liver on strike

I have been a bad blogger for the past while. i would like to apologise for this.

it goes withouit saying that things have been extraordinarily insaaaaaaane! why else would i stray from my beloved place of mind-peace-keeping? but i am back now, and i shall do my very best to ‘keep it real’ in the way of writing good posts – consistently and without censorship.

the past couple of weeks have been surreal in a sense. at first, i was wanting to jump right off one of these massive skyscrapers that litter the horizon. it makes me wonder why there are so many, as i am almost certain that i am not the first to feel suicidal about having made a bad decision. but then, something happened, something inexplicable. i started to feel as though i was on holiday, and i have tried to see things in this light ever since. and i must say, this place really lends itself to this kind of thinking.

i also know that i am feeling slightly more human than before, as i managed to have my very first ‘bender’ this weekend. jisslaaaaaaik, ek se! after two whole days of being on the trot, vokda tonics on standby, i felt the pain yesterday. i was rudely awakened by feelings of absolute and utter death. not the kind that you belive will ever go away – more the kind that you truly believe in that moment will swallow you. you then go on to think about who exactly is going to discover your fermenting body in between the heaps of clothes and discarded water bottles on your bedroom floor. there is something very rob zombie about what i am trying to say, so i hope y’all are getting the picture!

after writhing on the couch in front of my new flatmate, whom i now thinks i am in need of a new liver – i came out of it. i pushed through this hangover harder than a large american football player on cheap steroids. i then felt peckish and made my way to the nearest place where i could find a snack. i saw something truly beautiful on my way to the supermarket… it was a…

A KrispyKreme doughnut shop

There is no other way to describe it but as a quasi-religious experience. I’m going there for supper tonight. chocolate-covered custard doughnut – yes please!

lost in space

There are crimes – and then there are CRIMES. This is one of them. Not only is there a typo in the name of the band, six beatles instead of five, the wrong hairstyles etc – it’s printed onto a t-shirt that is for sale at a respectable photo outlet. I find this disturbing, in massive proportions that I simply cannot describe. I stood in the shop, my mouth literally hagning off my face like a beard, trying to figure out which one is ringo. (That, by the way, is still pending – all the kids have small noses so it’s too hard to tell) Is this the level of novelty i am going to be dealing with? Because if I caught someone walking around Cape Town wearing this, I’d call the police or the neighbourhood watch or whatever. And if our cowboy-esque authirities took too long to arrive, I’d certainly deal with the matter myself by throwing eggs at the perpetrator from a moving car, or bits of wet toilet paper.

I spent a few hours of my day in the same mall where I had the displeasure of witnessing this shameful atrocity. I had to go on a recon mission for linen and a beach towel. I was inadvertently assaulted by impatient passers-by, who clearly do not understand that the trolleys do not have power steering and make for awkward movement. But it was actually the acquiring of the trolley that was a real joke. I went over to where the trolleys are kept in neat rows at the entrance of the shop, and tried my usual wrist-jiggle that normally loosens the trolley from its mates and lets me steer it onwards toward the aisles. This time, however, I was met with what i presumed to be a trolley that did not want to go on a shop tour and carry my groceries and shit. Ten minutes later, and after being stared at like a freak by passers-by, i noticed this little device:

I must give the developer ten points for ingenuity, but as far as my embarassment levels are concerned, I want to slap someone. Anyway, i shoved a dhiram into the slot and made my way through the jungle of retail victims – all who believe it’s okay to buy shit you’ll NEVER use. (I know this because I do it sometimes as well, and it’s only through close observation of this behvaiour of myself that i have managed to see how it’s a downward spiral that leaves you feeling you can’t breathe without the necessities that are not what they portray themselves to be)

And if anyone out there is reading, what do you think of these shoes? I need an opinion: