I recently went to a dinner with mates, you know one of those nights where half of the table you know, the other half you don’t. Nights like this fill me with fear, what if they’re cocks, what if they’re not cool people, what if they’re boring?
I got the worst of all … what if they uber liberal white kids who don’t realise they’re racist?
There was some random in the corner who’d spent the entire night chatting about Syria, Turkey (add other troubled country here) He had all the answers. Proudly chatted about how we need to do more to make change. How men need to be men again, and stop other men thinking women are pieces of meat.
Ok so far you’re wanky, but I agree with most of what you’ve said, maybe it’s the wine making you sound like a dick.
Until … The Waitress (who is black) walked back to the table. She was wearing a “Stop Racism” T-shirt. This is when the real side of liberal trust fund kids came out.
“Hey sweetie (not so open to women’s right’s suddenly)”
“You know what would make that shirt better?”
My racist Spidey sense started tingling
“If it said “you k@f*er” underneath”
And my head exploded.
Hey (name redacted) um, what the fuck did you just say?”
His response? “Oh calm down, it’s time we reclaimed that word, like they did in the States”
Firstly, it’s been over 150 years of time and healing in the States, and it’s still not cool, it took a very long time for black people in the states to reclaim that word. We’ve barely had 15 years.
Secondly, you white bread, suburban 25 year old, you’ve never experienced that hate, that racism, you grew up in the burbs and got an advertising diploma cause your folks had the cash to let you “find yourself” so you have no right to be the person who decides when that word is ready to be reclaimed.
And lastly, you’re WHITE, you dumb fuck, it’s not your word to reclaim, even if you do listen to NWA.
Now do us all a favour and go test your theory at Mzolis
Julius Malema has accused Jacob Zuma of conspiring against him. I don’t think it’s called a conspiracy when there’s a press conference involved. Conspirators aren’t in the habit of informing reporters directly.
Sure it’s a little off centre that the Zumastration’s fiscal bit is directly pointed at Juju, but these things happen, or happen enough to make a coincidence plausible. I don’t think it is a coincidence, that ‘let’s bury the bastard’ conversation definitely happened, but as far as those tedious little nuggets called facts go this is where we’re at. A man coincidentally audited whilst being ousted.
Yes it’s meant to be autonomous administratively, but not weaponizing something as ferocious as SARS would be stupid. For now I’m content with saying the enemy of my enemy is SARS.
I remember when Mr Malema used to be the party’s pitbull, always in threat of being let off his leash. Then they did exactly that, but luckily for freedom they also stopped feeding him. Democracy 1- potential fascist cadenza- 0. So what of the hungry pitbull? What can we expect? A desperate soap boxery blendid with many open letters and accusations and further banning, perhaps. Maybe jail time.
People say this is exactly how Zuma started, a heavy sentence over his head for fraud, but there’s a difference in this case. Juju doesn’t have the tripartheid alliance backing him, he doesn’t have the boiler room of Luthuli house stoking his fire. To put it simply, he’s fucked.
This so called conspiracy suites me just fine, I say shut the fucker down. His money hungry, bling obsessed Range Rovering all over our headlines has left me disillusioned about the once mighty ANCYL. We need a better calibre of ideologue in that position. It’s not so much that he stole, but stole so badly that upsets me most. I want a leader unconcerned with materialism, that’s the first prize, but a close second is one able to disguise his true nature in style. Only A grade liars need apply. Mr Malema had his shot and he played a shoddy hand. He couldn’t have contradicted his socialist agenda more if had he lived in a 5 million Rand house and wore a quarter of a million rand watch.
Politics is a power game, public opinion and idealistic edge. That is it’s most effective currency. An angry man shouting about socialist ideals while living like an overfed gimp of the tender system simply doesn’t meet the grade. We need a young lion that gets off on higher pleasures. A short sighted pretend friend to political urgency in love with shiny things should have a conspiracy plotted against him. Finally, the Zuma administration is using it’s evil powers for good.
Had he lived more modestly, showed evidence of loving democratic socialist ideals like the founders, and perhaps, not been a massive all round poes things would have been different.
