We like texture

Space Invaders is a tragic metaphor for the sorry geo-political situation we find in the world today.

Imagine, if you will, a lone rocket ship travelling in outer space. Imagine coming across an entire civilisation of alien life forms, an entire culture that you can not understand. They approach. They are different, their gestures make no sense to you and therefore take on the semblance of a threat. They are the Other.

Ever noticed that in the first few levels of Space Invaders, the aliens don't shoot back at the rocket ship?

Only after a few levels, after your intentions are clear and you have wiped out entire communities of peace-loving aliens, do they begin to defend themselves.

When you think about it, who is the real Space Invader?

Who does the Space belong to, and who is invading?

Yes, friends, the West, not understanding or caring to understand the East, chooses instead to draw its guns, setting off an irreversible chain of events that must lead to the destruction of either civilisation.

Some of these paradoxically named "space invaders", who are in reality Freedom Fighters, are choosing to lay down their laser guns and instead take a stand. Will you join them and heal the world? Or, uhm, the galaxy?


Post a Comment

Post a Comment

Class field trip to Simonstad Naval base and Ysterplaat air force base. Cool enough, we got to ride in boats & planes that can kill!

I'm not supplying any kind of mood barometer for this trip. I was too ill to have emotions. But it was fun to take pictures:


Navy recruits warm-up before jumping into the freezing water, completing an obstacle course, getting out of the water, running, more swimming, more running. It's a sea dog's life.


He is headed for the obstacle course. He will save my life someday.




This recruit was receiving personal attention from the drill sergeant, probably for a bad attitude. The sarge ordered him to dive for seashells.


Flying in a DC-10, a WW2 era aircraft. These rotors make for great photos.




Emmie of the flies.


I love taking graphical pictures, but would like to hear your opinion on this type of picture. Interesting or no?


I found three flowers at the docks.






Post a Comment

"You think I don't know what a eugoogaly is?" - Derek Zoolander, modern Confucius.

Well, Seminormal, our friendly blog on the corner about clouds and sad songs, is gone. Arcadia wrote a rather touching eulegy to EJ's long-serving blog.

I, however, have found a gap in the market: I will be spiteful.

HOW COULD YOU LEAVE US, MAN?

And here is the result, a rather nerdy little cartoon strip I made with the help of the extremely diverting stripgenerator.com:


Post a Comment

You know what really grinds my gears?

Children in movies who talk like 47-year olds.

It came up again today as I watched the excellent Thank You For Smoking.

You have some scene, typically, with an adult character is in crisis. Then the child wanders in to the living room, just as the protagonist is about to start drinking to solve their problems, and launches into some crazy monologue showing a level of sophistication that the young are absolutely incapable of, given their experience & education.

The whole "they have so much wisdom, in their infantile way" thing is just getting out of hand. And the producers & co. expect us to believe in this charade.

The worst is Dakota Fanning. She is the most well-trained monkey in the business. This poor little child has NONE of the naivety that a child should have when speaking in real life. When she opens her mouth, it sounds like she's been possessed by Judy Dench, and that freaks me out.

The way you can tell is just by the little phrases these brats use, that no grade-schooler would ever utter. Small things, like: "Like you said last time..."

Really think about that one. Has a kid ever referred you to a previous discussion in that way? No, and probably, they never will.

Kids talk a certain way and scriptwriters are messing it up. I can understand they are still excited about discovering child actors that don't suck, the first being Hale Joel Osment (Macauley Culkin doesn't count). But please guys, make kids kids again.
Post a Comment

In the light of the recent flu epidemic that is crippling Stellenbosch, I think it is neccessary to enter a virological discussion.

HOW TO GET BETTER, FRIENDS?

Well, my own Healing Recipe, which I put on a rigorous trial today, is to:

a) get comfy in front of a wide screen TV.

b) never leave the TV unless absolutely neccessary.

c) eat as much chocolate as you can, alternating between 70% dark chocolate and chocolate muffins every hour or so.

d) a hearty brunch is a must (if you woke up in time for breakfast, you have not slept enough. go back to bed!)

e) a companion to chat with and fall asleep on the couch with.

f) good coffee, but not too much or you will dehydrate.

g) a cute little dog (see Beertjie in post below) to provide entertainment between TV spectacles is handy. the fluffier, the better.

h) some pills, just for the placebo effect. everyone knows that in the end: cartloads of chocolate today, keeps the doctor at bay.
Post a Comment

Next to our house, there is a bird sanctuary. For years, there have been no birds in it. None.

