We like texture

Games is tydmors - Games are a waste of time

2007-11-06T08:03:00.001+02:00

Ek kan nie besluit of ek vandag gelewe het met “die lewe is kort” of “die lewe is lank” as my motief nie. Jy sien, ek het omtrent heeldag voor die TV gesit en games speel. Die trend in games deesdae is om vir jou te wys hoe lank jy al gespeel het daaraan, (byvoorbeeld, 7 ure in totaal) en my syfers vandag het my so bietjie ongemaklik gemaak. Dis ‘n lang tyd. Daar is ander games wat ek weet drie volle dae elk in my lewensgeskiedenis opmaak.

Mens voel tog nie jy het jou tyd gemors as jy ‘n goeie fliek gekyk het nie. Waarskynlik het jy iets geleer, of iets verstaan vir die eerste keer. Maar games leer mens selde sulke “truths” van ons emosionele landskap.

Wat (goeie) games wel doen, is om ‘n reeks uitdagings voor jou te stel. Streng gesproke is die loon vir sukses niks nie. Jy het gewen, so what? Maar die gym ook is niks meer as ‘n plek waar mense fisiese uitdagings vir hulself stel nie. Hoekom? Jy verbeter jouself: die volgende keer kan hulle strawwer gestel word, binne of buite die gym.

Ek is nie een om my geheue, reflekse of probleemoplossingsvaardighede dikwels te probeer oefen nie. Maar as ek ‘n goeie game speel, gebeur dit vanself. Daar is inspanning, daarbo in my kop. Dit kan tog nie ‘n slegte ding wees nie. Ek word baie meer uitgedaag deur my games as deur die nuutste Huisgenoot.

Maar as mens terug gaan na die lone van sukses, kan ons onderskei tussen virtuele lone (so te sê immateriëel) en werklike lone. Die virtuele loon om ‘n game klaar te maak is dikwels iets verreikend en fantasties, tipies dat die wêreld gered word van bose magte. As jou verbeelding saamspeel, as jy jou ongeloof kan toesmeer met fantasie, dan word die virtuele lone van sukses beide oortuigend en belangrik vir jou as speler. Wen jy dan die game, het jy ‘n avontuur meegemaak, veel meer as net ‘n dinkskrum.

Jou virtuele geskiedenis skakel dan in by jou egte geskiedenis, dit word deel van jou storie omdat jy daarin geglo het en dit vir jou sin gemaak het. Jy was daar. Dit was pret.

Ek is een van daai wat omgee en glo waarin ek speel. Dit meen seker my dag was nie ‘n mors van tyd nie.

The Japanese and architecture in service of an idea

2007-09-01T02:13:00.000+02:00

My trip to Japan has lived up to very high expectations that I have had since early childhood. However, much of my time in Tokyo was spent in conference rooms and department stores, rather than staples of traditional culture like museums and great buildings.

I have spent one day in Kyoto and it has shown me a more traditional Japan; one just as valuable as the world-leading Tokyo metropolis.

With an (authentic) Japanese family, we toured three of the more renowned Buddhist temples of Kyoto. Buddhism here is intertwined with the beliefs of Shinto, which dictates that there are spirits in almost all earthly things. The Japanese, appropriately, have a very utalitarian view of religion. It is said that they are Shinto at birth, Christian at marriage, and Buddhist at death, reflecting their preference in ceremony at those important stages of life.

What makes these temples special is that they show how architecture and landscaping can be created in the service of simple but powerful ideas.

The rock garden at Ryoanji Temple is an enlightening example. It is comprised of four islands of clustered rocks, laid out on a clean lawn of raked white gravel, in the Zen-style. There are fifteen rocks in total, a number that is considered ‘complete’ in Buddhist thinking. In this rock garden, however, it is impossible to see all fifteen rocks at the same time. If you shift your perpspective to reveal the missing rock, another will disappear from view. Only from above, that is to say in ‘heaven’, is all revealed.

The lesson, of course, is that in our mortal state the full set of facts is never availed to us. We can only know or understand so much of our crises and opportunities. It is a humbling realisation, and one that may console you to your past, or prepare you for the future.

Great Western architecture is often informed by powerful ideas or highly conceptual aesthetics. But the link between idea and structure can be very tenuous. Without falling into the trap of mystifying everything that comes from the East, I would welcome the construction of more of these brick and mortar parables in our part of the world to illustrate certain wisdoms in an unassuming way. It has been really well done in Japan.

If there are such examples in the West, by the way, I would really like to hear about them.

bovination

2007-05-05T05:36:00.000+02:00

i wanted to title this post "holy cow", but i would have been dishonoured.

2007: it could be a good thing

2007-01-12T17:58:00.000+02:00

Photography buddies will be glad to know I've been keeping up the habit.

Here are some pictures from the New Year's Day Parade:

I love this guy.

The latest Batman movie had the lowest budget of all.

A veteran.

A not-so veteran. Scary.

See you soon.

First of 07

2007-01-07T22:39:00.000+02:00

I've been aworkin', leaving little time for abloggin', but I do have some pictures for you:

Leaves

More leaves

The bigger, albeit darker, picture. Oh, and more leaves

Buckingham noir? No?

Some notes from New Year (what I saw):

- A couple, combined age approx 180, hobbling out of McDonalds at 11.15 in central London. The old man's lips were permanently drawn back and he seemed to be able to see only as far as his nose. The woman would have been no more than five feet tall standing straight up, but her Quasimodesque forward hunch made her look about 4'5.

I've seen faster glaciers than those two. Yet they're out and about on New Year's Eve. A golden star for effort, I guess.

- A clearly anorexic girl waits outside the McDonalds. She is shivering so hard that if she were wearing stilettos they would start cracking through the pavement. She tries to light a cigarette, fails time after time because she can't hold the fag still. Eventually, she manages to light one. The cigarettes are so slender, out of proportion almost.

A girl in a nearby group drops a cigarette very carelessly. She practically throws it to the ground. She goes to the Slender Smoker and bums another. The thing is, there was a look from the thin girl as the careless one explained. She understood, she was a good person and she wanted to help out. Not just a goods transfer.

She hands it over, and then resumes shivering on her own.

- A tiny Japanese man walks up to a huge officer of the Met Police. Sunglasses, badass moustache and serious biceps. The tourist gestures some request, and I expect a beating, or a rejection, at least.

No, the cop gets onto his motorcycle, and poses for a friendly pic. Another. Then one with his colleague. The tourist skips off, having taken one of the best postcards of his life.

NYE

2006-12-31T21:11:00.000+02:00

Happy New Year's Eve, everyone.

I'm in front of the telly. My Carlsberg half-litre is within clutching distance. Trent Reznor blaring on a TV radio channel. Rain, rain, rain. So far, this is THE PARTY OF THE YEAR.

Why do people expect so much from the last night of the year???

I'm definitely going to give it my best shot. We've bought some booze, and will soon be heading to some public place to be as merry as the next group.

But elsewhere, people are dancing in a club, having paid at least 40 pounds to get inside. Any other night of the year, they could be there for free, or at least a third of what they paid on the 31st of December.

Again: why do people expect so much?

First Notes on London

2006-12-22T23:03:00.000+02:00

Pedestrian crossings

I press the button, but take the opportunity to cross before the light turns green. A line of cars queues up in front of the zebra crossing, frozen by the red light even though there are no pedestrians near the crossing.

Crazy christenings

An ethnically Indian grocery boy struggles to put a box on the top shelf. His name tag reads: Stalin.

Masters of the universe

Homeless people distributing The Big Issue have obviously realised that at Christmas, competition is fierce.

