I hate marijuana.
It is a class A drug for a reason.
It destroys your brain and brings anarchy to the world.

Me looks both ways to see if anyone around
ok mon, now dat da feds are gone, lets get ta business.
Me inhales me blessed ******

**** is cool. It's actually really nice.
If ya t'ink otherwise, den ya better t'ink twice.
Me gonna tell you, why Reggae is my life.
Me love Reggae so much me wish it was me wife.
Marijane is me love. Spliffs and Reefers too.
Kush makes me so hot you'd t'ink I had da flu.
Why should ya smoke herb? Me gonna tell you why.
When ya smoke heaven's grass ya feel like ya gonna fly.
Away from all ya problems. Towards a purposeful end.
Makes ya feel, so nice. ****, you will soon befriend.


Reefer
hErb
Green
Grass
Anus
­Everything Cook and Curry (Reggae term for "Everything is Fine")

*REGGAE

In my droom wereld...

Daar, in die verte, is n bed vir as ek moeg raak.
n Berg wat ek gebruik as n kuns muur.
En n oop veld vol rose.

Bo my, die blou lug met reen druppels wat val, maar wat nie nat maak nie.
My gedagtes wat rond sweef.
musiek wat gehoor word maar nie gesien word nie.
En dan, jy.

n Bed vir my en jou.
Jou naam op die berg met klippe, gevorm soos harte, gepak.
n Oop veld rose wat jou emosie kleur wys.

Reen druppels wat val, wys my jou trane.
My gedagtes wat vir jou wys *** spesiaal jy is vir my.
Musiek om als te laat kalmeer.
En jy, vir my om lief te he, sonder om te stres oor wat jy sal **** of se as jy weet jy is die een wat ek wil he.

100 jaar herrinering
100 mense ween
100 trane val daar
100 druppels reen
van die hemel heen

Dankie vir die reen o God
die plase was so droog
die kommer word nou weggespoel
uit talle boer se oog



oor droewe grond
wat kraak en bars
streel helend hand
loop water vars

oor die mielies, koring
en oor goue hawermout
dans in die wind die jongeling
en skyn opnuut wee goud

die Here het geantwoord
oor wenige gebed
bewys van vooraf weereens
al genade wat hy het

maar wolke breuk, strome spoel
die grond word weer genees
maar spokend, kaal en lenig
sal die kerk weer Sondag wees

onthou jy jou gelofte
my Afrikaner kind
wat nou soos na dood siektes
voor die oe ontbind

**** my woord op nuut
oor die heuwels sal dit reis
tot my volk gaan terugkeer
sal opbrengs , soos geloof,
deur droogtes vergreis

die wolke word swart
    en vol water
       tot hulle bars
            met donder en
                                      weerlig

ek staan in die reen
       van die storm
                papnat

                      ek lag
                      ek huil
                      ek dans

deur die storms
van die lewe

the clouds
        become black
             and full of water
                  they burst
                      with thunder and
                                                    lightning­

i stand in the
      rain of the storm
            soaking wet

                 i laugh
                 i cry
                 i dance

through the storms
of life

dit reen altyd iewers in kaapstad
en altyd iewers in my hart
branders golf diep binne my
nes jy is hulle altyd vry
jy weet ek haat jou nog partykeer
net so tussen die branders se golf en kom weer
hou my vas en ek sit waar ek sit en jy weet
van die dinge wat ek nie kan vergeet
so hier sit ek en sug
en onthou van die diep merk op my gewrig
en weet van die rede
hoekom ek hier sit en maak vrede
met myself en met jou
wat my nie meer vashou

