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“searching myself”

Since: Sep 09

In Charming CA

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#1
Dec 5, 2009
 

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G, this is the thread. If I see you over here, I will be very much pleased. In light of our recent difficulties, I hope you work it out with Arise; so it's ok if it takes you awhile to arrive.

Awaiting your reply.

Shovel

“Uroplatus Phantasticus”

Since: Feb 08

Johannesburg, South Africa

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#2
Dec 5, 2009
 

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shovelhead72 wrote:
G, this is the thread. If I see you over here, I will be very much pleased. In light of our recent difficulties, I hope you work it out with Arise; so it's ok if it takes you awhile to arrive.
Awaiting your reply.
Shovel
Kinda hope that we can work it out as well.
Hate to lose a friend.

“searching myself”

Since: Sep 09

In Charming CA

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#3
Dec 5, 2009
 

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geko wrote:
<quoted text>
Kinda hope that we can work it out as well.
Hate to lose a friend.
So do I honey. Glad I didn't lose YOU. Have to go do home things now.
:-)
So I will look for you here after a while. Loved Hippie's response on the soldiers thread, and hope very much that Arise Chicago Poet sees the light. See you soon.
Shovel.

“Uroplatus Phantasticus”

Since: Feb 08

Durban, South Africa

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#4
Dec 5, 2009
 

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shovelhead72 wrote:
<quoted text>So do I honey. Glad I didn't lose YOU. Have to go do home things now.
:-)
So I will look for you here after a while. Loved Hippie's response on the soldiers thread, and hope very much that Arise Chicago Poet sees the light. See you soon.
Shovel.
Looking forward to it.

“searching myself”

Since: Sep 09

In Charming CA

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#5
Dec 5, 2009
 

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Hello again, my naughty feather-bearer. How was your (morning / night)? I am a tad confused as to which is which for you, as geography was never my strong suit. Now anatomy... in that one I got A's all over the place! Tell me another lovely story?

:-)

Since: Nov 08

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#6
Dec 5, 2009
 

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geko wrote:
<quoted text>
Kinda hope that we can work it out as well.
Hate to lose a friend.
Hey G, don't get me wrong, my friend, as far as I'm concerned, our friendship will last forever. As long as you're doing the flirting thing on this thread, there's no harm done whatsoever. But even if you had continued it on ASR, I would have still thought of you as a good friend. I just couldn't have been around it which is why I felt I had to leave.

You're a big part of ASR and I hope that continues. You're also welcome to post on the thread I started. I should have said that you were welcome to post there as long as the flirting wasn't done there. I misspoke and I hope I haven't hurt you. The bottom line is, I wouldn't come to this thread with everyone and force the ASR stuff on this thread. So I didn't think it was right to have that stuff going on over there.

And as your friend, who has known you longer than any of the rest of our friends, I feel it's my obligation to remind you of this: please keep in mind J and the two young ones in this new experiment you're on. And now I won't mention it again, my friend.

And I think I read a few pages back that you lost your kitty. I'm truly sorry for that and I hope your heart heals.

“searching myself”

Since: Sep 09

In Charming CA

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#7
Dec 5, 2009
 

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geko wrote:
<quoted text>
Looking forward to it.
See post below. I think Arise wants to make up. HOORAY! I didn't cost you a friend, and I'm very relieved, feather-bearer. Tickle my thigh.

“searching myself”

Since: Sep 09

In Charming CA

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#8
Dec 5, 2009
 

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I won't reply to a post not addressed to me on this thread. So this is G's gig, and carrying it out here is perfectly fine with me; I just choose to respond exclusively to those who post to Shovelhead72. Quirky, but concrete. Please do not read any sarcasm in this post.

<3

“searching myself”

Since: Sep 09

In Charming CA

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#9
Dec 5, 2009
 

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geko wrote:
<quoted text>
Looking forward to it.
It shall be your privilege to choose which thigh.

:)

“searching myself”

Since: Sep 09

In Charming CA

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#10
Dec 5, 2009
 

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G, I am very intoxicated at the moment. I best not post to you in this condition, as I may say some things concerning which I might have confusion in the morning. Happy Saturday my friend. And happy Sunday as well.

Slaap goed.
SH72

“Uroplatus Phantasticus”

Since: Feb 08

Mooi River, South Africa

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#11
Dec 5, 2009
 
shovelhead72 wrote:
Hello again, my naughty feather-bearer. How was your (morning / night)? I am a tad confused as to which is which for you, as geography was never my strong suit. Now anatomy... in that one I got A's all over the place! Tell me another lovely story?
:-)
Twas night and now is morning....... and cannot figure out if you're behind me or I'm behind you. hehe

“Uroplatus Phantasticus”

