Wednesday, August 31, 2011


fashion |ˈfa sh ən|
1 a popular trend, esp. in styles of dress and ornament or manners of behavior : his hair is cut in the latest fashion.
• the production and marketing of new styles of goods, esp. clothing and cosmetics : [as adj. ] a fashion magazine.
2 a manner of doing something : the work is done in a rather casual fashion.
I don't understand any part of the fashion industry, except maybe the photography. I'm too grunge for it, and I'm too short. I liked these images because that's pretty much what I think when I think haute couture. 

It's obviously only an opinion. My feelings towards the fashion industry borders on complete indifference. I just thought I'd share the link, because it's rad.

Tuesday, August 30, 2011


winter |ˈwintər|
the coldest season of the year, in the northern hemisphere from December to February and in the southern hemisphere from June to August : the tree has a good crop of berries in winter | [as adj. ] the winter months.

Most of my memories are of summer. I used to hate winter. It was like my entire body shut down. My mind used to take a little holiday to the warmer recesses of my consciousness and everything fell asleep. This year I decided that winter and I will have it out. I'm getting on in the years, you know? I can't afford to lose three months every year just because of the weather.

I developed a three-part strategy for surviving winter:

1. Layer.

I realised that I hated winter because I was too fucking cold. One would think that that would be obvious, but my hatred of winter used to prevent me from buying the appropriate clothes. I figured that maybe it would go away if I pretended it didn't exist. I spent 25 winters wearing my normal summer clothes with a jacket during the freezing winter months, and getting pissed off at being cold all the time. Pretty damn stupid, no?

This winter I developed the Suck It Winter wardrobe. Underwear + tank top/t-shirt + leggings + slong-sleeved shirt + jeans + jersey + jacket. Add to that gloves, scarves and hats. I was toasty! If someone had to push me over I probably wouldn't have been able to get back up, but I wasn't cold.

2. Food and friends

I discovered that I don't suck at cooking. I'm a vegetarian and I eat a lot of salads, so winters used to be challenging. This winter I discovered the joy of slow-roasted tomatoes, of soups and pasta sauces, of risotto and even of vetkoek.

Food is better shared, so I implemented a weekly girls' night with my best friends. They would swing by, bottle of wine in hand, and I would cook something comforting. Because my house still very much resembles a student's house (one old couch, a bookshelf, a desk) we would sit on the floor, eat, drink, talk, share, giggle. The memories of these nights will probably warm my heart forever.

3. Colour

I like to wear black all the time. I loved my black jacket, my boots. I only wore black jerseys all winter. It looks lovely, but it gets a little drab, so I added colour. Hair colour (hello redhead, you sexy thing!), makeup, music, people, beer.

Johannesburg is starting to look lovely. From my bedroom window I look out onto jasmine in bloom, the trees are getting greener, the air smells sweeter, but this year I'm reluctant to say goodbye to winter.

Monday, August 29, 2011


photograph |ˈfōtəˌgraf|
a picture made using a camera, in which an image is focused onto film or other light-sensitive material and then made visible and permanent by chemical treatment.
I'm an obsessive snapper. I'm so afraid that a moment will pass me by, that I'll forget, so I photograph everything.
One day I would like to take a photo like this one. Isn't it fantastic? Sensual, daring, sexy. It makes me want to be in that room, in that moment. I want to see how the light touches her skin. I want to see the curve of her belly, her feet. I want to know what happens beyond this picture, which is what a photograph should achieve.


alive |əˈlīv|
adjective [ predic. ]
1 (of a person, animal, or plant) living, not dead : hopes of finding anyone still alive were fading | he was kept alive by a feeding-tube.
• (of a feeling or quality) continuing in existence : keeping hope alive.
• continuing to be supported or in use : militarism was kept alive by pure superstition

I'm losing my shit. I am the maker of bad decisions. I am frustrated. I'm skimping on my meds. I'm skimping on sleep. I'm drinking too much. I'm bored. I'm responsible for everything in my life. I'm not responsible enough. I'm too alive to live.

Saturday, August 27, 2011


home |hōm|
1 the place where one lives permanently, esp. as a member of a family or household : I was nineteen when I left home and went to college | they have made Provence their home.
• the family or social unit occupying such a place : he came from a good home and was well educated.
• a house or an apartment considered as a commercial property : low-cost homes for first-time buyers.

