Finish Your Collapse & Stay for Breakfast

Friend: Just talk to her, I mean you slept together.

Him:  Not like that.

Friend:  OK, so you shared a bed together, talking to her shouldn’t be such a big deal. I’m still surprised that nothing happened!

Him:  There’s a time and place.

Friend:  Oh shit! She coming towards you, I’m out.

Him:  Erm, I’d like to see you again.

Her:  That would be great.

Him:  Cool, then we should swap numbers or something.

Her:  Okay.

Him:  So, are you staying for breakfast? My man here’s cooked up a storm.

Her:  Uhm, no… No, I would love to but I have to go.

Him:  Go do what?

Her:  Excuse me?

Him:  Stay.

Her:  I don’t know.

Him:  Just stay, at least there’s something to do here. If not, we’ll think of something?


Blackberryphilia (2010)… pt.3


Me: Hey
[beep]: (chewing) Hey.
Me: Eh, it’s Coin. I’m so effing stressed. Calisto’s dead, like remember in Jennifer’s Body where Chip said his mum was catatonic like a  zombie-mannequin-robot statue? Like that dead and what’s weird is that when he does come round, this really disturbing icon that’s not even in the manual shows.
[beep]: (chewing) uh…

Effing [beep]! Why’s he always chewing when he’s on the phone? And anyway, doesn’t “catatonic like a zombie mannequin robot statue” kinda sorta explain what’s happened? Argh! What an idiot!

Me: So, like, I was…

I took sip of the screw-driver and explained what happened – well, not exactly what happened, just the parts that [beep] needed to know – he’s the last person that needs to know that I have a mini-meltdown over a dumb-ass smartphone.
Me: What do you think it is? Do I like need a new battery or is it like totally kaput? Which would be like a real disaster because I have work and stuff and  I won’t have time to get a new phone or battery and I’m gonna miss all that stuff that I’m gonna miss.
[beep]: (laughs, almost chokes then continues chewing) FOMO much, Coinizzle? OK? Sounds like you just have to wipe the gold bits on the battery and your phone with one of those cotton buds and Bob’s your uncle.

Me: Are you serious? I hope you’re not like practical-joking me like on Modern Family.

[beep]: Nah, but it usually does the trick.

Me: OK, hold the line.

I hurried to the bathroom and looked in the mirror cabinet for cotton buds. There was one left. I took it out and dismantled Calisto and wiped the metal bits with
the cotton bud and tried switching the phone on.

Holy crap! If this works, I’m giving up alcohol for like two months, starting today.

Me: Well, I just did that and it’s rebooting, all right.

[beep]:(chewing) Sweet

Me: Anyway, while I wait, [beep], why are you always chewing? It’s kinda disturbing and creepy.

[beep]: To keep my blood sugar levels up.


Me: Oh…


Me: Anyway, looks like it’s working all right. Thanks.

[beep]: Aite, later.

Me: Co-

He hung up! That bum-rush! Can I still call him a bum-rush if he’s got low blood sugar? Anyway, LED light flashing red? I’m gonna need a drink.

– end –


Blackberryphilia (2010)… pt. 2

catch up here

Manual, manual, manual! Where are you? Ooh, The Diaries of Jane Somers – been looking for you, must read ’em again. Doris Lessing was too advanced! Geez, it’s cold! It wouldn’t be if… yeah! Oh wow, thought I returned that, oh well! Okay, why am I here? Oh, the manual! Ouch! Stupid thumbtacks. The box, I see it! Manual, okay… Let’s see. Battery. Troubleshooting. Mother effer! For. Crying. Out. Loud. The damn icon thingamajig’s not in this stupid manual. Why create and icon and not put it in the book? Who does that? Wait, the people at RIM, that’s who! Or… maybe Calisto made it up, after all it is kinda haunted! It changes my alarm tone weekly, when it arrived it already somehow summoned *cough, cough*’s contact details, so it can be true! I think I’ll give *cough, cough* a ring when this is all over. Damn piece of crap! You’re pretty useless, you know! Yes, this phone is crap, people go on about how awesome it is to own one but they hardly tell you about all the glitches! ARGH!