But they’re not different, they’re the way they are because he wouldn’t play the game and all that’s left is to follow through on this prick-a-cide.
It’s interesting how things have changed, drastically changed, like the difference between wearing and not wearing pants.
I keep realising I’ve fallen in love with ideas that were forged when reason wasn’t looking. Being right was difficult in the 60’s. Being cool cost things, serious things.
Now it’s slightly different, the art made then found its fame because of the innate bravery it took to antagonise the monsters. Now we don’t have so many monsters, it’s all in house and individual and subjective and safe.
This is a good thing, it makes authoritative nerves harder to find and comes standard with all sorts of heinous accusations of self. It also affords us the pleasure of constructing our enemies. We can piece them together, like that republican columnist who hates authority or that lefty in favour of abstinence and sobriety. Curated agitation.
An intricate web of understanding has made me realise, because of my own potential, that I am the world’s problem. I’m not saying I don’t have people to throw things at, but rather it’s because I don’t throw things that they’re there. Our agency, collective and sole, has most of the answers.
It’s here that I find myself; looking for a place to cast my vote, where to divert my funds and energy and interest. An age where clicks and digital signatures matter, supposedly. Yet there’s something wrong, shit’s still all broken. Unimpressive people steal our money, siff people murder us and there’s a whole span of one dimensional goons calling the shots in between. Using capital to pull strings, pulling strings to gain capital and all the while too few talk about art for its own sake.
Also there’s this prescribed pursuit of money that’s meant to be enjoyable.
I am tired.
But this feeling always goes away when I realise it’s just a feeling.
I bump into a fellow comic and he pulls me aside to an opened gag book. A joke about the ghost of Lady Di.
Irreverence for death, good.
Indifference to the sanctity of royals, wonderful.
I’m spoken to with all the interest in the world by an art shop assistant, paint on her hands and eyes seeped in chaos. She transposes knowledge as fast as she gains it.
I like that.
Despite needed ideological clarity and sifting through the mess of the mean spirited bullies that stain our planet, there are still groovy people who’ve said fuck it to all the noise and have opted for charm and thought. These people are important, I carry a notebook around and record not just their faces, but their ideas and style. A real time biography of the Zeitgeist’s better half. The tastier select. The remnant. These gatekeepers of hope. They’re fucking everywhere, and everyone.
That’s why, when weighed, nostalgia for the counter culture’s hey day is irrelevant, we’ve evolved, that menacing beauty has infiltrated all walks and spheres and schools. Bohemian capitalists, leaders with anarcho ideals and individualist adherents to the prescribed ratty race all lie in wait, biding their time, waiting to strike tactically.
A sophisticated rebellion has formed. A substantial thing.
Though we needed a time when the likes of Hicks and Carlin soap boxed their anger, it isn’t that time any more. A new lefty front has formed, an informal one, sleepers everywhere.
I think of Gates pledging his fortune to charity when he expires and Branson starting an entire international communications network so he could make a point about profit margins, and everything seems OK. I know it’s just a feeling, but it’s a good feeling.
My newspaper tells me the ANC has accused the DA of not caring about the poor. Dragging the leader of the free world into the squabble. Heinous vibes.
I grew up in one of those retirement villages cleverly disguised as towns. Think death row with a nice view. It’s not fair that people raise children in such places, burgeoning life needs hope, something the aged have little use for. Another facet to coming of age as an extra in a zombie film is the absence of dire poverty. Street people simply can’t survive around old people. They’re exceptionally easy to rob, but don’t have anything, pushing daily quotas through the roof, and as we all know, the charm of petty crime is in the hours.
This impoverished street culture, one without poverty, impoverished me too. Cue an obvious lack of perspective. A cold cappuccino, though unforgivable, is relieved of it’s cutting implications when you watch a man eat out of a bin. Then there’s the clarity of purpose. Meta stuff, ‘what I’m here for’ sort of question. We’re a simple species, the basics aren’t complicated; food, warmth, love, etc.