I'm home for the weekend. I love coming here when I feel like I don't belong anywhere, but sometimes I can't take it. I've always been lucky. I grew up loved and fed and happy. I had security and more love than I could stand. I had a wonderful education, my parents are still married (36 years on), and apart from a few idiosyncracies we are the picture of the ideal family unit.

And yet, walking down the familiar passage bedecked with photographs from my childhood gives me this overwhelming sense of emptiness sometimes. My family home brings about a melancholy that's almost crushing. I'm more aware of my mortality when I'm here. I'm more afraid of losing everything that this home represents. I'm more conscious of the opportunities that others (including more than half the people in this house) never had. I feel more subjected to fate when I'm here.

I guess a part of it has to do with the dreams of a past version of me that never came to fruition: Dreams that I dreamed in this house - by myself, with my best friend, with my first love; dreams my parents had for me, and mine for them. Maybe also the memory of people who used to fill this house - an adored grandmother, a loved aunt, a brother who is sometimes just too far away. When I come home I can't ignore any of these things. I can't shut anything out, because I become aware of all these things almost simultaneously.

My happiest memories share a wall with my only understanding of loss. My childhood dreams stayed behind with all the potential those who love me still see in me. I don't know how to deal with it.

Friday, August 26, 2011


This is our world. Don't pretend you don't see it.
suffer |ˈsəfər|
verb [ trans. ]
1 experience or be subjected to (something bad or unpleasant) : he'd suffered intense pain | [ intrans. ] he'd suffered a great deal since his arrest | [as n. ] ( suffering) weapons that cause unnecessary suffering.
• [ intrans. ] ( suffer from) be affected by or subject to (an illness or ailment) : his daughter suffered from agoraphobia.
• [ intrans. ] become or appear worse in quality : his relationship with Anne did suffer.
• [ intrans. ] archaic undergo martyrdom or execution.


collect 1 |kəˈlekt|
verb [ trans. ]
1 bring or gather together (things, typically when scattered or widespread) : he went around the office collecting old coffee cups | he collected up all his clothing.

I'm not much of a collector. I get distracted too easily and I move too often. However, I love the idea of collecting. I like how the things we collect - the things we forget in dark cupboards, the things we cherish, the things we have but we don't really want - can tell stories about who we are, where we come from, what we aspire to.

My grandmother used to collect rocks. She'd pick them up wherever she went and write on them. When I was a kid I couldn't understand it. Then she died and all I had of her was the idea of these rocks she collected. I didn't take one, but that they exist, that they map out her life, that she touched them once, that it mattered to her is such a comfort to me. She mattered. Now the things she collected matter.

Thursday, August 25, 2011


love |ləv|
1 an intense feeling of deep affection : babies fill parents with intense feelings of love | their love for their country.
• a deep romantic or sexual attachment to someone : it was love at first sight | they were both in love with her | we were slowly falling in love.

The modern love story irritates me. I refer to the love story in its most popular form, of course. Romance novels, romantic comedies, even great literature (think Jane Eyre and Anna Karenina) all perpetuate the idea that the happiness of individuals is dependent on another person - normally a succesful and/or attractive specimen of the opposite sex. Because I don't want to come across as a bra burner, I won't even start on books and movies like Bridget Jones's Diary.

My irritation has two sources: First, the dreaded Jesus complex. I hate the idea that we need to be saved, that our happiness and success in life is dependent on an external source. It took me a long time to shake that idea. To be honest, I still struggle with it.

Secondly, I think the modern love story prevents people from loving. I love a lot of people deeply. As it happens I was only in a romantic relationship with one of them. The modern love story makes it seem like the love of friends and family is secondary to romantic love, which makes for a generation of very lonely people.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011


tentacle |ˈten(t)əkəl|
a slender flexible limb or appendage in an animal, esp. around the mouth of an invertebrate, used for grasping, moving about, or bearing sense organs.

There was a time when I could look at an octopus and have no thoughts about it at all. Then a friend mentioned that out there in the deep, dark recesses of the Internet lurks something called tentacle erotica. Of course I had to investigate, because letting sleeping dogs lie is something sensible people do.