I tried the whole routine again, anyway. Hope is a funny thing. Perhaps I was insane? Dismantle, shake, charge. Nothing. I stormed out of the study and banged the door. I stood in the middle of the lounge – someone had left the TV on mute. In the light it emitted, I found a glass of red wine on the coffee table and took a sip. It tasted bad. So I scratched my bum.

Okay… Calisto, maybe you’re not stupid. Maybe I should cry and everything will be better – works that way in those chick-flicks! What? Cry over a cell-phone, all alone?! Hey, that rhymes, maybe I should be a rapper after all! Ugh, that so Bridget Jones. Where’s the vodka? This wine is off! Maybe I should have another cigarette? Stuff it! All I need is music, the music on my memory card then I’ll be able to sleep. Maybe –

I walked to the kitchen, located the vodka then measured out three shots and poured them in a high-ball glass and gulped down a bit from the bottle before adding some orange juice to the glass. I read the label on the bottle and put it down then headed to the lounge. I rummaged through the objects on the coffee table and found a Nokia 1200. It was on.

Ah! A nice screwed up screw driver will do. Too damn cold to go smoke outside. Let’s see what’s on TV. Was that a phone? Oh holy cow! A phone! Wait, whose phone? Does it matter, it’s a phone! Doesn’t look like it has a mem-card slot, though. Damnit! But it’s a phone and it’s on! Maybe I should call [beep], he always knows what to do.

Now, being one of those that insist on memorising people’s contact details before storing them on any device in case I found myself in in a situationas the one I was currently in, unfortunately for me [beep]’s number was never memorised and so, I stood there trying to come up with a formula to remember his number. The fact that I could just take my SIM card out the phone and put insert it in this other phone had escaped me, completely. I scrolled through the contact list of the curious1200 and lo! and behold, [beep]’s number.



… to be concluded.


Blackberryphilia (2010)… pt. 1


It was only after thirty seconds that I realised I may have lost Calisto for good. I don’t know why this came to mind because the darn device took a good twenty-one and a half minutes for it to reboot; but in those thirty seconds as I held the power button down, I remembered the day it fell in a bodily fluid drenched toilet bowl and I felt very much like Mark Renton for fishing it out without retching – Calisto was a survivor! I got out of bed , lit a smoke and paced around thinking of how far I’d come with Calisto.

Fuck! I need to get this damn excuse of a smart-phone working again. Fast! I mean how can it just die when I was in the middle of four conversations on BBM, five on WhatsApp? Ok, I need to tweet, I need to check Facebook. I need to see what’s on tumblr, fluffy’s back. I need to be busy doing nothing on this phone! Or, maybe I could read? Oh. Hell. No. Why read when there’s the internet? If anyone finds out I thought, I’m dead. DAMN IT! I just need this thing to be on already!

I went back to bed and tried resuscitating the phone but it looked dead and sad like one of those model phones in the display at the shops: no flashing LED. I removed the back cover, pulled out the battery SIM card and memory card, put them back in and tried charging it. Nothing, just a battery icon with a red cross over it.

Fooking hell! What the hell does that mean? Do I even have voice-mail? I don’t think so. Of all the days for this thing to go all suicidal on me! Why? This. Is. The. End. Of. ME. That call is coming in, I can feel it.

I felt like throwing it against the wall and watch it shatter but I figured that doing so would put me in a bigger predicament than I already was – plus the phone had survived being driven over by a car, so thinking of smashing it was pointless. I threw it on the pillow, the pulled the covers over my head and started thinking about the one whose call was imminent. I reached for Calisto and tried it again. Reboot.

Reboot is a good sign! Phew! At least! I swear, Calisto, I won’t complain when you take long to reboot after I’ve upgraded or downlaoded an app. Oh, and I will upgrade the OS. Oh shit! The OS! Am I like supposed to upgrade it? What for? It slows everything down and isn’t it like a personal choice like when there’s Windows 7 and I still prefer XP? Oh for crying out loud! The damn thing went off mid-reboot! Don’t these things come with manuals? The manual… ha ha! Suck on that. Calisto, we’re gonna be all right, baby!

I jumped out of bed – or rather thought of jumping out of bed – instead I rolled to the other side and tumbled off the bed, collected Calisto, hysterically dismantled all the dismantle-able bits, re-assembled it, put it in the charger and hoped it switched on desperate that I wouldn’t have to leave my warm bed and the room in search of a manual I last saw the day I took my phone out the box. Nothing. Not even that stupid icon. I opened the door and trod to the study.


