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LM By Pontiac

October 1st, 2009 8 comments

lmPart of an idyllic childhood on the edge of the Valley of a thousand Hills was the oddly seedy genteel lifestyle Natal’s British expats – the types that pawned the family silver to send their kids to Michealhouse, Hilton, Thomas Moore and such havens of the G & T brigade. And true to form (of course), they had more than their fair share of eccentrics. Thank the Lord. And our neighbours took their eccentricity most seriously, pushing the envelope to the point of the bizarre.

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Share. Don’t Share.

September 4th, 2009 10 comments

Looking back at the absurdities of pre-1994 South Africa one can almost admire the amazing thoroughness of Apartheid social engineering. Virtually walled suburbs or towns… multiple entrances and exits to public places… even separate bridges!!! Not to mention the issue of alcohol! Never…. NEVER were white and other permutations to share a drink. What? And rot our pure culture by having black alcohol fumes mingled with white? Fuck me! And we were so thick, that the bulk of us couldn’t see the greater evil lurking behind the iJuba serving beerhall.

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Categories: Petty Apartheid Tags: , ,

My Children Don’t Sing My Culture Anymore

August 26th, 2009 8 comments

My culture was long strangled by it’s so-called advocates.

I was brought up semi-schizo, with my Afrikaans mother and very English dad and going to a super-conservative Afrikaans school while living in an English suburb. But that was nothing compared to what was going down a few years later, when the “struggle” really came to a head in urban environs. By that time I had gone forth and multiplied, had published verse in my beloved mother tongue, and considered myself one of the Afrikaans avant-garde (or avant-guano, as my friends and I preferred to call it, as most of our ideals had been shot to shit by the ardent right wing fools). And even then I saw the death-knell coming.

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Categories: Afrikaans Tags: , ,

Germinating As A Pacifist

August 1st, 2009 1 comment

I was never one of those physical boys. Sure, I went through stages of flexing my arms to make “muscles bulge, and stuff like that, but on the whole I avoided physical confrontations if possible (except in cases where some poor kid was being bullied, and so on). My little explosions in that context I would prefer to leave out of this equation. Maybe I was plain and simple a coward. But no, I don’t think that was it. After all, through my friendships with my Zulu peers I had made myself into a more than adequate stickfighter, was able to kill a running rabbit with a whirling thrown stick, and quite a few really macho things. I just preferred to avoid receiving or inflicting pain. But this was all very ad-hoc. I hadn’t formed any particular opinions on violence, militarism and things like that. Things before matric were just personal feelings.

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Categories: Realisation Tags:
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