So word ons wakker in ons tent en dit reen...aggenee!! Maar dis koel en ons voel gelukkig.
Ek is vuil, so amper dat ek wil huil, maar huil van lekker soos n krekker want dis vakansie tyd!!
My hare is so waar deur mekaar, maar wat maak dit saak want niks gaan my keer om vir n gogga te wys *** deur mekaar ek rerig kan weesie...
Tanne geborsel en room half gesmeer, laat die dag begin want dis ons en ons ford bakkie die keer...alweer...
Kies n rigting en so voeter ons daarin...
Saans kom ons by die kamp moeg geploeg die bosse in om nou rustig te raak met n koeldrank in ons hand.
Dan word n vuurtjie gemaak deur die braafste ou ini land om n vleisie te braai vir die fraaiste meisie, hand aan hand.
Mens voel gou dankbaar vir klein dingetjies soos n stort... n warme een, die oop velde of selfs die digte bosse, die veld blommetjies so geel of die gras so lank en groen, die voels so mooi volle kleurrig en die jakkals so skaam maar nuuskirig.
En wanneer dit donker word le daar baie voor soos die uile se geluide, die sonbesies wat hulle vlerkies saam klap of dalk n hihena wat na oorskied kom krap.
So geniet ons die bos vol avontuur gepos net vir ons en ons se dankie aan ons Skepper vir n skepping net vir ons. 2016/03/14

Somewhere in Cape town it always rains
And in some part of my heart the rain always stays
Waves crash deep within me
Like you,  they are always free
You know sometimes I still hate you
Just in between the waves build up and break through
Hold me tight and I sit where i Isit and you know
Of all the things I cannot let go
So here I sigh and sit
And remember the deep scars on my wrists
And we remember the reasons
Why I sit here quietly and let peace in
Peace for myself and I'm letting you be
You who no longer hold onto me



Ek en jy

dit reen altyd iewers in kaapstad
en altyd iewers in my hart
branders golf diep binne my
nes jy is hulle altyd vry
jy weet ek haat jou nog partykeer
net so tussen die branders se golf en kom weer
hou my vas en ek sit waar ek sit en jy weet
van die dinge wat ek nie kan vergeet
so hier sit ek en sug
en onthou van die diep merk op my gewrig
en weet van die rede
hoekom ek hier sit en maak vrede
met myself en met jou
wat my nie meer vashou

Die velde en berge le honderde myle ver, oop tot by die horison.
Al wat ek sien is gras, klippe en bome, en drome van n lewe so vry ver in die valley, groen van reen en geen besoedeling van die besige lewe so ewe of dit al is wat ons het…
Die vlaktes bring my gedagtes na n rustigheid.
Ek kan ver sien so asof ek my lewe kan sien, die rustigheid wat dit verdien.
Ek sien die klein dingetjies raak soos die veldblomme wat blom met n glimlag dag na dag, n lady bug op die tak, die springkaan op die blaar, die miere wat trots hulle kos by mekaar maak vir swaar dae.
Doudruppels vroeg oggend net so na die sonsopkoms…
Dan voel ek dankbaar, dankbaar vir n lewe wat gegee is sonder vrae
Danbaarheid vir n Skepper van mens en natuur. 2016/01/24

My liefste mens
My beminde
Jy.

Jy is n meesterstuk.
Jy is digkuns, jy is melodie
Jy is ink en papier en woorde
Jy is n kaleidoskoop in anatomie.

Jou mond is my kompas
As my kop verdwaal
Gerroes en deur die wind verweer
Kan jou sagte woorde my veilig laat huistoe terugkeer.
Jou hare, watervalle oor die skatkamers
Waar ek my geheime neerle
Van fluisters in die donker
Tot hardop liefde opse.

Dat ek myself aan jou mag gee
My swaar, my lig, my heimwee
My gister, my more, my vandag.
My geslote deure, my trane, my glimlag.

Jou hande is sleutels wat my kamers oopsluit
En oor my gly soos water oor rante
Om hoeke om draaie
My sirkels, my vierkante
My donker steugies en oop plaaspaaie.

Jou oe is die verlede, die toekoms en nou
En as jy lag sien ek padkaarte in hulle oopvou
Wat lei na orals en nerens
Na die sterre
En na onthou.

Jou bors is my vesting.
My kaggel, my lig, my beskerming
Waar ek veilig my hart kan hou
Om saam met jou dans
Op die ritme van vetrou.

