"Tears are very close to my eyes," says Bhonco, son of Ximiya. "Not for pain... no... I do not cry because of pain. I cry because of beautiful things."

And he cries often. Sometimes just a sniffle.Or a single tear down his cheek. As a result he carries a white handkerchief all the time, especially these days when peace has returned to the land and there is enough happiness to go around. It is shared like pinches of snuff. Rivers of salt. They furrow the aged face.

Zakes Mda, The Heart of Redness

Frida Kahlo to Marty McConnell

Leaving is not enough; you must
stay gone. train your heart
like a dog. change the locks
even on the house he’s never
visited. you lucky, lucky girl.
you have an apartment
just your size. a bathtub
full of tea. a heart the size
of Arizona, but not nearly
so arid. don’t wish away
your cracked past, your
crooked toes, your problems
are papier mache puppets
you made or bought because the vendor
at the market was so compelling you just
had to have them. you had to have him.
and you did. and now you pull down
the bridge between your houses,
you make him call before
he visits, you take a lover
for granted, you take
a lover who looks at you
like maybe you are magic. make
the first bottle you consume
in this place a relic. place it
on whatever altar you fashion
with a knife and five cranberries.
don’t lose too much weight.
stupid girls are always trying
to disappear as revenge. and you
are not stupid. you loved a man
with more hands than a parade
of beggars, and here you stand. heart
like a four-poster bed. heart like a canvas.
heart leaking something so strong
they can smell it in the street.
--Marty McConnel

e·phem·er·a

əˈfem(ə)rə
noun
things that exist or are used or enjoyed for only a short time.

Four foldable side tables that I put together to use as a desk
One wooden chair
One wooden coat rack
One box-spring and mattress
One inflatable mattress
One bookshelf
Six porcelain bowls
One pot
One frying pan
One kettle
Two wine glasses
Four glass jars
One wooden spoon
Four forks, four spoons, 4 teaspoons, 2 knives

I will be giving them away over the next two weeks. Let me know if you want to give them a new life in your home.

It gets better

Your time is coming
Arm yourself with love
Spend your kindness in the mirror
Read
Make your own family
Plan your escape
Dream
Leave an unkind friend
Spend tears wisely
Spill tears recklessly
Listen to the saddest song
Hope

Your time is coming
Struggle will make you beautiful
We are waiting for you

Beginnings and Endings

I love beginnings and endings. I am rushing towards one now, so I have come back to this place to share banal things with you, internet. I know you are almost at capacity , but just like the people who give you pictures and pictures of cats, I don't care. It's not about you.

I found this entry that I made on the first day I was in the United States of America. I was young, skinny, and full of hope. Now I am youngish, fatish and full of complaints about the world.

After about 30 hours of travelling I have arrived at our hotel. My first impression of Miami is that its like Durban except cars come at you from your blind spot (left-hand side) and they seem bigger than usual. There is a giant American flag flying at the top of a giant flagpole across the street from my window. 

I just had a bottomless soup and salad for $7 at a place called "Chilli's" in Bayside Market Place. The first helping could have fed a small family for 2 days. The fat could have fuelled a small car from Bloemfontein to Thaba Nchu.  

This morning when I ordered coffee from Starbucks (like in the movies), after asking for a small coffee, the lady behind the counter repeated my order to me as "tall coffee". "Excuse me ma'am," I excused myself (a little bleary from the long flight) "I ordered a small coffee". 

"Sir, our small is our tall" she shot back.

I'm supposed to share my hotel room with someone. I hope he is hot and gay, but either would be fine.

This has nothing to do with anything I wrote

Looking back at this moment, it is clear that this woman, having detected the sureness of a foreigner with a too-fast metabolism, tried to warn me about the fatsplosion that was to visit my then dainty hips. Alas, I did not hear her. There are also hints in here about the rest of my stay - giant American flags, hotties, gays, bottomless (or bottomful) things, etc. For later posts.

