#INDYLGENT

1st look cover

Imagine that big scary thing that cripples your core, walked in to wherever you are right now, sat down across from you and began to speak.

A spider? Snake? Debt? Your boss? The darkest low? The highest heights? HIV?

Mine would be HIV. So I imagined what it would say, if given the chance to present its case. What would I hear as it hauled forth its howl? And theeeen, I get to what I must admit is the consideration that maybe the Bible and its bully wasn’t far off after all… Because I will put everything I own and everything I’m worth on it, that the Mark of the Beast is here: it is our intolerance of that which scares us.

Heavy?

It ends there — I promise. The rest is just your anybody-everybody’s, any-day-any-way, and in the many both mindless and mad ways…

And whether with the courage to salute a secret and set it free — because of how stifling the sanctioning of it is across every silhouette you see… Or with the war cries we walk, waddle or writhe to when we wake up and walk out on worry (for an appointment with wonderful!)…

…our owned magnifying is magic!

Because it is only the owned moments that matter.

Whether you blog, take photos, journal, run, ride, recite, or simply recognise each jostling jolt of your journey by the jeans you wore, looking back is your back-row-all-to-yourself, magical moment — between both the cringing and courage — to bask in how beautiful you are.

I’m a writer by profession, so it’s not always how I want to profess after a day of paid-for-professing. Ergo, I do this #WritingStoriesDifferently thing. And with a Love that is Alive, I thank my Light, everyday, that people like Larissa, Catherine, Gillian, Nundi, Niki, Thato, Gerhard, Kyara, PamLindsay, Linda, Bonnie, Dave, GlynnisMel, Natasha, Caddie, Fay, Hayley ‘Ellis’ and Hayley who, when they can – and whether they do or don’t get what I’m ‘saying’ – say something when they see me in it.

So what if no one is listening?! Tell the world – or even just a wall – the story of who you are.

All any of us has is what is in our heart.

And whether you blog, take photos, journal, run, ride, recite, or simply recognise each jostling jolt of your journey by the jeans you wore, whenever you slide through them sludge-moments of feeling small (and you will), just look at what has touched every. single. jostle. you’ve. journeyed – ever!

Your fingerprint.

FUCK YEAH!

Compressed Compassions │ 1st Look

#WritingStoriesDifferently

 

 

∞ I AM BECAUSE WE ARE ∞

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There is always someone with something to say about something that someone else is doing.

Negative feedback.

The redundant review.

I have a big mouth.

I’m trying to be conscientious about choosing my moments.

Context is consideration.

A stake is sincerity.

Simply adding to the no-end-of noise and the no-end-to nausea is just needless.

And needless is nasty.

I don’t mean humour or jovial-jeering. I mean the destructive, dysfunction of over-confident dorks who will always choose to sit rather than surmount.

Problems are plenty. Our political landscape is proof ~ and that’s just as a collective. So? What are you going to do about it? And if not for us, then at least for you? What are you going to do about those uniquely intimate problems on your path?

If you aren’t going to get up – shut up.

Dignity. Respect. Tolerance. These are only on loan to you while you market the moments that matter enough to have lifted a love within you – enough to commit to caring about any one- or many things – and so adding value.

Even if how you reverberate is in the conscientious choice to steer clear of the clash.

That’s still sincere.

That’s still something.

And something doesn’t just sit.

I AM BECAUSE WE ARE 

Bet | Part 2 

www.raisingmalawi.org

#WritingStoriesDifferently


Part 1

© Dylan Balkind

39 million

39 Header

39 million people are gone.

Because of a virus our divisions have allowed to ascend.

If the Holy Bible is to be believed and 2014 is the number of AD years we’ve existed, we’ve had plenty more than that to learn just one thing: united we stand, divided we fall.

Through thickness and thin.

In sickness, and in health…

But we haven’t united, have we?

Holy Bible – or bland book of bullshit –  either way: we divide habitually and without fail.

We ridicule. We shun. We spit at. We turn our backs on… to the point that, that which takes aim to divide us – can win.

Like HIV.

So I wondered… what words this combative cultivator of cunctation would say if it could… It’s our selfish spite and stupidity that gives ‘it’ such a convincing case.

