tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36627738440991506262024-03-13T11:11:26.266-07:00The Naked Drag QueenI sang and acted, then I taught and lectured and now I mostly write, edit and tell stories.Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.comBlogger67125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-66068066144323977812016-07-12T03:01:00.003-07:002016-07-12T03:01:23.340-07:00Coconut, Botox and Ayahuasca<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPbGcHZanV9fcEWS7_X3_YFYimLM96hzgIZhQ6ox0ynYLsNUrKrwOB0nWYUWG_qpAmXD2WzcOlov-XDQLG5ZK-FFoac4j0GZmob9LrnytVlBzZTBm_5oCSF_uZcLfZUS4K2pZCRgRsCtg/s1600/paradise.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPbGcHZanV9fcEWS7_X3_YFYimLM96hzgIZhQ6ox0ynYLsNUrKrwOB0nWYUWG_qpAmXD2WzcOlov-XDQLG5ZK-FFoac4j0GZmob9LrnytVlBzZTBm_5oCSF_uZcLfZUS4K2pZCRgRsCtg/s320/paradise.jpg" width="320" height="320" /></a>
For my birthday, Ant (my incredible boyfriend) took me to Vilanculos in Mozambique, and we went with some wonderful friends. It was a decade-long dream come true for me. This particular birthday, my 37th, has been so auspicious that it may as well have been my 40th. It is beautiful there. We walked on powdered white gold beaches alongside the mangroves; that felt like apple crumble crusts beneath my feet when dry, and like sinking into an apple puree once immersed in the azure waters. We visited thatched huts and abandoned ruins and enjoyed happy chats with the locals, always ready to sell us something, from crabs and tomatoes to sunset ‘dhow’ cruises and even the land beneath our feet. I wondered what it must be like to live there. I looked at my bustling life and the chaos that is Joburg from there, and it seemed so ridiculous in comparison.
During the day we explored the bustling village market, munched on deliciously charred cashews and de-shagged and sliced coconut and bought a starchy cassava from a lady who had been taking a snooze among her goods, despite the bustle around her stall. We freed octopuses and seahorses from the locals’ fishing nets and returned them to the sea in exchange for handfuls of meticais. Otherwise, we lounged around, snoozed, read and swam and enjoyed one another’s company. I got to spend more time in my skin relaxing, and I felt a renewed sense of wonder at life and appreciation for space I get to occupy in this world.
Evenings were mouthfuls of beer or crisp white wine and buttery garlic and lemon zested prawns around luxurious tables of laughter as the sun would sink into poster-kitsch pastel coloured skies. In this incredible location, I felt my first birthday shift. Although poor, these people seemed to live so well. The steady diet of naartjie, nuts, fish and coconut has created a healthy and vibrant community. There was no obesity, and everybody had mouthfuls of radiant teeth. The little girls were adorned with brightly coloured beads in their hair alongside mothers wrapped in fabulously printed fabric around their hips. I saw one man with eyes yellowed by malaria, but everyone else seemed to be the picture of health. The men were athletic and trim, and the women seemed robust and majestic. Even the street dogs, although slim, had coats that shone in the sun.
We visited an island where pansy shells (I’ve always believed to be so rare) were plentifully strewn along the beach, where I enjoyed an hour long hike with just my love, a bee-eater and a herd of invisible goats (we only saw their spoor). I also enjoyed meeting the author of 104 Horses, Mandy Retzlaff, who runs a tourist horse safari company in Vilanculos with her husband. Chatting to someone who has answered the call to adventure after losing everything and then having stepped up to “do the right thing” and save the lives of as many abandoned horses as possible, is deeply inspirational. Ant organised a signed copy of the book for me and reading about their ups and downs, triumphs and losses have made me crave a life less ordinary for myself. It forced me to realise how much I also want my life to be a great story, a story of twists and turns and heroism and bravery, a story that will encourage others to follow their hearts to do noble things too.
During one of our Vilanculos walks, we came across a mansion that had been built on the beach by a very wealthy man. We met the caretaker of the property and learned about the owner, who had recently hosted a massive birthday party in the monolith. The picture painted of this man was not one that brought about any admiration, but rather conjured a mean and unscrupulous person who would do anything to make a deal. The house, although an architectural marvel, lacks soul and stands like a monument to cold concrete and heartless steel among the otherwise lush, haphazard greens of palm trees, baobabs and simple village life. The man is not very well loved and many of the guests were heard by the caretaker to make it known that they were in attendance for the food and drink and not due to any fondness felt towards the host and his cause for celebration. In light of this information, the house now resembled an overpriced prison that stands in testament to an overinflated ego in sad yet expensive isolation. When the caretaker thought we had all left, she squatted and peed at the doorstep of the mansion, not knowing that we could still see her. An act of defiance that illustrated perfectly what her sentiments truly were towards the place and he who financed it.
Mozambique crept into my heart, and I promised to return there when the “ayshes, prayshes and stayshes” of the Portuguese air hostess announced that we had landed safely at O. R. Tambo airport. I swore that I would slow down a bit more and take things easier as I had seen how effectively this seemed to work for the villagers in Vilanculos.
Once back in the Jozi smoke, I decided to try a few other things for the first time to celebrate my birthday. I bought a voucher on Groupon and made my very first Botox appointment. I have a frown crease between my eyebrows that becomes pronounced whenever I concentrate or pay extra attention to something that someone may be saying to me, and some people have for some reason found this habitual expression of mine, unnerving. For example, one morning during my copywriting days, I formed part of a small team presenting a new campaign to one of our big FSP clients in Centurion. The one woman kept asking me if I was “okay” because my frowning seemed to indicate to her that I was not happy with what she was saying, or that I did not understand her. One of my colleagues later told me that I also resembled someone holding in a fart when I had that expression. I decided to Botox just this crease and saw what it would be like. The entire thing took less than 15 minutes and was relatively painless, so as new experiences go, it barely registered as a blip on the remarkable radar. A bit of an anticlimax. I put a toxin into my skin to stop it creasing, and it was mostly underwhelming. What I planned to do next was going to have to pack more oomph.
So, I planned a trip away on a retreat to drink Ayahuasca and San Pedro in the mountains with a shaman and a whole bunch of other people I had never met before in my life. I wanted to connect to divinity and get some answers from the universe. I had heard that these “plant medicines” could help me to stretch my consciousness and heal parts of myself in an unconscious way, and I was ready to give it a bash.
I arrived the Thursday night before along with the others to get to know one another a bit better before the ceremonies that would take place over the following two days. The drinking of Ayahuasca or San Pedro often causes “purging”, which can be vomiting and diarrhoea, as well as spontaneous laughter, crying and experiencing visions. So, getting to know one another first before seeing one another in such intimate or strange situations only made sense.
There was about thirty of us, and most of us had never taken the medicines before, so the air was static with nerves that night. We had all heard mixed stories about the experiences of other people, some good, others horrific and we were all trying to soothe ourselves as the minutes passed towards our first ceremony together.
Friday morning at eight AM we all convened in a yoga hall. Each of us was given a mattress, and we fetched pillows and blankets to make our snuggly beds. It was cold, so I filled my furry puppy hot water bottle and felt my heart rate spike as I watched the little cups of crystallised cactus being prepared.
I only started to feel any effects after my second tot. It was like a warm drunken haze that seemed to cast itself over me as I lay propped on cushions looking out of the huge glass windows at the beautiful natural surroundings outside the yoga hall. The light began to take on an ethereal quality, and everyone seemed to be beaming with a radiant expression. A few people seemed to go into their own world’s, and I saw one woman lift her blanket over her head and begin to tremble gently as she wept for an unknowable list of sorrows. I started to think of my pain and was suddenly struck by the sadness and the absurdity of the recent bombings in Istanbul and then stone-skipped to the senseless atrocity that was the Orlando massacre. I felt hot syrupy tears streaming down my face as I lay among these strangers, crying for the dislocated soul that could have done such a terrible thing. How alone he must have been. How broken. Soon I felt myself begin to resurface as the effects of the mescaline began to wear off.
That afternoon I ate some fruit and sat on a couch on the porch under a blanket, watching hornbills playing in the trees. We were to meet in the yoga hall again at 6 pm for the first Ayahuasca ceremony. My first impression of the San Pedro had been very pleasant and mild, and I hoped that the Ayahuasca would be more potent, and provide a bigger experience, although I had heard that there’s a very real possibility that I wouldn’t feel anything at all, as the medicine can decide to work on you in a subtle way during ceremony and give you no sensation, other than nausea.
That night amidst the chanting and sage smoke I was beginning to think that this would be my fate as I had already taken the second dose and could hardly feel anything. One of the facilitators asked me if I wanted to try rapé (pronounced Ha – Peh) to see if that would help the experience along. He placed a wooden straw in my nostril and instructed me to close the back of my throat with my tongue. He then blew a mixture of ash and ground tobacco into my nose and then repeated the process into my other nostril. My sinuses felt as though they had been set on fire and hot tears blurred my vision as I breathed through my mouth due to my now blocked and stinging nostrils. I was completely helpless and realised that my arms were in the air above my head, my eyes still blinded with tears.
Then it began to hit me. As I lowered my arms and tilted my head back, my minds eye was flooded with a multitude of patterns as an unknown energy seemed to spout from my solar plexus through to the top of my head.
Before the ceremony, I had asked to connect with some kind of divinity, and suddenly I was surrounded by images of various deities all around me as if I had been enfolded in a sheet of kinetic gold-detailed wallpaper. They shifted and twirled into one another, Ganesha morphing into Shiva and then Jesus into Mary and her Sacred Heart and then the star of David, and so on. Everyone was there. Every God I had ever seen or heard of, Kabbalistic symbols and burning bushes. There were crosses and all manner of symbols of divinity, and they were all doing the same thing. They were all looking directly at me. They could see me, and they wanted me to know that I could rest assured because they were indeed watching over me.
At one point I also so the blue-green face of a pleiedianesque alien looking down on me. Its expression was neutral and betrayed no emotion whatsoever. It just wanted me to know that it was there, and it could see me. At that moment I wondered if I had summoned it or if my imagination merely created it. I still can’t be sure.
When I fully returned to consciousness, it was six o clock in the morning, and almost everyone had left the hall to return to their beds. I got up to shower and drink some water because the next ceremony, San Pedro again, would happen at 8 am – in less than two hours. I walked out of the hall stepping high with white lines flashing in the periphery of every place I landed my eyes.
I still felt slightly high when we all reconvened for the third ceremony at 8 am, the hot water renewed and deliciously toasty in the puppy-shaped water bottle I cradled on my lap. I took another two doses of the San Pedro that morning and soon felt swept up in the collective trancelike state that the entire group began to fall under.