Two of my favourite sales pitches:

"The Big Issue, the ideal Christmas present... for someone you don't really like."

and

"Buy The Big Issue so I can pay my butler!"

Eavesdropping

London is arguably the best location in the world for eavesdropping.

Barely pipping the riveting political discussion on the US's relations with OPEC countries I overheard today, this one between two little girls was pretty special:

"So if you had to get rid of a bomb, where would you put it?"

"I'd put it really really deep in the ground."

"But then it would go off and it would kill all the earthworms."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well, that wouldn't do, would it?"

we like texture - ashes on rain

2006-12-21T00:35:00.000+02:00

An internet cafe in London, 10.35pm

Two spots down, an Arab man is reciting the Koran over Skype. It's just us. He seems excited by the discussion. I think its some kind of informal correspondence course. He laughs quite often, like a schoolboy, which I like.

Tonight was my second lonely one. I felt displaced (which I am) and without friends (which I'm not). In fact, two of my best friends in the world are here in London with me. But when Thean goes to work, and Jolani's away, I feel like the last Smurf in the world.

It will pass.

What I wanted to say is that this blog is still going. I will continue to barf my thoughts here for the next year, the cold one in London.

I picked up my camera for the first time in a month just two days ago. I want to show you some pictures of angels and classical figures in black and white, but it must wait for now.

See you soon.

On computer & video games

2006-12-08T22:10:00.000+02:00

Strange thing to discuss on my comeback, but it's all I have words for, you see.

I've been saying goodbye to too many friends as I prepare to leave for London. So, the only other thing having consumed my conscience in the last month being games, I will share some of my thoughts on the subject.

Firstly, they are important. Or will be, soon enough.

Do not doubt for one moment that within fifty years, some game designer's name will be mentioned in the same breath as Fellini, (Lucien) Freud, or John Lennon.

It's bound to happen. Games are, in the widest sense, an interactive medium. That's it: they are interactive. Usually, they set objectives and challenges for the player but they can also be merely an interactive experience.

The point is, there's nothing that brackets games into the simple-minded Space Invaders stuff that we are used to.

First we had games for adults. Soon we will have games for artsy-fartsy Oxbridge adults.

Intellectually, there's nothing demeaning about user-participation in narrative. It's very post-post-modern.

Mario 8, coming soon to the MOMA. It can happen.

Now, you must ask: Why Niel, why? I'll try and convey my excitement to you.

Some interesting things about games right now:

1. People aren't just interacting with games, they are reinventing them

a minor modification to Doom 3. Light up zombie foes with your Hello Kitty night light

Mods are reprogrammings of a game's content. They offer endless opportunities for creative reconfiguration (and cultural/textual/psychological analysis) and represent a "taking the power back" effect unparalleled in other media.

2. Anyone can join the fun

User-friendly kits that promise to let anyone make their own game within a week are appearing everywhere.

It's drag-and-drop, it's DIY. Nothing to be scared of, just go.

It means that creative people, people with ideas and stories in their heads but no idea how to make games, can now do so. Result? Better stories, better ideas, better games.

I'm hoping this might happen to me. What happens when a journalist tries his hand at writing a game? I hope to find out.

3. Interactive is changing

The latest Christmas must-have is the Nintendo Wii. It's like other gaming consoles that kiddies (and adults) go gaga for, but it's distinguishing feature is that its controller responds to motion. So, if you're playing Wii Tennis, guess what, you wave it through the air like a tennis racket.

It's cool because it's only the beginning. A movie doesn't understand it when I punch. When I dance. But soon, games will and that could be a cool thing. It could be an arty thing.

Nothing can kill the radio star. Or the film star. But games can sure put them on the dole.

See you soon, readers.

some Zen

2006-11-28T01:02:00.000+02:00

just a little nature pic to give you some zen, probably because i need it myself right now.

you'll be hearing from me soon, when the trials are over (relating to my mini-thesis on gaming).

who the blazes?

2006-11-24T10:44:00.000+02:00

This picture turned up two days ago.

Could someone sell me some nunchuks so I can reclaim my ninja past?

Wifi-savvy post

2006-11-19T14:21:00.000+02:00

I'm sitting on the porch, in our garden, drinking alone. Wait just one second... ah, there goes the last drop.

The question is... when is the right time for drinking alone?

A few nominees:

- you've accomplished something

- you really need a break from it all. *dangerous one!*

- you have no friends, or rather, you are too neurotic to call up the great friends you do have in the vicinity

There is a qualified justification for everything. Even drinking alone. When would you knock one back solo?

In which I share a story

2006-11-16T20:07:00.000+02:00

Overwhelming response. Massive reaction. A flood of comments. Well, whoever said I can't take a hint?

Clearly you guys expect me to peddle more of my writing.

This one is even shorter. 321 words.

I hope you enjoy it.

"
It was the centre-piece. A Renault. The rain assaulted it. It was raining. Yes, wet.

Rain, wet, permeated by sound. Rock music.

The students did not appreciate the irony enough to look up.
"

read the whole "God Castle Gates"
you have to download it, unfortunately. no virii!

Back to writing

2006-11-13T16:22:00.000+02:00

As my course in journalism starts to wind up, the prospect of writing again and reading fiction without feeling guilty presents itself.

So, I'll show you what I write about.

For today: Sunday Evening Concert.

648 words. Nice and short.

"
The girl in the back. What do I know? She could be confident, fulfilled, popular. She could be respected. She could be hailed as a genius. She could be. But she’s standing there by those huge drums and every minute or two, she has to rouse herself to thump them for a single beat, muffling before they even get to resonate. And then she goes back to staring at something beyond the conductor, beyond me in my seat in the 10th row.
"

Read the whole thing
you will have to download it at this link. no virii, i promise

Possibly the most important work I've ever done

2006-11-09T01:33:00.000+02:00

Does this say something about the degree to which our popular culture has become real, fleshed out and pervasive in our imminent physical surroundings?

Or is Luigidoll just hanging with a horse?

(another mid-exam cop-out well pulled-off)

COMING SOONISH, MAYBE: first chapter of my didn't-finish novel...

Stellenbosch and its night

2006-11-07T11:46:00.000+02:00

Can you handle it? More kids

2006-11-05T13:34:00.000+02:00

This one from the beginning of the year when my camera was new to me and I hadn't even heard of the rule of thirds.

Posts come slow in exam time, hang in there!

Schneak Peak Part III: Kan jy die pyp rook? Can you smoke the pipe?

2006-10-29T21:49:00.000+02:00

Schneak peek Part II: the rugby kids

2006-10-26T10:21:00.000+02:00

The future stars of South African rugby aren't growing up on farms, tending the sheep. They are not called 'Boeta' and 'Fanie', they are not lily white. They live in towns like Riebeek-Kasteel and Riebeek-Wes, and they play rugby like the outcome will change the world.

Schneak peek into my photo project (Part I)

2006-10-23T21:06:00.000+02:00

My first trip to Riebeek-Kasteel (that's the official spelling, it seems) spawned an idea for a photo story that will be part of my partfolio for our photojournalism course.

Riebeek at play: What do the kids do when they get out of school? I found a few answers.

Back to school (listen Deftones)

2006-10-18T00:11:00.000+02:00

I volunteered to take pics at my old high school's prizegiving the other day. It was surreal. No one gave a fuck that I used to be part of the scenery.

Anyway, it struck me as a scary, nationalist affair. Maybe something's changed, but I suspect that you just don't realise these things when you're in school.

