Between the dust and glitter aloft and unsettled, I have seen and will live from a menu of stories.

You asked about the plot I am page-turning now

so I told you of the forest I’m in, dark with no skylight.

That and its ground uneven make mates with my mistakes.

Because I fell


for an idea that is nonsensical at best, but still one I have to see everyday.

Sounds simply-solved.

It’s not.

You’ve lived your own can’t-haves and could-nots – the very reason I’d hoped for receptive recognition from the heart inside of you.

And yet…

…all you had in response was to ask why I sleep in swings out of synchronicity with yours.

Yesterday is done.

Normal is gone.

The only foregone

is that your easy conn

adds no value to this taxon.

I fell


for a nonsensical idea at best, but one I have to catch-breath for almost every single day.

This is the forest I’m in

dark with no skylight.

But because I fell.


I will make mates with my mistakes

and that might involve sleeping in a swings out of synchronicity with yours.


© Dylan Balkind

hΞaven \ hΞll

Found in the plethora of my documents hidden from a long time ago,
perspective is a paragon of expensive wonder.  

One camera’s confessions take me back to what feels like war-torn streets in nowhereville. All performers have exited that stage though tears still land in the empty. It’s only some dumb idiot that would let you go… But I came back to look back. The photos of him with his black sheep hair and hazel eyes still mar. The pang smarts the now – forever unbeknown to that quirk in those glossed reflections.

Then flux goads and my lens lets us in to happier times and sounds. They’re luminous with lights that pulse to the thump of the beat as fun-love dances duets along the air. The delight of being a ‘together’ is palpable from both boys. You sheltered me from harm… Clasped-hands bind their navigating a labyrinth of floors, corridors, people and bars, and their Light is chiaroscuro against the backdrop of the night – both inside and outside the walls of wingding. The finest years I ever knew… for all the years I had with you… 

Happy is a frame of mind and we framed it … but it didn’t end with an ending we’d want to watch. Your heart is not open, so I must go… Its sharp was sudden and felt like your solar plexus does when you slip on a wet floor. What followed is what always follows: hurt trumps the pointless pride that balloons in the empty.

The stars held their breath as the Universe hoped for different, but faith just hung her head to one side.

The footsteps away were heavy.

Oh I wonder, when it did it all stop making sense?

Love has the power to spin cameras around and turn worlds upside down… 

…but ours didn’t make it.

We broke it.

It became dust before particles and water before steam…

Before nothing.

Nothing but how I’ll remember you when I do.

There’s no greater power, than the power of goodbye.

© Dylan Balkind

Open letter season: Here’s mine to Jani Allan

Jani Allan. Until last week, few people my age (and around) knew who she was. My parents recognised her name. They’re in their mid sixties. Allan is 62 so the shoe fits. On the 14th April, 2014 however, Allan entered the Oscar Pistorius fray with an open letter on her blog.

It’s hot topic – Oscar and the trial he’s on for the murder of Reeva Steenkamp, so it didn’t take long for what she recorded there to go viral. It was what any blog (including this one) presents: opinion. Hers however leveraged its newsorthiness with the juggernaut allegation that Pistorius has been taking acting lessons for his courtroom appearances in order to deliver a testimony by-design, to both advocates for and against him – Barry Roux and Gerrie Nel respectively.

It’s hot topic because, as is the case with any celebrity, we feel they are ours. His wrong is a wrong to us. He abused his power… he is reckless… he is a monster… whatever. I’m not here to defend Oscar Pistorius. He stopped irritating me a while ago. Jani Allan has taken that place and, I put it to you, she has had you all on.

Wikipedia lists Jani Allan as a South African columnist, broadcaster and animal rights advocate. She became a household name through her work at the Sunday Times (1980 to 1989) and, at the height of her fame in 1987, commissioned a Gallup poll to find “the most admired person in South Africa”.

She won.

Her open letter picks up the story and depicts her as ‘the other woman’ in Eugene Terre’blanche’s life whilst his was falling apart. After much tumult and an assassination attempt on her life, the most admired person in South Africa decided to go west and, from 2001, found a new vocation in the PR and restauranting industries in the States. She also tried her hand at astrology, but you knew that already, didn’t you?

It’s now being said that Jani has returned to the media frame. But… in all fairness – and just like me here – the Internet gives anybody a voice. Ergo, eight full days after her blog went viral, she is still tweeting the clincher from it with links to equally authoritative media leaders like Perez Hilton and – under a section called “Odd News”.

Odd. News. Indeed.

Jani Twitter 1

Do you remember 2009’s MTV Awards? Where one Sacha Baron Cohen – dressed as Bruno in just a thong and angel wings – flitted from the ceiling and landed, ass-all-exposed on Eminem’s face? Three years before that, the same actor was stopped by Secret Service personnel at The White House, when he attempted to invite George W. Bush to the screening of his then movie ‘Borat’ in an effort to promote ‘Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan’.

