MAKING MEMORIES: Madagascan Vanilla Afterglow
The Pussycat Dolls most renowned hit single has the memorable line
"Be careful what you wish for, cause you just might get it!"
It seems this year 2014 I would again tour another foreign country in November, as I did Paris in 2013. I returned from Down Under, almost on the day of the anniversary of Nelson Mandela's pronouncement of death. It seems I have started a new tradition of travel weeks before this memorial to the end of the beginning of the New South Africa.
Again I fell into a depression, consciously because the tour to Australia was again a triumph of my unrelenting courage and an outrageously spiritual calling to spread the word and sounds of Madiba's legacy, the secrets to the success of living in Mzantsi Africa.
I repeated the mourning of the adulation, respect and love for my life's work, my art, my talent by audiences and people living far from my existance. I lay in melancholy sleep for days and nights, laying to rest the struggle and strife of my life's journey.
Subconconsciously, I guess I was finding ways to reignite my love for my life, my work and my hope for the future. Only this time I consciously made an attempt to rise up. It worked briefly, but I knew I craved a new summer love, another inspiration in the guise of Johann only this year I wanted a lover as fearless lover and as ready to dive in completely as I.
Madiba's Funeral held on South Africa's Day of Reconciliation passed without and spark to ignite the embers of my evocative fires.
I rose from my hibernation on 22 December dreaming that I had succeeded to outplay my biggest nemesis of the year. I had dreamt for the umpteenth time that I had succeeded to show My deceptive and ingenius Management that my experience and infinite database of influential people and family, along with my exclusively unique position as a founding father of Mzantsi's Gay Africans living the New South African, I could not be defeated. I can only defeat myself. Lost and adrift for almost 14 days I remembered lessons learnt last year in my "Year of Sabbatical" I learnt to pray this simple prayer:
After finishing the duties of taking care of my home, my parents, my family and therefore my ancestors
I ventured to collect the Wafwako jacket I had left behind with The Crew
Once having reconnected with the Kaboute, I found my jacket sitting on the bar as I had left it last Wednesday.
Greeting new and old members of service and caretaking crew
I turned to literally bump into Rida Reda and Promised to sell the big prints of My Picture Cape Town Collection of 1996.
Heading up the road to commune in the House of Refuge
I instinctively knew that my protectors lay waiting to welcome me
Unsheathed of all my pretence, ego, and vanity
I walked right into the most beautiful man I'd ever laid eyes on
The meeting invoked the slow motion kinectic kemistry of De Bastille, same place, same room
The man possessed the silent intensity of the quiet before the storm
A signature tattoo on his side better than a Barcode, A map of his own creation intricately and faithfully recreated on his beautifully brown and soft body
His long hair and scruffy moustache and beard, now I see, allude to Dr Feelgood
But the Silent Storm he engulfed me in is unprecedented, calming
There is no rush of blood to the head and the heart or butterflies in the stomach
Every question I ask, every gesture of love and compassion is eloquently reciprocated
His honesty and genuine attraction to me unmasks all my mendacity
I am open vulnerable and empowered
In his words he quotes Stromae
"Formidable"
Indeed.
His kiss is so delicate, so sensual and sexy
I am breathless to have the sexuality I have been yearning for
His skin is soft like mine his touch possesses waves silky velveteen currents sending rhythmns down spine
Secreting serotonin into my core reviving my soul
This is what it feels like to be loved and wanted
To feel strong and grounded
I found my summer inspiration, my touchstone for evocative innovation
I rekindled my fire with the very essence of Madagascan Vanilla wrapped in Nuyorican Soul,
birthed by the proverbial fire & brimstone of Spanish Catholic Philipine Isles,
reborn by the Prophet whose sacred book
the template for the words that best describe the convergence of cultures in this modern day
Land of Milk & Honey
Mzantsi Afrika
"Making Love, Making Memories...Masihlanganeni"
"Be careful what you wish for, cause you just might get it!"