Consider my school's anthem:

[English version is below - warning! bad, stilted translation]

Waar Jan van Riebeeck statig staan,
By Tafelberg se strand
Het daar 'n skool verrys in diens
Van volk en vaderland

Om pligsgetroue burgers
Vir hul werke op te lei-hei-hei,
Om al wat goed is na te streef,
Wat sleg is te bestry

Om eerlik, edel
Sterk te wees,
Gesond van liggaam,
Rein van gees

Standvastig by mekaar te staan,
Blymoedig langs die weg te gaan

Handhawers van ons moedertaal!
Handhawers van ons moedertaal!
Dit is ons lewensideaal!
Dit is ons lewensideaal!

ENGLISH VERSION

Where Jan van Riebeeck princely stands
On the beach of Table Bay
Did there arise a school in service
Of the people & the fatherland

So that dutiful citizens
may be trained for their jobs
To strive for all that is good
To fight all that is bad

To be honest, noble,
To be strong
Healthy of body,
Pure of spirit,

To dutifully stand by one another,
To cheerfully go on the way of life,

Upholding our mother tongue
Upholding our mother tongue
It is our life ambition
It is our life ambi-hi-tion.

TO CHEERFULLY GO ON THE WAY OF LIFE? Might as well have been invented by some corporate interest think-tank.

I miss you guys

2006-10-15T16:30:00.000+02:00

My dog Leo died. His kidneys weren't the same after the second time he ate snail poison.

I forgot one item for my random facts list. I will call it no 21.

no 21: A Serbian refugee once asked my mother: "Mrs B, why does Niel eat like a pig?"

Meme time

2006-10-07T11:48:00.000+02:00

20 random facts:

1. Yes, I have ridden an elephant.

2. I once sent Valentine's Day cards to three different girls. They figured it out.

3. I hate jocks but I love sport.

4. I've spent over 40 hours on a computer game these last few months.

5. I've never smoked a cigarette.

6. Apparently, I snore. Lying bastards.

7. I definitely talk in my sleep. So does my sister.

8. I went to 3 different primary schools, and 2 different high schools.

9. My accent changes depending on who I talk to. I'm working on that.

10. I once did a telephone audition for a game show while I was on the toilet.

11. I can not sit still. I have to twitch somehow. Even if you can't see it, I'm still twitching somewhere. That sounds bad.

12. I am not an animal person. I hate animal cruelty, but that's probably a selfish desire to avoid disturbing imagery.

13. I read Cosmo sometimes. I'm their "what the fuck?" demographic.

14. I eat when I'm bored.

15. I've caught a Scorpion fish. It's poisonous. It makes great soup.

16. I don't squish bugs (except mosquitos). I reintroduce them into the wild. Sometimes that means chucking out the window at 40 000 times their own height.

17. I've had dinner in the same room as the Dalai Lama.

18. I wanted to be an American football player when I was a child.

19. I make faces and practice funny voices in the mirror.

20. Sometimes when I'm walking in the street, I think I'm in a video game, and I jump like Mario/throw Ninja stars/airskate like a maniac in broad daylight.

I'm not going to force this one anyone. If you'd like to share, or haven't blogged in a while, why not tell us 20 random facts about your self.

Things I didn't expect to do today

2006-10-06T01:45:00.000+02:00

1. talk about the Canadian socialist model with a black gay male model at the beach. and share beer.

gm was there too.

nice shirt

2006-10-03T16:52:00.000+02:00

Emmie and I have started a fashion blog, a la the Sartorialist. basically, it involves going out on the street and taking snaps of people whom we, in our humble opinion, think dress well.

check out niceshirt.blogspot.com.

The photo story of Riebeeck-Kasteel

2006-10-02T20:21:00.000+02:00

Riebeeck-Kasteel on the West Coast. 7-ish.

The vineyards are sprayed,

and mended.

This is Josef. He has a tatoo on his cheek. True love? She still is.

Abel crosses the road in a hurry.

Today is a school holiday.

There's only one rope, but everyone gets a turn.

Even if you're scared,

but especially if you're not.

The Silhouette Challenge... and ethics

2006-09-28T21:27:00.000+02:00

Yes, the silhouette challenge is on! Contending are gm, emmie and myself, as well as anyone else who would like a crack at taking the winning silhouette picture.

Now, take a look at this pic.

It's okay, but not half as cool as this one:

Yes, they are the same picture, and I sinfully photoshopped the original to see how far we can bend the truth with pictures. The answer? A lot.

Rest assured I don't do this kind of thing normally, but just look at the difference it makes! But it's unethical. Boo.

Anyway, that is my duplicitous entry for the Silhouette Challenge.

This is Kleinmond

2006-09-27T09:43:00.000+02:00

These are some things you can do in Kleinmond:

discover new spots

hunt

watch the ocean

turn into a giant

check out the fauna

dry your hair

invoke storms and rain upon your friends.

Study of feet

2006-09-25T17:17:00.000+02:00

the resplendent

the grotesque

More horror

2006-09-21T10:01:00.000+02:00

Sudan is terrible, sure. But it doesn't scare the bejeesus out of me like...

married uni-dressers.

I followed them around for a while, but when I tried to get in front of them, they turned around and went the other way. They probably have no faces.

I tried to make up a story for them to make them less sad.

What if they were star'crossd lovers that became enamoured in the briefest of encounters, and promised to meet each other 20 years later with a purple sweater and off-green cargo pants?

What if?

NIN in unexpected places

2006-09-18T21:20:00.000+02:00

I've been on holiday, I suppose. Welcome back, me.

We went to Waterford the other day, a wine estate that serves chocolate with its tastings. Fun, yes.

But this freaked me out a little. It reminded me of a Nine Inch Nails music video.

For those who don't know what I'm talking about, and even some of those who do, here is the uncensored version of "Closer", Nine Inch Nail's most famous caper :

you get me closer to God

Shoot

2006-09-03T17:29:00.000+02:00

The younger me would probably kill the now me for doing this.

"It's lame, you conceited bastard!" he would scream. Maybe he'd be right.

At the same time, no one is getting any younger and now I can tick off "modeling for a campus newspaper" for the rest of my life.

I recently did an article on sex and sex media that put a lot of ideas into my head on a bunch of topics including feminism, relationships and pornography.

Anyway, if I say its okay to put women on men's mag covers and to look at titillating media in general, then I better put my money where my mouth is and see what it feels like in front of a camera.

I had fun.

Real fun. Just a relaxed conversation about this and that, click click, "try this" and the shoot was done. Now I'm bracing for a chauvinist backlash when my pics appear in the campus newspaper this Thursday and my men's residence peers don't quite know how to process it. Oh, and some light teasing all round.

But I was there, I got the T-shirt, and I have a feeling that I'll never regret doing my one lil' old shoot.

Space Invaders and Postcolonial Theory

2006-08-28T22:26:00.000+02:00

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?

Anatomy of a losing side

2006-08-25T22:26:00.000+02:00

Land, Air and Sea

2006-08-24T00:26:00.000+02:00

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.

Seminormal Eugoogaly

2006-08-22T21:58:00.001+02:00

"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:

Creepy child actors

2006-08-21T20:51:00.000+02:00

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.

Cough no more

2006-08-19T20:37:00.000+02:00

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.

In the outback/swamp/next door

2006-08-14T18:03:00.000+02:00

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.

For one night only: I AM THE LAW! (Updated)

2006-08-12T19:44:00.000+02:00

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.

Notes visual from a rock show

2006-08-10T13:37:00.000+02:00

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.

Views from a Softer World

2006-08-09T20:52:00.000+02:00

These strips from the brilliant A Softer World:

Doing it right, Excavating old Mondays

2006-08-08T02:09:00.000+02:00

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.

