As we lay, foolishly

He belonged to me just for one night. Stupid me, I failed to keep it at that. I had to strut around town carrying a feeling in my heart. At least, I think that is where it was and not in my pants.

Signs cuffed my belly as I humped and pumped his rubber, but I forced my mind to focus on my near destiny. I even faced complications reaching that destination due to being intoxicated, but I loved it. So did he.

The night faded and it dawned; the sun penetrated the window and its reflection hit the wall behind me and off to his face it went and it found comfort. He was beautiful. He was sexy. He was mine; tall, light with a loud mouth.

The loud mouth he is, he seemed to have exhausted his speech during last night’s blurting at the bar. Therefore, I took it upon my smitten abilities to chat him up. He reciprocated my efforts with looks and smiles that drag me to the deepest route of love. Now and then, his head would meet mine half way and our lips would lock. And every time my lips brushed his, I died a million deaths because I could not believe what I was experiencing; it was more than I had ever experienced before. And to think I have heard and seen it all.

It had not even been 24 hours yet, but I was in love already. I realised I had been transformed. And that exact moment I was hurt in advance because I knew what was coming. Even though we both did a great job in making that night the best time of our lives together, him and I were an illusion.

I forgot to acknowledge one thing; he can never be mine. Instead, I went ahead got lost in the moment. I sank in his kisses and I refused to shift from his side while we lay. But I had to go. I left, but it feels like he left me.

Poor him, he’s going on with his business, unaware that I wish one of us could get on a Santaco plane and fly over to play a scene of two fools in lust.

He belonged to me just for one night, but I feel like I have lost a soul mate. With that being said, it is killing me to have him in my life. So I pray to God and ask him to give me strength to get over this man.

Today, I have a price to pay. I mean, for every choice we make in life, there are consequences; good or bad, it does not matter. In my case, I have to endure a sore heart.  So far, not even one episode of Sex And The City has helped to erase him from my mind. I miss him every day. Hence I have opted to watch Glee with the hope of approaching the mending from a different angle. Being infatuated by him is killing me.

I know I am to blame for taking tomorrow for granted, but even fools deserve a third chance.

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Subject imminent

Man, oh man he’s a good man
Fixed to his word, he’s keeping up
He makes up for the less I hear of him
He listens, he remembers and he does.

I told him. He acted
Like I had asked, he spoke on time yet he broke me into pieces.

His speech was packed with fruit. But I don’t like oranges and litchi
His words tore apart the tubes conveying blood from various parts of my body to the heart
He hurt me. I made him hurt me.

My heart is tired
Leaving my mental supremacy in doubt of the intense feeling of deep affection my heart exudes from its aperture.

I made a fool out of God
Now my nose bleeds stupidity
He must be glad
Though appalled, I will applaud the timing.

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Oh Twitter, thy excellence is a charm

The masses have dubbed Twitter good while some see it as bad and very ugly; with a tinge of backstabbers, groupies and ass-kissers. Nonetheless, judging by its ever accelerating membership, it is only fair to agree that Twitter is popular.

A number of ordinary South Africans have celebrities because of this form of social media. Certain people’s egos and personalities have become bigger and more ostentatious due to how smart, rich and important Twitter people have measured them.

I’m thinking, this is the reason some companies have taken up this platform with the aim of promoting their services and products. Twitter brings an audience that carries some power in regards to publicising something without being paid to do so. This is exactly what some companies sought after.

Many companies have succeeded is utilising this tool while some have struggled and, to some extent, failed dismally.

Their mistake, in my opinion, has been to emulate the typical angles big corporates have already worn and tired. They failed to build their subsistence outside the box.

I believe that the lack of creativity (in these companies) can be blamed to not completely understanding the majority of people who dominate on Twitter and how they can actually take advantage of their presence in the sphere.

Case in point, many companies tend to associate their brands and products with musicians, actors and whoever is always on television. The intention here is to make sure that their product is always spoken about or at least seen on television without having to go the traditional way of advertising and selling it.

That is good and it works. Sometimes.

