This I Knead

Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

To hear is not to listen, but still, something must be expressed before it can be heard . We are all stories, some more kneaded than others and ready for the oven - but baking isn't where the story ends; it finds life in its sharing, its mixing with others for delicious recipes, its preservation for other times. Find a story and start its telling from within and give it life. Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

Being a writer is a confusing thing - more so because it's so intimate yet public. While it may be daunting to feel that you have the right words at the right time to write, books are collections of words strung together and change through the time of writing. Start to write and let editing happen later, but you must write it in order for it to become a book! Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

We keep seeing efforts to erase and delegitimise trans-diverse people, lives and bodies. We chose to love and to fight through love. We choose to shine rather than absorb hatred like some vortices with nothing better to do with our existence. We will not be erased. We will not disappear. We will not crumble. The book is available on Amazon and OkadaBooks . Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

Sometimes the thing you need comes knocking at the door in rhythms that your nightmares use and you walk  over, timorous, your doubt-locked knees heavy and creaking. You stand there listening knowing that staying safe is better than running into the darkness breathing in 'I told you so' and thinking you should have said 'Go to the window and knock again.' Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

Set her on fire and cast lots for how loud her  voice should ring. Set her on fire and ask the kink  in her hair why it holds on so tight. Set her on fire and compare the contempt  in her eyes with your shattering humour. Set her on fire and watch as her spit comes alight and her tongue fans the flames.  Set her on fire and hear her laugh harmonise with each flickering tail.  Set her on fire and don't expect  her to rise - she is  not a phoenix.  Set her on fire and watch her call  her children and grandchildren over to learn how to burn. Set her on fire and ask the fire  why it wraps... up her thighs and cups her breasts.  Set her on fire and keep showering her with your words and  battering her with your fists.  Set her on fire! Set her on fire! Set her on fire! Set her on fire! Remember to never look away, or you'...

Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

Image Credit: kelseytaylor210.wordpress.com Should your freedom depend on diminishing someone else's dignity you are no better off than those who oppress you. Your words come harmless wielding flags and slogans but your bullet cap teeth crunch and hurtle pain and you close your eyes to pray. Your truth has been compromised by your hunger yet compassion peels your eyes open and you turn from ' God ' towards Love. Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

I confronted my fears and became the serpent you said you knew me to be. I dislocated my mouth to hold your words, and still they wouldn't call it home. My mother's tongue is foreign - now. My father's brow is lighter - now. My bedtime song is more sombre - now. Your eyes, I guess, are less distracted - now. What I wouldn't have done for myself I did for you. What I wouldn't have given for love I gave for you. What I would have had for life I surrendered to you. What I would have been, Where I could have been, How I could have been, Still leaves no blame with you - no fault - even now. I have no words for I have no face for I have no voice for I gave it all to you.  Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

I find myself sitting in a café on Durban Road in Cape Town and wondering whether or not I am in the same country as the terrible xenophobic attacks. Coldplay’s “Yellow” is playing in the background, the “Food Network” is playing on the muted televisions, and everyone is absorbed in their own conversation with the occasional eyeing of what is happening on the street or in the café. I have always wondered if money can buy you happiness, and thought that the principle was too black or white. What I have come to realise by being in this café and watching couples walk in for their lunchtime date, or friends walk in laughing at raised volumes, or watching the homeless person on the road battling the cruel cape winds, is that money can buy you blindness. I am flicking down my Facebook news feed and almost breaking out into tears in public (something I never do) because of the images some of my friends are posting about the attacks in Kwa Zulu Natal, and I am surprised by the nu...

(Written and Recited by Katlego K Kol-Kes) I was younger last night and I dreamed of candy Before I knew that sweet things Are often better left untouched. I was younger last night and I dreamed of forever Before I knew that eternity Is worse lived than the fairytales teach. I was younger last night and I dreamed of “I’m sorry” Before I knew that words can’t heal A broken smile or a shattered heart once surrendered. I was younger last night and I dreamed of holding hands  Before I knew that being too close for comfort Sometimes leads to burning tyre necklaces and forced intercourse. I was younger last night and I dreamed of home Before I knew that brick walls Are no safer than battle fields. I was younger last night and I dreamed of memories Before I knew that forgetting Would be the antidote to keeping my loved ones so. I was younger last night and I dreamed of death Before I knew that even an unwelcome acqua...

  Sapiosexuals are a fairly new phenomenon, but this label’s gaining popularity fast enough to be featured as an option on OkCupid . Where most of us want a partner ‘who listens’, very few us have what it takes to nab a partner whose interest is piqued by our speech. What’s an easy way to spot a sapiosexual? They’re aloof, quirky, sarcastic, and untouchably sexy and they’ll most probably (still) be single this Valentine's Day . This isn’t to say that the average sapiosexual won’t be titillating someone else’s cerebellum over an seasoned bottle of wine this Valentine’s Day, but in the event of knowing, or finding, a single one, a few pointers can’t hurt. First of all, sapiosexuals find intellect more attractive than physical features but they’re not asexual. They do want to rumble in the jungle, it’s just that you may need to provide some topical distinctions between a rain forest, the busheveld and a jungle before you get into things. In this day and age where w...

There’s a Lesbian at my table. She sits adjacent to me and eats the food I make. She chews well enough –   with her mouth closed. She doesn’t swallow too loudly, Or slurp her drink. This Lesbian at my table bides her time by calling me “Mme” , and seduces me with offerings: “ Nka lo siela tee?” and “Ke tswa go reka kuku e e sukitshana.” I suppose she has learned well – she can slip herself past thirsty eyes and unchaste ears. I found the Lesbian at my table where I had left my beloved child. She seems to have consumed her like a hungered bird – waited too long through a rainy night and awakened to find no morsels creeping along the moistened earth. When I sat down for our evening meal I thought I saw the tassels of booties I had knitted while swollen like a mango at summer’s end. They were yellow like the sun whose over affectionate kisses had me too ripe to touch and unforgivingly tender.  They slid between h...

I read this article and thought: This is exactly why I continue to do the work I do. I would love to get to the point where I read articles like this written by Batswana in Setswana. I thought I'd share the tail end of the ARTICLE here:   • Sex is not the same as gender: Sex refers to biology and anatomy, while gender is both a psychological sense of self, and a set of cultural defined norms that are expected to be adhered to. • Being transgender is not a choice: We are just beginning to understand that, like sexual orientation, our gender identity is pre-wired in our brains. • Transgender people have appeared in all cultures throughout our history, with some cultures accepting and honoring them and others rejecting them. In our culture, the typical norm is: sex = gender = sexual orientation. When one is young and realizes their sense of self does not fit the norm, they often go in to hiding, and they find ways to overcompensate to keep their "secret." The fear ...