… to be continued.


This Perfect Day | pt. two

sleep coin2

I’m awoken by the static on a radio coupled with the bellowing of a car engine that sounds like it’s pulling something heavy. Outside, it’s dark, awkwardly so. The clouds are thick and eerily low that I hunch, slightly, just to feel safe. It’s raining softly and there are a couple of search lights peering from the clouds; one tracking the road ahead and the other tracing patterns to the left of the road. There are no other vehicles in sight, nor is there any sign of any civilisation .

I’m in the foetal position in the passenger seat that Sang’s driving. It’s not her usual car and it’s a manual – which explains the pulling sound. As I try stretch, the cars hits a bump and I jolt forward, which makes my head start spinning. My mouth feels like sandpaper – it’ s so dry that my tongue keeps sticking to the roof of my mouth. I swallow but it burns. The static gets worse but it seems that neither of us are bothered by it. 

“Oh, finally! You’re awake, bra!” Sang  turns down the radio as a faint “Christ, Marx, Wood and Wei led us to this perfect day” comes through the static. I quickly shake off the dizziness and look at the back seat.

“Huh?” I start coughing painfully.

“Okay… Like how do we get back to your grandmother’s house?”

“How far did you drive out?” My voice is strangely soft.

“Well, it’s been an hour and a half since I picked you at that place.”

“An hour and a half?!” I try to raise my voice but end up coughing even more.

“Yeah! Like dude, what’s up with their parking rates? No wonder the parking lot is empty! Gee!”

“I know.”

“So, are we going the right way?”

“I don’t know. Where are we?”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Haven’t you been to visit  your gran like your whole life?” At this point, I feel that one of our arguments are about to erupt but I cannot take part, my body won’t let me, so I vomit on my lap and it doesn’t seem like Sang notices.


“You said to go straight and I’ll get there.” 

“But Bloem isn’t that big, five minutes and you’re out of the city. Didn’t you see?”

“Whoops!” she laughs and turns the radio up. It sounds like what I’d imagine to be a thousand worms screeching in unison. ” You don’t look so good, Paddy.”

Ja, I don’t feel so good either.” I start looking for my cell-phone.

“What did you have?”

“A glass of Chenin Blanc.”

“That’s it?”


“Box or bottle?”

“I don’t know, doesn’t Chenin Blanc just come in a bottle?”

“It’s probably box, dude, that place has the décor that screams box wine” she laughed. I open a window, “and you know what they say about box wine… Now look at you!” She hands me half a bottle of Revive – except it’s blue. I hesitate but drink it anyway. It’s thick and syrupy.

In the distance I see a sign that reads: Virginia.

“Hey! Isn’t that near Bloem?”

“All I know is that it’s in the Free State, so just go straight.” She speeds up, I start getting comfortable with her driving.

“I’m getting used to the car.” She smiles. The screeching worms on the radio slowly start to die down and through the static children’s voices chanting “Christ, Marx, Wood and Wei led us to this perfect day” start getting stronger as the rain starts picking up.

The car soon approaches a downhill bend, I start looking in the cabby-hole for a CD. The chanting starts getting to me and the nausea gets worse as the car seems to gain speed. As I get up to look outside, the one searchlight has stopped on a huge gum tree in the distance, to our left.

Sang steps on the accelerator. I feel like telling her to slow down a bit but all I can manage is to throw up again, this time on the gear.

“Siff, like how am I supposed to drive, now?” She shakes the blue liquid off her hand then smells it.

“Smells like teen spirit.” I snigger.

The car hits another bump and one of the wheels lock. We tumble off the road. My body jolts left with the momentum of the car and my head starts spinning as it hits the passenger window, I go blind for a bit as the pain radiates through my head. I feel around my cheekbones, the skin is broken. I look at my hand, it’s bloody.

I look at Sang to tell her that I’m hurt but she just smiles at me.“You really don’t look to good, buddy.”

I grab my phone with the intention of calling for help but it’s rebooting. I lift my head and see we’re headed straight for the gum tree. I try the seatbelt but it’s stuck.

