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Making up with mother nature

A week of chaos has come to a close. Three days of non stop festival hosting, preceded by a fifteen hour binge, sandwiched by a birthday roast, which involves the Cape Town comedy crew and punters alike to laugh at every flaw, a soul destroying bout of beauteous unrestrained lunacy. It’s a roller coaster of insane offence. Especially with a scowling witty opinionista like Martin Evans at the helm. Sporting a scorn fowler than Satan’s smegma, Martin Evans unleashed, is a magical masterclass of cynical excess.

I have always found myself somewhat at odds with what it means to be a real Cape Town local. The obsession with all things natural has normally left me at odds. I am burdened with a plethora of comrades obsessed with climbing, riding and running through, around and on things with too many leaves and legs. The static it creates between us has maimed many a potentially significant bit of interplay. I have worked long and hard to associate myself with progressive humanity and am not about to cash it in on behaving like a some under evolved simian. There simply isn’t anywhere comfortable to sit in a forest.

There is just so much to do that we don’t share with animals, yes walking in the great beyond of leafy goodness has its place but normally, only because you’re looking for a murder victim or need a place to wait while the hallucinogenic peak wears off. To just fuck off into Mother Nature’s bush for the sake of all things holistic has never really made any sense to me. Until yesterday that is.

Living in Obs, though an insane privilege, has finally caught up with me. Cabin fever struck early yesterday morning. My skin began to crawl, the noise, the concrete, the constant urban white noise left me aching in existential places. Enough was enough. I called off the rest of my meetings for the day, with the excuse that I was off to find a large piece of grass to fall asleep on. In hindsight, probably not the most assuring thing to say to people you work with but it simply had to be done. I was brimful of resentment for all things human and in dire need for something beauteous to let take its place. I was done with society.

I did something I used to do all the time, before I learned about this city boy cynical excess. I pulled my soul back from the rat race, found a quiet spot and just listened. Quietly lying next to what must be the most crime ridden natural phenomenon in the Western Cape, the Liesbeeck River, I found myself completely vulnerable and completely indifferent to the fact. I was resting.

Whilst prone a violinist phoned me, I told her my plight, my great exodus from all things smegmatic, the mortal danger I found my conquered soul in and she laughed at me. Fast forward a day later and I’m being led through the bottom end of Rhodes Memorial. A place I have often been to but never made a crucial connection with, I had never had such a thorough melt down to qualify a clawing at nature in search of meaning. Up until then it was a matter of evolutionary pride, a thing I’d scoff at lesser simians for doing.

But finally, after all my caustic cynicism about oxygen thieving tofunarian gia besotted tie-dyed recycled nutjobs, I succumbed, I folded. I went to the forest in search of some piece and fucking quiet. No concrete, no people, no cars, no beer, no trending baselines filling the air. Just some undemanding green shit unhurried and quite content to let me be.

I have converted, forgive me green stuff and rocks- all that bitching was misinformed, let’s make up.


  1. dammit, peace and quiet or piece of quiet would have been better

  2. talking to yourself there, bro? ;)

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December 14, 2011 Early Tilt