However, these companies fail to understand that Twitter exist on their laps free of charge and with it comes a number of people (let us call them Twiples) who are willing AND able to promote certain products to a reasonably large audience.

The majority of these Twiples have ordinary jobs – that which we never consider exciting – and some of them are just students. But, their tweets are read, and considered important, by many followers who are impending customers for these companies.

For example, I have less than 300 followers on Twitter and many of them are industry individuals. But, I follow – and get followed by - two people; Tendai Sean Joe and Lelo Boyana.

When Lelo and Tendai comment or retweet a photograph I have tweeted it gets viewed by thousands of people. Sometimes, if they retweet one of my tweets or comment on it I will get tagged on comments by a several people, whom I do not even know from bar of Twitter soap. At times I would get follow requests based on their one and only comment.

One more example: I usually tweet English translations of Xhosa terms and expressions. So, a few weeks back, Lelo was asked by one of her followers as to where can s/he get Xhosa lessons. In response, Lelo tweeted my name. From that one response, I got loads of follow requests within one hour. For me this was unusual and very scary. Thanks to having locked my tweets, I was able to opt for people I thought were of interest to me.

These are the people many companies, public relations agencies and products should be associated with. I know only two, but I bet you there are many where they come from.

While they might not be musicians, actors or leak nude photographs of themselves to get attention, they carry a very useful audience on Twitter.

So, using them comes in handy, literally.

Besides, many of these musicians, actors and ‘celebrities’ (God only knows of what) do not have many followers on Twitter. Of course, this can be blamed to the fact that they hardly tweet anything remarkable. Not even something that helps their image.

Possibly, I have just blogged about something many people have already said or tweeted. But, I see no harm in repetitively preaching this kind of gospel. Especially after receiving more than two thousand views on a photograph I tweeted last night simply because Lelo commented on it while I usually get less than five.

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I would have been the one

Sweat flowing from my dreadlocks, rolling down to my neck licking my grey collar and  loosening my tight black tie; I hopped Johannesburg streets heading to Bree taxi rank. I had knocked off a little bit late, but I was okay with time. My worry was getting home late for The Closer.

I would have been the one, Solange Knowles tormented my ears. I loved it. Enlightening charmer sent from where a Casanova lovely glare and I was chosen, I was there. To the whoreous doors of the rank I was appealing, as always, and so I let them swallow me. I saw my taxi and headed straight to it. I was tired but surety of how good looking I was carried me towards the transport to my destination. And yes, the fact that one day I will pass this building with a very expensive little thing rolling on four wheels inspired the strut in my walk.

Down with the headphones, I got inside the taxi and sat right behind the driver next to a guy who looked at me like I was some kind of fruit waiting to be eaten selfishly. I am sure he had never seen a creature so full of himself. Bless this poor guy’s perplexity.

I settled on the seat, sorted my fare and put back on my headphones. The well gets deeper, more unfolds. And then appeared a very dirty boy. He was dirty and I could smell him. He was a boy because he looked nothing like the man I am.  With the corner of my left eye I saw his lips move. I lacked interest in him since I knew he was most likely begging. Yes he was. I thought you plus me divided me from him but I discovered many more, and again and again...

Like a typical beggar, he attempted to look so sincere. I felt sorry for the few inside the taxi who had no music to drown into. I was far away. Or so I thought. And you don’t know you fill many spaces.

I could hear a sound. No, never mind the skinny Knowles; it was a voice that somehow merged into the song just fine, building a sound I would only imagine Euphonik and Black Coffee to produce. It went so well with what was enthralling my ears.

And he don’t know how he’s stole many places. And we all know we can’t fix him even if we tried.  I would have been the one. The boy was clapping. His lips were still on the move, only this time he seemed to be uttering fast and with passion.

I freed my left ear because I had to hear what he was cheering for. Ngiyakwaz’ ukukhanya kwakho, nokulunga kwakho, Jesu wam, Jesu wam, zungangishiyi la... He was singing; a song I got to know and fell in love with when times were extremely bad in my life.