The walkers

2006-08-07T20:18:00.000+02:00

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

The sad nature of Monday

2006-08-07T18:59:00.000+02:00

Sometimes, even mannequins are having more fun than you.

A Godly sense of humour

2006-08-05T09:51:00.000+02:00

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.

Found speech, augmented

2006-08-05T09:48:00.000+02:00

"I hear starlight gives you cancer."

Star-cancer.

cancer of the Star.

Give Sculptures (title of a post) Cellar Door

2006-08-03T00:56:00.000+02:00

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.

Monday Night

2006-08-01T13:32:00.000+02:00

Things I haven't done in a while:

get drunk with my roomate.

Until yesterday, that is. God, it's like opening an old box of postcards. But not in that musty, moist-eyed sense. I enjoyed it. It was good for me.

And then we watched one of Gerhard's favourite movies, only... we fell asleep! Har har. But we were kind of groggy.

It is good to reaffirm friendship through beer. Does plain old conversation have the malty goodness of an ice cold one? No. No, it doesn't.

Oh, and I've done another restaurant review. Check out here if you eat out in the Cape.

Attainment

2006-07-29T16:48:00.000+02:00

One day I will win the Booker Prize or steal it from some undeserving cad - like Zadie Smith (sorry, Karen Little*). Whichever comes first.

That would be fun. A real feather in my cap, Joseph Heller might say.

But for the real "I AM A GOD!" feeling, try scoring a goal in soccer. Mm hmm.

I came on at half time. Within five minutes a ball was headed backwards to me, and I tapped it into the net. Then I ran back to our halfway line, and did an ill-coordinated cartwheel to mark my smokin' hot goalscoringness.

Damn, that net was hungry. We ended up winning 13-0. I know, I know... scoring couldn't have been too hard, huh?

I don't care. I am on the scoresheet. I feel ten feet tall. I get the burger for free. I snipe the pheasant.

Because of a ball. Because of a competitive fiction. Like the Booker Prize.

Men.

The Visit

2006-07-28T13:46:00.000+02:00

i swear i swear i swear

The Bird

2006-07-25T21:24:00.000+02:00

A bird just took a giant shit on my head. Guess that makes me a shithead.

It must have been a pretty big bird. Like an albatross. Or a griffin.

Album Covers for my Singing & Whining Career

2006-07-25T16:33:00.000+02:00

Well, whatcha think? Should I go for the grungy, "oh this is so hot right now" on-the-edgerific look, or the tried and true no-integrity marketing sellout to make the preteen girls' knees go wobbly (come on, they don't know any better!)???

A vote! Vote in the comments section, if you will.

shameless.

Pics courtesy of Emmie)

Gordonsbaai

2006-07-25T16:02:00.000+02:00

To shoot some shots for our photojournalism project, Emmie and I went to Gordonsbaai to find "life". Sure, there was some of that, but it felt more like we found an afternoon, a warp with colours that we put into our picture-boxes.

[captions at the bottom from now on. i hate reading it first, then looking at the picture]

This is the small harbour in Gordonsbaai (do you still say harbour when it's really small?).

This will be a tuna boat in three months' time.

A man sleeping in his car. Which is also his house.

Peaches the mongrel's first glamour shoot.

This is beauty.

...

This duck attacked Emmie, but refused to attack me (I wanted Battle Shots!).

The photographers.
(my pic courtesy of Emmie)

More from the Cederberge

2006-07-25T13:45:00.000+02:00

Comments will be up later!

We like texture, V3.0

2006-07-23T17:53:00.000+02:00

I hope you like it.

The old template was completely bugged out, and I think you'll agree, this looks much nicer. It's been slightly modified from a template I got from Gecko & Fly (thanks, Karen Little).

Cederberge

2006-07-23T00:48:00.000+02:00

Two days in the Ceder Mountains, with Jolani and her dad. Took these snaps, some more next week probably (problem: rest are uploaded somewhere else).

I like the slower, more involved sense of life and community up in the mountains. EVERYONE waves at you and says hello, and no one minds being photographed. Which is not to say I was still too shy to take full advantage.

Ain't it great?

This one specially for Afrikaans literature-phile Arcadia.

I love simple, graphic-like photos like these.

Road sign snaps. An old favourite. Pop some flash in that mother, and you're good and bright to go.

My first UFO. Could you believe it? No (CIA) photo manipulation here, folks.

The Englishman's Grave. Does it hold for every Englishman, though? Even the Chavs?

Flowers are pretty, even to urbanites like me. Who'd have thunk it?

This gives me chills. Wish it was greener, though.

Most obvious and lame comment possible for this pic: lET sLEEPING dOGS lIE. It's true though. Damn thing barked its head off once it awoke to my voyeuristic intrusion.

Nice feller on a bike, in the tiny town of Wupperthal.

Welcome to Eselbank. Population: No Accountants. There is a God.

This blue-eyed girl could stare down a mastodon.

Interesting local flora.

Finishing up for the day at the Oasis guest house and farm in the middle of the Ceder Mountains.

More to follow. Have a good one.

Kruger National Park

2006-07-23T00:33:00.000+02:00

Kruger National Park

I should totally be working right now. But who cares? After this, I'll get some coffee and I'll be good to go.

Here's what I learned in the Bushveld.

The sky is just plain prettier over there.

You only need two things to survive: whiskey and a gun. Just ask my grandparents.

Take it slow.

Eesh, this is turning into one of those yucky motivational slideshows for secretaries and counselors. Enough with the lessons learnt.

All of three lions came within touching distance of our open-top truck.

Cousin Therese.

Scotland Again

2006-07-23T00:21:00.000+02:00

More from Scotland

Presenting: Edinburgh. And more shots from the hiking trip (yay! immense clapping by hike-shots-thirsty crowd).

Mmmmm... fountain.

Time waits for no... person. This is the 21st Century, after all.

Even gargoyles throw up at the sight of hideous balding Swedes.

Jolani seeks out someone to make her look good.

Looking down the Cross.

Alien vs Predator, Highland style.

The pioneers were scared. Who knew how many sheepdogs were waiting just behind the ridge, ready to scalp their daughters and mercilessly... lick their feet.

Massive Photo Postings Tonight!

2006-07-23T00:11:00.000+02:00

Massive Photo Postings Tonight!

Yes, all you haven't seen from Holland, Scotland, the Kruger National Park and my recent trip to the Ceder Mountains, will be up by 4 am at least!

To start off, I'd like to show you some artwork I saw at the train station in Amsterdam.

gotta love a geometrically hypnotic train station...

That's right, this guy has taken the Delft Chinaware Style to new, daring places.

With things like these, you have to wonder: is he taking a jab at "those" times, or at ours?

It gets psychadelic. It even gets... political.

You'll find more info at the artist's website here.

Restaurant review!

2006-07-22T17:39:00.000+02:00

Yes, I have contributed to Uno and Sessa's quest for culinary perfection! Read my review of the Cape Colony here. (sorry for the typos, wine=mine)

hello.

2006-07-21T21:12:00.000+02:00

i want to talk to you, those crazies that still read the blog, and not just blow air in your faces. i desperately want to talk to you, a little less photography, a little more quaint chat. Wouldn't that be nice?

Yes, well. Johannesburg, Germany, Holland, England, Scotland, the Bushveld. Those places away from home and my favourite fridge. The whole time, I was desperately thinking, "what could i tell them?".

Secrets coming your way! Somehow they will, by hook or by crook. I've just suffered, you see, from being meaning-devoid. Couldn't communicate, yeah? So this vessel just went about its endless holiday, seemingly empty, or at least weirdly retentive.

