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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