One by one we found ourselves overcome by intense emotional sensations that would leave us crying uncontrollably and then be laughing unbridled. One small Indian woman began to hyperventilate and then thrust back against the wall behind her, her eyes rolling up into her head as she began to bleat a steady haunting chant of: “Love…Love…Love…Love…Love…” and we all writhed and rocked in rhythm with her chanting. It was exquisitely beautiful. Some of us wept while others chanted “Love..” in unison with her. One guy began to purge into his bucket and laugh with maniacal abandon as he did so. He demonstrated a lunatic liberty that we all seemed to be feeling. I felt so connected to all these strangers, so free, so much Love!
The grinning young shaman’s apprentice entered the hall with a tray of the most delicious looking fruit, and we were warned that the fructose in the fruit could have a dramatic effect on the medicine, so we should not leave the hall if we decided to have some. I had some crisp moons of apple and a mushy handful of papaya that tasted like heaven and then lay back down on my bed. Moments later my hips and pelvis began to tremble and then shake uncontrollably, and I could do nothing to stop it. I looked out over the blankets through the window across the yoga hall and then saw everything in my line of vision fill with an intricate pattern of flashing specks.
The specks began to shift and drift across my vision in an intelligent formation and then I felt my mind began to crack open like an egg. My mind started collapsing like a Jenga tower, and my consciousness began to stretch, stress and then break into itself as I left my body and everything that I have every known behind. I tried to stay calm and release and open my palms as I felt my mind slip out of what I had come to know as the world. Here we go… I was gone. I was now part of a massive black vortex that fell within the travelling loops of an infinity sign. I was looking into and fusing with the black void of infinite potential and knew that I was all things, all things that have ever been and have ever been. I was no longer the fragmented issue-ridden person that was living a certain life with specific challenges; I was all of the perfection, everything that was and ever will be possible. Gradually, my vision began to return to me, but the epiphany remained: Life is a joke. There is the only perfection. None of us is in truth anything resembling the fears and shortcomings that we use as currency in the illusion that is our perceived realities. There is nothing to fix because there is nothing broken and there is nothing missing or gone because there is nothing lost. I was laughing again. I got it. I got the joke. It’s ALL a joke. As I began to squeeze my mind back into my tiny little body again as the San Pedro wore off, I understood that all my fears and all the pain I have ever harbored is so insignificant and infinitesimal in the greater scope of the infinite potential that I had caught a glimpse of, because this is and always will be who and what I really am. I had died to myself and had been gripped with a very real fear that I would never be able to return, that I had properly, as the expression goes, lost my mind.
It was already 4 pm when I could stand and walk myself to the toilet to pee. Everyone else was sitting outside in the sun chatting and sharing their experiences, but I couldn’t get my body to fit properly just yet.
I felt like everything I was doing was in slow motion but all around me, time was moving at a crazy pace because the next thing I knew it was 6 pm and we were all in the yoga hall again, about to take our final dose of medicine, Ayahuasca again.
That night I felt the medicine in my gut surging through my veins, and I even braved the second dose again, but decided not to have another go of the rapé, because I needed to integrate everything I had seen and felt during the San Pedro and took the opportunity to rest and shift my mind into more comfortable places over the next 8 hours.
I’m still not 100% sure what happened to me during those ceremonies. I know that I had at least one “activation” during my second San Pedro experience and I “journeyed” into another frame of consciousness beyond the frames I have come to know before. I believe that a lot of the medicine that the plants implement does so at a subconscious level, so I am looking forward to seeing which other ways healing may still manifest in my life as a result of these experiences. One thing I know for sure is that the image of the black vortex of unlimited potential that I can still see behind my closed eyes does wonders to make me realise how insignificant so many of my fears and insecurities are. I can’t let myself get stressed or too worked up about anything when I have infinite potential just behind my eyelids. There is so much more to working hard and stressing harder. There are many other ways to be, and I have a choice – we all do. I am so blessed and so grateful for the last 37 years and exposing myself to these different realities was an incredibly powerful gift to bestow upon myself. A very happy birthday it was indeed.
Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-53497565999308809782016-06-13T03:52:00.001-07:002016-06-13T03:52:27.441-07:00The Naked Drag Queen: Gaiety Will Prevail<a href="http://thenakeddragqueen.blogspot.co.za/2016/06/gaiety-will-prevail.html">The Naked Drag Queen: Gaiety Will Prevail</a>Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-50582467762755039812016-06-13T03:45:00.002-07:002016-06-13T05:11:26.718-07:00Gaiety Will Prevail
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0k419Ll3RY8YQ7JBIIShl9xdCX3vdi1toMIqXXHQgGGUsCi4lZQN5d2_pFHHlwQ-fmjflRwE0-mQJrrZQQkJ2deOAxbK2gG62CgwHCs2sbO5RNZybLdcDD4Ma0eWxBFvBEIiVm6-26bg/s1600/Rainbow+dance.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0k419Ll3RY8YQ7JBIIShl9xdCX3vdi1toMIqXXHQgGGUsCi4lZQN5d2_pFHHlwQ-fmjflRwE0-mQJrrZQQkJ2deOAxbK2gG62CgwHCs2sbO5RNZybLdcDD4Ma0eWxBFvBEIiVm6-26bg/s320/Rainbow+dance.png" /></a></div>
This isn’t a religious issue for me. God is Love, and Allah is merciful, so the Orlando massacre must have nothing to do with either of them. It was just good ole fashioned hatred and ignorance. A man was so disturbed at the sight of two men showing affection that he purchased a weapon of war (legally, despite a history of violence) and transformed a place of celebration and joy into an abattoir. An unhappy and unwell man shot down a rainbow on Sunday morning because he could not stand it.
What happened to this man? Would nobody hold his hand? How did he come to a place where he could justify the merciless slaughter of over 50 people and the irreparable lifelong damage to the lives of another 50 people? How did he become so dislocated from his humanity? How devoid of empathy and love such a heart must be. How broken and shattered to be able to willingly harm so many others. Even if he was not dead, the remainder of his life would be a pitiful ruin too. No joy and no justice could come from his actions.
I am continents away, but the earth shakes beneath my feet, and the gunfire rings in my ears all the way from Orlando. It could have been me - easily. Here in Joburg dancing my heart out last Friday in Illovo. We’re not all that far apart.
But I will not allow this man to stop my music, and neither will my dancing and laughter grind to a halt. That is how I fought to feel good about myself and how I will continue to celebrate the beauty of who and what I am.
The first place out of the closet that I felt surefooted as a young one, was on a dance floor. This is where I found my freedom. The mixture of my sweat and the music created a healing tincture that made me feel I belonged, that I mattered, and that I was not merely acceptable, I was fabulous! The beat brought us all together in a frenzy of love, unity and Gloria Gaynor lyrics. Bronx, Angels, Detour and O Bar, these sacred sights of mirth and music where I stepped closer to a better sense of self with every dance step. Here I rhythmically shook off every “faggot” slur and “moffie” tag that I had been branded with.
Mariah, Mary, Whitney, Britney, Madonna and Janet, with Michael, George, Elton and eventually Adam, Sam and Adele cheerleading my hard-won victories over low self-esteem and self-inflicted prejudice. I sang and jived myself up to higher levels of self-worth. I learned to love the “strange” way that I am born to love.
I will not stop dancing. Even though I will never again be able to hear a house beat without thinking of a gun shot, I will STILL get down and dance. That has not been shot and killed. I will continue to dance for myself, and I will dance to honour the dead.
I will be #BraveEnough to dance at LGBTQ* events and venues, because I know that when I become too afraid to get together with others like me and too afraid to move myself to music, then I will indeed be oppressed. F%# @ that! I will dance.
Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-69826322379132874122013-10-06T05:49:00.000-07:002013-10-06T05:49:48.666-07:00WHY I LIKE MIKE<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1lEXAaIvSbahj-YM-XqPvzP4UCUALPRt0Uec06t-_0R2kpmqzh-x5fKHOKMqlByZlpuPCoOPnzSv7wTnkcwbXRke0cnFP_oQC2OeM2VmhzE60i-kSDxBF6Kgl4HTzztBeY3lZY3ERo10/s1600/heathcliff.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1lEXAaIvSbahj-YM-XqPvzP4UCUALPRt0Uec06t-_0R2kpmqzh-x5fKHOKMqlByZlpuPCoOPnzSv7wTnkcwbXRke0cnFP_oQC2OeM2VmhzE60i-kSDxBF6Kgl4HTzztBeY3lZY3ERo10/s320/heathcliff.jpg" /></a>In my head I am polyamorous. I say in my head because in real life I don’t even have a date on the horizon. But in my head, there’s more romance and slutty intrigue than a Jackie Collins paper back. There’s the guy in the canteen at Wits that puts the zest in my meals there. Just sitting in his proximity gives whatever I am munching on “flavour-flave”. The guy in a certain boutique shop at Rosebank mall who makes me wanna try on every item in the shop and ask him “how do I look?”, (to which he’d probably answer: “crazy”), there’s a few guys at Babylon Illovo and Babylon Centurion who inspire a certain kind of pelvic thrust and I even have a guy that I see in the health stores and restaurants in and around Greenside. I can’t buy anything vegan-friendly without wondering if I’ll see the “Greenside guy”. These are individuals that I don’t necessarily see every time I go to that venue, just on rare occasions, enough to make it a novelty and something to hope for, or look forward to. There’s the Cresta centre guy, the Majestic video shop on Gleneagles guy, the Killarney mall guy, the Woolies guy, and more than a few on Facebook that make me want to send them a “poke”… You get the picture. I may occasionally greet some of these gentlemen, but for the most part I hardly acknowledge their existence when I am around them. It’s enough of a thrill hoping to see them or bump into them, and just to be near them. I don’t actually want to get to know them and shatter the illusion and snatch them out of my fantasy and into the dreaded “friend-zone”. It’s a blessing and a curse that I make friends with people so quickly, so remaining distant keeps the illusion and the thrill intact without the danger of rejection or disappointment. These chaps add an extra motivation and/or thrill to popping out and picking up those soya sausages or a DVD or two, a way to spice up the mundane everyday ‘ins and outs’.
I guess I could call them my “phantom-relationships”, it makes sense if I consider that I had an imaginary friend as a child, an imaginary boyfriend seems a natural progression. Imaginary boyfriends are a lot like pistachios, it’s neither easy nor necessary to have just one. There are many places and spaces in the world that I need motivation to fill.