This is just a promise. I'll write some. And the graphic will change. I could never pretend to be some hip-hop guy. Or gang-bangin' thug, I believe the lingo goes. Anyway, the graphic will change, just like we all do, all the time.

Since I'm feeling a bit short for coherence and MESSAGE at the mo', let Mr Julian Casablance of The Strokes explain it to you some (imagine wailing, distorted synth in the background):

I've got nothing to say
I've got nothing to say
I've got nothing to say
I've got nothing to say

I've got nothing to give
I've got no reason to live
But I will fight to survive
I've got nothing to hide,
Wish I wasn't so shy

I'd like to watch
I'd like to read
I'd like a part
I'd like the lead

I've got nothing to say
I've got nothing to say
I've got nothing to say
I've got nothing to say

Be posting soon.

Coda

2006-07-12T19:36:00.000+02:00

I'm at Heathrow Airport, furiously coding away to try and fix my blog. Be patient, comment section will be open soon!

The Strokes & The Infamy

2006-07-12T00:15:00.000+02:00

I saw the Strokes tonight. They have taken my hearing, those NYC bastards. Well, with a frontman called "Casablanca" and a "Magic Jew" on guitar (their words, not mine) I guess I had to expect that. I GUESS I HAD TO EXPECT THE FWEEEEEP OF AFTER-THE-CONCERT, YOU KNOW THAT FEELING?

Remember guys, this is my summer of putting my best paw forward, a glamorous and financially indefensible lifestyle.

But there's more!

Ever heard of www.domkop.blogspot.com? Well, I hadn't until today. These guys review some of the worst blogs in South Africa. And I'm on their site! Is this my first shy and wobbly step in the public eye you guys? Or am I totally looking past the fact that Menasseh (the reviewer) said: "I’m truly sitting here trying to figure out what to say, something good, uplifting, but I’ve got nothing."

Ouch indeed.

If I think of a steaming counter-diss, I will soon, but see, I think the premise behind their site ain't so bad. And there was a bit of constructive criticism: I do, indeed, have layout problems. But the green stays, senor!

In the end, I remain flattered that my modest blog attracted attention from another very modest blog, and got free publicity in the proccess. Remember, publicity comes in two flavours, Bad and Even Better.

For the scathing review, follow this link and scroll down.

The North Country (No Charlize)

2006-07-07T16:40:00.000+02:00

A quick one from Scotland!

Welcome to the bonny land of Lothian:

A bonny thistle rears its head:

Pretty, ennit?

Askin' the bonny joggers fer directions:

not-so Natureboy, Part Deux

2006-06-30T20:33:00.000+02:00

I set out to take some nature pics at our house in Holland, but each one I took turned out to be a Metaphor for something quite un-naturelike. (mother nature says I have no soul...) :<

if i was a goth i would marry right here...

Don't worry Gerhard, I did take some full-blooded greenpics.

This is the closest I could find to a tree with attitude:

Riddle yer this! How did I take this picture, huh?

Jealous much?

2006-06-30T19:12:00.000+02:00

Some readers claim to be jealous of my European romp. Those people, however are acting with what us economists like to call incomplete information. What they do not know is the kind of breakfast I have been having.

Presenting the true Continental breakfast:

(This is my friend Thean sampling some brew.)

Guten Tag aus Deutschland und Niederland!

2006-06-26T00:49:00.000+02:00

This is the only way I can explain where I've been the last while. Please excuse my non-blogging. It will be hard, but I will try to post a few times while I am in Europe.

I suck at essays

2006-06-16T01:22:00.000+02:00

Hello.

It is just past 1 AM and I know my fate. I will write greeting cards for twenty years at least, to keep the tax collectors, loan officers and Jehova zombies at bay.

Yes, greeting cards. A world where fame and charity are entirely different concepts. The thoughtless consumption of countless bored airheads. It smells good from here, I can say that much.

Anyway, my first card:

Get really well mommy, because we only miss you with arms

Yes, I know. *blush* I just happen to be good at this kind of thing. I got +20 greeting card points when Big G decided that "woah there, Niel, I can't make you good at writing essays in a logical, structured fashion, so how about being good at foosball? And oh, greeting cards. You'll send me some, won't you?".

I sure will, big G. The one that reads:

"Violets are blue, roses are red, I'm considering alternatives, like Krishna, instead"

Clapping somewhere? No, that's the sound of me rolling down the stairs.

I had a bad day.

Habitation: People can get used to anything

2006-06-11T12:02:00.000+02:00

Hey guys. I'm going to show you my room. I'd rather you'd not freak out about it, but that may be unavoidable. It's pretty damn unsightly.

The thing is, I hate a dirty room as much as the next penguin. I don't go rolling in grime everyday because I like it. Cleaning up is just... a schlep, and the dirtier it gets, the more of a schlep it becomes.

However, so that you never again will have to witness such horrors as these, I'm setting Tuesday as Clean Up/Incenerate Everything Day. Let us proceed.

Open the door to my room,
who knows what we shall find?

it has its own buffalo skull and everything...

My closet, complete with dishes and unseen skeletons:

My laundry pile in the early afternoon sun:

Everyone's got to eat:

I don't know what that is.

Unensils, microwaves, forks. Russia?

I had fun taking this:

MR GUNTHER, YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE IN MY ROOM!

Compendium of thoughts

2006-06-09T01:26:00.000+02:00

Army of Novelists

First up, who of you are in the sorry position of "working on something" that you hope will one day, with much cajoling and encouragement, become THAT NOVEL.? Huh? Come on, I sense some guilty nods.

How ‘bout some solidarity? A union for unproductive inkwasters? Put us introvert, socially awkward scribblers in the driving seat of our own uncertain destinies?

The first step of anything is always acknowledgement. Hands up if you too, “write”, in whatever humble form.

Have you ever heard of (inter)National Write a Book in a Month Month? Yep, in the sweet month of November (b-day month for me), everyone gots to write a book. Cuz Stone Cold sez so. But if you disregard him, it still seems like a great idea. Sigh. I have exams then, but I’d like to shift that whole month to January or something. I also hope that all writers out there have their own personal Write a Book in One Month Month.

The Sound of Silence

Favour to self: play simon & garfunkel’s “sound of silence”, and turn the lights off. Really listen to the words. Was it good for you?

And in the naked light I saw,
Ten thousand people, maybe more.

American Psycho

Now I’ve been thinking about this all day.

I recently bought Bret Easton Ellis’ American Psycho for a friend of mine. The thing is, I know it will probably make him insane. Really insane, for the full two weeks or so he reads it.

I know, because the same thing happened to me.

American Psycho is a brilliant book written by a troubled mind. Easton Ellis said as much during an interview, saying that while writing the book he became a monster.

And the book is monstrous. Pages and pages of descriptions of what the other characters are wearing and how much it cost.Patrick Bateman, our protagonist, knows these kinds of things. He also likes hacking up women after hours of torturing them.

I swear, just reading that book turns you a little bit… bad. Until you're done, that is. The images you see in your mind in waking life, even after you put the book down, are pretty gruesome. From time to time, normal women become meat puppets. Your mind is a blood fountain. Unhealthy urges of the other kind.

And then the book ends. Although it doesn’t. He is talking to friends, in a panic after (ludicrously) not being caught, because identity is so insubstantial in the money-mad New York of the late 80’s that justice can not find him, and sees in the restaurant: THIS IS NOT AN EXIT. He tries to describe to us his condition, which, although accurate, does not bring us closer to Patrick Bateman. That is the book’s job, as a terribly complete account of madness. And then he says: “This confession has meant nothing.”

I’m all better now. Thank God for hobbits.