After that we’re on our own sure, but that we live in a country so disorganised in its fight for true liberation, especially with the legacy of thought and action we have, is beyond madness. Half of us afflicted with weapons grade materialism, throwing hours into a meaningless prescribed pit and the other destitute to depressingly painful lows. Unacceptable, considering all the innate limitations already embedded in the human condition, to burden the situation with things so impervious to charm is nothing short of sadistic.
That’s where purpose comes in, liberation, freedom, first for myself and then my fellow homies. Poverty highlights this dire need, it’s a daily reminder that we’re not all groovy people, that we still have fascists and pigs and murderers. A confrontable affair, we can square off with the soulless generators of oppression, I’m learning it’s not impossible. A simple task now over takes me, to put an end to the influence of bastards. Again, first for myself and those around me.
This is why corruption needs to be squared off with, it needs to be mocked, satirised and made public. That’s why every selfish, piggish leader pissing our money away needs to hear from us. That money is meant for liberating the poor. The mocking of Nelson Mandela’s ideals will come to an end. The laundering and cronyism and theft will taste wall.
That’s why comedy is important, humour adds an incredible gift to any subject it busies itself with, it makes listening to it pleasurable.
Every word, every gag attempted, every time I swear at this monster, the knowledge that liberation’s agenda is as transposable as it needs to be refreshe me. A fluid agenda, a noble backbone, a substantial plaything.
I’ve decided that I’ll end this year with a crisper political ideology, I have a stuck together, quasi intellectual thing that trials behind me, it can sound impressive depending on the amount of cocaine I haven’t done, but it’s time to elaborate on these sentiments. Not liking bullies and thieves, though noble, isn’t enough. I prefer to wank on neo-liberals and muddy crony capitalists. The idea of course is to join our grand political debate that’s continually unfolding, I’ve never taken anything extremely seriously and shall try my utmost to keep my stellar track record going. Column spaces everywhere, not to mention our beloved blogosphere, overflows with the uncharming tone of people who take themselves too seriously. I don’t want to join them, I might, but I don’t want to.
See also dick jokes.
Applying my mind to political problems is relatively new to me, people complain of armchair politicos, I look up to them, it feels like Í’m drowning in mine and look forward to throwing down some commentary with the other folk. I’ll probably piss half of you off, get things wrong and get my arse kicked, but the reality of this sphere is that it’s ours. If political commentary can’t be a colloquial affair we should stop paying for it, also it’s an operation run by a severely uneducated, but not stupid, man. Something I have quite a bit of experience with.
There are these things that happen in popular commentary; either abject wordy convolution (something I’ll most definitely do), strong subjectivity (something I’m doing right now) and poorly researched intuitive fumbles (my crowning characteristic). It’s not that I’m lazy or indifferent, I’m too apathetic for such taxing habits, the one leaves you in constant fear of being found out and the former ruins your confidence. These obvious shortcomings are something I’m willing to write off as style. I don’t care if it isn’t.
See, there’s a part of me that needs to believe my own bullshit, my opinions have to side, even if they do so covertly, with THE SOLUTION. I wrote it in caps because that’s how death is identified in Discworldography and to highlight this tedious attitude that I see injected so often in opinion pieces. Not just liberals, any Joe who’s spent more than 15 minutes rummaging through any issue feels the mojo of cosmic arrogance take over. It’s our condition, it’s what happens to us. I apologise in advance.
Perhaps remnants from the 80’s & 90’s, when shoulder pads and can do Carnegie strategists allowed us to believe that confidence was all it took, disillusional parenting could get a high five round about now too. I don’t know for sure, but armchair stratagem stinks of it.
I’ll end with this, as a comic I have to keep an eye on the political sphere, it’s what we do and we’re afforded such wonderful (and possibly short lived) liberties under our constitution, to speak our minds and confront. Freedom of speech is our plaything, not to mention an awesome vehicle for some dick waving, not that I have a big one, but it has the hair of a big one, which I think should count for something.
There’s a line that Aaron Sorkin wrote, of Newsroom fame, I don’t want to go into all the contextualizing, you much watch the show, but the line is significant enough to stand on its own: “we’ll both never get a degree and we’re both idealistic about the internet.”