My liefste mens, my beminde
Jy is sterre oe en oop-oog droom
Jou glimlag breek, vee weg en maak skoon.
Jy maak die storm in my rustig.
Jy is die vrede na die reen...
Jy is my virewig

raggy,
risten to rhis,
"rells rike reen spirit"
r-I ruv rirvana raggy
rotgun to his head
now Rurt's dead

N onsensical enigmas form a queue
O ntogenies where time is in reverse
T wo sides to everything but why so few?
H istoric catalogue of multiverse
I nfinity that's frozen on the spot
N o change of entropy if all were still
G reen engines which produce but don't get hot
P recise, deterministic style free-will
A spatially dimensionless time-zone
R eligions with the freedom to evolve
A lthough I have to own I have my own-
D ogmatic attitudes I'll not devolve
O ne hopes someday to hear someone propound
X marks the spot where everything is found.

in whatever guise,
a gensis of
said pointer,
or said pointer with
an impetus,

        h
        o
                     l          e,
   etymology...

              the word itself
conjures up more fascination
than the mundane

        big, bang...

          you're talking in
a vacuum "where"
no sound can be heard?!

        ****, that's strtetching it.
which implies: exaggeration,
which is, frankly,
far more entertaining
than utilising the poetic
technique of metaphor, mind you.

when spelling i like to
think of enclosures,
shapes, sizes,
                   measuring
                     confiscations,
rubric allowances...
             more zoology and
less...
            can i be honest with
you?
         do you know how relevant
darwin is, outside
        the english-speaking
world?

                 go to moldovia...
where the english speaking people
are sometimes referred to as:
                bellybutton people...

          cos 0 = kardashians...
       hello, sunshine...

     and came the ulçer and
the umbilical chord operatic...
   screaming *******,
couldn't shut up
     about the in-word
   that rhymed with guinea...

slang, slur, slang, slur,
   bummed the note in an orchestral
fiasco, being given authority
of a trombone...
           in-word...
          is that slang, shlang, or schlurrrrrrrr?
you tell me, i'm no
               -stein,
                           herr schtein!
sizzle when they shy-from-a-zig-zag?
say it,
   bet you 30 silver coins
it sounds funny.
slang, slur, slang, slur,
   grandma gave me a *******
and i, finally appreciated
    a dentist counting,
of what was actually missing,
i.e., teeth; or what plagued me in my
dreams... either nothing, or a dream
of teeth...
        unless you want to know
what the application of a
           general anaesthetic
                does to a child's psyche?
sometimes it's no longer
a case of pink floyd:
comfortably numb...
             mind the pain!
          mind the pain!
          
          or is that the part where hunger
is supposed to feel like
reverse cannibalism?

(the poetic revision
of the concept of a paragraph;
how to begin)
                    
  - i drink whiskey and don't
appreciate dousing myself in cologne...
shaving?
       once upon a fairy tale
could have 'elped...
                   now?
           frizzles...
                    curly *******
giants worth of a wheat field...
    gets you to turn
a nutcracker into a *******
                  trumpet,
while turning a shaft of grass
into a bazooka's worth
                  of flute with the whole:
whizzing past
           trying to maintain
a claustrophobic ****...
                  
   or spelling:
the "counter-intuitive"
                 form of counting...

hey hey!
-, a hyphen at the beginning...
**** me, another sputnik!
  gagareen!
     oi, gagareen!
    oh, wait... not funny...
     gágárīn...
            yo... yuri!
yuri!
             another one of those
baboon pirates...
            **** sapiens
has been looking
too long at "****" similis
       in the anglophone world...
    i go back to eastern europe,
read a book, relax...
     oh **** no, i'm coming
back to this gerbil case of
      fish (i.e. gills) and gibraltar;
****, you call her Jill these days?!
  Gib and R on an altar...
    because when it snows
      in Essex, England...
                               people go nuts!

******'s gonna boogie down...
TENSE!
        and whenever a drunk person
tells a "joke":
        you dance, "pretending"
not to laugh.

      all of this stems from my
envy of people, who can solve,
                             crossword puzzles.

no one ever said that
making everyone literate would
breed these technical "problems"...
   but on a technical note...
                they do exist,
i.e. on the missing diacritical mark
on the spelling
of yuri, i.e. gágarīn...
                lay-d, ga-ga...
         ga-ga-reen...
           even though that needs sharpening
of the e-o(h)-ta(h)...
                   otherwise known as ι...
byzantines, greeks, turks
                           & trojans alike!
hollow out the V in a U in a Y...
                                               gagaryn;
and now back into a *** note
                                       on a tuba;
because by now it's all mahler
        and condensing into an
approximation
                replica of rim,
                 based on the affix -ryn.