Now I'm inexplicably drawn to all things tentacled, even though I don't find it particularly erotic. This chair was designed by Spanish designer Maximo Riera and shared by the lovely folks over at Cube Me.


journal |ˈjərnl|
1 a newspaper or magazine that deals with a particular subject or professional activity : medical journals | [in names ] the Wall Street Journal.
2 a daily record of news and events of a personal nature; a diary.

I have an obsession with new journals.

First, there's the new book smell I find completely irresistible. I also think all those blank pages hold so much promise. I know that, whether I use it to document the mundanities of daily life or to write something beautiful, each page will represent something that's true to me at that moment.

Part of my ultimate long-term goal (to grow ridiculously old) is to document the things that get me there. It helps me plot my progress. I often look at things I wrote in the past and think, "Silly girl!" When I buy a new journal (which is more often that I'd like to admit) I know I'll be a completely different person by the time I've filled all the pages.


genius |ˈjēnyəs|
noun ( pl. geniuses )
1 exceptional intellectual or creative power or other natural ability : she was a teacher of genius | Gardner had a real genius for tapping wealth.

I hate that I'm not a genius. Not because I want to change the world or invent time travel (although that would be rad), but because genius goes hand in hand with a level of accepted eccentricity. Sure, it sucks in primary school, and initially you probably won't have any luck in the love department, but if you stick to it long enough eventually someone will be freaky enough to dig it.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Saints and sinners

What else?
Photograph by John Hopkins, via Everyday I Show.

All about the blues

My childhood home was filled with music. Dad was a rocker (I guess he still is). If it involves the Rolling Stones he knows about it. He also really loves classical music and has a strange affinity for opera.

Mom is all about the blues. I grew up watching her dance to B.B. King, losing herself in the rhythm. She still is a phenomenal dancer, despite her 56 years. Her parties have a distinct bluesy feel, which makes her guests feel like they're on the banks of the Mississippi, not a small-holding outside Johannesburg.

I guess a lot of that rubbed off on me and the sibling - I like to believe nature and nurture in equal parts. At Oppikoppi a guy told me he was perving over what happened to my body when I listen to Dan Patlansky. Of course he was middle-aged and kind of creepy, but that's not the point.

I don't know why I'm thinking about all this today. I guess it's to do with this picture by George Mitchell. It moves me.

Monday, August 22, 2011

The future

This excerpt is from an article about the particular brand of 20-something angst that drives confused young'uns to drink and blog. A friend shared the article on Facebook, because she's writing an article about it for a popular magazine. Apparently, like adolescence, our 20s are all about emotional shitstorming, sans the sensitive naughty places.

It surprises me that this seems to be such a big discovery. We live in Anything Goes Land. Gay, straight, fashionable, skinny, ugly, involved, deviant, pregnant, barren, raving mad - it's all okay. The world is my oyster. I want to try everything. I want to be everything, including a musician and a fireman.

To be less confused, I need fewer options. To have fewer options is not an option - not for me anyway. I'm 26 and I don't know what I want from life. If anything, that makes me privileged.

If, as the article says, the "dreary dead-end jobs, the bitter divorces, the disappointing and disrespectful children" are all I have to look forward to, I think I'll hang around in this space for as long as I possibly can.

In other news...

Go check out Romantically Apocalyptic. Loads of reds, yellows and shades of darkness, with a nice hint of melancholy and a pinch of social commentary. There you have it kids, Mozambican sands to zombies in 3.0 seconds.

The daydream

Someone else is living a version of my daydream

This photo makes me think of Mozambique. Every night before I fall asleep, I allow myself one daydream. I look forward to those ten or fifteen minutes, because I let myself admit that anything is possible. One of my recurring daydreams is to own a bar almost exactly like this one in Mozambique. For some reason I get the feeling that a simple life in tropical heat, wearing shorts and open shoes every day, is my ultimate calling.

Today I feel like hanging out a bar like this with my girlfriends. Our little group has been through quite a bit of excitement lately. My bestie is starting a new job after a very trying spell in marketing, my fellow blogger/dreamer/aspiring muso friend is trying to deal with a very tragic event in her family, my cousin/friend just got engaged (!), my loveliest friend just started a BSc because her ulitimate daydream is becoming a farmer, and my former-roomie-in-real-life/current-roomie-in-spirit is getting her life back on track after an enormously traumatic time.

