A pain so deep I battle to write it November 4, 2009

In my search for love,

Which has included fumbling hands

And embarrassing exits,

I have also been searching far, far above the heads of my lovers.

There is a God I long to recover

But I fear he is a fictional character,

a Gatsby or a person in one of Regina Spektor’s songs,

Sounds so real but actually

The words, the scripted words,

of Holy Scripture made him up.

 

So I begin digging, digging down into my soul

Looking for something supernatural

Something that can’t be caused by biology, physiognomy, psychosomatic reactions…

But I can’t do it.

I’m no scientist and I’m no theologist.

I’m just a student with too little time to think about this

But I know I don’t believe what I once used to.

This is a long journey, and while I have made progress, I am nowhere near a conclusion.

I know it exists, something magnificent, God, Awesome…something.

 

But this progress , this journey, is such a difficult one to speak about

Which is why I speak of it to few friends

And it is the subject of few blog posts.

 

Today, in the library, on my way down the stairs,

About to look for a cosy spot in which to revel in the glories of Post-colonial theatre studies,

Which are all about reinterpretations, reforming of identities, and multifaceted answers,

I bump into an old church friend.

 

COMMUNAL SIGH.

 

I bump into them a lot – my church is quite big for this tiny town, and they are all very friendly people (you gotta be, to save them poor souls with, you know, piercings and things)

 

But most of them have the tact not to ask why I wasn’t with them on Sunday.

I’ve already told them all that I’m not coming anymore. But it seems some have more difficulty believing it than others.

 

In that staircase, with students rushing up and down, staring at us and widening their eyes when they hear the taboo word JJJJESUS, which seems to take longer to say than hypoglicemicisation….

I get a good ole preach

From my dear friend

Who does care about me, believe me, I believe it.

She’s scared, I see it in her eyes, she fears I’m going to hell, I’m going to join up with Satan.

 

I’m frankly shitting myself, cos it’s not a thought I like to have.

Even if I doubt the very existence of any afterlife hell.

It makes me a little queasy.

All I wanted to do was say hi, do that friendly hug thing, and get back to William Kentridge and theatre puppets. But no.

 

I somehow rope myself into a preach/debate that carries on for half an hour or so, so intense I don’t even have time to check my watch. And as abruptly as it starts, it ends. She decides to leave me in the hands of God, clearly, because before I can blink she’s climbed the flight of stairs and is looking down saying goodbye and goodluck for exams. And I’m left calling out after her:

I hope you don’t think I’m falling off the tracks, because I’m fine, I’m changing, but don’t worry about me. And she can’t even form a sentence, she just sort of shrugs and says goodbye again.

 

In the library’s bathroom I look at my pale face and think of Faust, who sold his soul to the Devil. William Kentridge used Goethe’s text on Faust as a source for his own production, Faustus In Africa. I am not Faust. I am not who I was last year.

I don’t know where I’m going, but I’ve got to keep going.

Your prayers are welcome, but your prejudice is not.

 

I’m glad my friend ASKED me. I’m glad she didn’t carry on formulating her own opinions. I’m satisfied with our argument, in which we came to no conclusion, in which I wasn’t convinced, and neither was she, and which started with her telling me I was breaking her heart, and ended with me walking off feeling my own heart break.

 

 

 

This has no end. This has no answer.

 

 

 

 

 

Storms & philosophical parallels (Oh God…) October 27, 2009

It’s all about whether the lightning bolt is a sign of life, or death.

It’s all about whether you care that anybody’s listening, or watching, or reading.

 

It’s all about your attitude to a storm.

Incapable of withstanding the pressure of my own thoughts, I thud them out with music, but no beat is comfortable. Fall Out Boy too smart, Coldplay too at ease. In the distance I hear crickets calling out to each other, and I decide to listen to the outside world.