Since: Feb 08

Mooi River, South Africa

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#12
Dec 5, 2009
 
Arise Chicago Poet wrote:
<quoted text>
Hey G, don't get me wrong, my friend, as far as I'm concerned, our friendship will last forever. As long as you're doing the flirting thing on this thread, there's no harm done whatsoever. But even if you had continued it on ASR, I would have still thought of you as a good friend. I just couldn't have been around it which is why I felt I had to leave.
You're a big part of ASR and I hope that continues. You're also welcome to post on the thread I started. I should have said that you were welcome to post there as long as the flirting wasn't done there. I misspoke and I hope I haven't hurt you. The bottom line is, I wouldn't come to this thread with everyone and force the ASR stuff on this thread. So I didn't think it was right to have that stuff going on over there.
And as your friend, who has known you longer than any of the rest of our friends, I feel it's my obligation to remind you of this: please keep in mind J and the two young ones in this new experiment you're on. And now I won't mention it again, my friend.
And I think I read a few pages back that you lost your kitty. I'm truly sorry for that and I hope your heart heals.
Thanks and no harm done. I get were you and the others are coming from.
My wife and family are always on my mind and never far away.
If I feel that my friendship with The Read Haired One is becoming more than that then I will stop. For the moment I enjoy the company and banter.
Will this end badly? Who can tell?.....but it is an interesting journey and isnt that what life is all about.
Not the destination!... but the journey!... and those you share it with and those that touch you even if that touch is as light as a feather and fleeting.
....And Geko will ride...he must...I Afrika, Nkosi wam.

“Uroplatus Phantasticus”

Since: Feb 08

Mooi River, South Africa

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#13
Dec 5, 2009
 
shovelhead72 wrote:
G, I am very intoxicated at the moment. I best not post to you in this condition, as I may say some things concerning which I might have confusion in the morning. Happy Saturday my friend. And happy Sunday as well.
Slaap goed.
SH72
Dankie en jy ook.

“Uroplatus Phantasticus”

Since: Feb 08

Durban, South Africa

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#14
Dec 5, 2009
 
geko wrote:
<quoted text>
Twas night and now is morning....... and cannot figure out if you're behind me or I'm behind you. hehe
Timewise that is!!! hehehe

“Uroplatus Phantasticus”

Since: Feb 08

Durban, South Africa

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#15
Dec 5, 2009
 
shovelhead72 wrote:
<quoted text>So do I honey. Glad I didn't lose YOU. Have to go do home things now.
:-)
So I will look for you here after a while. Loved Hippie's response on the soldiers thread, and hope very much that Arise Chicago Poet sees the light. See you soon.
Shovel.
Interesting individual that RH.
I enjoy reading his posts.

“Uroplatus Phantasticus”

Since: Feb 08

Durban, South Africa

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#16
Dec 5, 2009
 
shovelhead72 wrote:
<quoted text>It shall be your privilege to choose which thigh.
:)
With a feather?

“Uroplatus Phantasticus”

Since: Feb 08

Durban, South Africa

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#17
Dec 5, 2009
 
shovelhead72 wrote:
G, I am very intoxicated at the moment. I best not post to you in this condition, as I may say some things concerning which I might have confusion in the morning. Happy Saturday my friend. And happy Sunday as well.
Slaap goed.
SH72
Not to worry Geko is always confused anyway and you have a good one as well.

“Uroplatus Phantasticus”

Since: Feb 08

Durban, South Africa

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#18
Dec 6, 2009
 

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The day could be described as gray. Too gray. Wintry days take hold of a blueness, as though the ocean, turned upside-down and its cold hue of late afternoon, had begun to drip down on the location - but just that, it couldn’t make it - today, tomorrow. It was winter blue if you had a secure house in the northern suburbs away from that wretched gray. In fact, gray was seldom seen there; the awarded privilege when the sun decided to show face or slowly slip down in a multicolored dusk. Even the sun had been told to stay away from the confines of the location, never to please, make the grass grow, or allow the flowers to blossom. A visit to the land of emptiness.

The location’s coldness wrapped you in, in a strangling vice-tight hold, but at the same time, tried to squeeze you out, not wanting you, warning you to move on. I hated the streets but I had to be there, to report on a nation’s uprising.

The streets are cruel here, just muddy foot-thick strips of slush in the rainy season and suffocating dust in the dry.

The pavements of cracking bricks, formed a wall continuing forever. They separate rows of prison-style houses that kept the residents of the location. There was no time here - I learned - unless someone died, when that house became different, an appealing gesture of difference, with the other houses of the accordion-shape formation squashing from both sides, inwards, towards the house that claimed death. It became a show of concern, to break the monotony.

Only then did time perhaps move on, in slow mourning, until death had become a forgotten drama, the accordion of houses slowly taking their previous pattern. Mass produced houses designed in minutes, thousands of on both sides of the strip, separated by another strip and another and another. In each hundreds of thousands of Blacks coming and going, entering and disappearing, in and out of stark white-washed housed of deceptive purity.

A young woman sits knitting. At her feet are bundles of wool, bright red with strands of blue. Her eyes gaze downwards to the silvery knitting needles speeding away unwandering in deep concentration. No one can disturb her hour. Her mind lost in fantasy perhaps, forgetting all, oblivious to the harsh surroundings in which she is confined.

