Tag Archives: love

Shigaff about Pride?

It started political, enough…?

Before the actual taste of freedom, it happened. When the smell of the heavenly roast of equality was wafting through the air, it happened. And in 1990 I remember hearing about it at the ripe age of seven, “Die moffies hardloop deur die straat!” – so naturally, with the initial emotion of shame, I pranced outside to play where hateful words could not be heard. But one day I knew I would be one of those “moffies” prancing through the streets whether onlookers spat on me or not. And as soon as the clock turned 18 I was strong enough to stand up for myself, and I braved my first pride. Propositioned by men, sweet talked by the ladies and accosted by the bible bashers… I could not have asked for a more fulfilling experience from a cherry popping first time. What were we marching for? The right to adopt children. And now we can, to spite how difficult it may still be (I am told), but I felt I marched for something.

Is it different?

Now, We marched for equality…? What? Slap my forehead and call me Mary, that is as redundant as saying I would like meat for dinner, not rump, fillet or sirloin, just meat. For a group of people hell bent on equality they surely have not thought past their own noses in terms of creating a real message, creating real unity between the marchers and creating something that we can be proud of (can you smell the filthy smell of irony, no pride in pride). I understand the concept of equality but does it really need to be mentioned? Marching for equality – and here comes another food analogy – is like asking for my steak to be seasoned in a restaurant, it’s pretty much expected to be seasoned.
With such an open theme it was expected that this year would turn into a march of individuals, not of a group. Each and every person was going to have their own idea of equality and come fully prepared with their own agenda, and this idea of “what about me?” was more prevalent than ever before. What ever happened to “What about us?” but before I start accusing everyone else of nepotism for their own idealistic notions of freedom, I have to ask myself, am I guilty of doing the very same? Admittedly, yes I am. After almost eleven years of Pride, my admiration and support for the LGBTI community has dwindled down, dissipated into a fine mist of nothingness, as I feel more and more the perversion of being gay taking hold of the very definition of being gay. Correct me if I am wrong but I was under the impression that I was gay because I fall in love with men, not merely that I lust after them? But float after float I was reminded of what it really means to be gay… A boy in underpants. And it saddened me, if it weren’t for the Christian float handing out much needed water or the ladies in the front of the march dancing to their own tangible rhythm I may have completely lost my respect for a community I have been so naively supporting over the years. So I am guilty, of attending this year with the idea that most homos are just perverts, the idea buried somewhere deep in my brain, therefore I am guilty of creating a notion of “them” and “me” in a community that use to take that very notion and, with one copacetic movement, turn it into “us”.

What did I do?

With the wave of violent protests sweeping over our fair land I could not help myself from asking the more pertinent question: How is this march different from any other? And my answer would have been that this march is about love, respect, tolerance and a general good vibe. To prove to onlookers that to spite what judgement may be cast on us as LGBTI folk that we always brave a smile and include others in our quest for joy. So I slipped on an outfit that commanded attention, spun a mirror ball high in the air to gain a few grins and twirled my way past onlookers all in hopes of garnishing a smile, a laugh whether it be at me or with me, so long as I see you are happy.
But half way through the march I stumbled upon a group of protesters with a very ambiguous message: “No cause for celebration” and as a somewhat veteran at the game of pride I immediately jumped towards homophobia. But I was wrong. It was not homophobia but an awareness campaign that came off rather hate filled than enlightening. Their delivery enticed a raw reaction and by the time I had learnt how wrong I was I felt like too much of an idiot to even stick around. I could feel a split between those women and myself, a very unnecessary split. And for the first time I could see that the ‘other’ had moved away, from pride goers versus spectators towards organizers versus protesters, and dare I say… We have turned on ourselves. Why was one group so mislead in thinking that no one would care about the plight of the slain that they would resort to terror like tactics to be heard and similarly how can organizers of something as “meaningful” as pride not have taken it upon themselves to bring awareness to the degree of homophobia in our country, if they are not aware then maybe they should not be organizing something of this calibre?


Should I give a flying fuck?
Yes! Most definitely and for two very simple reasons, one – splitting the community will only make fighting for the same cause more difficult and two – we seem to have forgotten that homophobia and hate crimes are still rampant in most communities in South Africa. Where did we miss each other, when did we stop caring about atrocities such as hate crimes and what happened to the unspoken love we use to share?

By the end?

The march is over, the drinks are flowing, there is a vibe and we can all start to have a bit of fun. Why are we having fun though, does that not depoliticize the cause? In my minds eye the festivities creates a feeling of inclusivity for anyone wanting to be part of our community but that is scared because sexually they are not inclined to join but on a moral standpoint they believe in equality. So I am all for the fun – and on a personal level – the fun in celebration of the fact the we are each still alive, managing to come out of some hostile situations with our lives, long enough to celebrate the fact that we are the only country in Africa that hosts, not one, but five gay prides through the year. Celebration of the fact that we can celebrate in a park, in the sun ( some countries without a constitution like ours are forced to host pride indoors) and with local musicians that support us.
So by the time Tamara Dey is commanding my spirit to wiggle and shake, I know I am safe. Flash Republic entertains the crowd after a build up of so many superb live artists, and around me in the middle of the crowd I see faces of both sexes, of all colours and a variety of ages thrusted together in a jovial jump for the sky as we all scream along with Miss Dey, “I don’t even know your name”, and a profound beauty sprung to mind, how we don’t need to know each others name to have a love that is formulated in respect for one another (to spite the fact that I don’t think the song is actually about that). We are bound by one idea, the FREEDOM to LOVE who we please.
And since when can a little bit more love ever be a bad thing?

