to include my mates from Stellenbosch, never strayed far from my inner mind.
Quite uneventful is how one could describe the flight to Boston. Except for the fact that my suitcase and I got separated in my mad dash to the connecting flight for Boston. In fact, United ensured that my suitcase did not board the same flight to Boston as I. In fact, United, at their leasure, only sent my suitcase two flights later - disrupting an evening of relaxation with mates in Cambridge after a exhausting 24 h trip.
But my mood turned quickly. Before I knew it, social events came fast and thick, one every evening. I had two official appointments during office hours. Monday night, my old music group delivered their annual recital. How odd was it not to take part. Some performances were staggeringly exquisite. I left newly inspired to revive my ailing dedication to piano and enter a piece in next year's recital. Thursday night introduced me to Gilbert and Sullivan's Iolanthe, charmingly performed by students of MIT. Singing God Save the Queen on US soil did carry a measure of mischief and irony not lost on me.
For the sake of maintaining my Green Card, I have to return to Boston next year this time. I also require a travel document from the US Embassy in Cape Town to ensure my reentry.
My old friend of Boston all seemed quite chuffed with my visit. Our weekly Wednesday evening at the pub was revisited; a barbecue followed on the second Saturday. My trademark Italian breakfast sausages featured with the usual lamb chops.
One felt at home 17000km away from home. And yet, that old yearning to have all of this down there in my home town, to include my mates from Stellenbosch, never strayed far from my inner mind.
22 April 2009
Election day
Today I did my democratic duty by voting in the national and provincial elections of South Africa. I did so with a certain sense accomplishment, about myself and my country. Here I was, a citizen of a country on the African continent, a continent notorious for the absence or distortion of democracy, and I could vote in total freedom, with utter peace and tranquillity. It was first an accomplishment for the country - its fourth general election since the momentous change in 1994. My personal accomplishment was my part in bringing about this day in the history of this country through my vote years ago in a deciding referendum, which with the votes of many other fellow South Africans, had given to the government of the day the mandate for change to a fully democratic system in South Africa. The rest of the day went by in casual idle - it was a public holiday.
I am not looking forward to the likely next state president, Mr Jacob Zuma. The man is an unbearable embarrassment to all with even a remote sense of modern civilisation. A leader of the Zulu ethnic group, Mr Zuma occasionally enjoys parading about in his traditional skins and paraphernalia when he visits his tribe in KwaZulu-Natal Province. He also has a propensity for ungainly quasi-tribal dance steps on the public podium when the mood takes him. He has a rather colourful past and does not strike one as a person fit to represent a modern country on the international stage. I cannot for one moment imagine Gorden Brown, the British PM, engaging in stone-age Celtic rites when he visits his origins in Scotland.
Alas, one will have to deal with reality and that means feeling increasingly alienated in my own country.
I am not looking forward to the likely next state president, Mr Jacob Zuma. The man is an unbearable embarrassment to all with even a remote sense of modern civilisation. A leader of the Zulu ethnic group, Mr Zuma occasionally enjoys parading about in his traditional skins and paraphernalia when he visits his tribe in KwaZulu-Natal Province. He also has a propensity for ungainly quasi-tribal dance steps on the public podium when the mood takes him. He has a rather colourful past and does not strike one as a person fit to represent a modern country on the international stage. I cannot for one moment imagine Gorden Brown, the British PM, engaging in stone-age Celtic rites when he visits his origins in Scotland.
Alas, one will have to deal with reality and that means feeling increasingly alienated in my own country.
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