(I'm curious to hear female perspectives on the book... ?)

Day at the vineyard (Lievland)

2006-06-07T19:16:00.000+02:00

10 Questions from Arcadia & My own for 4 people

2006-06-07T12:27:00.000+02:00

1.Three Best films you’ve recently watched
Harry Potter 4, Spun, Good Night & Good Luck

2. Three favourite songs at the moment

"Day Old Blue" by Kings of Leon (rock 'n roll), "Demon Cleaner" by Kyuss (metal, kind of) and "Silver screen shower scene" by Miss Kitten (electro)

3. Favourite dessert

MALVA PUDDING, BABY. (oh, no. not like "baby", i meant like "malva pudding", baby. baby being the proverbial giant babe in the sky we are addressing all the time. like that, yeah.)

4. Your favourite two physical attributes

a) of yourself
- lack of scars on my cheek, the fact that i don't have an eye patch. basically, everything that defines me as not-a-pirate. OH, WHO AM I KIDDING? I LOVE PIRATES. And I do have a shaggy mane! Like that, I guess.

b) of a partner
- mouth... a lot of beauty there. it also tells you things. (oh. i mean like, it "tells" you things. like, as in, telling you by not actually telling you. like, not by talking, i mean. like.)

5. The ultimate unforgiveable act in your book is
Swallowing the crap that people just expect you to believe, because you didn't think enough. Like the Good Book. It's pretty damn good though, innit? But I'm pretty gullible myself. What I mean is, question stuff. Always end with a question? he he. I mean, he he?

6. If someone had to dress up as you , what would you give them to wear?
Something they had already worn yesterday. And possibly the day before. And black shoes.

7. Three favourite magazines

Hustler, Pl... oh. Ok. Uhm, SL, Newsweek, Kerrang.

8. A newly acquired bad habit

It is so bad.

9. Dream house, described in a few sentences

I really like the house I live in now. Although, a herenhuis in Amsterdam, near all the good bookstores and a nr. 5 tramstop would be the shiznit.

10. You take five people to a deserted island.....who are they? (and does each one have a purpose or not?)
(also going for a cop-out answer here. too difficult, except for one certainty)

Dennis Bergkamp, to play soccer with me and let me win.

George Orwell's ghost, to edit my writing and read his to us all.

Jesus: want to talk to that guy. Like, as in, "so." and he'd be all like: "so." And I'd ask him lots of questions. That would be awesome. And then we'd have our "own personal Jesus". Get it? Do you? (see what I did there? I said "own personal jesus". You know, there's a song. well, i mean, not just a general song, like a specific one. and it's got "my own personal jesus" in it. not the guy, the words. did you see that? did you notice?)

Mussolini: Every island needs a cook. Especially an Italian one.

Tom Hanks, because he can get us off. (no, not like that).

I also have some questions!

~d:
1. Do you ever get tired of hearing the word "Katrina"?
2. What exactly are "the sticks" that you are "in" with "the boys"?
3. Why do you blog?
4. Do you consider yourself "FREAKY" like Karate Man, as Tj1 said?
5. Give us your complete tatoo profile (where, what, why you got it).

Neko
1. What anime is your fave and why?
2. Is eternal darkness delicious or is it fugly and bad?
3. You obviously write. What are you/should you be working on?
4. Ghosts. Yes or no?
5. How old are you? In centuries, please. (if you are immortal)

Candace
1. Tell us what you would have said/purred to Douglas Adams if you had to have that awesome moment again.
2. Your Tae Kwon Do battlecry, if you please.
3. Why, oh why, do you not like poor Mr. Holden Caulfield?
4. Your blog is pretty funny. I'm wondering, where do your humorist roots lie? And please pick between Woody Allen and Jerry Seinfeld!
5. Do you party up?

(Karen said she's out of the chain)

Thean:
1. What's wrong with London?
2. You've caught people making luuurve in your room. Ever been caught?
3. What do you like about Afrikaans?
4. You're no jock, but tell us about your best tackle.
5. Best bar in Cape Town/London/Dubai? Why?

Fucking around in the dark: where are the words now?

2006-06-06T14:37:00.000+02:00

Together with some other journos, I spent the weekend in a little town by the sea: Kleinmond. We talked about marriage and betrayal. There didn't need to be a whole lot said, however. We took the trip at the lowest ebb of our will to keep going, just after our mother-deadline. Well, I had it down that way. It wasn't just some picnic. We had come to the sea to bleed.

When it was dark, after we had supped and learned to love each other, we took our cameras and stumbled to the sea. We were going to find something, each one of us.

Gerhard had his tripod. Jan had his long ultra-zoom lens. I had my flash. And we scavenged.

It could have been better. It could also have never happened.

Power of words? Powerless, sometimes. I will add some, though.

Jan:

Gerhard:

This is me. I want to once and for all acknowledge, that, yes, I do take a lot of self-portraits, yes, I am self-obsessed. But remember my clan? The Introspectives. Another thing: I can actually be quite shy. Especially behind the camera. So I introduce myself to you here, as my most willing and attentive subject:

This is the colour of night:

Kleinmond, the garden of good & evil:

Do you luge?

On the merry-go-round:

Gerhard defends himself against the electric alien jellyfish:

Inside John Malkovich's mind:

Trees have hearts of stone:

Too late. Found at altar:

WE ARE WATCHING - MR GUNTHER AND HIS FAMILIAR, CYRUS:

Sky-filter and the photography of today

2006-06-05T21:38:00.000+02:00

I'm sorry. I'm back. I... was there?

Yeah, in that place where you find yourself again. Three days, gents, I just needed three days to recover. Kleinmond, and today, Jonkershoek.

But, ponder this: If these pictures paint a thousand words, why do we need words?

In my Karen Little interview (yes, my Q's will be up soon) I picked a world without words over a world without pictures.

Today, I was lying under a tree with Jolani. At first thinking, "this is the picture. it is beautiful and it needs to be on my hard drive."

No! I needed to be under that fucking tree with a special person, NOT thinking about which f-stop to use. photography, guys, not only captures the moment, it is the moment. Which is is great, often.

But consider words. Words do not consume the moment, they brew inside you until you get to a typewriter. The world is intact.

It is nearing winter in Stellenbosch. That is why: Old Brown Sherry. That is why: trees with not quite naked branches. This one was big, domish from the inside. It filtered the sky with tiny leaves, wispy branches, and little balled clusters of seeds (deep brown speckles against the sky).

A canvas of Jackson Pollock stars-and-thorns. It looked as if the outer crust of the world had just begun to soar into space and we were left behind, looking through. It was a swarm, a map of nerves.

Maybe that didn't take you there. But I was there, and now all I have is the words, and the memory. A photographer has only the pictures.

Agree or no? Next post: photos! (and interview q's before wednesday!)

oh inverted world

2006-06-02T05:05:00.000+02:00

haha World!

it's 5:03, and i'm still going. and i will be till dawn... of the one-million-words-to-hand-in-day.

and i have wet socks.

unstoppable? probably.

grrrr....

In Defense of: The Vampiric Work Ethic, Unfashionable parental nomenclature

2006-05-31T16:23:00.000+02:00

I had to skip on working this afternoon, even though I am in dire straits.

This is because I subscribe, through no fault of my own, to the Vampiric Work Ethic.

During the daylight hours, my brain shrinks to the size of a tangerine, and I am good for no more than fart jokes and a leaky nose when put in front of a computer with the word proccessor running.

But at night! Ah, the night. Its satiny caress turns me into a monstrous typist that can tear through word counts at up to half the normal human rate! Yes, believe.

