The day you dumped me, you forgot to give me my heart back, I was not aware that you did that with intentions of breaking me down.

You kept it in your hands and whenever you saw me smiling, heading to my happiness you smashed it bit by bit to an extent that I never felt its beat.

If only I knew that you are so noxious, I wouldn’t have loved you in the first place, you brought nothing but tears on my face.

I had to prove to you that I am a girlfriend material but still it was not enough, you wanted to turn me into those girls who wear make up and expensive weaves, something which I am not.

Here I am, I come to you, please give me my heart back, I really need it, I want to move on, you broke it yes! But someone is willing to mend it.

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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?

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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 –


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In Celebration of Women

Mother, wife, career-driven, call me multi-faceted. Gone are the days when we were confined, defined. Today I have the freedom to decide or not to decide. Today I have the freedom to choose or not to choose. Hi my name is Twenty First Century Woman and I am dimensional. This is a tribute and I am here to salute. Salute to the home-makers, care-givers, nurturers with opinions. To those mothers with diplomas and degrees, yet make those hearty home-made meals. Salute to those faithful wives who do not need help get to the top. Salute to the mothers killing it, non-stop. It is the twenty-first century, so why do I have to choose between the two? Educated, self-sufficient and independent don’t have to make me a male-bashing feminist or a lesbian.

My name is Twenty First Century Woman and I have the right to maternity leave. In the world I will lead, I will achieve and then go home and breastfeed. My name is Twenty First Century Woman and possess the ability provide, but I still want a man at home as my partner and the father of my child. A home with a king and queen, rather than a home with a king and his sub-human being.

My name is Twenty First Century Woman I believe in love, in family and even marriage, but don’t make me choose. I can be a mother, wife and a talented, passionate big-dreaming human too.

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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.


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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.


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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.



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… And Then I Kissed Her (II)

...and then I kissed her (ii)read part one here

“You disappeared, ” her voice quivered. “You fucking disappeared and left me to deal with everything again.”

By everything she was referring to the fact that I left without a trace during a surprise birthday party she threw for me on the eve of our trip to Prague. See, the problem with recurrent depression – coupled a reputation for being compulsive – notably when you’re self-medicating and the meds are of the recreational kind, is that it creeps up on you at the worst time ever and soon enough you’re plummeting into an abysmal despair, emotionally overwhelmed and panicked, wondering about permanence, commitment and expectations after our bohemian getaway. The commitment part triggered things and I never really figured out why I was even entertaining these thoughts when the last thing I ever wanted was for it to end up blowing up in our faces like with my parents. So, I grabbed a bottle of whisky and started walking, first to Jack Friedman’s then somehow I ended up at a facility in Kenilworth and was released seven months later. By the time I was back in Jo’burg, I figured it was too late to say anything until I heard she would be attending Dev’s thing in Parkhurst – nothing like the post irony of ‘we last saw each other at a party, a year later we meet at one’.

“Then you rock up in Zee’s car to Dev’s party,” she continued. “I mean you don’t even like Dev for fuck’s sake! Let alone Amu,” she scoffed, “then you’re all giggly with that 12 year old but you scare off the only guy I’ve been really into since you.” She turned her back to me.

“You should have seen your face though, in the car? Composure’s always been your best quality, well until your episode last night.” I chuckled as I walked out onto the balcony.

“You deserve worse.” She killed the cigarette in a little china pot she kept in the corner and stood with her back to me, facing the view. A sliver of orange light broke the the blue-black horizon, I always cherished that moment just before dawn, I felt that I could be honest with myself. I stepped towards her and stroked her arm. She shivered.

“Babe, I’m sorry.”



“I mean don’t go now apologise if you’re going to keep doing the things you’re sorry for,” she was jaded. It was the longest time I had an episode – as she would say.

“I know,” I pulled her towards me and  wrapped my arms around her, she tried pushing away but I held tight. “But I’m here now.”

“Why don’t you let me in?”

“I missed you.”

“Prague was amazing.”

“Sometimes you have to grow apart to have new stories to learn, to share. That’s why I miss you exists.”

“But it’s still messed up, this… Last night.” She pulled out the embrace and moved to the weathered wicker chair that was once her grandmother’s. Magnet’s “Lay Lady Lay’ came on as I sat next to her.

“I’m really sorry though,” I started. What she had known as my affinity for compulsive activities and wayfaring was in fact a mask for the insufferable unipolar depression I had always been afraid of telling her all these years. I need that time to “get over [my] fucking self” as Amu had yelled when she and I got kicked out of the party because I cock-blocked her and she flipped, hard. She stormed over and told me how much she hated me, I laughed and told her that for her to hate me so much she just have loved me equally at one point, that’s when it turned into a scene.

Her eyes filled up as she listened to my concession. A tear rolled down her right cheek. I wiped it and she cupped my hand against her face then kissed my palm.”I don’t hate you.” She looked straight into my eyes and let out a soft sigh.

“I know.”

“I just hate what you put me through.” She leaned closer.

“Marry me.”

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