The worms on the radio and the kids chanting gets louder and louder as we crash into the tree.

Neither of us scream.

– 2010


This Perfect Day | pt. one

Sleepy CoinI find myself walking in the covered parking of a mall towards a popular department store. It is hot. I know this because my feet and fingers are swollen and throbbing. I deliberate which city I am in until I see the parking pay station and rates. I am in Bloemfontein.

As I meander  the shopping centre, I realise that everyone is holding a clear plastic cup with red sludge in it and a black straw through the lid. They’re sipping on this as though their lives depend on it, perhaps to survive the heat. I ask a few people where they get this drink from but they all give long incoherent answers so, I give up on finding this elixir and try to figure out why I am at the mall in the first place. Nothing comes to mind except that it’s out of habit. So, out of habit, I head over to Exclusive Books and look for a classic that I can read over a glass of wine and light meal. I take Ira Levin’s This Perfect Day and head over to a coffee shop whose décor is very late 90’s – early 2000’s futuristic jazz bar with dull  silver tables and blue – red neon lights, my stomach turns and I decide to sit in right in the middle of the semi-populated eatery.

The waitress brings the menu but I hardly look at it. I order a croissant with preserves and cheese and a glass of Chenin Blanc, “please make sure it’s cold,” I add. I realise I forget to order water but figure that she’s going to bring some ice with the wine, so that’ll make up for the lack of water. I open the book and start to read. After a two pages of reading, the waitress brings the wine accompanied by a bowl of ice. The glass had some condensation on it but when I took a sip it was warm and syrupy. I added more ice but it just melted yet the colour stayed the same. I took another sip and continued reading until I go to the part where the school children chant “Christ, Marx, Wood and Wei led us to this perfect day” then I took another sip.

My head starts slightly spinning and I can hear the children chanting in my head, faintly. I put the book down, rub my eyes, take off my spectacles then clean them. I look at the glass of wine and sigh before signalling the waitress for more ice. She acknowledges my gesture and I continue reading. I keep sipping on the wine – even though I told myself I wouldn’t until the food arrived. When she eventually comes, I’m halfway through the glass of wine and my head is heavy and my mouth is dry. I tell her that there’s something wrong with the wine and she takes a sip of it in front of me and says that she can’t find anything wrong with it. So, she takes another sip and exclaims “gosh, I need a holiday”, puts the glass back on the table and walks away. At this point, my head is as heavy and as flimsy as a sack of rice and every slight movement lowers my energy levels. I take an ice-cube to my mouth and hope it quenches my parched throat.


“Christ, Marx, Wood and Wei led us to this perfect day” starts ringing in my head as  it falls on the plate with the preserves, cheese and croissant.

To be concluded.



Destitute Illusions

Him: Are you hungry?
Her: No, I had something to eat. So go ahead, I’ll just have a smoke.

Him: Should you be smoking after what happened?
Her: No, but I’ve been doing so anyway. This is funny.

Him: What is?
Her:  This whole situation, you know…

Him: No I don’t, tell me.
Her: This whole thing where you are my knight in shining armour, the whole hero thing.

Him: It’s not like you’re in any state to take care of yourself, you know.
Her: No… You’re right. It’s pathetically adorable and what’s worse is you still keep trying. I have one thing for you; you might as well direct your feelings to a brick wall.

Him:  OK, I’m gonna fix myself a drink.
Her: Sure, get me one too.

Him:  OK
Her:  Anyway, why do you keep coming here?

Him:  Because I worry about you.
Her:  That was rhetorical, by the way. You’re like a doormat.

Him:  A what?
Her:  A doormat. You’re always there, ready to take the dirt of my shoes and because all you do is just lie there, I think of more and more ways to get dirt on my feet so I can watch you take it all in.

Him:  I guess I came at the right ti –
Her:  – and what kills me is the fact that you never have anything to say when I tell you stuff like that, so you do this whole silent thing – which I can imagine is you feeling hurt and you don’t have the guts to tell me I’m being insensitive.

Him:  You certainly are in a good mood.
Her:  Then again I take it that when you’re in love or care for someone you’re ready to take their shit, am I right?