It’s called a publicity stunt, aimed to garner fever-pitch interest and do work for your brand that paid or owned media – with the same amount of time – could only dream of achieving. Want a success story? Think Felix Baumgartner’s edge of space jump to earth for Red Bull. Jani Allan’s story? Not so much.

Online, this seasoned journalist is quick to highlight / remind / reprimand re: her viral success and commits to statements like this for her brand:

Jani Twitter 2

We all have. Clearly. But post slumber, have a listen to her speaking to Fox News here.

It was the interviewer’s question at around 04:48 that really woke me up, but it’s her cavalier response that makes me think perhaps she and Oscar got a two-for-one special at this acting coach she knows so well. And “…when the steel horses came down…” – as she puts it – she professes innocent simplicity in her motives and that her open letter was just opinion.

No. No it wasn’t. It was a cheap shot by someone hanging on to the ass-end of their fifteen minutes who has plans to release a memoir. The clincher? Society has handed her the Soap Box she was so angling for and now, apparently, even her opinion on Oscar having a new girlfriend is deemed worthy of the forum?! Who are you Jani Allen, when it comes to adding value to a case that has our nation in a catatonic state? You were the other woman to a man our history is embarrassed to include.

May you have an opinion about Oscar Pistorious? Yes. Is the link between that opinion and your experience with Eugene Terre’blanche tenuous, at best? Yup. Is this a PR stunt to drum up rent-a-crowd interest before your book “Just Jani” (…sigh…) is released? It most definitely is. You could have saved us all the hassle and added a badly lit, homemade sex tape of you and who-cares-who to the carte du jour available already.

If that’s how the righteous, hardworking nobility like Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian had to sweat it out to get their genius got, who are you Just Jani to think you can fast track your way to a best seller? I’m not buying it.

And I’m definitely not buying it.

1987 was a lifetime ago. Reinvent yourself Jani which means boldly letting go of that most admired person in South Africa title. Spoiler alert: you’re not it.

I’d think that, with all the stamps in your passport and the lessons that life should have taught you, you’d have gone about this with a lot more wisdom and finesse than you did.

Move along. Nothing more to see here.


© Dylan Balkind



Mosaic Dancer

Three times.

I heard you.

But I made you say it three times.

To regale is to amuse, to entertain or to delight. It’s also to feast upon which is funny… and none of this is (anymore).

I made you say it three times.

Not because I was stupid. But because I was right.

I remembered him the moment I met him…

On the twenty-fifth day of the fourth month of the year before, I dropped anchor into a mosaic of madness, and again and again with each 1440-minute cycle that has bewildered and bemused the 351 days since.

Each unbending…

…mostly unhelpful…

…but moreover mortal…

…while mooring the mosaic of madness.

Reckless recreation is wreck-less – until the peanut gallery partakes from the periphery and proves that ugly is most when kept in a box labeled ‘kindness’. The murk makes it hard to decide which of those faces is first-off and which you’ll forfeit for the finish. It’s always veto until it’s venom and so anti until it’s akin… The messages at my 12 compared with those at my 6 make me feel like God has put my head in a water balloon and is swinging it around for fun.

But still…

I am not stupid.

I am right.

I remembered him the moment I met him…

“I don’t care what you think about me. I don’t think about you all.”
– Coco Chanel

Sincerity can be embarrassing and confidence can be tender, but only because silly is to the sacred what instinct is to infinity.

Each unbending…

…as they moor the mosaic of madness.

© Dylan Balkind


Your bright and your broken

Screen Shot 2014-04-08 at 10.39.38 AM

“There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you
into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique.
And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and will be lost.”
– Martha Graham

Unique. Sui generis. The all time ace. It takes solid strength and boundless brevity to champion your complexities. Books and our brood teach us to be it while a bully will tell you to bury it. He is dark. She is drone. They are the dreck and the dust of souls not your own.

Michele Bachmann. Jacob Zuma. David Bullard. Donald Trump. Julius Malema. Joan Rivers. Perez Hilton. Vladimir Putin. Robert Mugabe. Your boss. A colleague. The ponce at work who tells everyone else that their ideas are stupid. Those who teach. Those who can’t… Sure enough, people of the world will try seven ways from Sunday to stifle your sincere. They hover. With actions that linger and words that linger longer, their gavel has the gravity to choke.

There will always be someone who has something to say about something that someone else is doing. So? Who decides what the picture of perfection looks like? Fuck ‘em! Don’t let choice confuse you – and don’t forget who you are inside. The little girl who dreamed. The boy who danced. We spend so much time listening to the simple and the stupid that we forget to savour our own soul’s sincere.

You decide. Because you are it. You are perfection. Being you is perfection. With your heart and its history, your dreaming and your demons, with your magic and your mess, in your daylight and your darkness and through your bright and your broken…

You are perfection.

Every bit of you is bewitching.

Every part is pulchritudinous.

Your target audience is just not everyman.

So this here, this now, this is your chance!

Let your soul dance.

Let your talent thrive and your verve burst vividly.

Live your truth. I dare you.


© Dylan Balkind

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