One of my favourite “phantom-boyfriends” is my gym crush. I see him three mornings a week. He is about my height but he doesn’t have long spider-monkey arms like me, he is nicely filled out and substantial. He has dark hair and stubble and beautiful thick eyebrows that canopy blue eyes that are always lost in murky thought. He is introverted and broody like Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights. I’d love to pull a “Cathy” and haunt outside his bedroom window.
He is also terminally straight. Whereas, I feel I sometimes waft around like a piece of fluff in the wind, his gait is like that off a smooth round rock rolling slowly down a gentle incline.
Introspective and deeply private, he is irresistibly fascinating. After six months of observation I have begun to feel like Sir David Attenborough doing a National Geographic special on the strong, silent straight guy. It may sound stalkerish but, like a good scientist, I am very careful not to disturb my subject. Although I do know that he is aware of me. I only observe him with my peripheral vision and when he is fully clothed (out of respect). He is a fine specimen but he is more than just a quick thrill to me. I’m trying to understand what it is about him that is so captivating and the fact that he hardly speaks to anyone else and is always alone just fuels the flames of his mystery. I really like him. I suspect it is because he is the exact opposite of me. So many of my gay brothers date their exact replicas, but I have always been attracted to the “other”. I don’t have any hopes that he will one day turn to me in the weights section and ask me if I’m available to keep his back warm next winter. I’m not deluded. But my crush on him is mine to cherish. I savour it and enjoy how much easier it is to wake up and go to gym on certain mornings. Not everything in life has to be outcomes based. Sometimes the beauty of something is that it never really takes any form, other than in the fantastical world of the imagination. Some phantom things can make you substantially happy.
Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-69750710371258722682013-09-30T12:18:00.002-07:002013-09-30T12:18:12.877-07:00VENT
My heart feels so high up my throat it must be peeping through my nose holes. I’ve got a stupid, persistent sadness that I’m struggling to shake these last few days. Last night I told myself I was being silly and that I should just sleep and that all would be well in the morning. But as I recovered from deactivating my morning alarm, there it was, sitting like one of my dogs waiting to be fed, that horrible feeling back again. “Think positive thoughts!” I yell inside my head, “focus on what you do want and less on what you don’t want”, “Be a light of positive energy!” “Think of all the amazing things you’ve been blessed with!” But the red-faced-tantrum-child within me will have none of it.
I look in the mirror and almost growl a low “voetsek.” I’m just not buying it anymore.
All this “positivity” and “optimism” has become strained like a small closet packed to the brim before the guests arrive, packed with feelings of rejection, fear, abandonment, frustration, anger and disappointment. “I’m bigger than this!”, “It’s no big deal.” Or “Something better will come along!”, can only be heard so many times before they begin to sting your ears like hot air inflated bluebottles on a barefoot beach.
I’m sore inside. I want more than what I have and more than what life is offering me and I am choking on the guilt I feel instead of the gratitude I know I should. I’m struggling to keep my bile at bay.
Where is my boyfriend? Why am I so repulsive and so easily repulsed? Where is the love? Why am I so superficial? Why do I feel invisible? Too fat and now too thin! What do they want from me? What on earth do I want? WHERE THE HELL IS THE MONEY YOU OWE ME!
Am I not worth it? Am I undeserving? Does it all come too easy for me? Do I enjoy what I do so much that I no longer deserve to be paid for it? Why is it so hard for me to fight for the money I have earned?
Injustice pulls at my trouser leg again. Every corner of my local mall has Dead Sea cosmetics salespeople lying in wait to harass me. Murphy dictates I must go past all of them to buy what I need. They do not understand the word “no”. I get this crazy urge to throw their Dead Sea salt in their eyes and run, but I just keep declining their “free samples” politely and walk. I pay ten bucks for parking in the shopping centre and then a car guard appears with a passive aggressive hand out too. I put on the radio to calm my nerves and there is a knock at my window. A man with bad teeth and a printed card tries to con me into believing he is deaf so I will give him money for Meth. Can you blame me for wanting to throw my Minions out of my Happymeal?
I know that there are hundreds of people in the world literally starving, I know that at this moment around the globe, someone is dying of a terrible disease or being victimised and/or tortured.
Yet still, I cannot shake this unease and discord.
I cannot settle.
I refuse to be satisfied, and I will not be satisfied until I love and am loved by the right person and I am getting the respect and livelihood that I feel in my gut I deserve.
I’m not blind to all the good things. I’m just tired of trying to shove all the bad things that have happened into a hopelessly overcrowded space that is threatening to burst open and crash down on me. Admittedly, just writing this tirade has made me feel so much better and vented a zeppelin of my anger-steam. Maybe that’s all that I needed to do. Maybe my shadows merely wanted me to tip my hat at them before they shuttled off into twilight. One thing’s for sure, I feel a lot less shame than I did 695 words ago.
Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-52906824427488571212013-02-26T03:04:00.005-08:002013-02-26T03:04:51.977-08:00BITTERI start getting this niggle in my stomach after 10 pm at night, that I may not get enough sleep before the next day dawns. So I frantically go around trying to wrap up everything that I was doing so I can hop into bed. In the process I seem to whip myself into a frenzy which makes falling asleep somewhat of a task. Last night was one of those nights. Curiosity caused me to check in, one last time, on my Gaydar and Manhunt profiles to see if any closeted rugby players hadn't by any chance left a message declaring their undying love. No such luck. I have had a longstanding on and off relationship with internet dating (which is another essay in itself), suffice to say that my current view is nothing ventured, nothing gained and apparently it pays to advertise.
I did find a message in my inbox. But it was from a 48 year old man who displayed only a picture of his erect penis and a profile that explained that he and his 52 year old partner were seeking others for “fun” and “good times” with no “issues” or “bullshit.” In the message he asked me where I “performed” and encouraged me to tell him more about myself. I wasn't interested and so I ignored him. In my profile I state clearly that I do not respond to messages from faceless profiles and seeing as I am often ignored by some of the guys I send messages to myself, I have no qualms not wasting anybody’s time by engaging with someone that I do not wish to know better. I am not interested in being a third wheel in a longstanding relationship and have bigger ambitions, than being the supposed “spark” that reignites a couple’s waning flame. Perhaps I am stifled or too closed-minded but I have never been a fan of the “open-relationship.” I am the first to admit that I am far from perfect and am much more experienced at being single than being partnered, but when I do shack up, I don’t like to share.
Clearly the absence of my response got this faceless man’s heckles up, because within the five minutes I checked my e-mails there was another message from him. This time he wasn't as friendly. He gave me a rundown of my profile saying that it started out all brazen and “affirmative” (interesting choice of words.) But that it gets weak and fizzles out towards the end and that he is sure that is how I am when I perform on stage or in the bedroom (less eloquently put by him.). I must have read the message ten times. Here I am, 33 years old and enjoying a wonderful career brimming with loving and supportive friends and family and yet once again a bully has managed to rear his ugly head, a faceless bully that has never even met me, never seen me on stage. A man who has managed to find a partner in this life, who should be older, wiser, happier and giving me advice, is instead trying to attack me and bring me down. I should have blocked his profile and gone to sleep. That would have been the wiser thing to do. Instead, I responded: “LOL! Thanks for the feedback. Judging by your comments and the picture on your profile you must be a dick.”
I wanted to defend myself. I didn't want this man to think he could talk to me like that. I wanted him to know that I could cut back.
Within a few short minutes his response sat in my inbox like a hard-planted blackhead in an otherwise clear complexion. As I opened it I could see it was awash with spelling and grammatical errors and half cast sentences. He had torn away at his keyboard in an attempt to lash me with his poorly translated thoughts. To sum it up he said that he pitied me for believing my career would last anything more than 20 months and that it would end in humiliating sexual favors, and that I would not even be able to afford horse meat with my meager earnings as a prostitute. It was ridiculous and made almost no sense but the bile that fueled the tirade unnerved me.
Again I responded:
“Sleep tight you bitter old Queen. I pray I never end up like you.”
Then I blocked his profile, closed my lap top and went to bed.
Even in the safety of my duvet, lying next to my best friend (visiting for two weeks), a woman who oozes talent and loves and respects me, I was still being haunted by this faceless stranger. I was upset with myself for my low blow. Why did I have to call him an old queen? Why did I know that would get to him? What if I did become someone just like him one day? What did I do to attract his negativity towards me? Was it just the full moon outside? Why are people so mean?
Why are he and his partner not satisfied with one another? Is Love just a fairy tale I keep trying to sell to myself as a truth? What did he want from me and why on earth is he so unhappy?
Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-14161454394451511052012-11-07T15:33:00.000-08:002012-11-07T15:33:41.321-08:00VULNERABLEWhat would you determine to be a “deal breaker”?
The man you Love is no longer satisfied with just your caresses. Would denying him these attentions from another be selfish? What if he claims to still love you, with every fibre of his being. He merely craves variety. “We are men after all!” he says with conviction. What do you tell your jealous heart? Is it wrong to want to keep someone so endearing, all to yourself? Is it honorable to attempt to possess another human being? Is it perhaps not even more foolish to give yourself to another person? Can we not Love and hold ourselves fast? Must we lose our footing and as we do, our self-respect?
Another scenario:
You've been independent and mostly on your own since the age of eleven. You know how to fend for yourself. You are kind and amusing to others but also aloof and keep everyone at arms-length, including friends and family. How are you to open yourself up to another now? How can you make yourself vulnerable after two decades of barricading the soft and fleshy parts of yourself. Would this be wise? When around you are couples carelessly tearing at one another’s heart’s and throwing loyalty and fidelity to the wind alongside caution. “Have another line babe, there’s still a gram left.”
Yet another scene:
You sleep beside him. You are like well-worn chairs for one another. Passion has been smothered in layers of dusty familiarity and apathy. You stay because you fear the unknown. No fate worse than to be alone. And yet as you lay in the shadow of his back you know he no longer sees you in the waking hours. Romance and breathless excitement is replaced by ritual and echoed sighs falling on deaf ears.
What are we doing? Where are our “happily ever after’s”? How do we send this back and make sure they deliver the right Knight in Shining Armour that will “love us until we learn how to love ourselves.” This isn't Disney or Dante’s Cove and I don’t think I like this particular show. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Ad some cliché to your gay: Big boys don’t cry, suck it up and build a bridge over your big girl panties because; you may be a Fairy, but this sure as hell is no Fairy-tale.
Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-24900057100816420412012-09-26T06:03:00.002-07:002012-09-26T06:07:27.538-07:00PERVE
I’m burning up. Not because I have a temperature, nor because I have the flu. I am red-faced and soaking wet because I have been working out. Mostly a series of (apparently) stomach flattening squats and lunges. I am cooking! I’m at my locker and stripping the clingy wet gym gear off me so I can go and sauna and get even hotter and burn more calories. I complete the awkward one leg to another disrobing process, which frees me to drape a towel over my modesty, and make my way to the sauna. This is my ritual. These are the sacrifices I must make to the Gods of flat stomachs, if they are to bestow their gifts upon me.
I try and meditate or “come to my senses” in the sauna as I have been taught in my Practical Philosophy classes. All I can think about is how hot I am and how unique each and every naked or semi-naked body that passes the sauna appears to me. Unique blends of hair, flesh, muscle and fat. No two recipes the same. There are so many people in the world. I wonder when I will meet a “special” person again. I meet dozens of people a week but there has been no real spark or connection for a while. I tell myself it’s because I’ve been busy. Am I really that strange or “one-of-a-kind” that suitable partners should be so few and far between? What if I become one of those lonely old gay men in the corner of the club that all the younger queers seem to sneer at? Would that be so terrible?
Then one day there is actually someone who gives me that rollercoaster feeling. He’s older than me, late thirties or early forties; he’s almost 2 metres tall and has a big beefy build. He is incredibly well-groomed and has the most perfectly shaped eyebrows I’ve seen. He wears flamboyant striped shirts and must have a tan-can account because he is nut brown. He’s almost too perfect. He is like a clipped hedge of topiary and I am more of a shaggy bush. (I am not referring to pubic grooming; I mean that he is more refined than I am!)
The first time I saw him; I couldn’t help but steal glances at him. I assumed I would not qualify for his attentions, because I am significantly smaller than him but I could have sworn he winked at me as he sashayed to the showers.
Since then, we have blatantly been scanning and printing one another every time we both happen to be at the gym. Now I need to actually pluck up the courage to speak to him, but this is where my conflict begins.
I am enjoying the fantasy and don’t want to burst the bubble. He is my incentive to go to gym. It motivates me to get up at 5am and squat my guts out just on the odd chance that he may be there and I can get those fantastic butterflies in my stomach again. What if he opens his mouth and he has a nasal voice and a noticeable sibilant ‘S’! Why do stupid things like this put me off so badly? And if I no longer feel an attraction towards him, what would I have to look forward to at the gym then? Sometimes the hunt is so much more exciting than actually acquiring what you’ve been hunting. I sure do love a good hunt. Maybe it’s better to take the plunge and strike up a conversation with Mr Handsome Hedges. I guess I could find another crush if he doesn’t fancy my tickle. I’ll just have to find another motivation to do my rituals and pay homage to the deities of killer abs.
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Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-47494473239246699002012-05-03T07:28:00.001-07:002012-05-03T07:28:31.194-07:00THE "STRAIGHT WHISPERER" in praise of straight menI was about 20 years old, and had to take my banged up baby blue beetle “Betty the Boopmobile”, to a garage in Rondebosch, Cape Town to be fixed. The ultra-straight and greasy (yet not unattractive) mechanic scanned me up and down. He was looking at a camp, skinny, drama student on financial-aid, with cheap highlights. Cliché predicts that he would have hated me, right? Wrong! He gave me two new tyres; panel beat my dented dome hubcaps (by hand) and then sent me on my way assuring me he would send me an invoice. He refused payment and off I drove, never to receive that invoice.
I have many stories like this. I’m not sure why they happen to me.
A friend of mine believes that the only explanation is that I am in fact, the “straight whisperer”.
As a gay guy, it is not unusual that I have a very special bond with my mother. She’s my solace against life’s knocks, like a gum guard when ‘kak-luck” tries to kick me in the teeth. Her love and food fortify me enough to face any battles, providing emotional and physical “padding” (love-handles, Eish!). It’s also pretty much a given that women, in general, play a very significant role in my life. Most of the friendships I have treasured have been with the opposite sex. I could also write a book about all the wonderful gay men I have known, but I want to discuss my gratitude for the extraordinary straight men that have featured in my story thus far. There were: Truck drivers clearing the road, way beyond the yellow line, so I could slowly pass in my meek 1.3 Bantam bakkie; Gorgeous, muscular hetero barmen, dancing in a circle around me, (to protect me from a rabid drunk queen with octopus hands). A handsome and well-known soap star (now married) offering to kiss me as a dare, during a drinking game - causing me to run for my life screaming- (The kiss would have meant nothing to him, but it would have moved the earth for me, so I bolted!) Heterosexual men, have been good friends and confidantes and have even come to my aid when I have needed them.
I’ll tell you about two of my favourites: My dad and my brother. I have received nothing but, 1 ton truckloads of love and support, from these two great Little’s, all my life. Even as I have dragged, camped, minced and “poofed” my wares on stages, dance floors and “voorkamer’s” across the country. I know I am beyond blessed to know and love such considerate and masculine gentlemen, who shower me with Love and approval. Seeing your first born son or older brother on stage in drag or naked (or both!) and showing me nothing but pride and good humour afterwards, is not just progressive but exemplary and I am grateful for this. But my good fortune with hetero men goes further than just the familial bond.
Despite being bullied at boarding school (whilst in the closet). I have been lucky enough to be accepted and (often) even loved by most of the straight men that have come to know me since coming out at 18.
Let me be clear, I’m not talking about seducing straight men or being able to have my way with them (Although, I have fallen for one or two of them over the years.) I am talking about the unique friendships I have enjoyed with certain straight men, men who are comfortable enough in their sexuality to be completely accepting of mine. I concur that attractive straight men are quite irresistible for most of us gay men (we always want what we can’t have.). But they don’t have to be the queer man’s kryptonite. Once you accept that they are not gay and no amount of tequila will change that, then an amazing platonic relationship can flourish.
One wild drunken night in Cape Town I found myself being cradled by a beautiful young man on the steps of the club, and as I lay in his arms beyond inebriated, he gently sang Will Young’s “Evergreen” in my ear.
He doesn’t have a gay bone in his body and is also married with a child now -not that this makes you a heterosexual! (There are too many wedding rings hiding in rented lockers, in Bathhouses on a Thursday night for that!) But he’s really not gay.
I am so grateful for witnesses because I can scarcely believe it happened either!
During long runs of bigger productions like “panto” I have been blessed with “straight husbands”. Close straight guy mates to share my failed romances with and a fresh and unique perspective of the “other” side of the male psyche. “Don’t call him back, let him hunt you a bit.” he would suggest, and in return I could dispense my own advice with a more feminine/intuitive flair, like: “If she says you don’t have to buy her a birthday present, she doesn’t really mean it.” and a lot of laughter about the differences between gay and straight men, like their choice of underwear and deodorant, when sharing a dressing room.
It was a straight male nurse in a Durban public hospital that caringly and unflinchingly held me over a toilet when I was at my most wretched from a bout of severe food poisoning.
And I will never forget a certain buff redheaded actor in SpongeBob the musical reassuring me one melancholy matinee, that if he was gay “he would have been my bitch.” *I died and went to Heaven!* I blow kisses (platonic of course!) to all the straight barmen, DJ’s, Sound technicians, venue owners, managers, mates, boyfriends and husbands of mates, and ‘random straight strangers’, that helped a homo out. Thank you.
I know that homophobia, prejudice and ignorance are still rife out there. But to all the straight boys that we love and love us back, I salute you!Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-12594317455091886922012-02-12T10:19:00.000-08:002012-02-12T10:22:01.005-08:00OUT-CAST<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWs3q85NpL_CWVmAWOiornIV9JJlPY_6phorCOYYO5o3w1lNSJsf2oifFQHQ3ENcQpC2LwW8tRDUw5D9Nci3TBgsL-0OSs-tkrMvXK5kss7wfsikEXVkQxGucTFrzX_GpBaWej8EhTbg/s1600/Lord+Ganesha.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="228" width="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWs3q85NpL_CWVmAWOiornIV9JJlPY_6phorCOYYO5o3w1lNSJsf2oifFQHQ3ENcQpC2LwW8tRDUw5D9Nci3TBgsL-0OSs-tkrMvXK5kss7wfsikEXVkQxGucTFrzX_GpBaWej8EhTbg/s320/Lord+Ganesha.jpg" /></a></div><br />
What should one do, if one is beginning to suspect, that one is a loser? <br />
Every January, for the past few years, I find myself in the same situation. Despite working tirelessly and diligently the rest of the year, I am broke, unemployed and desperate to find something to do, that will prove to me that I am not a loser. This recent January was no exception. Despite sweating away half my body weight in the last pantomime for three months, unforeseen expenses lay in ambush and January bared her teeth at me again. January is also “audition” month, and this January was brimming with gruelling auditions, followed by nerve-crippling call backs, and anxiety sprouting elimination rounds. There were auditions for: Films, sitcoms, commercials, theatre and musicals, all of them, providing their own unique brand of self-doubt and requiring a different type of fear-tackling. This year despite a few close calls, I didn’t get ANY of them. “Niks”, “Nada”. I was the “un-chosen” one. And it sucked like a surfaced Kreepy Krauley. <br />
As I approach my 33rd birthday I am getting a bit long in the tooth to play ensemble and let’s face it, I wouldn’t be my first choice for the macho new game ranger in “The Wild” either!<br />
So my house-of-cards-self-esteem comes crashing down and I begin to panic. What’s wrong with me? Why don’t I have what they want? What could I have done differently? Wait a minute! Why am I still single? Why hasn’t anyone hot, poked me on Facebook recently? Why am I getting fat? Why am I getting older? Why do hangovers last 3 days now when they used to last a morning? Why do I have to do squats and eat NOTHING delicious, if I want a flat stomach? Why Larry? Why? <br />
Then out of the blue I am offered not one but two lecturing jobs. “You want me to teach three bunches of ‘twentysomethings’ for two hours every week for seven weeks?”, I ask in disbelief. “Me?” To which my very pregnant friend Sarah replies: “Yup.”<br />
Then another University offers me the opportunity to teach my very own curriculum (Independent Theatre making self-created from scratch) for twelve weeks. I am flabbergasted and excited and even more petrified than I was, for any of the January auditions. What if the students get bored? What if they don’t listen? What if I suck? <br />
What have I got to lose? <br />
In less than two days it will be Valentine’s Day and I will be giving my first class at Wits. I am still single and broke, and will have to wait for two months before my first pay check. But this is something new. Maybe I can do this? Maybe this is the role I’ve been waiting to be cast in? <br />