It seems this year 2014 I would again tour another foreign country in November, as I did Paris in 2013. I returned from Down Under, almost on the day of the anniversary of Nelson Mandela's pronouncement of death. It seems I have started a new tradition of travel weeks before this memorial to the end of the beginning of the New South Africa.
Again I fell into a depression, consciously because the tour to Australia was again a triumph of my unrelenting courage and an outrageously spiritual calling to spread the word and sounds of Madiba's legacy, the secrets to the success of living in Mzantsi Africa.
I repeated the mourning of the adulation, respect and love for my life's work, my art, my talent by audiences and people living far from my existance. I lay in melancholy sleep for days and nights, laying to rest the struggle and strife of my life's journey.
Subconconsciously, I guess I was finding ways to reignite my love for my life, my work and my hope for the future. Only this time I consciously made an attempt to rise up. It worked briefly, but I knew I craved a new summer love, another inspiration in the guise of Johann only this year I wanted a lover as fearless lover and as ready to dive in completely as I.
Madiba's Funeral held on South Africa's Day of Reconciliation passed without and spark to ignite the embers of my evocative fires.
I rose from my hibernation on 22 December dreaming that I had succeeded to outplay my biggest nemesis of the year. I had dreamt for the umpteenth time that I had succeeded to show My deceptive and ingenius Management that my experience and infinite database of influential people and family, along with my exclusively unique position as a founding father of Mzantsi's Gay Africans living the New South African, I could not be defeated. I can only defeat myself. Lost and adrift for almost 14 days I remembered lessons learnt last year in my "Year of Sabbatical" I learnt to pray this simple prayer:
God Grant Me The Serenity
To Accept The Things I Cannot Change
The Courage To Change The Things I can
And The Wisdom To Know The Difference
After finishing the duties of taking care of my home, my parents, my family and therefore my ancestors
I ventured to collect the Wafwako jacket I had left behind with The Crew
Once having reconnected with the Kaboute, I found my jacket sitting on the bar as I had left it last Wednesday.
Greeting new and old members of service and caretaking crew
I turned to literally bump into Rida Reda and Promised to sell the big prints of My Picture Cape Town Collection of 1996.
Heading up the road to commune in the House of Refuge
I instinctively knew that my protectors lay waiting to welcome me
Unsheathed of all my pretence, ego, and vanity
I walked right into the most beautiful man I'd ever laid eyes on
The meeting invoked the slow motion kinectic kemistry of De Bastille, same place, same room
The man possessed the silent intensity of the quiet before the storm
A signature tattoo on his side better than a Barcode, A map of his own creation intricately and faithfully recreated on his beautifully brown and soft body
His long hair and scruffy moustache and beard, now I see, allude to Dr Feelgood
But the Silent Storm he engulfed me in is unprecedented, calming
There is no rush of blood to the head and the heart or butterflies in the stomach
Every question I ask, every gesture of love and compassion is eloquently reciprocated
His honesty and genuine attraction to me unmasks all my mendacity
I am open vulnerable and empowered
In his words he quotes Stromae
"Formidable"
Indeed.
His kiss is so delicate, so sensual and sexy
I am breathless to have the sexuality I have been yearning for
His skin is soft like mine his touch possesses waves silky velveteen currents sending rhythmns down spine
Secreting serotonin into my core reviving my soul
This is what it feels like to be loved and wanted
To feel strong and grounded
I found my summer inspiration, my touchstone for evocative innovation
I rekindled my fire with the very essence of Madagascan Vanilla wrapped in Nuyorican Soul,
birthed by the proverbial fire & brimstone of Spanish Catholic Philipine Isles,
reborn by the Prophet whose sacred book
the template for the words that best describe the convergence of cultures in this modern day
Land of Milk & Honey
Mzantsi Afrika
"Making Love, Making Memories...Masihlanganeni"
Comments
Post a Comment