I am where fear is trumped in the search from love’s lost
I am where mortal humiliates the humiliated-already – them men who look like ghosts
There you go like ants before the queen, ordered to safeguard secrets…
– all your advances are flushed as expendable by your gathering greed’s digress

How there goes your distance with untouching, formidable feast?
Something your rioting righteousness won’t see as Mark of the Beast
You did it. You do it. You are it – at best
But blindly convinced of your stay deserving on God’s floating nest

You handwrote my invite and put me on your VIP list
Now that door is one you can’t close for that never-would-leave guest
I’ll wither. I’ll weaken. I’ve galloped in here on Trojan Horse
To humiliate the humiliated-already, them women who look like ghosts

Pharmaceutical. Untactical. Expendable. Digressed.
Incubated by fear within islands between love’s lost
It always was, has … and always will be –
Those you call rebels who teach posthumously

Your Bible brought stories from around campfires at day’s rest
All you had to was listen to pass the soul’s Truth-North test
Compassion by connection is all you have left
But you’ve shunned it to gun it and bowed deep in greed’s feast

I’ve withered. I’ve weakened. Arrived welcome on Trojan Horse
I am the fears you discarded – I am the Mark of the Beast
Not something physical nor mineral that you can touch
But because you turned on each other, denying love from love’s lost…

Helen of Troy – I am not female nor boy
My gender grotesques through my dodging and ploy
I sirened as I weakened and withered your rebel-best
So cowards be left to live with me, I am Mark of the Beast 

It always was, has and always will be –
Those you call rebels who teach posthumously
You say idols are bad, goats interrupt goading piously
Your gadgets are 666 that underpin your Boxsciety

I’ve felt my backbone bend before I mix and contort
I’m running out of islands as you defend last resort
I too searched the darkness for compassionate companion
I found none in your nest, so here I am: your Armageddon

Your cavalier disconnection from your neighbours in the nest
Is what your mirrors – though full – have failed to reflect
I sirened as I weakened and withered your rebel-best
So cowards be left to live with me, I am Mark of the Beast

So cowards be left to live with me, I am Mark of the Beast

 

#WritingStoriesDifferently

 

© Dylan Balkind

Thatcher and the man candle

I recently discovered the marketing genius of man candles. I’m thrilled that there is finally a provision for an entire gender that has always wanted to buy them but didn’t want to look ridiculous with luscious lavender or calming chamomile in their shopping trolley. I personally love being ridiculous so I’ve never had a problem with buying any kind of candles. But the amount of times a man in cowboy boots, greasy overalls or idling in his bakkie in the parking lot has asked me for advice on where to get such items – well I can’t even tell you.

Absurd stories fill our headlines daily. I guess that in this era of information-overload and bullshit-saturation, it’s a welcome rebound from the death toll, fraud, corruption, education and politician-fiascos we have to roll our eyes at daily.

Thatcher

Margaret Thatcher died today. I was too young to grasp very much about her reign but – from what I do know and have seen since – I think our country could do with a politician who has enough cerebral capacity to know what he/she is talking about while exacting zero tolerance on the bandwagon brigade of blue lights, parties, jets, houses (“compounds”) and more wives than you can (literally) shake your stick at. Margaret Thatcher was consistent and true to her word, and if that incited an uprising, well at least people felt compelled to react. We have sadly reached the global status quo of ambivalent shoulder-shrugging. We too readily throw our hands up with a mumbled ah well… but we’ll demand to see the manager of Woolies when there’s a spelling error on the makeshift notice at the pie section. We are odd indeed…

Here’s another ridiculous headline from today: “Couple hold teen prostitute hostage for 2 days.” This happened in the Cape where they held her hostage for a sex orgy that lasted, well… for two days. The list of what is wrong with the world when a teenager has to resort to prostitution is a very long one, never mind the pond-scum that creates a demand for such a service.

From one teen to another, Justin Bieber has a new haircut. This left me unable to sit still because I religiously model my hairstyle on Justin Bieber’s and was just thinking I could do with a change. Ergo… This breaking news was higher on the list than a new HIV three-in-one pill with fewer side effects for the people taking it and a therapy that would cut monthly costs per patient from R150 to as little as R89 per month. We are a peculiar audience, aren’t we?

balloon_run

Looking for something with more heart? Matt Silver-Vallance took Pixar’s Up to heart and filled enough balloons with helium to fly from Robben Island to Cape Town. Why would he do such a thing? To raise R10million for the Nelson Mandela Children’s Fund.

What a champ! I bet he’s not even slightly perturbed by the candles he buys or what Justin Bieber’s hair looks like. I’ve never actually seen him shopping for candles, but if we can’t get Maggie back, maybe Silver-Vallance is keen for a bout of politics?

 

© Dylan Balkind

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