Maybe Valentine’s, this year, won’t be so bad, single or not.Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com0Johannesburg, South Africa-26.2041028 28.047305100000017-26.2715043 27.949729600000015 -26.136701300000002 28.144880600000018tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-74503560077822855152010-08-04T03:34:00.000-07:002010-08-04T03:34:05.367-07:00Polony and PoppycockI try not to eat polony because it is fake. There have been times, doing edu-theatre in the townships, when it has been unavoidable and I have had to eat a “kota”(quarter loaf stuffed with polony chips and atchar) in order to survive but, I know too much about polony to eat it capriciously, otherwise. Polony is comprised of all the unwanted and undesirable scraps of meat that have failed the criteria of every prior selection process. Neglected animal anatomy thrown in a heap and ground into a greyish green mass of eclectic flesh-paste. Even in this grainy indistinguishable mix it is so unappealing, that a bright pink food colorant must be added to camouflage it, brighten it, and make it seem consumable. Pungent flavourings like: monosodium glutamate, salts, other artificial ingredients and even garlic are added to further mask the true face, of this ‘recycled’ product. Websites flash bannered warnings about the ill-effects of eating processed meat. It is ‘carcinogenic’ (encouraging of cancer), they say. Every slice, every mouthful, is a lie. <br />
I’m house-sitting for my folks in Deneysville on the Vaal dam. It’s been three days and the majority of these days, have been just me and the animals. Yesterday, Angelina came to clean and tidy, I sat outside painting so we hardly interacted at all. She’s not very chatty and although I usually am, for these few days, I’m on holiday from chatter (other than on Facebook, and even this I am trying to curb).<br />
I’ve been writing, reading, painting and processing my own ‘polony’.<br />
Despite the tranquil and beautiful (albeit winter-dried and yellow) surroundings, I am still reliant on my prescribed sleeping tablets to knock myself out. I want to make the most of the phenomenal bed I am using during my stay. Its mattress and linen is plusher than those I have, in my rented room in Greenside, and it is also extra-length, so I can stretch out catlike in the mornings without hanging a limb. I love this house. My mother has created her dream home and because of the love we share, it contains me very well. In the mornings, I like to journal in a spot of sunlight where my father usually sits. With great relish I resemble him more with every passing year. <br />
My daily drawings and paintings are noteworthy, because they are pastimes I have not enjoyed for several years. As a little boy in Mafikeng I would entertain myself for hours with oil pastels and conjure magical birds and landscapes from my imagination. I made creatures and peoples from wire and clay too. Ironically, this stopped when I began to attend Art school in Braamfontein, as were expected to choose a certain field and the performing arts took precedence, because -presumably- I was better at them. <br />
I’ve stopped drinking again. I say ‘again’ because there have been a number of times in my life when I have sworn off alcohol, for various reasons, and managed to live happily without it for years at a time. This time it is specifically because it causes me to ‘blank out’ (I wake up with huge chunks of the night before, missing from the otherwise credible and secure, vaults of my memory banks.). I struggle to do most things moderately and the very nature of booze is that it impairs my judgment, making any attempt at temperance, almost impossible. Why get ‘tipsy’ when I can get ‘toppled’?<br />
Most of my 31st birthday is compiled of stories that I have gathered from those who witnessed it in a more lucid state. The following morning I felt like I was hearing about the adventures of someone else. It was all news to me. One of my grandfathers suffered from Alzheimer’s, when I was a school boy, my mother and I would often visit him in a home in Lichtenburg. She would trim his fingernails and lovingly rub cream on his hands. It was the only time he didn’t look frustrated or bewildered. In his prime he had been a brilliant mind, but towards the end of his days, his consciousness seemed to be grasping at straws. These ‘blank outs’, of mine, remind me of him in that condition, and I would rather remember any one of another of his attributes and influences. <br />
An unhappy truth is that the sleeping pills I take, also cause ‘blank outs’, if I don’t get to bed soon after taking them. I have discovered e-mails and messages, weeks after I have sent them on my Blackberry, and read them as if for the first time. What is even more disturbing, is that these messages are often my; unedited, innermost hopes and fears, often sent “gung-ho” to a real live person, that I have to deal with later on, in the waking world. There have been times I have not known about a correspondence declaring my; attraction to, or disapproval of someone, until I have received a gut-clamping reply. <br />
You would think the humiliation would put me off the pills and booze, but the reality is that; I often prefer to take the risk of ‘blanking out’, than to lie isolated in the dark for hours on end.<br />
I know I sound melodramatic, but I am an actor for heaven’s sake! I have been indulging in myself, and making a simple story, into a saga, at every opportunity. Looking back it seems I would do anything to avoid boredom and mediocrity, whatever it takes to create intrigue.<br />
I want the movie of my life to be interesting to watch, if it isn’t going to be a romantic comedy (which I would prefer).<br />
There are so many different types of ‘polony’.<br />
I created my show “Little Poof!” to provide a platform for myself to showcase my talents and acquired skills. But, I also created it in the hopes that; an attractive, intelligent and ambitious man would see it and fall in Love with me. I just assumed, should this person present them self to me, that I would automatically match their Love with my own. I was presumptuous.<br />
After six months of touring with the show and an incredible reception all around the country, I found a different outcome to the one I had hoped for.<br />
I was met with unbelievable generosity and support. Raving reviews and on occasion, even standing ovations. Nightly I got washed with a sea of laughter and even the odd trickling tear that I knew I had catalysed. I received affirmation as a writer, singer and actor. It was a lifelong dream, come true. Yet, I was keeping a secret.<br />
It was incredibly hard work, emotionally one of the most taxing times of my life and, despite Cathrine (my MD and accompanist’s) consistent loyalty and presence, often a desperately lonely time. The nature of self-promotion is such; that it leaves very little space for anyone else.<br />
If I am ‘lucky’ I could spend the rest of my life doing my own shows, touring the country and even the world, performing to full houses, but the thought makes me lose colour and dries my mouth out. Would all that money make it worthwhile? I love to perform and create, but I crave more intimacy in my life, and fewer exhibitions. I have to smile, knowing that I will publish this blog on Facebook for the whole world to see. But, if I don’t share my inner world, I feel as though I might cease to exist. Exposing myself through the written word sits more comfortably with me. For some reason it feels more authentic and also, buffered. I am a contradictory exhibitionist it would seem. <br />
So, my heart has not chosen to fall for anyone recently, despite many obstacles and near trip-ups. I wonder if it will ever fall again, or, if it (like other unwanted organs) is inevitably headed for the ‘polony’ factory? I’m too much of a dreamer and an optimist to believe that! <br />
There has got to be more to life than being in Love, romantically. Before I turned 15 I hardly gave it a second thought! I hear the mantras and pop-psychology manifestos belting: ‘Invest in yourself’, ‘Love yourself’, or as Shakespeare said: “To thine own self be true”. I know, I know! But, I also know all the irritating and unattractive things there are to know about me. <br />
It would be so much more fun, to be coming to terms with someone else’s issues, even if they would eventually, lead me back to my own.<br />
Tonight, I’m going to try for the umpteenth time to sleep without a pill fizzing out a ‘zizz’ in my belly. Maybe I’ll meet someone magnificent in the dark.Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-60974821011639090852010-04-26T08:23:00.000-07:002010-04-26T08:23:55.838-07:00FUN RUNTonight is the last performance of Little Poof! In Cape Town and it’s only fitting that it’s a fundraiser and an opportunity for us to give something back to Cape Town after the amazing time that we’ve had here. It’s for the Luleki Sizwe foundation and it’s to promote awareness and support to lesbians in the townships that have been victimized and brutalized because of their sexual orientation. Let’s support James Fernie from Uthando and Ndumi Funda from Luleki Sizwe as they work tirelessly ensuring a better world for us all to live in.<br />
We’ve had good houses peppered by the odd emptyish night so we have just broken even on paying back the loan my boetie gave us to come to Cape Town. It hasn’t exactly been a money-spinner but what an amazing last few weeks it has been. After months of heavy reliance on sleeping pills and anti-anxiety medication I feel like an entirely new person. It’s literally like I took a holiday from myself. I sleep unaided at night and my swollen glands (not those glands! The ones that keep flaring up behind my ears and throat due to stress from when I had glandular fever) have completely settled down and I am a smiling idiot most of the time. After a few years of abstaining from alcohol I have been enjoying a few debaucherous tequila and champagne infused nights and although I would never advocate any form of substance abuse I have been having the time of my life! <br />
I have kissed a beautiful Medditeranean man in public in full view of a very packed dance floor. You know that annoying couple in the corner that you wish would “just get a room!” That was me!!!! Mwa Ha Ha! <br />
I have danced provocatively with gorgeous straight (and curious) topless barmen and I have shamelessly thrown my name around like confetti at a wedding and I am over the moon about it. <br />
Grant and Andrew from Beefcakes have been the most exceptionally accommodating and enthusiastic hosts that any performer could ask for and I am head over heels in Love with every single staff-member and regular in the joint. “Family” taken to the next level. I Love that the space I performed in would dramatically transform into a teeming disco only minutes after our show ended. It seemed only fitting. Tonight is jam packed and even the space behind the bar will be full of some staff that want to watch our final performance in Cape Town (for this run). <br />
Cathrine and I have shared a rather crowded sleeper couch for almost three weeks in JC and Tristan’s happy little home in Princess street in Walmer Estate. Jacob and Tris have been hostesses with the mostesses and have coped well with our noisy and tipsy arrivals home early hours of the morning after painting the town “Poof!” Often the bed would then be further burdened by Luca, Leche (their 2 Itallian greyhounds) and at least one of the two black kitties after they would leave for work in the mornings. Needless to say I am over most of my claustrophobia issues. <br />