Now, this has become one of my favourite pieces of prose, a dense summation of our Zeitgeist’s intellectual landscape. Seldom a day goes by when I don’t encounter these indie intellects, a constantly refreshed state of theorizing, calls to action, expression and, my absolute favourite; art for its own sake.
Financial and social inadequacies are fast becoming mute reasons for intellectual growth. With just the smallest amount of effort we can now circumnavigate hurdles that left us screwed before.
Yes it’s true that online isolation has created an unmanageable anti-social throng of agoraphobic cowardice that sometimes smell like wee, but our death by drone age has room for such defects.
Seen through the right eyes this vague label of ‘the internet’ becomes something so much more. Feeds become a collective journal; tabling progression, pursuing insight and informing ruthlessly. A cross referenced wiki becomes a library, and you see my point, enough examples. We’re in information’s golden age, distribution and production have been streamlined, democratised and become more accessible that it has ever been. Right now, as I sit here, I can ask any question, solicit any information and from the most reputable of sources.
The collected works of Kurt Vonnegut, a few affordable clicks away.
A lecture series on socialism from Harvard, free.
In fact a shit ton of intellectualism from the apexial minds of our age; Oxford, Harvard, Yale, MIT and a hundred more institutions, think tanks, online magazines,individual blogs and every kind of hybrid collaboration, all sharing their information for little or no cost.
Everything every dead philosopher/psychologist/politico/economist/poet/artist has ever written, barring the it was printed more than 70 years ago, free, out of copyright, in the public domain.
The intellectual sketches of cartoonists on twitter, fiddling with ideological clarity and tailor made accusations.
Rant style filth mongering from the edge’s deepest enclaves.
A zillion well made short films, clips, sketches, interviews, conversations and illustrated footnotes.
I can keep going, but you get my point, never in the history of anything have we found ourselves in such a privileged state.
The old guard’s paradigm of what education should look like has changed, the age of the individual has dawned, all that is needed is a little idealism about the internet. Every day I connect with numerous individuals; skilled, switched on, insightful, informed and the one thing they have in common, they learn, they read, they make crucial connections with meaning, they know how to use the internet.
Rewind to 50 years ago.
What a drag it must have been.
Yet I sit in conversation after conversation, listening to elements of the boomer generation’s intellectual elite devalue my age’s most exciting progressions. A complete disregard for this “blogging culture, these vacuous minds”. The reality, the truth of the matter, they’re just scared and out of date and unable to keep up with contemporary idealism. This millennial platform; with its unregulated distribution, disregard for editorial hierarchy and unsentimentality isn’t going anywhere. The liberal lifestyle, fought for so aggressively in 60’s, has found its key manifestation and yes there are dangers, but mocking an online petition while waxing lyrical about that sit in you once attended in 70’s serves significance poorly.
We need to stay optimistic about our cultures strengths, there are too many grisly naysayers pissing on it.
The nature of intellectual and ideological progression has changed dramatically; we must be mindful of how the unevolved hide behind culture and nostalgia, we must cater for idealism about the internet and grasp this, our, medium without shame.
I’ve been thinking about writing a series for some time, linked thematically, something both interesting and entertaining. An illustrated history of something or other, perhaps a pop up book exploring ‘the medical implications of sodomy’ or ‘a rant comics guide to fuck you’,not sure, but I wanted something a little heady and applicable.
My life is a strange melange of creativity(attempted and significant), failure to grasp reality and too much coffee. Every now and then it’s important to document one’s process, even if it’s a downward spiral of self buggering and intellectual vandalism.
A few mornings back I found myself walking the KFC drive through that’s very near my studio. A strange thing to stand their idly between idling cars, 5am and sober, amidst a sea of drunk hunger.
Very often I get to make conversation with what has to be the dumbest remnant of unevolved alcoholism and general shit stains for human beings. Sometimes I get a good one, but often I’m left disappointed, standing their as some over liquored grey scale cock ring fucks the art of conversation into obscurity.
The problem with dealing with fucked people while sober is that everything is magnified, these slurring walking aversions to meaning are in fact far better versions of myself when I’m pissed, but that’s the joy of being a self righteous prick- you don’t bother much with comparisons.