The difference is enormous. I am focused, the flow of fart jokes stops to a mere trickle, giving way to a veritable flood of work-related information, some of which is actually quite helpful really, when you think about it. And you can. Because it is dark.

The flipside of the coin, is that you constantly seek sustenance. Literally every paragraph has to be sucked out of some poor, unsuspecting burger-pie or cappucino. I sink my gleaming fangs into these delicacies and pump their life-essence to my brain, now swollen with bacon grease and brown sugar, which makes short work of spewing forth the rhetoric that is called for.

We are few, but our numbers are growing.

The other question I would like to address is the way we address our parents. Now, I am in the particularly unfashionable position of still resorting to "Mama" and "Papa", which, basically, is just a touch more favoured than "Mommy" and "Daddy", if at all.

Can I not hereby make an international appeal to respect these terms as well as the Italians do? Silvio Berlusconi does not have a "father". He has a "papa" and of course: "MAAAAMAAAA!". These are always the last words to leave an Italians lips: "Mi Morte! Fettucine! MAAAAMAAA!" (pardon my made-up Italian)

anyway, you get the harshest looks when using these words. It's not that I am stuck in early childhood. Okay, I am. But anyway, there was just never a logical transition from the one to the other. No one ever took me aside and said: "Okay, skipper, we're moving on to grown-up version now". Besides, after knowing someone as one thing your whole life, it's a bit like taking a life-long Christian and saying, "From now on, it's 'Big J'. Jesus is so BC."

Unfortuneately, in this case, I feel I am part of a dying, or at least very unfashionable breed.

Ciao!

to the tune of a meme

2006-05-30T11:41:00.000+02:00

(interview with Karen Little. the atmosphere is very tense. i am smoking a pipe. and i don't cough. not even once. that is how serious this is.)

Niel:

1. Why a toothbrush?

Because it's green. And I like flicking the bristles with my fingers. Although that might seem gross. Old toothbrush flicking?

2. I'm stealing this question from ~d, but what do you love and hate about Holden Caulfield?

I don't hate Holden. That would be real lousy. I'm not sore about anything he did. He's real swell.

And I identify. Not the hookers and pneumonia, but I'd like to think I look at things the same way. Looking for something, behind something, behind something. Although a lot of the time I just eat.

Anyway, to plagiarise myself, he makes me feel like me. somehow.

3. Do you honestly, truly believe that Lock, Stock is better than Snatch? Why?

Lock, Stock is scientifically proven to kick Snatch straight in it's commercialised nuts. See, Snatch is like Police Academy 5. Millions of zany characters with larger-than-life personalities. And oh, they swear funny too. I am laughing. The spittle is running down my chin.

Sorry bout that. Lock, Stock is darker than Snatch, and allows a few of the characters to actually develop properly. Plus its got poker.

Tyrone is overrated. So is Snatch.

Not very scientific, is it? But I do feel strongly.

4. What kind of a journalist do you see yourself becoming?

The kind that gets paid to ponder, and then barf my thoughts into a column every Wednesday, which will be read by morally frustrated university students and corrupt politicians.

Ah, heaven. *puffs on his pipe*

5. If you had to live either in a world with no pictures, or a world with no words, which would you choose, and why?

A world with no words. For me, so many words stand in relation to (very specific) pictures that without them, they would lose so much meaning.

If we only had pictures, people could just grunt and hum* their emotions in appreciation to or revulsion of pictures. I think I would like that. The Observe-and-Shut-up universe.

*interview ends*

Thanks Karen Little. Leave your comments and I will ask the first five commenters five brand-spanking new questions of their own. If you've already done this meme, however, please leave a star at the top of your comment and I will skip you. Unless you want to do it again, of course.

* although when you think about it, these would then be words themselves.

the 'Lite' industry never ceases to amaze (coke lite, decaf, canderel)

2006-05-29T22:06:00.000+02:00

decaf coffee still gets you high!

2000 left for tonite, hombres.

(strip from the perry bible fellowship)

cup-o-joe, rabbits feet

2006-05-27T23:06:00.000+02:00

i am maxed out on caffeine and sugar which is why i have finally figured out the ultimate pick-up line which will succeed-without-fail.

you have to say it real fast and kind of pull your face back with your scalp muscles and say:

i Want you in a bad way, Scully. < slurp slurp>

see what i did there? italicised the bad, so it's real bad. like now you know for 100% sure it's not in a good way. no questioning the bad motives. nope.

so, uhm yeah. endless frivolous cavorting follows. that's right.

An appeal: cross your fingers, hold your thumbs (the Afrikaans tradition) and all for me to finish up my essay tonight. i am the lax drone in the hive, always (although gm and ej seem to keep me company), but i NEED to get this done. i need to be this different person that refrains from designing infallible pick-up lines that just does shit. poof! it's done. you know? like that. so, uh, consult your rabbit's feet. ask them a favour. also, four-leaf clovers (plz Jolani), bone idols, any lucky trinket you got.

stop blogging? hell no. but i should cut loose for the time being.

i'm falliiiiiiiinnnnngggggg....

or should that be failing?

supplication?

2006-05-27T00:27:00.000+02:00

i want to thank whoever made it rain tonight... and made me feel like a kid.

sometimes you can see it so clearly

2006-05-25T23:45:00.000+02:00

I have a shaggy beard. Right now, I am pouring the good liquor from the top of the cabinet. It cost me about R70. I have to type 1000 words tonight or learn to cook without electricity. Standards don’t matter. What I write, they will print. Do people read the Big Issue.

?

It is 2009. I am a freelancer. I don’t shave very often.

I phone up Craig.

“listen man, I only need a title. Hit me”

“LP Show Sells Out Budokan”

“No, it’s about dogs.”

“Oh. There’s a march tomorrow. It’s about GM crops.”

“You want to cover it?”

“No, I want to join. Are you coming?”

“I guess not.”

“Why?”

“I don’t care, that’s why.”

“That’s pretty fuckin’ selfish.”

“Yeah… title?”

...

"It’s a dog’s life… If you can afford it.”

“You are God.”

“Then come to the protest!”

“Sorry, God.”

...

“Goodbye, my son.”

“Bye. Amen.”

life as a consumer - i'm lovin it (TM)

2006-05-23T20:47:00.000+02:00

I went to the BP.

People are powerful, more than they realise. They can kill, they can make love. I could have done any of those things. But I wanted a burger.

At that moment, a burger represented everything I wanted out of the now. Because of economy, because of pocket money, I could go to the BP and get it.

I made the transaction, but when I got outside, the world was colder than before I went in. Wind and chill and the dark. But the burger was warm. I held it in my hand for a while as I travelled. I started to eat it, and soon all that mattered, was that inside my leather peel I was warm. Because of one burger. All there was to think about in the world was inside my mouth. I only had to chew it, consider it.

And then, no more tar to travel. Back where I started.

soccer in the Wet

2006-05-22T14:15:00.000+02:00

Yes, today I didn't take the easy option. I played soccer in the rain, and then photographed it!

Woohoo.

Anyway, these show my soccerbuds Ashwell, Sokkie, Andre, Craig and Jerome breakin' it down in the field of battle.

(Ashwell disarms Craig [Sokkie] with a very droll joke)

(Jerome faces off with Craig [Smiley])

(Jerome takes on the whole field. Not fond of passing, this guy)

Anyway, this is what a wet soccer player/photographer looks like:

not-so-Natureboy

2006-05-21T23:40:00.000+02:00

No, really. Unlike Gerhard, I am not that into trees and bees. However, I have seen some very beautiful things just lying on the ground these last week.

Think about it

2006-05-21T20:50:00.000+02:00

dream pollution.