Aids Quilt

Today I saw a panel from the Aids Quilt. I have seen a few around the town - they are out for the first AIDS conference in the U.S. since 1987. Today I had an opportunity to really look at one. In the center, in bright block letters , "Papa". On one side 1952 - 1993. He would have been 3 years older than my mom.

I wondered about the love and the anguish in each stitch of that thing, and what it meant to today touch that thing woven from love, and woven from anguish. My mother keeps a set of about 6 ornamental teaspoons bound by 40-year-old masking tape. Her passed-on mother bound them, and she refuses to unbind them. Some of her mother's love, she says, is in that strange arrangement.

I wondered about the magic of things. Their power to transport us back to them, and to transport them forward to us.

I love
all
things,
not because they are
passionate
or sweet-smelling
but because,
I don't know,
because
this ocean is yours,
and mine;
these buttons
and wheels
and little
forgotten
treasures,
fans upon
whose feathers
love has scattered
its blossoms
glasses, knives and
scissors -
all bear
the trace
of someone's fingers
on their handle or surface,
the trace of a distant hand
lost
in the depths of forgetfulness.

--Neruda

Insomnia and stuff

Picture is from here

Its past midnight and I am devastatingly awake. I had planned to be good today; to go to bed at 10 (which became 11ish after facebook) and get up at 6 and write. I have a strange phantom burning smell going on. I hope its not a real burning smell. I don't think it is, it started over the Pride Weekend when, instead of making gay memories at one of the biggest Pride festivals I might ever experience, I was in bed self-medicating and making sure to cover all surfaces with a thin layer of aerosol-snot.  I also remember the phantom burning yesterday in the movie theatre. I have only just decided that the smell is burning (and not B.O., for instance) because I showered fairly recently and googled "phantom burning smell". It is a real thing. The internet says I should go and see a doctor, "preferably a neurologist" about it. I decided to stop asking the internet and to just go to bed and think about it tomorrow (after writing what I have to write).


This blog began as a travel journal-like thing. I came to the 'Murrica and felt compelled to share my experiences, etc. Then it occurred to me that a) probably few people care and b) writing about my time here in travelogue form might force me to be in tourist mode and not living-here-for-two-years-and-having-arguments-with-the-laundromat-guy-because-he-lost-my-bag-and-wouldn't-compensate-me-so-I-made-a-scene-and-stormed-the-fuck-out mode; you know, every day life mode. Anyways, I have experienced major changes recently and so I return to travel journal-like writing, at least for this post.


I just started a new job in Oakland, California. It is in the Bay Area, and it's close to its more famous cousin, San Francisco.  They say (or maybe I say) New York is to San Fran as Jo'burg is to Cape Town. One is a bit faster, one is a bit more beautiful. One is less frenetic, and one is less drug-induced. My job is to do research on gay men (and other "men who have sex with men") and HIV, and also to help improve access to services to gay men (and other "MSM") to health services amongst other things. A lot of my work will be focused on a few African countries, and it will pay attention to how human rights environments shape people's risk. It's all the stuff that I think about and blab about in my spare time, except now someone is paying me to do them, and I am in an organization of people who have amazing track-records at this kind of work. It's all very exciting. I am a fully-fledged professional gay now. I am gay all day.


 I have been working from New York until now. I am going to continue until the International Aids Conference in Washington DC (finally possible because travel-bans on HIV positive people have been lifted, but not travel bans on sex workers unfortunately) where I will learn a lot of stuff and meet a lot of people who do amazing things.


I think I have bored myself to sleep with all this writing by now (I hope it can be similarly useful to you). John, if you are reading this, sorry for being late, I am suffering extreme writers block for the things that matter, but not for the things that don't. I am waking up early to do that other thing. I cant even apostrophize.


Guys, it can get hot in New York. I even saw grown men wearing a nat waslap on their heads the other day. True story.


K




Oh, I graduated (yay!) so now I am an adult. And I don't know why I thought this post would be in travelogue form, or even what that means really. Such is life, etc.