My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery
- always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud.
And why? What’s this passion for ? - Virginia Woolf
PROLOGUE:
Its me and I am in our old living room,
sitting on the distinctive orange couch,
in front of me a big glass window overlooking the garden,
I slowly start sinking into the orange mass,
intertwining with stings of white,orange and black,
I become enveloped by the sensation
of what I assume the feelings of a living room couch would be,
i'm not the entire body of it, just a small part.
CHAPTER 1 : (2005) Honda civic drives
Traveling in the backseat of the car,
looking at the moon following me down the street and in between the trees.
Between the mumbling of my parents, on the radio -
Train- Drops of Jupiter.
Recollecting the lamented brown eyed girl, her prominent fringe,
the dimples hidden on the curves of her mouth.
I wonder if she will ever return from her stay on the moon,
streetlights flashing past me echoing faces of angels whispering in my ear
- that is what he wanted.
A desolate realization -
the only time I see her is when i'm speeding past the constellations,
wishing that she will miss me while she is looking for herself.
CHAPTER 2 : Overkruin
Brandy and coke, priests and principles, school plays and hokey games,
bus rides and bunking, kissing, smoking, chicken legs, hillsong, babbas pub & Grill
first love, banana leaves, live long friendships,dagga,
art classes,detention,Marlboro gold beyond, uniforms with no pretensions.
Fucking around between the cosmos of it all.
CHAPTER 3 : St Helena bay
The gelid kissed recognition of a seasonable notion passes through the west coast breeze,
the techno colored sunsets submerged a vigorous tranquility within me.
Bread broken, wine and peach jam shared between family,
a cultivation of the working class. A harboring recollection.
CHAPTER 4 : The Galloway ,
Highveld, stainsted str. The revolution.
Precast maroon concrete walls, a small garden and a communal pool.
The awakening, a consciousness breath. Intimacies shared between flatmates
Chinese take out ,courts, cheap wine, conversations lit with a strike of a match.
Main stage red eyes, calling out to the crowd : come closer, come closer.
The beat of jungle drums pumping through our blood.
Overwhelming sense of juvenile togetherness, youthfulness.
Friday nights, 1pm
Shadows cast by candle light morphing into one,
I see her once again, knowing that the sentiment won't last.
Buying into the experience that is her love,
the four blue walls that have consumed the shadow cast girl,
her blue complexion turns into mine.
EPILOGUE :
Throughout all these relics, it's still there Lurking inside of me,
the sensation of what I assume the feelings of a living room couch would be,
i'm not the entire body of it, just a small part.
Think you’re escaping and run into yourself.
Longest way around is the shortest way home. - James Joyce
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