Now, a dam has been built and soon the birds will come.

Shots from the dam:


This is Beertjie the dog. Number one for cute points and screeching.


Father tinkering with the waterflow.


Muddy boots. Not uncommon on swamp trips.
Post a Comment

What happens in public, you may photograph. Period.

Kate Moss takes her top off, you have the (legal, not moral) right to snap the twins and become (semi-) rich.

The same, without doubt and without question, applies to buildings and basically everything OUTSIDE, except Kate's private garden.

I was taking shots of window cleaners when this guy from their company comes up to me and says: "You're not allowed to take pictures. You need a permit. You must pay. I am a throbbing prick." (He didn't say that last part, really)

Now: this is all false, but if you don't have the legal background, you might be inclined to stand down in this situation. DON'T. I almost never stick up for myself and in this situation, armed with the correct legal info (thanks to my law degree!), I told him flatly that I know my rights and I will take pics as I please.

Big moment for me guys. Often in fights, I become a carpet. A shaggy, please-tread-on-me rug. Not this time. And don't let it happen to you! Anyway, I'm saving some for tomorrow because the computer is giving me trouble with my photos.

Just some Saturday pics:














This man. Is the man. He will kill you.
Post a Comment

A rock show for women. By men. One memorable quote:
"I think it's bullshit that my girlfriend of 2 years just left me. So fuck women."

Good show, though. Here is what I saw:


Operatic Louis the Fourteenth funk rock. Any takers?


What I've learnt from Emmie: hands R interesting. Check his rock blisters.


Mike Hardy from Bed on Bricks.


More Mike.


Craig (a friend) from LP Show. Always looks like he's having a good time on stage.


A secret sharing egg.


The moment.
Post a Comment

These strips from the brilliant A Softer World:


Post a Comment

I found two old friends today, the way you find old newspapers and see those bits, that really when you look at them, are "found poetry", only you have to classify them that way. Otherwise they are just newspaper.

I found them. It was special. I will make it work.

And then:

I was with my long-road friends tonight. The ones from way back, three years ago.

And maybe, if I was lucky, I managed to let something go.

We danced in the Church parking lot. We cavorted. AC/DC pumped from the speakers. We were on a "Highway to Hell". We were "Thunderstruck". We stamped in the puddles, splashed. My green curdoroy pants got soaking wet. I layed myself out on the bonnet. I did Chuck Berry duckwalks around the car. We danced around it like it meant something. It didn't, the moment did.

I was freeing myself.

You have to understand that we were right in front of the door of the church.

I though about that door. Eventually I duckwalked right up to it. I don't hate their symbols and heroes.

I gave Jesus my love... a cross on his house's door and a thumbs up... and I danced further, with flesh-and-blood friends.

We risked the road. We arrived. There were props. An apron, an Annie (the musical) wig, stilletos. Apron.

YEs, the night. Fucking monday.
Post a Comment

A friend and his friend. Cool people just doing their thing, which happens to be walking rope.






Post a Comment

Sometimes, even mannequins are having more fun than you.
Post a Comment

from Robert Kirkman's Battle Pope, Image Comics


Blasphemy is everywhere, folks.

But: does Big J mind?

How do we think about people who walk the Earth (as Big J once did)?

We appreciate and celebrate various good qualities in a person, including compassion, humility, approachability and so on.

We all like someone with a sense of humour. Someone who can tell a joke, or at the very least appreciate one.

Now, the Big J that most Sunday-folk would have us believe in has a shitty sense of humour. He can't take a joke.

Their Big J pulls out a Glock everytime it's his turn to be the butt of a joke and says: "See you in hell, mother*&#**".

That's not nice. People who are that way in life are pricks.

It stands to reason that Big J is not a prick.

No, the perfect being would definitely have a sense of humour. He would give as good as he gets in the joke arena. He would be an easygoing guy, fun to be around.


He would be all like: (Jesus-Cartman voice) "Ey, you get your big ass back in the kitchen, and make me some pie."

Sure he would. He's perfect.
Post a Comment

"I hear starlight gives you cancer."

Star-cancer.

cancer of the Star.
Post a Comment

I was going to do a post about wether we need people. You know, wether we need other people in our lives for our own to be meaningful.

It was tricksy.

But then, something I could decide on. we need art.

This is the work of Ron Mueck. Here is the link to the rest, if you (and you should) want to see it.







Post a Comment