We are all made of stars

2006-05-20T20:11:00.000+02:00

I almost never took these.

This one is sadder. I call it "Auschwitz". Maybe "Rwanda" is more appropriate.

What I've learnt

2006-05-20T02:49:00.000+02:00

hellojournal-i-am-drunk. (i promised to be honest & i know who might be reading)

best time to psychoanalyse myself.

i am some kind of infant.

just now i was curled up on my good friend ej's couch, while he and gerhard listened to good music.

and yes(!), i felt protected and all that shit.

and know what?

much indulgence of childish escapism so much of the time.

children's books, easy-to-understand images and things (I call them texture), love the feeling of lying on my parents' bed...

what would freud say? didn't get past oral stage, or throat or somesuch. anyway, it's fun to be aware and i always have been, just not as acutely of this boy dream i live out so often, until this week.

ooh, look! an insect! if i can resist the urge to pull of its wings it can be my mentor.

I like words

2006-05-19T23:06:00.000+02:00

Please consider the following words:

a hail of domestic projectiles.

cusp.

Ahhhhhhhhhh....... was it good for you? Ice-cream or smokes?

Sometimes, my mountain burns

2006-05-18T19:06:00.000+02:00

January. The light was so pretty. Picked up my camera.

The Whining (imagination be damned)

2006-05-16T16:46:00.000+02:00

Please watch The Shining. Then you will understand my irrational fear of hallways.

I was at the Journalism department on Sunday night. EJ was there with me, and a classmate (let us call her Annie) was upstairs.

EJ left, mumbling some excuse.

I was left alone in the Department, with Annie upstairs. She had been there all day, just typing and typing.

Noise upstairs. Ghoulish moans, along to the typing. She was singing to some music (playing on headphones, I think) but not bothering to form the words properly and singing eerily out of tune. A manic disregard for what her vocal chords were doing.

And typing all the way. What was she typing? Could it have been:

All work and no play makes Annie a dull girl
All work and no play makes Annie a dull girl
All work and no play makes Annie a dull girl
All work and no play makes Annie a dull girl

???

It could, and I was disturbed. I also couldn't hold in my liquids anymore, and I had to go to the bathroom.

The lights were off in the hallway. I was very conscious of the fact that, if I rolled a tennis ball so that it dissapeared around the corner, it would probably come bounding back. I had to keep my hand on the wall to convince myself everything was real. That I was, in fact, frightened.

I turned the corner. Nothing.

I went into the bathroom and closed the door behind me. The tiny window reminded me of similar one I had seen in a movie. It would be possible to crawl through it, but there might not be enough time...

I made faces in the mirror to relax myself. One of them wasn't mine at all. It was the face of a little boy sitting on a bed, holding his hands to his face, choking on horror as his father, in another room, was face-to-face with a hideous spirit.

I became very conscious of the fact that the wall to my right was made of very thin wood, and that a single well-aimed blow of the axe would go right through. Someone could chop through. Someone could be in that room with me, in a matter of seconds.

I finished as quickly as I could and returned to my seat in the computer room. As the chairs and computers on the other side started creaking, and Annie inexplicably resumed wailing in some prehistoric language, it became too much.

I rushed to the nearby stairs and shouted: "ANNIE, ARE YOU THERE?"

Seconds...

"JA, Niel, what's up?"

"Oh, uhm."

"Nothing. Just checking."

That day I posted that "I want to watch a horror movie." I didn't want to be in one.

Courage in the face of adversity

2006-05-15T12:29:00.000+02:00

"You pay them no mind, Billy. It was an excellent serum."

The Island Outreach Suburban Resue Project

2006-05-14T16:26:00.000+02:00

I've decided to start investing in tiny increments for an island for us all.

Yes, let us agree upon it that this is what we need. The other island, also known as the world, is accelarating with manic speed as it nears the "shithole" category. People, the daily grind is becoming the weekend grind. The weekend grind is becoming the ever-grind. At night, I grind my teeth.

So, a little spot just off of Madagascar has been found for all my friends, all readers of this blog and a randomly selected contingent of 70s rock musicians. (Robert Plant, my fingers are crossed for you).

Anyway, our primitive economy will be based on a simple unit of currency, the Backrub, which will inevitably gain value as global markets realise how awesome we are and oh-they-are-so-jealous-so-they-will-buy-our-phony-bonds-and-stocks.

Yes.

Please start packing, as I expect to have raised all the cash I need as soon as the next lottery draw takes place (Wednesday, I think). I put the moves on the show presenter in a sleazy club in Claremont last night, for the greater good of "our island home" (Churchill was in fact referring to us, not Britain, in that significant speech)

There will be no work and long afternoons of wine-drinking and smokin' hot backrubs until our subservient-bourgeois memories have been erased of toil. Wizard!

I want to watch a horror movie.

Poker: My Fetish

2006-05-14T00:25:00.000+02:00

This is Thinus. Up till this point, his conservative brand of poker was serving him pretty well on Friday.

Technology be damned!

2006-05-13T19:25:00.000+02:00

A while ago, I switched on comment moderation to edit mistakes in my own comments.

Only now have I realised there was a backlog in comments, which I gladly would have responded to otherwise.

Mike, Arcadia, Karen Little, EJ, Black Orchid and others: your voices will be heard from now on. I appreciate you took the time to comment in the first place.

Comment moderation: off.

I'll post soon, when my head stops hurting. I'm going to try my friend Gerhard's primitive whiskey-based cure-all in about half an hour. Irresponsible? I hope so.

Hitchcock-Caps Theorem

2006-05-12T12:54:00.000+02:00

Guys, let me introduce you to the Hitchcock-Caps Theorem.

I believe this is the springboard to an illustrious career in linguistics.

Okay.

Compare the emotive effect of the following two sentences:

"where are the birds?"
vs.
"where are The Birds?"

Is the second sentence not completely more creepy and sinister? Or am I an impressionable young lad? Only if you discount the HITCHCOCK-CAPS THEOREM.

observe:

"what do you see through the rear window?"
vs.
"what do you see through the Rear Window?"

eek! yes, i was as freaked out as you. and as the hair on our arms (sorry ladies!) begins to settle, we must acknowledge the frightening power of the HCT.

lucid sedative.

This guy protects us from stuff

2006-05-12T00:55:00.000+02:00

An apology to passers-by

2006-05-12T00:37:00.000+02:00

I'm sorry.

I am evasive.

I see someone I know, but not very well, walking up to me. I make an abrupt turn to the left. On rare occasions, I might even turn right.

Thus evading them.

It is because sometimes, I get shy. It is because, sometimes, I can't stand to talk to someone I suspect has better things to do.

I don't want to waste their time. I don't want to embarass them by remembering their name when they don't remember mine.

I don't answer the question "howzit?", and I don't ask it either. I just give a warm greeting (genuine, by the way) and move on. Not stopping, like someone on a treadmill at the gym.

I haven't figured out this behaviour 100%.

For sure, sometimes it's some stupid jock I know, but don't want to.

But at other times, its people whom I've connected with, but where the intensity of that connection just... waned.

Or we've only recently met and I can't acknowledge the potential for something by actually talking to them on my own.

It's really sad, sometimes.

If you go through some meaningless conversations with people, you sometimes end up in a really good place.

But you still have to be daring. Daring for me = normal. Not constricted inside.

After the wave I will walk past and mutter under my breath.

I'm a happy person.

Beautiful

2006-05-11T19:02:00.000+02:00

I am in love with this comic by Derek Kirk Kim.

Treat yourself and read the whole thing.

Go on.

Go on now.

Scoot, geddyup.

click through to Same Difference