The Free State, SA’s very own silicone valley, has just held a re-election and it might come as surprise that the same five darlings who were elected when the conference was dissolved, by the initiative of local ANC members, have been re-elected, unopposed. That’s right, they’ve changed their minds, these local members have either been employed or given a free blog or whatever it is Ace Magashule hands out to shut people up. The top 5 positions, all going to the same top cronies, sies.
Jack Selebi is gunning for that ever popular medical parole. I guess criminals are just sick, we shouldn’t hold it against them. I wonder if sick notes worked as well during the formative years of the Democratic Revolution or if this is a new trend. “Comrad Selebi couldn’t make it to the protest as he has a sore throat”.
Very soon Pollsmoor will have an entire wing dedicated to these sickly gravy fed gimps ministering to their tender medical complications.
So I’ve been thinking about the Dalai Lama, not all the time and not in any specific way, in case you were wondering if that was my thing. I decided I needed to meditate on the situation, it seems like the correct approach and the word meditate is a refreshing synonym for thinking. I’m all about refreshing synonyms and slightly curious about why our political elite aren’t supporting the repressed. It could just be a developmental tough love approach, probably not though.
Whenever something makes me really angry or sad I like to write a piece about it: a real-life adolescent screed full of sturm und drang and half-finished thoughts. Then I like to put it away somewhere where I’m absolutely certain no one will ever read it. I’m publishing this on tiltrepublic.com in the same hope. If you choose to read further, let it be on your own head. Selah.
Much has been said and fretted about the Protection of Information Bill that passed a vote in Parliament on Tuesday, but what really works me up into a quivvering frenzy of impotent rage is the abuse of the word. When you take a look at the diction of the ANC throughout the entire process, I see a tendency towards ‘have our cake and eat it too’ newspeak and doubletalk that comes right out of the H.F. Verwoerd textbook. That scares me shitless.
Yes I know my enemies,
they’re the teachers who taught me to fight me
… compromise, conformity, assimilation,
submission, hypocrisy, brutality, the elite.
“Know your enemy” – Rage Against The Machine
I woke to the “gnaaa” “gnaaaa” “gnaaa” of my alarm piercing my head for the umpteenth time. The snooze button had been pressed once too many and at this rate, I was going to be late. In a vain attempt to reign in that metal beast, I threw on the pile of clothes lying on the floor beside my bed, showered the porcelain – I’d showered myself the night before – and “cirque du soleil”-ed my torso deftly into last night’s t-shirt.
Shoving the necessaries into my gym bag, face still wet, my mouth spouting minted morning-breath, I pulled my laptop bag over my shoulder and headed down the stairs.
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