It occurred to me, after a recent, particularly harrowing morning of tedious interplay, that we might have some of the most boring people that history has seen. I have no evidence to support this, but I did speak with a heinous hybrid devolved toxic excuse for a bipedal simian and realized, that over all, stupid might just be winning the war.
I started looking at myself critically, perhaps out of fear for resembling the bastard from the drive through queue, and felt immense irritation at how little I know about things. Normal, cool, every day things.
I think I’m in danger of becoming boring. This isn’t acceptable.
So I’m embarking on a journey of some or other kind. Finding out things, that’s the key, a little more systematically than I have been perhaps. Not too systematically of course, I’m not a fucking auditor, but kind of systematically. That’s where the need for a thematic trend comes in, I’ve decided that ideological clarity will be my first stab at a theme.
This will entail looking at the political spectrum, the left, right, liberal, conservative continuum, weighing the isms and wondering where I fit in.
I’m doing this because I don’t ever want to be ‘that guy’ and because of the innate value of learning and blah blah, but it’s mostly about my ego, showing off at diner parties and being smarter than that boring Neanderthal poes I got trapped into talking to.
Fuck he was stupid.
Not mentally challenged stupid.
A wilful kind of jock inspired Southern republican meets Ventersdorp badly raised uncle/cousin/brother left in the sun for too long as a kid stupid. A product of intentional intellectual neglect, protruding like a cyst from the underbelly of civilisation’s too late embrace of abortion and euthanasia.
I’m not angry, I’m worried.
Enjoy your fucking day.
Editors Note: The opinions of our writers are, exactly ours, we agree 100% with everything they have to say.
It’s rare that a first class media shit storm erupts properly, with the kind of flair and extravagance sought by the properly bored.
There’s one trying to erupt at the moment, but it’s sluggish and holey and already dead in the water. De Wet Potgieter (investigative reporter) wrote an expose on Farhad Dockrat’s (loaded Muslim dude) alleged connection with Al-Queda, it’s a beautifully written piece, quite exciting at times, but ultimately thin on evidence.
Farhad Dockrat’s response, I’ll skip a lame joke about his last name, was tremendous and definitive, ending with “Mr Dockrat does not want to engage in a tit for tat media war with Potgieter and so this will be his last words”. You know you’ve made a good argument when that’s your dismount. And damn, it was one stellar bitch slap of a counter.
Now I’m too far removed to make a calling on this, both sides of the argument had gusto and merit, though Dockrat definitely out trumped Potgieter on the facts department. Putting those pieces of work side by side, it reminded me of the Tyson-Louis fight in the late nineties, exciting but doomed from the start. One, a tired, rapey, brawler, the other a technical master in his prime. Both impressive, but the advantage obvious.
I think when it comes to issues like these we should remind ourselves of how truth operates, how we bestow this lofty adjective and the process we should undertake, especially when there’s so much at stake. See, though sensational and interesting, there’s too much at stake to just fling such accusations. Before anything is considered true we need to see the evidence, the process of inference and all the footnotes.
Empirical observation, trust in authority, logical thought and intuition are our only channels for discerning if a thing is true or not. Barring direct religious revelation and transcendental osmosis, but we shouldn’t be too keen on encouraging that kind of behaviour. Now these channels all operate differently, & under different circumstances some don’t at all, but when combined and properly organized we can easily determine something as true or not. This Potgieter didn’t do. Some have gone as far as to call him an instrument of post colonial prolongation, which sounds a little far fetched (and mildly arousing), but I don’t think that’s happening.
I fear my generation are indifferent to girding their minds concerning truth. I know I can be, at the end of the day a thing does not become less entertaining if it’s no longer true. Entertainment truly is everything. I form part of an insulated and privileged few who see world issues as amusing pastimes in competition with the last episode of Game of Thrones and Youtube fail clips. Perhaps that’s too much honesty, but did you see the one where the guy’s leg breaks while kickboxing, intense…
I do, however, care that Dockrat’s rights are being screwed with. Not just because I have deep admiration for his beard, or like that he wants to be left the fuck alone, something I too share with him, but because I think he’s being profiled. Just because he’s Muslim, wears camouflage, has a farm with an obstacle course and owns a fire arm doesn’t mean we get to call him a terrorist. Yes, these aren’t helpful habits in a country, and indeed age, as fucked as ours, but it’s still his right to do whatever, he reasonably, pleases. Even if it happens to be a PR nightmare.