On the same street a baby cries out, stops in a while as her mother leans forward, thrusting her nipple into his mouth. She smiles and begins a lullaby, beautiful but eerie, as though not fit for this place. A precious moment, a face of pride directed to her suckling baby, only. She has for this instant forgotten the future. It doesn’t exist, the hateful past, but only the the wonderful seconds of present time, time that is only temporary. The baby falls asleep, satisfied, the lullaby lingers on for a few minutes more, and then silence.

“Uroplatus Phantasticus”

Since: Feb 08

Durban, South Africa

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#19
Dec 6, 2009
 

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(continued from previous post)
She too fades into a sleep.
Further down another strip, I spot four men huddled together, trying hard to keep the cold air out, their mouths allowing for drifts of cold steam to wander while staring at the cards in their chapped shaky hands. As each speaks, a puff of cold misty hue clouds the air, as a steam locomotive would spit out in gaining power to produce movement. They, too are deeply engrossed in what they are doing. There is a quick chuckle from the winner, a choir of despondent cries of disbelief from the losers. The next hand is dealt quickly, taken with a swig of the bottle and the lighting of homemade cigarettes. Then all is quiet in deep concentration until the next victory. The stillness, this quietness seems so false, so reassuring that everything here is fine.
I keep moving.
At the junction of the strips, stand two youths, one dressed in jeans, faded and ripped, his T-shirt bearing the initials UDF; the other in garage light brown overalls. Each stands like a newly-elected politician after a successful election campaign But these teenagers are far from the avenues of a regular job, let alone important decision-making. Their existence in a racially classed country has reduced them to attacking the equally destitute who may have money in their purses at the end of the month. Someone who is too old to fight back, who will give in easily without defense. Blood will be drawn today, each day, the faces of those countless young, disappearing into rows of block houses, grinning with location achievement. They look at me with hateful eyes as I pass guardedly, knowing the passions of their minds.
I turn quickly into a new street. One with the attributes of a political catastrophe in the making, by a government ruthlessly bent on suppressing the black masses, shaping them according to its will.

“Uroplatus Phantasticus”

Since: Feb 08

Durban, South Africa

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#20
Dec 6, 2009
 

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(continued from previous post)
Soul-impassioned rhythmic beats of township jazz/gospel usually loud, blaring from decaying radios wrecked of age, has changed channel to sounds of trepidation. The number one song has been scored by many an oppressive government; deadly bullets slamming into human flesh with a thud of an old bass drum while others off their marks, zip into walls sculpturing violence. The added notes - cries of agony as whips come down, lifting sprays of blood into the air. The song is played over and over until its melody is memorized and sang out in nightmares.

The calmness on the other side of the strip seemed like an illusion, a front to turn back visitors seeking answers to questions. The vans spill out uniformed men in blue and brown, charging with ferocity, unleashing powerful terror on children, men and women who fight back the pain with cries of pain. They run with outstanding courage.

Others stand firm with dignity.

Many fall.

Houses are entered and the struggling dragged out, rammed forcefully into waiting vans - struggling men, women and children, the strong, the blind and the crippled dragged from their homes…struggling.

I am witnessing it, my eyes trapdoor shut, now only allowing for the sounds of repression to enter my mind. It is a reminder that I’m not supposed to see it; off limits to Whites. The truth is jailing me. I must hide.

The cops are closing in fast and when they see me, for seeing them, the knife will come down hard - slashing.

“Can you hide me?”

“Sorry, there’s no room, you see its a tiny place I have here.”

“But they will be here soon!”

“I know, they always come eventually.”

“What can I do?”

“There is nothing to do but wait.”

“Where can I hide this?”

“You see the room is empty.”

The room is foreboding, empty of happiness. Only a few wobbly stools, a table and in a corner, an ancient oven. A bright clean cross hangs on a wall. The oven. I can put my camera bag there.

“Where are they now Mrs. Batshala?”

“Soon they will be here. They are in my neighbor’s house.”

The wait was short-lived. Four blues crashed inside. Catching sight of me brings them to a sudden halt.

“What are you doing here?”

“Where’s your permit allowing you to be in a Black area?” Asked the other cop aggressively, leaving me no time to answer the first question.

“We want an answer now!’

“Please let me explain. My reason for being here is that I came to tell Mrs. Batshala here that her mother died of illness last night and that she must arrange the funeral. That is why I’m here.”

“Ja, nee man, that’s okay. We thought you were one of those journalists who writes lies about our country.”

“Me? Oh no Sir, I don’t even have a pen.”

The cops laugh and warn me to leave immediately. The calm resumes.

Nervously I turn to Mrs. Batshala.“That was close.”

“Yes it was.” Nods Mrs. Batshala.

“Mrs. Batshala, don’t worry, I’ll get the photos of the police murdering your daughter to the newspaper. Tomorrow the world will know.”

Outside life is slowly returning to normal as I make my way through the street. An old man with an evenly cut beard, a gnarled stick in one hand, his legs struggling forward, turns to stare at me. Children in a resumed game laugh loudly in pure delight. The stop, look at me and continue their laughter.

Nothing can stop them.

(A short South African story by an unknown author titled; "The other side")

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