(this bit was an email sent to me by gil out of london)

‘these are the days that we’ll mourn the most’. i think this is the most profound thing i’ve heard in ages. i’m not sure if i should tell you what i think about it. it’s words that describe a nagging feeling that i’ve had for some time now. i can feel that i’m not where i’m supposed to be, but then, there isn’t any place that fits that description. ... the visions of big cars with no tops and beer in the back and bob dylan and bruce springsteen or some other lost soul in the air, and beer in the back, rolling across an empty landscape. that heart, that part of america called marlboro country. where empty benches sit with their... a thousand miles from anybody and any money and any time and any concrete and any buildings and any of those people who walk past you in london’s streets talking to themselves and you wonder, when it was when they finally lost it, forever. and any of the people that sit in boxes, boxes called offices and they wait to get transferred from one boring department to another, so that life will stay bearable until the next Friday afternoon in the pub or the next lunchbreak at the next pub or the next week or the end of the year or the next holiday resort or the next or the next. or the next pill and the next beat and the next rush of all that happiness that you never knew before and you won’t remember the following morning ... need to eat and drink from time to time so you wake up ... just push back and back which will eventually rear its head on Monday morning when you have to go on and you’ve gone on your third wrong train and all you can think of is don’t cry don’t cry it’s only the drugs. but still everyone’s doing it week in and week out and you wonder how it is they do it, because you don’t want to wake up after three years and wonder what happened to 24 and 25 and 26. but they all seem to be happy. but are you sure you can take it, make it. what if you can’t, what are you missing. is it all really worth the rish and the money, because you don’t really have any and noone really explained how much you needed and that you might get.. a lot .. but instead they just told you, that you would understand and you would see and you would change. and now that you’re beginning to understand and feel and fear that you might begin to change – and why should you have to? because this is your life and you wonder what happened to eleven months, now twelve nearly thirteen. and you think that it’s all just slipping away and that god is a complete and utter asshole for making such a mess of it all and how the hell did he let it get so far out of control? i never expected this from the world, i never expected it to be this big, but perhaps it’s not the lack of choice, but the abundance. i mean, it’s an entire fucking planet, right? and all people make choices and so then must we. sure, maybe we’ll mourn this time, but only if we let it beat us. and it can, because of the choices are big and we have to learn the laws of a new jungle while still remembering the ones of the small clump of trees where we learnt to throw stones and drink beer. we just have to learn a little about traveling and catching the right breezes and currents and all the rest of it. and if we do, we find ourselves in rooms with lazy people in non-governmental offices where germans from a small town on the french border and brits who lived in bloem when they were younger dance funny dances from music barely making it through the speakers while you write never-ending prose to computers in the eastern cape. and i spoke to the features editor at mixmag today and they’ve heard of south africa and i emailed the editor of sl to tell him that if the editor of mixmag contacts him it’s because i’ve told him i was sl’s foreign correspondent. because we can do things like that, we just have to remind ourselves from time to time. ok, enough.

(this bit is a song whose title is lost, as a large part of the original file got lost)

surely not beaten by the feet of the broken
safe in the promise that your god has spoken
dirty britain is written on my airplane ticket
leaves me jobless and white, but ag, fuckit
as look around, as i look around and i turn
back to my soulless fruitless weightless
lessons in life leaving me high where i burn
like a crispy fried strip from kfc
where i spray all my bullets
pray for my booze lie so i don’t lose
small talk and schmooze pick and choose
who i want to know where i want to go
why isn’t the money for free
the gameshow host is strapped to the post
arrow through the leg and breathing frost
these are the days that we’ll mourn the most
serowe to the coast in a month of my mind
nobody knows where you’ve hidden your heart
so why even say where to begin to start
(“is it a radio, is it a what?”)
surely not beaten at the hands of the fallen
safe in the promise that your car was stolen
guaranteed and fit for a ride
for a ride down a potholed road
bedford daggaboer berea roodepoort parow pretoria parys and northam and everywhere
(“diana, it’s a bomb. it’s a bomb.”)
(“well, what are you doing with it?”)
(“detonating. so don’t make any false moves.”
unlike your postcards from paris, peru, london and minnesota
as my visa runs out like a taiwanese tuna tug’s quota
surely not beaten by the trail of lead
safe in the know that old french is dead
but somewhere someones getting some head
not from his woman but a bullet instead
cunning like the cops at a bisho road block
taking out crops it’s rock around the clock
stoned as a fossil sober as an oak
not to be fussed with you’ll be covered by a cloak
this one i’ll write on the back of my hand
i’m tired of fighting with the rest of the band
because i can’t get them to get into giant sand
as we unscrew lightly in this tired land
surely not beaten by the beaten track
safe in the bull and horns form of attack
so we braai on a Sunday with some foot and mouth
do be alarmed because it’s spreading south
feetback at Bright Lights breathing the sun
drowning in my beer a Sugardrive song in monotone
crossfire cutting down my comfort zone
“what about this shit weather?
got to get it together.”
surely not beaten by the pain in your head
safe in your car you turn home instead
surely not. surely not beaten.

(this bit is from afternoon tv, flicking between the five channels)

“you’ve been here all the time, doing that?”
“caterpillars in these rotten carrots”
“i know it doesn’t look like it, but i’ve been held here against my will”
“no cords, no wires”
“players can relate to his real travels”
“business”
“mine just turned into a butterfly! huh!”
“they’re really good”
“only on cnn”
“well done, you two”
“so you folks at home can see the glass in here”
“an ingredient in these medicines could be to blame for 200 and 400 strokes every year”
“i’ll come to your cabin”
“...”
“here’s what’s ahead on e tonight”
“smooth and creamy”
“appetite suppressant. doctors say there are plenty cold drugs on the market that don’t use ppa”
“the engine room”
“taken one with ppa”
“that sounds really good”
“hi alan”
“hi vicky”
“captain stooping? there’s something i have to say to you”
“...”
“captain, you’re holding an innocent man. mr doman didn’t steal anything”
“what’s the surprise”
“i did”
“alan, it’s very nice of you to come to his aid, but he was caught in the act”
“we add a little salt”
“we found out we decided to give him a break”
“laced with methanol”
“right”
“it’s a very serious offence, alan”
“...”
“oh boy, i didn’t know that!”
“i started vomiting. and fealing nauseous”
“then, i had the guy i was drinking with”
“my hands, my hands are clean”
“and i’m melting the butter”
“first, i’ve gotta get my outfit”
“no darling”
“my dad’s funeral”
“so that we get lovely creamy scrambled”
“from another lady”
“next Sunday for his second, toronot extending their winning streak to three games to stay on top in the northeast division, detroit suffering back to back shutouts at home for the fist time since 1990. the new york rangers hosted”
“i can’t keep up with you”
“peppy and active, you said it made you feel young”