I was boy, and had run away from a suburb I stayed in to a shack in which I had to share a blanket with six other children and could only eat twice a day. I left what everyone thought was the best life in exchange for a shack in an area where your neighbour’s door was practically two feet away from your and in your face!

Phelisa ukwesaba kimi, nokungakholwa. Msindisi, oh msindisi zungangishiyi la... There I was, with my Blackberry and its R400 worth headphones, comfortably and deliberately ignoring the boy in front of me. One would have sworn I was never poor and that I was rich.

I was the one, yes I was the one and yes that was my name inked up on his arm...Keyword was, yes I was the one. I figured out he was empty on my own. He had to find the answer in something not someone. The man beside me poked me waving a R10 note in my face. So I freed my right ear paying attention to the man I had puzzled earlier. He wanted change because he wanted to give this boy R5. It is fine, I will give him for you, I said. Guilt was there and only then did sympathy grow. This boy was me 10 years ago, only he was worse.

And we all know we can’t fix him even if we tried.  I would have been the one. My hand sank inside my Nedbank bag and came out with a Mr Price wallet. I took out the gold coin, handed it over to the boy. He refused it.

Ngicela ningishayeleni izandla, he said smiling and then walked away.

Solange Knowles was still playing, but it was as if there was still silence in the car. Maybe there was or maybe I was switched off reality – again - attached on a bubble inspired by the money I carelessly spend and the life I am never grateful for.

Those who were attuned with the world clapped. I could have betrayed my pride and ridiculed my ignorance by applauding as well, but the buttered sliced bread I had had for lunch that day was still fresh in my mind. What a hypocritical blessed creature I was; oblivious so prematurely of a journey I had had.

Yehova, ndicela Uxolo...

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My boys of miscarriage

I lied to myself so many times, when I was single, and said I am NOT looking. Love will find me, I would say. But deep down in me, I knew I was looking for the one person with whom I can talk about things that other people hardly understand nor find interesting.

I went out with friends at night and on weekends; drank, laughed and ate all the fattening food. I socialised and met new friends some of whom felt like I was too much of a pink diamond to be single. So, I was hooked up -unwillingly- many times with other single sheeps. Though disappointing in so many levels at times, the experience was fun and very insightful.  

I met men – and boys - I felt were the right ones. With some, I slept, I had sex and I loved. Many of whom proved to fall for me for the many get-togethers I am loved for. Clearly, boy eyed guaranteed entrance tickets – to a house I do NOT even own - whenever yours truly felt Oprah-ish and fed the ‘nation’; making it rain while he would come in with arms folded. I am guessing his wallet had one big hole through which his cents escaped on his way to mine.

The last one though, boy I mean, was a figure my friends felt was the most ludicrous relation I have ever pursued. He liked me and I liked him back. He had deep issues and I had to have tissues always. Of course, I had problems too.

Nonetheless, he was not a hard tiff to swallow. Or so I thought. He left me bending picking up my jaw when he had no shame sharing with me that his ex did not only have horse of a pipe, but he –my boy- was the only one whom the ex told could take it all in...

Yes, I was single and in like, but I was not foolish that I would dip my being in a hole that had taken in objects dubbed to be larger and bigger than my arm. Besides, I had an ego to grow NOT to bruise it. Imagine, me humping and pumping a ride with someone who’d probably be focusing on how slow my beard is growing.

Oh, what a loss though. But he left me with a lesson; never take too lightly petite boys, particularly those who compliment me every chance they get.

All the same, the one before him was another tale to be reckoned. A song I would have chosen Amy Winehouse to sing. I and he were what many considered a match-made in heaven. However, we both knew we were nothing like that. Instead, we were simply lusting for each other.

I told him many times how much I wanted him. I don’t care what everyone thinks of you, I want you, I would say. He would touch me and get playful with me in public and he let me kiss him whenever I wanted to.

Yet, it appeared he had not only been touchy and playful with me. Right across my house, my coloured neighbour knew him. In fact, my neighbour and his friends knew him very well. He had photos to prove it. I saw the photos, he was right; they knew him seeing that we all had seen him.

Happy read!