This desert is our life.
From the dry earth we gather roots and melons.
Over the endless sands we hunt the gemsbok and the springbok.
  
Sometimes the ga roots are shriveled and bitter.
Sometimes men are sick with thirst and hunger.
  
When there is water we drink and sing and clap our hands.
When there is food we eat and dance and clap our hands.
  
The eland does not come to us and ask to be eaten --
one must know how to make the arrow and poison it
and where to look and how to hide and shoot. . . .
  
What man is so foolish as to expect more? To expect
the rain to be always falling, his eggs full of water and
his stomach full of meat?
  
You have strong animals to carry you.
You have much food and water.
Your digging sticks are hard and sharp.
Your shooting-sticks are like lightning.
  
You are a powerful man and a good man.
I can see that in your eyes.

But what you offer is a dream.
  
You can give us water and meat.
You can fill our hands with tobacco and perfect beads.

But you cannot give us happiness.

  
A man can only drink so much and then he is full.
If a man is always eating honey, he tires of it and becomes sick.
  
And even if all life were sweet --
what man is not food for lions and dogs?
A man who has tasted in his life no bitterness will find death very bitter.
  
My mouth longs for sweetness
but sweetness brings bitterness
and in the end they are one.
  
So I ask you:
Take your digging sticks and your shooting-sticks.
And do not leave them behind.
Go to the green lands you came from.
We shall walk in this desert as we always have.

Sitting in front of TV screens at 5 years old.

Watching them dance. Watching them sing. Watching them act.

I just want to be famous.



Extra days at the bar only 10 years old.

Turn faster.

Jump higher.

Split bigger.

I just want to be famous.

Dances. Birthdays. Family dinners.

I can't I have practice. I can't I have practice. I can't I have practice.

I just want to be famous.



All nighters in the studio 15 years old.

Write faster.

Sing higher.

Perform bigger.

I just want to be famous.

Parties, tests, sports.

I can't I have to rehearse. I can't I have to rehearse. I can't I have to rehearse.

I just want to be famous.



Spending hours staring at myself in the mirror 18 years old.

Lose weight faster.

Cheekbones higher.

**** bigger.

I just want to be famous.

Dates, interviews, entry exams.

I can't I have an audition, I can't I have an audition, I can't I have an audition.

I just want to be famous.



Spend my weekends at competitions

Dance.

Perform. Smile.

I just want to be famous.



Spend my nights doing shows.

Sing.

Perform. Smile.

I just want to be famous.



Spend my breaks filming.

Act.

Perform. Smile.

I just want to be famous.



Tours at 20

Travelling the world.



Fans at 20

Inspiring people who are just like I was



Money at 20

Being paid to do what I loved





Alone at 20

No dances, no parties, no dates



Bored at 20



No birthdays, no tests, no interviews.

Finished at 20

No family dinners, no sports, no entrance exams.



Famous at 20

I just want to be happy.

Famous last words,
there are plenty of them.
But the last words of a person we love
can mean more than any gem.
                    
                    Words that we remember,
words that we live by.
                     Words that we treasure,
words that don't lie.

Nothing lives forever,
everything must die.
But the last few words of a person's life
can make us feel more alive.

Whether it's your mother,
a piano teacher,
a friend,
a father,

last words can make a difference
and touch our hearts.

                               "Make me proud."

Those last words were said strong and loud
from the lips of a person I loved to pieces.

They may not be famous,
they may not be long.
But no last words
can ever be wrong.

I killed the famous
Gypsy woman
on the boogie street.
My darling
Everybody saw me,
dressed as a religious man.
Everybody knows
I work till nine.
But it was two in the morning
and I killed
the famous gypsy woman.
My darling
Look at me,
Look at me and tell me
Have I loved you enough? &
Have I made it real?
My darling
Everybody knows
you want it darker
&
Everybody saw,
I killed the famous
Gypsy woman
on the boogie street...



- Samar Charulingah Godfrey

She wanted to be famous now
Since she was very pretty
Her hair was long and curly
She was the best singer in the talent show
And she did her make up well
And made it straight through hell

But when she became well known
Hollywood's true colours were shown
And soon she became thinner
As she was seen as a sinner
Soon she found hanging from a bit of rope
And left on her bed was a note...

'Note to self.
1: don't be famous
2: you're ugly'