 

I jump as the world turns white for a second and then the thunder rolls. My roof echoes the rain, it sounds like my head is about to be drenched. The gutters overflow. The drain gurgles; the toilet inside grumbles. God, please let this house stand. Flashes, flashes in the windows, reflected on the pools of water on the street, the storm is gaining force, then appeasing itself, then surling upwards, richocheting hail against our windows, I close my eyes.

 

I open them, and the rain has subsided. I stare out, unconvinced my house will not flood. But. I know this town. This is going to end. I may have a date with a plumber tomorrow to fix the damage, but the rain will end.

It’s all about your attitude.

 

God, please let these emo posts end.

 

 

 

Breaking News!! October 26, 2009

Grahamstown, 26 October 2009 –

Bar of chocolate with whole hazelnuts may contain traces of nuts.

Marty’s irresponsible way of life may end up twisting her heart irrevocably.

And now for the weather:

The Grahamstown sky is spewing out water and wind all day long, with last night’s temperature dropping to 13 degrees Celsius.

As the mist descends from the heavens above, we are starting to think we have angered the gods and they are helplessly weeping over us.

The Universe laughs at the idiot when October 25, 2009

…the idiot, who now considers herself little better than a whore, spends most of the weekend with a boy she barely knows, has a most delightful Sunday evening with him, and they discuss their relationship status.

Things seem clearer, despite the instability and risk factor, but overall very happy.

And two hours after she goes home, he gets a phone call which (almost but not totally) confirms his emigration to England next year. And then he also decides he is not quite (almost but not totally) ready for another relationship.

And she very nearly went home wearing his jacket. A last leap of the flame of sense before it goes out. Who I was is gone.

These literary quotes can only carry me so far, before I come to a place of silence, where I have no more words. Where I, and my stupid body, stand stupid and vulnerable, waiting for the first bus back into town. I’ve stopped asking for safe trips. I don’t bother with seatbelts. This bus will crash and I will roll out semi-conscious, wounded but nowhere near dead, in fact just strong enough to pull myself to the next bus stop.

Just when you thought I was calming down… October 24, 2009

I decided I wasn’t making any peace whatsoever with my singledomness at all, in any way or form for any length of time.

Mmmarty has a new secret LOVAH. Who…

WAIT FOR IT!

barely knows her

is recovering from a heartwrenching break up

is possibly leaving the country at end of year!

No, dear blog reader, you are not reading my Archives. This is a brand NEW post with the same old madness of September, August, July…

What can I say? I need rehab.

Ain’t nothin like a good existential crisis… October 19, 2009

…To get you jumpin’ from one boy to the next like a grasshopper on fire.

Do I have the balls to go on a man-fast?
But just when I think I’ve had my fill and need a breather, I want to start all over again.
Insatiability is the killer!!

Sigh.
Lol out loud.

I killed my printer :( October 15, 2009

This evening, at approx. 5.15pm, I fed my printer a piece of notebook paper…instead of the regulation printing paper. I disappeared into the kitchen, and when I came back, Pookie was completely unresponsive, with a mangled piece of paper in its tummy. Cartridge stuck in the middle, buttons completely ignoring me. Computer refuses to acknowledge its existence. USB port being a heinous bitch. On top of this my wireless network is having baaaaad mood swings, the cow.

I want a typewriter

Drama takes over October 13, 2009

This week is just crazy
YOH!!! YOH YOH!!!!
I have no time. In the dept rehearsing for 5 hours on average per day. Tomorrow eve is the phys theatre exam! SO excited.
Thurs morning we have Applied Theatre exam, and Friday afternoon is the dreaded Voice performance in the cemetery. It has been raining like shit here. Then suddenly 40 degrees, then pouring again.

I GOT FLU.
Im now on antibiotics for the first time in ten years!! HAve had like 3 cups of tea, surrounded by snotty tissues and french work.
I hate the french dept. I am, shall we say, a little tired of the drama dept.

As for the heart dept, it should just be set on fire already, please, ngoba uyazi nje I am so tired of carrying it around bleeding its shit everywhere.

Rant over. Tea sipping time.