This I Knead

  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 ...

Dear Real World, I’m not talking to the ones who self-gratifyingly make statements like: “You look good… today.” I’m talking to the ones who think that simply because I look good every day I must have something I am trying to prove. I am complete, with myself – all by my-self. I am unique, but if you’d care to read you’ll see that you are too. I am outstanding, not only because I allow myself to be but also in the way that I speak my truth without devaluing yours. Your heritage and your standards you must always remember that they’re yours and not mine. I consider myself beautiful, but that’s because I know the work I put in. I consider myself complex, because I never know which dot I’ll connect next. I consider myself warrior of peace, because my speech initiates breaks from silence. I refuse, however, and please hear me clearly when I say this: I refuse to be normal. Naturally, I am not made to be a wallflower. Natura...

 I'm allergic to nuts. What does that have to do with the picture or the title, or even bread as a whole? I don't know; well, I didn't know when I chose to use that simple sentence to lead in to this blog post but I hope I'll make some sense very soon. It's been a ridiculous span of time since I posted anything, and that's not because I haven't been writing (on the contrary, I just finished producing a short play festival that I am really quite proud of.) I've been away because I lost focus of the reason I started this blog. I need this as a space to create and hash out literary conquests and dilemmas. My dilemma, that I am faced with now, is being a parcel. I'm allergic to nuts. Gone from being a cog in the machine a part, now I sit apart fallen like a nickel through an aperture  a cast iron grid a fake smile a passing hello.  Gone from being a cog in a machine operating in/outside of my own will feeling yet filling a space...

 I don't know about you but I sure do know about me;  I've caught a case of fearful hope. It's not like I'd planned it. It simply occurred to me -  that is to say, it came rather surprisingly. With tinges of colour. With flurries of shade. I'd caught a case of fearful hope. Yet, searching for salvation or attempting to run free did nothing but bring it all closer to me. I don't know about you but I know about me; I've caught a case of fearful hope. So, now that you know, now; now, I'd beg you to help, now;  save for deafening you as I frantically yelp! NOW! I've said it all don't think me a dope. I've caught a case of fearful hope. Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

17 September 2013 Dear Betsi, It has been a very long time since I wrote you, but time can’t erase the bond we have. I am doing very well. I just got back from a holiday in Cape Town, I wish you could have been there with me. It was an amazingly refreshing experience for me because it brought me closer to myself and realising what treasures I have in my life. The reason I am writing you this letter is not because we haven’t spoken in a while, but because I would like to let you know one thing; I love you. I guess you know that I love you but I feel you haven’t heard just how much I love you. Since the very first day I saw you I thought you were a spectacular human being. You are beautiful and you have a generous smile. After that day all I had to do was wait for fate to bring us together. You are an amazing friend and an inspiration to me. I have seen you grow through so many situations. I have seen you accomplish so many feats that I knew you were- and still are- c...

"I think of myself as something of a connoisseur of procrastination, creative and dogged in my approach to not getting things done."  - Susan Orlean Much like most people I know, I know this is about to cast a damning shadow on the company I keep, I have developed a wonderful knack for procrastination. I had to come down to the diagnosis that, however non-professionally backed it may be, I am daunted by my own genius.  As the Susan Orlean quote above so aptly puts it, I am a connoisseur. One with a refined taste for something. My something happens to be caused by my human condition. The fine placement of being a hippy at heart (#HAH - this will be a trend, I promise), an artist, having an overactive imagination and always setting tasks for myself to do albeit all at once; these are what have helped me refine my procrastination.  I am no stranger to grand tasks but as I found myself reading an entry on askmen.com titled   Top 10: Habits That Make...