I get the feeling that all of us have a lot to talk about. I think sharing our thoughts with the cool Mozambican sand between our toes, a cool R&R to calm us down and the sound of the ocean filling our spirit will do us a world of good. If we're very lucky, we might even have some good music to listen to.

Friday, August 19, 2011


I'm scared. I'm making decisions that matter and I'm thinking about making some more of those. It freaks me out. The image seems appropriate.

The artist, John Kenn, draws these monsters on Post-it notes. The yellow backgrounds just add to the eeriness of all his images. If you have a moment to spare, spend some time on his blog. Or in my head. Kind of looks the same at the moment.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Sexy violence

I'm a pacifist by nature. Pair that with a complete lack of upper body strength and general laziness, and you'll understand why I'm more likely to hug a person to death than attack someone in a dark alley. Having said that, sometimes I get frustrated and I want to break things. I overcome the aforementioned obstacles and reach violent catharsis by channeling others' anger by listening to angry music (Slipknot and Rage Against the Machine among my favourites), watching Fight Club a lot and looking at disturbing images. I also bite when I kiss.

The blog Everyday I Show is a neat blog to follow. Each post features a selection of photographs by famous photographers. It's not updated daily, and I haven't figured out an updating schedule, so I get super excited when I see updates in my RSS reader.

My recent lust for violence was partially quenched by an Everyday I Show update. German fashion photographer Helmut Newton managed to find a disturbingly erotic balance between femininity and violence. The selection from Everyday I Show featured some of his most disturbing images, which delighted my frustrated inner psychopath.

Femininity with a hint of violence
Don't say I don't share.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011


One thing led to another, I tripped, fell and landed on the Ice Model Management page. Then I saw this picture of Capetonian model Sylvie Lekarski. I gasped in wonder. Everything about it is perfect. I won't say anything about the fact that Sylvie is listed as a "plus size" model. I'm hoping you can come up with your own synonyms for outrage.



I spoke to a faraway friend today. He's lonely. I guess we all are, in a way.

There's something about sharing a bed with someone, sleeping with someone, waking up next to another human being, sharing the most intimate of spaces in the most intimate ways, that makes you feel like you're not alone in the world. There's something about trusting someone enough to be around you when you're vulnerable. When are we more vulnerable than when we sleep? Maybe that's what love is. Who knows?

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

The art of swearing


I love swearing. Like smoking, drinking, eating, sleeping late, tattoos and beards it's one of those things that I'm not supposed to admit loving, but here I am, writing a very long an awkward sentence and admitting it. As it turns out, the biggie of swear words - the dreaded cunt - is my favourite swear word. I just love saying it, especially when I'm angry. I love, because it pays tribute to two things that I adore: Beautiful design and, well...look at the picture.

More light

Photo: "

I'm always kind of envious of girls who look like this from behind. Narrow shoulders, narrow hips, hair in buns, small ears. When I get dressed to go out, especially when I wear cocktail dresses, I always hope to look like this. Mysterious, seductive, innocent. Of course, being a plaasmeisie and a bit of a tomboy, I never do. I guess that's okay too.

Monday, August 15, 2011

41 coffees

Fleet River BakeryTown Hall Hotel & ApartmentsAlbionBarbicanNude Espresso barElk in the Woods
National Geographic caféThe Breakfast Club, HoxtonV&A museum caféAlbionBarcelona back streetsBarcelona back streets
Santa Maria del Mar, BacelonaMontana café, BarcelonaMontana café, BarcelonaMilan - Malpensa airportMilanElectra Palace Hotel - Thessaloniki
Kitchen Bar - ThessalonikiCafé in the park, ThessalonikiElectra Palace Hotel - ThessalonikiArta Bridge caféAkrataAkrata

41 coffees, a set by trish.papadakos on Flickr.

These days I'm all about light. Lighthearted, lightheaded, enlightened (well, hoping to get there). This sudden lightness of being translates into a visual attraction towards light in art.

I adore these photographs on account of their lightness. The focus on coffee and the occasional beard is simply a bonus.

It's one of those treasures that I discovered at the end of a blue, blue Monday. It lightened the load.

Love and light.