Next up we perform in Knysna as the official show for the Knysna pink Loerie festival and will be meeting up with our beloved Christopher Dudgeon to (no doubt) allow the fabulous madness to continue. To all my beautiful and adored Cape Tonian friends and fellow performers like the delicious Odidiva I want to say thank you and hope to see you all again soon. XXXBrucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-14264297030178080172010-02-18T04:09:00.000-08:002010-02-18T04:16:38.775-08:00Opening<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYtP1ATxSvIa_f23Fa1oY6paxznvkg3vjaRAg7y33_NO6uwA4dj9Mq4JWL3cZN4gnVzsSG8_5682ZVDNlZlI0uJdUAviGasIEKfmgWhcwk09ZS3hQGZ5_HmrfAUXdn_KmL_3nhhvfiLYo/s1600-h/Little_Poof_PINK_ROOM_016%5B1%5D.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 222px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYtP1ATxSvIa_f23Fa1oY6paxznvkg3vjaRAg7y33_NO6uwA4dj9Mq4JWL3cZN4gnVzsSG8_5682ZVDNlZlI0uJdUAviGasIEKfmgWhcwk09ZS3hQGZ5_HmrfAUXdn_KmL_3nhhvfiLYo/s320/Little_Poof_PINK_ROOM_016%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439554793323394338" /></a><br />Some things in life you need to do alone. This was not one of those things. There were long lonely hours on occasion, grappling ideas early hours of the morning. But most of the time I had someone holding my hand or kicking my ass when I needed it most. A week ago today I opened my show LITTLE POOF! And I feel that I cannot even really refer to it as something that is mine when there have been so many other hands and voices involved in its creation. Like my show I feel I have experienced a great opening. But let me share some of the days and weeks building up to last Wednesday:<br /><br />There was a brick where my stomach should’ve been and because the brick took up so much space there was hardly any room for one of my favourite things on earth; food. I constantly had to talk nicely to myself and ease myself down to a mild panic. At times I felt like I was gripping the reigns of a bucking wild horse that wanted to cause me more harm than mistaking my finger for a carrot. This horse kicked and flailed and although it wasn’t really a talking horse its eyes said: “Who do you think you are? How dare you do this to me?” I have no idea how I managed to break that particular horse in. I was struggling to sleep and soon the days were beginning to take on a sheeny haze like I was staring at everything with my head on the floor watching the hot tarmac warp everything above it. Deep breaths…deep breaths....Oh my God! What the hell was I thinking!! Just me, Cath and a piano! I had nowhere to hide, for an hour, so up close and personal. All these analytical eyes at arm’s reach.<br />I borrowed a chunk of money from my beloved, benevolent little brother and proceeded to chew my pillow with the back of my head for weeks worrying that the show would not earn enough to pay him back. What if everyone hates it? What if it’s only funny to me? After taking a month off writing to do Sponge Bob the musical I returned to a script that suddenly seemed juvenile, bland and completely inadequate. My other internal organs began to chew on the brick. Then the firm guidance and warm sunshine of my director Neels Clasen and the constant earthy support and litres of tea from my musical director Cathrine Hopkins lifted me under my arms as though I were a child on the floor and things began to take shape. I evolved slowly from fear to faith, then from faith to confidence and then from confidence to sheer excitement to share what we had made with an audience.<br />Zietsies is an amazing venue and once we moved in there for the last week of rehearsals the fantastic view over Johannesburg helped give me a visual of what it was I was trying to do. I was announcing: “Hi Joburg, look at me! I love you! If you gimme a break you may just grow to love me too.” <br />Elzabe (the owner and a powerful and accomplished performer in her own right) and her sister Retha were warm and helpful from the start and I hope to keep them both in my life beyond this production. Before the show high on adrenaline Cath and I have bent poor Retha’s ear off many times and she smiles warmly and goes about her sewing and arranging things for the venue. It’s a cabaret space and a guesthouse but mostly it’s a home. Some nights there is extra food and Cath and I are in our element. The food is so good it even dissolves stubborn bricks!<br />Finally opening night emerged like a great white fin in a paddle pool and after all the stress and fear I was now just eager to get it over with. Next thing I knew Elzabe had announced us and I watched in horror as Cath stepped out to bow and greet the audience and then take her place at the piano. I fantasized about bolting up the stairs and never being seen again. But I could feel all the Love from inside the glass bubble of the dining room and instead I marched in and clung to my clothes rail, steadied myself and on Cath’s cue I began to sing. At first it was a bit shaky but it settled and became more rooted and suddenly I was having fun. Most of the time I was in my own world but every now and then I would emerge to see a close friend or family member laughing from their gut or wiping away a sad tear. Strangely, I remember thinking I was probably dreaming because they were reacting better than I had ever imagined they would. I took a journey and over 30 people took it with me that night. By the end of the opening night we had already sold enough tickets to cover the loan I had taken from my brother (Retha was responding to e-mails for bookings that were still coming through at 9pm that night!) <br />Since then we have enjoyed full houses and standing ovations every night and although it is still early days I am grateful from the very source of my being. The relief of opening night was so mammoth that I came down with a strange virus (still unidentified) that caused me to sleep straight through the two nights and a day I had off until beginning my next week of shows tonight. I have almost completely recovered and the adrenaline of tonight’s show seemed to have given me a clean bill of health. Most of the tickets sold so far have been people who don"t even know me, and if atleast half of my mates come to see the show we will have to extend or do another run it's wonderful!<br /><br />Tigger, Tanz, Mom, Si, Cath, Neels, Elly, Wim, Amalanka, Gerrit, Elzabe, Retha, Hopkins family, Collett, Luiz, Bruce W, Coenie K, Sonia, Peter, Sean, Tess, Nicci, everyone on Facebook and many more people... thank you all for the roles you’ve played in this amazing experience. I’m not counting my chickens. I’m merely sharing my gratitude at this point of the journey. I am fully aware that I am still flat broke and am not sure what the Universe has in store for me beyond the end of this run but I am feeling very optimistic nonetheless. <br />Irrespective of what the future holds I am so thankful for every helping hand and every ticket sold, but I can’t help being a “Little” excited about it too. <br />So much Love.<br />Little Poof!Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-40340371975452698542010-02-05T10:29:00.000-08:002010-02-05T11:07:43.958-08:00VentureFor the past few weeks I have been preparing a show called Little Poof! It's a collection of monologues from different characters from different walks on life that share their perspectives on Queer life in South Africa. I open in four days. It's difficult for me to describe what this process has been like for me. First of all if it wasn't for my brilliant director and my phenomenal musical director and close friend Cath I would have run in front of a taxi ages ago. They, together with my amazing family (especially my brother!) , have made this an experience I can proudly say I am just coping with. Getting up one day and going about making your own show is impossible without the help and constant Love and support of those dear to you, but it is the wrestling with myself that I had not quite bargained with. I realise now that I make a formidable opponent. Most mornings I wake up sport a thong, and heavily douse myself in baby oil. I then step into a slippery ring to face my own image and some tricky toussling then ensues. I'm a sneaky and dexterous wrestling partner and most nights I collapse in a heap of exhaustion. The underhanded tactics employed by my opponent involve whispering things into my ears that attempt to scramble my mind and tremble my heart. Chants like: "what makes you think you can do this?" And "you don't have what it takes, you're going to humiliate yourself.". Then I'll have a kick ass rehearsal that leaves champagne bubbles in my heart which gives me the upper hand to get my bitchy "little" foe in a headlock. Self doubt is rife! It's a plague amongst most of my loved ones. We find it necessary to send ourselves home as the weakest link long before anybody else could have the desire. But I realise that I should in fact be the guy in my own corner, my own pink pom pom thrusting cheerleader waiting to do cartwheels from behind the wings. Rather than my own judge and jury. There are some aspects of this process that have facilitated a few of the loneliest moments of my life, but in the same breath, never before have so many people selflessly come forward to lend a hand and demonstrate their faith in me. I can't wait to perform for you, to demonstrate my gratitude. Also I cannot wait to get up there for my own face off with my shadow and really get to test the sureness of my footing again. Worst case scenario is that I fall on my ass, but even that has entertainment value and should get a laugh. <br /><br />It's frightening to be the captain of your own ship. It's been easier for me to be one of the crew in so many other instances. Now there is noone to blame if I should styeer myself to crash among the rocks. But then again I may also be the only one qualified to steer my vessel to Shangri-la. I guess that's what adventure is all about. Once this big venture is completed I am already planning my next great big expedition. One that should take me out across the roughest seas of all, The oceans of the heart. But for that one I'll have to find me the right first mate to man the deck with me. And that is no light recruitment task. But for now I will paddle this canoe on it's set path to centrestage sharing my thoughts with a (hopefully) appreciative audience, and who knows maybe I can kill two birds with one stone? Perhaps all this attention will attract the right crew member to assist me casting off on my next great adventure. There's a naughty nautical thought. Ships ahoy!Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-86829115005028816202010-01-06T07:27:00.000-08:002010-01-06T11:03:31.780-08:00Emerge<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbRclZNlBTSUOM8guTN0Z0RO6lffL0Bqv6-oH8rw9odotU7l3_Lnwi8cCbsZUXYriLAoM2P16TvNzAb3R_94sPJS_u36eGSCxvR-9qo3OS9gG9ajgU5hH6tluSr5g_5901fYJDuUzfSSs/s1600-h/17952_218156106571_603386571_3603877_1920192_n.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbRclZNlBTSUOM8guTN0Z0RO6lffL0Bqv6-oH8rw9odotU7l3_Lnwi8cCbsZUXYriLAoM2P16TvNzAb3R_94sPJS_u36eGSCxvR-9qo3OS9gG9ajgU5hH6tluSr5g_5901fYJDuUzfSSs/s320/17952_218156106571_603386571_3603877_1920192_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423704436491084418" /></a><br />I am in Cape Town (well Durbanville and Grand West casino to be exact) performing in a show called "The Sponge who could fly". It's about a character named Sponge Bob square pants who aspires to be able to one day realise his dream and fly with the Jellyfish in Jellyfish fields. I play his supportive yet intellectually challenged chum Patrick Starfish. In short a pink morbidly obese mollusc with a heart of gold. I wear a fatsuit and a plush pink cotume that weighs a ton and sing in my lower registers. It's a blast and I am thoroughly enjoying every minute because the rest of the cast are also completely mentally unstable and the most fun to get silly and sweaty with, without the raunchy stuff. Playing this role is the equivalent to dancing my ass off at a rave club wrapped up inside a sleeping bag so I sweat a lot and have lost quite a bit of weight. I have also laughed until it hurt at some point almost every day we have rehearsed and performed. The talent and comic timing of this cast has vastly contributed to my attempts to flatten my stomach. But ironically I have also been wrestling with one of the heaviest and most challenging times of my life internally. <br /><br />Despite the warm sunshine of the show, my friends, family and being able to pay my bills (for a change) I have sat huddled under a cloudy wet depression that I have struggled to shrug off. It came out of left field and just seemed to block out all good warm and fuzzy things. What is worse is that I had no real reason for it. I had no real reason to feel down, I just did. It appeared at my door like an unwanted evangelist who would not leave me alone. It would come in waves like an ice cold breeze. I would be stuck in writing, having a conversation or readng something and then this leaded feeling would sink into me and everything I was doing would feel pointless and like too much effort. Icy isolation. I would continue smiling and laughing and engaging with others without the usual ease (10 years professional acting is good for some things) and every now and then the sun would come out, sometimes even for a whole day and then without reason or warning my consciousness would begin to feel overcast again. I'm a proactive person and started researching my