He has been investigated, and there’s no amount of bullshit that can stick the claim that our government is pro- al-Qaeda, our political upper echelon spent years fighting murdering Calvinist militant nationalist racist pigs, why would they now support al-Qaeda? That would be ludicrous.
The important thing to remember is that no evidence supporting these allegations have been forwarded. There’s a mere aesthetic association going on, a theory I call people-who-don’t-look-like-the-people-who-don’t-like-people-who-don’t-look-like-them-ism. See, self explanatory really.
I’ve been thinking about the questions this issue has framed. The most interesting one has to do with solidarity, do we share collective criterion for concern in the West? Are the things that bother America truly bothering us? A country, that until not so long ago, had the father of our nation on a list of terrorists, well, these are things to discuss. If the roles were reversed would we be afforded the right to fuck with American citizens, the way they fuck with their own in the name of national security? Then again, look at how our politicians behave, money grubbing and liquid nepotism and complete disrespect for the citizenry. The Zuma administration hardly deserves the ‘right’ to international sway. We’re probably for sale on some black market somewhere.
For Sale, 50 million, mostly apathetic citizens. Prolapsed anus, (working condition, needs attention). Voetstoots.
It’s clear with all the corruption and lacklustre leadership that we’re a republic uncared for by our leaders. Our blue light brigade wouldn’t skip a meal to find our murderers. So could we consider this war on terrorism on empathetic grounds? What do you think? Interesting questions for a shady time.
Related Articles De Wet Potgier al-Queda Alive and Well in SA.
There are tired words out there, tired ideas, alternative has long lost its punch. It’s a tedious reminder that we’re sloppy ideologues and careless. Anarchy can have the same tinge to it, a predictable and sometimes uncomfortable feeling associates itself with it. If I consider how I think about the world, the rules of engagement that I employ as I read the articles and attend the talks and decipher the media, I realize it’s ever evolving. The innate growth spurt, is long, and the learning curve constant. Hitchens said it best when he said the search for ideological clarity was one of the most important quests of his thought life. Perhaps the Johhny Black had something to do with that, but I’m beginning to understand that quest. The ideological refining and not the whiskey drinking.
Realizing that idealogical clarity is difficult because it draws from and depends on ever moving facets. The more we understand about the world, the more change should occur. In a perfect world that’s what happens, that’s why organized religion is difficult to cope with. They’ve ring fenced their behaviour, solicited a cosmic fullstop after their understanding and caused all sorts of trouble. That’s why you’d see well meaning intelligent Christians running a muck trying to consolidate contemporary acquisitions in knowledge with dusty manuscripts written by sun stroked slaves. Forcing and editing their understanding of a once canonized, but now flimsy idea about the world because irrefutable proof has arrived. Progression in logic and scientific discovery and folk philosophy needs to lose it’s holy cows. Progression needs to be fundamentally unsentimental.
This is where Noam Chomksy breathes clarity, into that very cul-de-sac of neurosis and self consciousness. He cuts the fat and gets on with the important part of the equation. Even something as incredibly contentious as anarchy comes from his mouth, it comes out with perspective and clarity, and somewhat poetic. Humanising the perceived beast and seeing it for why it is important. The confrontation of dangerous authority. This has to be a cornerstone of righteousness. Where ever there are buggered situations, dick head authoritarians aren’t too far off.
I think the real shift that has happened is us, we’re fundamentally different to the beatnik voices that made the counter culture interesting. Our age is one of the individual, there’s no denying it. Classical liberalism and its exultation of the individual, we no longer forfeit our perceptions of self to the group, or a group. It’s the human conditions age of indie. Self publishing, distribution belongs to the people. We no longer have these ragged old power hungary top down bastards that we have to impress to share our ideas. We’re always a few clicks away from publishing our own opinions. Though there’s a lot to say about that, I’m going to leave it there and leave you with the masterful Chomsky.
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