Him:  You really need to get out.


rue, Oct 31st 2009

The morning light slithered into my half open eyes – you were one of the people that found it rather amusing that I actually slept with my eyes semi-open. I shut them, rolled them around a couple of times then opened them to find the September 2009 Playmate glaring down at me with a wink and a sultry smile, as if to say “good on ya, girl!” I looked around.

My head hurt.

Oh. No.” I sighed as I quickly pulled the covers over my head. I shuddered as your scent filled my cocoon of shame as I realized where I was.  I foraged around the covers for my phone and found it under the pillow. Saturday,  9:49am. A couple of missed calls and texts regarding my whereabouts. I switched it off and threw it on the floor.

The TV was on in the next room. I figured you were there, so I writhed out of bed and grabbed a tshirt off the floor and tiptoed to the door. I opened it slightly and peeked through. You weren’t there. I headed for the bathroom, looking around for traces of last night. Nothing. I passed by the kitchen, poured a glass of water then made my way back to you room with a magazine I found in the bathroom. “how on earth did I end up here?” I didn’t remember calling you. Or you calling me and from the messages on my phone, I just disappeared?

I must have ended up sleeping again in that as gentle as you were trying to wake me up, the hangover just made it so much worse.

huh?” I turned around and you stood over me grinning, hand behind you. The smell of coffee filled the room.

I got this.” You held up a mug, “get up, I’m making brunch.”

C-cool.” I straightened up, “got any painkillers?”

Bathroom.” you kissed my cheek as you handed me the coffee. I sat up and took a couple of sips , located my garb and placed in neatly on your chair. I hurriedly showered and put on your shorts and that same t-shirt and offered to help you but you banished me to the couch. You had “When It Falls On”- the album you had so badly wanted me to hear, and I did. “Morning Song” came one and you told me about the parallels you found between it and Sylvia Plath’s poem of the same title. You explained, “it seems kind of like it could be a take on the poem- or at least parts of it and that the poem seems to be about motherhood and not being around forever… Plath kind of knew she was going to kill herself and not always be there for her kids, so ‘tomorrow seems…just an illusion’ “

I said that there comes a time when we take the idea of  “another chance” for granted because we believe it in so much that we forget to embrace the instance when something amazing happens, but you laughed at me and said that I was just full of regret.

I laughed and stared at you wondering if we’d ever make it.

After brunch, I challenged you to Fifa 10 – like I knew what it was – and I only lost because I have poor hand-eye co-ordination and I didn’t have my glasses with me. You put in “The Village” and got a couple of beers from the fridge while I grabbed a blanket and we snuggled up with you behind me. You stroked my shoulder, I was antsy at first – you forgot I hate being touched – but I eased up a little. You asked if if I had seen the film before and I slyly responded with a “non” just to get you to hold me during the creepy parts, which you did.

It was warm under that blanket and that did not go too well with the arduous suspense that was stylistic of M Night because I soon felt you slide your hand gently from my left knee up my thigh. I took a deep breath and I think you felt me tense up. You rested your hand on my hip and tapped your fingers. I closed me eyes and felt the blood rush through me.

I love you.”Your warm breath tickled my as you came closer. I shivered gently then effortlessly tilted my head to the left, exposing more of my neck to you. Your hand navigated from my hip, up my stomach then to my breast as you pressed your warm lips on my neck. My back arched as you traced an imagined pattern with your tongue along my neck. I could feel your heart beat faster, as did mine. I turned around and looked me dead straight in the eye. I consented to your pending actions by biting my bottom lip. You peeled my top off, pulled me closer, pressing my breasts against your naked chest. All the time our bodies undulating to a rhythm we could only feel. I tried to control my breathing as you nibbled on my ear. I pulled your face towards mine and I remembered what you had just whispered.  I smiled and stroked your hair before parting your lips with mine…

We’d done this before – without the three words.

Is that the time?” I jumped up pointing at the clock.

What’s wrong?” You scratched your head.

Crap! I have to go.”


I forgot I had to meet whatsherface in like 20 minutes.”

Work? It’s Saturday. Can’t you reschedule?” You stood at the bedroom door and watched me dress.

Yeah, no. Sort of… Look, I’ll call you.” and I didn’t. Although, I did message you later that day hoping for a “let’s pick up where we left off.” and you didn’t reply.