feelings and symptoms on the internet because I knew there was something wrong. Synchronicty is an amazing thing. The Bob Marley and the Wailers lyrics "Emancipate yourself from mental slavery. None but ourselves can free our minds" ran through my head like a stuck record. I would rise humming the wise yet cheerful tune despite the dark funk I would usually wake up in. <br /><br />There is a history of depression and anxiety disorders on both sides of my family so I could have just embraced it as an early inheritance, but I truly believe that with awareness and proper nutrition many conditions can be prevented and even avoided. I remenbered a small section of Patrick Holford's book "The Optimum Nutrition Bible" in which he wrote about individuals suffering with high levels of histamine in their bodies. I read it over 4 years ago and I had ticked all the symptoms and something told me to explore it a little further now despite all the time that had past. High histamine in the body is known as Histadelia and the symptoms are: A fast metabolism, high energy, heavy allergies, sneezing in the presence of direct sunlight, elongated fingers and toes especially a long thin second toe, low tolerance for pain, high body temperature, addiction or cravings for drugs and alchohol and severe often unprompted depression and anxiety attacks. This is me, I thought as I read about the condition. Many schitzophrenics have been found to have high levels of histamine in the brain and though I don't quite hear strange voices (other than the characters that I write into my shows) I am not quite that bad. Turns out there is actually a number of articles written about this condition on the net and that histadelics suffering from depression have been found to experience fewer positive results and less relief from traditional depression and anxiety medication. The remedy is actually quite simple although not immediate in its efficacy. I started taking 500mg of an amino acid called methionine as well as 500mg of calcium and magnesium morning and night because they have both been found to lower the bodies production of histamine over an extended period of time (results can generally only be felt after 6 weeks). I have supplemented this with St. Johns wort and 5HTP in the hopes of speeding up the process a little and have felt a bit of relief. 5HTP is a precursor for seritonin production (happy brain chemical) so perhaps that is what has been helping me lift the cloud a bit. St. Johns wort needs to be taken with caution because it is believed to make you photosensitive and more susceptible to sunburn as well as affecting the efficiency of female oral contraceptives so I would advise anyone keen on following this regime to first chat to their doctor. <br />I am also trying to eat a low histamine diet which cuts out sugars, (real and artificial) and basically anything fermented from yoghurt to smoked chicken. It's a challenge but I really feel it has been a dead weight that I have been dragging behind me and I'm determined to cut the dark cloud loose. Other than that I begin rehearsals for my one man show Little Poof! after the 16th of January and hope to open in a lovely new venue I am negotiating with on or around the 10th of February. This year I am determined to make things happen for myself. I am terribly nervous and have had a few sleepless nights already but am also very excited and cannot wait to work with my director Neels Clasen and musical director Catherine Hopkins. The photos that I have had taken by the brilliant Gerrit Joubert and expertly styled by Wim and Amalanka for the posters and the PR are exquisite and hysterical.<br />Watch this space because now that I've figured out how to get rid of aunty "Debra" this "Little Poof" is getting ready to make a BIG BANG!Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-68620511838058614752009-11-12T05:22:00.000-08:002009-11-12T06:13:39.183-08:00Hope StokerThe processor that runs my head and heart is due for a service and probably an overtime pay out. I sure do know the full length and breadth of the word "transitional". My life is like an airport terminal with the strange and shapely comings and goings of positive and negative thoughts and my mind is the aggressive lady at customs who is keeping the illegal bad thoughts at bay. Yet as with most terminals there are more than a handful of unwanteds that manage to slip through the borders. A few weeks ago I auditioned for a big role in a major soapy and even though the audition went well and I have been keeping a very posistive mindset, I found out today that the casting offices will be closed until next year and that only female actresses have been offered contracts for roles next year. Frustration mounts because I am desperate for some kind of steady income and my efforts to keep the bank and my other debtors at bay is becoming increasingly more difficult. I'm broke and I'm basically unemployed until the ednd of the month until I start rehearsals for Spongebob squarepants the musical which will atleast keep me going until mid January. I have been auditioning for so many different things and although it's always been done in a nice way I've heard the same thing: "Lovely, but no thanks." I believe to a certain degree that you should "fake it 'til you make it." So I've been donning a very happy and contented air and meeting every rejection and red lettered bank warning with a smile and a motivated attitude. But some days its tough to play along and pretend that everything is hunky dory. I'm finding it hard to turn a blind eye and deaf ear to this blockbuster called THE RECESSION that everyone is talking about. I feel like I'm swimming in a gala with poverty consciousness and although I've been winning, it's catching up to me heels and every now and then I choke on a mouthful of water. Okay so that's the bitching and whining part done (gimme a break I am a Cancerian). But there is also some amazing stuff going on which is adding to my confusion. I'm 'relaxing' with my folks on the Vaal due to lack of money and work but also because I am writing a new draft of a one man show which I have finally committed to doing in February next year. Everything has fallen into place, I have found a beautiful venue (Zietsies in Brixton owned and run by Elzabe Zietsman) and I have secured funding (from my beloved brother) and even a musical director<br /> and piano accompanist (my gifted and adored friend Catherine Hopkins). I will finally be doing my own thing in February of next year and its one of the most exciting things I have embarked upon in ages. Also I have met someone wonderful (barely a week ago) and although things are still premature there are few things in life as stimulating as watching sparks igniting a fire. I'm really in a very good place, all things considered, but I'm scared of dissappointment and I guess in some ways also terrified that some things may actually take off and thrive. Am I ready for success? Will I open the door for it and let it in? Failure is something we've all dealt with on occasion, but just how good are we at taking centre stage when it's our time to shine? I hope I'm man enough to face up to my own happiness. In fact I pray I am. Amen.Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-57712464747528397882009-10-23T05:18:00.000-07:002009-10-23T05:20:17.526-07:00MOTIVE8<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_sAh6P4PiXPuIsQoGQeHfTh3ndZrB6jPvhZgZRDc5KVxe8sH5_abMelUfAajkaaq4IYubHdnSwNUn8sJ8eGhVamgzTKz1IhDkCWV7ZnsRcaX9Gp13_GpMo5mMC2cH94-MA_aDBe1n0H4/s1600-h/Puppy+Love+pic.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 115px; height: 115px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_sAh6P4PiXPuIsQoGQeHfTh3ndZrB6jPvhZgZRDc5KVxe8sH5_abMelUfAajkaaq4IYubHdnSwNUn8sJ8eGhVamgzTKz1IhDkCWV7ZnsRcaX9Gp13_GpMo5mMC2cH94-MA_aDBe1n0H4/s320/Puppy+Love+pic.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395769045253463122" /></a><br />I just listened to the last crack and fizzle of a Highveld thunderstorm. I remember sitting in my hostel room in Braamfontein just over ten years ago swatting for my matric finals and enjoying the sound of the rain on the corrugated roofs outside as I took a moment to phase out and chew on my highlighter. I’m sure this rain can clean a scuffed heart, but mine doesn’t feel scuffed at all tonight, in fact it’s been licked all shiny clean by some interesting new acquaintances.<br />Today my best friend Sonia (the Guava Panty princess) and I visited a domestic animal sanctuary in Roodepoort named FORA. Hundreds of dogs and cats desperate for Love and affection crammed into a relatively small space, but clearly cared for as best as possible under the circumstances. All the more emotive because the land on which the sanctuary stands has been sold to developers and the people who run the place are now trying to raise funds to be able to prevent all these furry creatures from becoming homeless and abandoned AGAIN. <br />Off the bat the place reminded me of a gay club. The same hunger for affection and acceptance and the same happy-go-lucky ‘jollers’ who didn’t give a shit and just wanted to shag. (Quite a few of the dogs tried to hump each other and they didn’t care if their “stuk” was male or female.) I saw myself in the puppies, the old scruffy Labrador with a hoarse bark and the one eyed smoky cat that shared its living space with another few hundred cats in a space no bigger than a garage. The constant barking and the occasional scuffle ending with a high pitched “tchank!” got to me a little initially, until I decided to try and see if there was another way to look at the situation. We played with some adorable puppies who somehow managed to splatter us with their poo through the fence and afterwards we walked through different gated sections that housed many types of dogs of all sizes, ages, breed and personality. Each section lead on to another and the place seemed to go on and on with an endless variety of abandoned dogs yapping with gay abandon. Right at the back were these old granpa dogs in one section together wheeze barking at us, all arthritic and one even had a moony white cataract. Finally I ended up in the cat “cage” on a deck chair with at least four cats on my lap at a time; one would disembark only for another to quickly take its place. I love both cats and dogs but I really connect with cats because they are more intelligent and complex (just like me!). They’re aloof and then affectionate and I love that they keep me guessing. <br />The place in its entirety also reminded me of a squatter camp. In the townships I’ve performed in I’ve seen humans living in worse conditions than the animals I saw today. At least the animal had food, shelter and people caring for them. I can see you thinking “SHEESH DUDE! Where’s the friggin silver lining already!” Well, I did notice that almost all the animals like the people I encountered in the poorest of areas seemed for the most part happy and friendly. I know that sounds weird but beside their visible need for affection most of the animals seemed quite content in their set of circumstances and I realized that any form of dissatisfaction or self-pity I could conjure would not stand up against what these animals are purring and wagging their tails through every day. I left the place energised by all the Love they showered on me without me having to qualify myself to them in anyway. They just gave it to me. No holds barred. It was inspiring this Gung-Ho no fear Love that they freely and easily extended to me. Many have probably known great pain from the human hand and yet they didn’t hesitate to lick mine. <br />According to my personal numerology for October I am having an 8 month in a 7 year. An 8 month is supposed to be a month in which hard work and dividends begin to pay off. 8 is about intelligent work, motivation and reaping the harvest of all the seeds planted in days gone by. So far this month has been just that. Clearing the clutter, deciding what I want and then getting down and dirty to make it happen. I realise more and more everyday that life is not so much about what is presented to me but more about how I choose to see it and what I then decide to do with it. I must choose every day what day I want to have and then, like an order from Mr. Delivery, it arrives, even though it does sometimes come a bit late. So my strategy for success is to think cunningly like a cat, work hard and loyally like a dog and Love unabashedly like a puppy. Thank you FORA I’m going to find