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Flash Fiction

I lived inside this very dark hole. It was in the rocks along the beach. A damp, dark and hard hole that became my home like a shell, almost cocooning me, that I would be able to transform after inhabiting it. I didn’t always live in this hole. I kinda went out and found it for myself. A hiding place even. But life would push it to more than a place of malevolent solace, a temple for the release of pent up angst. Life would have a very different blueprint when it constructed that temporary home. And temporary it was.

My village is at the top of a very green hill that overlooks the ocean which seems to constantly shimmer an intense blue with the most brilliant while lines of foam from the crashing waves since The Storm. Everything is much better since The Storm actually. The hills green thicket became more lush and plush, inviting you to roll around in it, gazing up at the sky. But The Storm was more than just a storm. It was as if the gods were fueled with rage and they split the sky open, decorating it with bright fire and hard ice and cracking the earth beneath us with a terrifying rumble. The crack split our village in two. And that’s where it all started to go a rye. That is where the the world just split in two.

The village has been my home since I could remember. A bunch of neatly clumped thatched homes, all huddled together on a hilltop with a dirt road down the middle of the village towards the sea. My home was at the End of that road. It was the perfect home. I feel the energy of the centre of the village all the while staring out at the ocean without another hut to block the view. The hut was by no means the best. In fact it was one of the oldest ones there but it had enough room for me to tend to my two passions. On one side my home opened onto an established garden. Beautiful, lush and constantly in fruition and all it required was my time, patience and love. On the other of my home was the only library in the village. Books where so hard to come by but all that could be found in the village was there. And it was my world of knowledge.

The morning of The Storm, it was clear that it was going to storm, I frantically ran around from side to side making sure that I secured both sides as best I could. I wanted both sides so I worked my ass off to try keep both sides and the weather put up quite a battle. She roared and rumbled, flashed some light and blew a blizzard but my tenacity to have it all proved far stronger and the weather began to retreat as she realized she had been defeated. But had she? Or was that all part of her plan?

The earth turned soft from the rain and ice. All around us became extremely fragile and any movement caused a shift in the ground beneath our feet. Suddenly the ground rumbled and in a flash the floor began to tear, ripping right down the middle of the village, down the street and through the middle of my home. It all happened so quickly that I did not think about which side to jump to. Which side needed me. And I fell.

when I woke up everything I knew was in absolute mayhem. Everything I knew was split in two. And slowly the village will follow suite.

I couldn’t. I couldn’t choose which side to be on so I retreated to the hole, in the rocks. The cold, hard and damp spot I use to come to for some quiet somber time where I could also let off some steam. The place I use to come to think, and judge. And I have been living in my hole since The Storm.

Today I want to come out of my hole. Today I want to stop living in this dark, damp and hard place I created for myself. And today is the first day I will leave…

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To Mothers with Love

I woke up this morning with the realization that mothers day is tomorrow and I am yet to think of an appropriate way to thank her. God knows the all too familiar relationship a homo has with his mother, and although this may be a stereotype, in my case it is not.
Mid afternoon creeped on in and I realized that I need to better understand what it is about my mother I really love as apposed to the mere fact that she gave birth to me almost thirty years ago.

I have not actually been around my mother for some time, in fact it feels close to a year for so many reasons. Arriving in kwazulu natal airport, King Skaka, it was a breath of fresh air however, as fresh as the air may have been it is a familiar one. And so many happy thoughts ran through my mind as the onset of familial nostalgia starts to take route. the two hour shuttle to my mothers home was the perfect opportunity to seize the pisceans gift for imagination.

By the time I arrive in her town I am elated to see her and rekindle the youth that is so far behind me. And it was only a few minutes before the reason for my undoubted affection for her starts to become prevalent.

She is by far the coolest mother. She is so rad and in the most conservative way.

The night was warm and the ocean was murmuring it’s soft somber song, I was standing with a glass of red – so smooth I barely remember the name – and some soft jams were twirling out of the speakers. We chatted about work and the future. My dad. But most importantly we spoke of men. I have a mother cool enough who sits through my stories of dating disasters and self inflicted broken heart syndrome, and all the while providing enough advice to keep my heart from turning bitter.

So in the end I figure the perfect gift would be to show her how awesome I think she is…
Creating a meal that she would love – For all the times she fed me…
Mixing cocktails she can’t refuse – to keep her as jovial as she has kept me…
Make as many jokes to make her as happy as she makes me…
And writing her something to read that sums up the awe I feel before her.

Here’s to all the mothers… Happy happy for today and everyday…

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A Love Song Like No Other

A review I read summed up the album Born to Die perfectly: “it’s the album equivalent of a faked orgasm” but amongst song after song of more or less the same drab the title track from Lana Del Rey is a true little gem. There are three main reasons I fell in love with this song:
It begins with a frantic set of strings set off with a deep beat, mixing the thrill of falling in love with the sensuality immediately. If you are familiar with Del Rey you will find that her breathy voice will not escape your ear from the moment you hear it. And in the beginning it starts as a whisper followed by that distinctive depth her voice carries.
The wobble and wavering she puts her voice through, and taking it quite high at points only to bring it down again, sets the space for a romantic ride on a cloud or drifting over gentle swells in the ocean. It’s dream like quality speaks to the love she is talking about.
The lyrics tell the most beautiful story with a gorgeous honesty to it…

don’t make me sad, don’t make me cry,
Sometimes love is not enough, the road gets tough, I don’t know why
Keep making me laugh, let’s go get hi
The road is long, we carry on, try to have fun in the meantime

Give it a listen.

Born To Die

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A Song

Here is a song by Perfume Genius titled All Waters. The song is about two men holding hands in public… But the beginning suggests we are far away from this actually being a reality…

When all waters still
And flowers cover the earth
When all trees stop shivering
And dust settles in the dessert
When I can take your hand
On any crowded street
And hold you close to me
With no hesitating
Oh, I love…

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