a way to help you. <br />www.fora.org.zaBrucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-64067024105486812922009-10-08T17:53:00.001-07:002009-10-08T17:53:31.240-07:00EekmotionAll of us live with our own little clutch bags of emotion. Some of us have clutch bags, others have tiny purses of emotion they can easily put away into their pockets out of the public eye and then there are those of us with huge duffle bags that we lug around wherever we go, hoping to check in our baggage somewhere en route to our various destinations. Eckart Tolle in his book 'The Power of Now' suggests that emotion is what keeps us living in the past or the future and robs us of the skill of living fully in the moment. In a casting or an audition for something that I really want my emotions will go from a manageable moonbag size to an industrial sized tin trunk in ten seconds flat if I don't manage to calm myself down. I often wrestle with my emotion but I am determined not to lose my sensitivity and ability to truly feel things in my life. Men (and nowadays even a lot of women) are encouraged to show no emotion. To be ruthless. Its cool to be cold. We try and numb ourselves with painkillers, cigarettes alcohol and other drugs but sure as the sun rises those raw nerve ending around our hearts appear in the morninglight throbbing and more demanding of our attention like ear ache in our hearts. Emotion is like Pepe LePhew the animated skunk. Pepe is besotted with a black female cat who due to a brush up with some white paint, he mistakes to be a female skunk and therefore his potential perfect match. We are like this cat he has mistaken for a possible mate. Wherever the cat runs and however far it gets or how many doors it locks behind it, Pepe is always right there behind her waiting to plant an opportunistic kiss on the unfortunate creature. She cannot escape him and his skunky stench and like the kitty we wake up after a night of numbing to the alarming odour of all of last nights left over and now off emotions. Emotion must be faced. Better to do it when its still relatively fresh. I suppose in this regard its a lot like taking out the trash. But your own more importantly than that of others. Emotionally I have been apprehensive about the same basic stuff: money, career, romance and relationships in general. I notice how prevailent it is in everyone around me. I go for dinner with two good friend who are a couple, after a few glasses of red wine they start squablling with each other and their fears and insecurities become layed bare on the restaurant table, but they're both tipsy and each so immersed in their own sea of emotion that they hardly notice one another as they plot their arguments. On a dancefloor the music is so loud and the lighting so erratic we are all forced into our own little worlds despite dancing within inches from one another. We all allow the music to dictate the rise and fall of our emotions as we search the smear of faces for love and recognition. Sometimes I'll sit in a dark movie house with mates and allow myself to be immersed in the story and give my tearducts a good flushing. Rarely in everyday life do I come in contact with those kinds of emotions and feelings within my interactions with other people in my life. Most of my emotion is kept in bags under my bed, only to be sorted in absolute privacy. When others parade or expose their emotions in front of me I am often left feeling alienated or angry. I have studied acting most of my life and nothing gets me more ruffled than crocodile tears. But even authentic raw emotion from someone that I don't know very well can make me want to hitchhike to the Himalayas. I withdraw in outbursts and drama and I wish others didn't rely on them so much for catharsis and stimulation. I trust my emotion to guide me towards the things that are right for me and away from the things that will harm me. But otherwise I see them as large boisterous dogs that need to be contained or else they will do damage to me and other peoples property. Often things said from emotion can be more troublesome than things said from careful thought. So when you see me and my clutch bag on the street don't ask me whats inside unless you're standing firmly on your feet cos heaven knows I probably wont want to know whats in yours.Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-82375077692897982522009-09-23T16:09:00.000-07:002009-09-23T16:15:00.627-07:00SugarFatCaffeine<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg-NjvlDX-SmKJAcLc8sciaWn6sMLfDE-xbiUZo2GZyG5b-1R4H90U3MSsYb1MGwNLjUMo6SSStdVL0y_RdgbgGX3llzb-HB58xmGrs7O4BgesPyJABkMvyXxwDCbVj8wJYDagiSGN7io/s1600-h/Sugarfatcaffeine.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 104px; height: 104px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg-NjvlDX-SmKJAcLc8sciaWn6sMLfDE-xbiUZo2GZyG5b-1R4H90U3MSsYb1MGwNLjUMo6SSStdVL0y_RdgbgGX3llzb-HB58xmGrs7O4BgesPyJABkMvyXxwDCbVj8wJYDagiSGN7io/s320/Sugarfatcaffeine.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384805298655423634" /></a><br />Sugar Fat Caffeine<br />Projections on a green screen<br />Supersize and lean<br />Enamel smiles of saccharine<br /><br />Out the box obscene<br />Second-hand and gone green<br />The venue to be seen<br />Botox leather teen dream<br /><br />But through the numb I know you feel<br />Under the plastic pure and real<br /><br /><br />It’s spring and there’s a lot of magic around. I’ve been working my ‘noombies’ off and doing wonderful things in artificial environments. Late nights in mock casino’s and long days under white rehearsal lights. It’s been amazing. I’ve worked with people I only dreamed of meeting and have been a part of a performance that I truly believe brought the rain. Magic. <br />Successive graveyard trips home with only petrol stations as supply depot detours and yet I have paced up and down those narrow aisles of ghost pops, nuts and fizzydrinks expecting to find something new. I never do.<br /><br />At “Old Ed’s” Virgin active men’s locker room, there is an electric hand dryer between the basins and two of the toilet cubicles. Almost every time I walk past it the sensor detects me and it goes off like a jet engine, and every time I get the fright of my life. It’s only because I am completely in another world whenever I walk that way through to the showers. Yet I never seem able to remind myself to avoid it or not to be startled by it if it starts blowing. <br />I’m content.<br />I’m still not rich and famous and God knows I’m not enamoured with anybody in particular (more like a handful of people) but I feel good. Not in a manic kind of grinning cartoon sort of way. I’m still trading stock in frustration and getting ‘A’ grades for effort, but, I just seem to be enjoying my moments more. <br />I’m beginning to make peace with my apparent decision to follow what I Love in favour of what I may want (Blackberryboyfriendpicketfences). <br />I don’t really know what’s coming next but I’m very stimulated and my life is brimming with Love and affection. Everything else just seems unimportant all of a sudden. (Maybe that’s just because I’m about to get paid) Well, whatever this is I pray it lasts and that the magic that seems to have settled over my mind has staying power because I am filled with gratitude.Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-81290122291467770772009-08-24T16:45:00.000-07:002009-08-24T16:48:37.024-07:00Man-ifesto.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfbY3CUpfws2syr311IADgkmWH1R1QOkGZXWSGTPB5pMlF6OOraTTKyUfT1cVErVSy28dQKV901bOFGSJYjPc1V8MUG8svXr3ZWnoxCNvqmOUNhk2u6XrbcH8FB7y8XRmU3PRNrBi-dU/s1600-h/5540_148656610394_640125394_3926097_2157789_n.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfbY3CUpfws2syr311IADgkmWH1R1QOkGZXWSGTPB5pMlF6OOraTTKyUfT1cVErVSy28dQKV901bOFGSJYjPc1V8MUG8svXr3ZWnoxCNvqmOUNhk2u6XrbcH8FB7y8XRmU3PRNrBi-dU/s320/5540_148656610394_640125394_3926097_2157789_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373681398041833154" /></a><br /><br />Now that I have become a man, what is to become of me? I feel as though my boyhood is like an abandoned snake skin just, just behind me and I’ve been handed a new role to play. Now that I’m a man I must do manly things mustn’t I? I must be a brave, a big, strong protector. I must provide. Or can I just continue to cast my creative nets into the seemingly unyielding ocean that is this industry and hope to sustain myself ten, twenty or sixty years from now ? In other words: Is it time I got a ‘real’ job and stopped ‘mucking about.’<br />I started Speech and Drama as a child because my little (Little) brother had a lisp (now gone) and my mother asked if I wanted to join. I was the proverbial duck to water and when I turn around and wipe the Kryolan make-up out of my eyes I realise that despite the “sukkel” and the uncertainty, I have adored every projected utterance. I love to entertain. Strange that I have recently been feeling such pressure, having turned thirty, to suddenly produce the real estate with the white picket fence and the Toyota RAV in the garage. Do I really have to cash in my chips now? Have I been playing for long enough? God knows that I don’t want to but I feel bogged down by guilt and obligation. I’m not getting any younger and I don’t have any real assets to my name, whilst people I know and watched grow up are sitting pretty, high on top of gilded nest eggs. I’m also tired of being snubbed because my clothes are not new or expensive or feeling bad because some of the men I have dated can afford the finer things in life while I choke on my half of the dinner bill. Then there is also the ‘where to from here?’ As an actor or entertainer in South Africa, are the greatest aspirations and long term goals I can have, to be a feature on a soapy or the lead in consecutive musicals? There must be more to my life. There must be more for all of us. What though I don’t know. One thing this lifestyle does afford is time to think (when you’re in-between gigs) so I have been doing a lot of it because it passes the time and is free. There are a few corporate type jobs that may be on offer, if I play my cards right, but I can’t help wonder if it would just be giving up the ‘goose’. Or would a steady income and responsibilities provide me with a ‘golden goose’? I am sure though, that if my income continues to be so erratic then my ‘goose’ is ‘cooked’. I’m unsure about just about everything else.<br />Also, now that I am a man, I am finally getting attention from other men (I’ve always liked guys in their thirties who’ve only recently returned the favour) and though they now seem attracted and give me the eye brow shuffle, they seem to shy away or disappear once they realise how inconsistent my finances are. To be honest I don’t blame them. Dating any artist in a recession mean that you are either stupid, besotted or he looks like an Abercrombie model. Fun, but not necessarily a good idea. Since my last blog I have been reminded of two friends of mine who have been in a loving monogamous, that’s right, I repeat: MONOGOMOUS, gay relationship for eleven years. One is corporate and the other creative and so I am starting to believe that there are no hard and fast rules. Things are generally a less flattering shade of grey. There are people who need to constantly upgrade their lovers like cell phones, there are people that are committed. There are artists that make plenty money and there are loads of poor people doing kak jobs they hate. Some people can and some people can’t. Some people will and others won’t, but I just need to figure out which of those people I want to be (Even if it changes from time to time.)Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-81181298130909453232009-08-03T13:25:00.000-07:002009-08-03T13:29:49.070-07:00Saving Yourself.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRSp4c66e-Af4UTtxd3W0YKe1fRmo9gi_NS3-lppfHQ9yow4lGpQJ4u8eq2ajqZgZHO8mO5Q1MfjpIR7039llt02Yjxrz1qBeWyagUlqPR8hNZyXycVk1tjPQaQXVS-dfuP4mzx8DcjaY/s1600-h/lifesaver2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 136px; height: 135px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRSp4c66e-Af4UTtxd3W0YKe1fRmo9gi_NS3-lppfHQ9yow4lGpQJ4u8eq2ajqZgZHO8mO5Q1MfjpIR7039llt02Yjxrz1qBeWyagUlqPR8hNZyXycVk1tjPQaQXVS-dfuP4mzx8DcjaY/s320/lifesaver2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365837381704363714" /></a><br />Quite a few people that I know believe that you give a part of yourself to every person that you sleep with. Now I’m not just talking about the usual saliva and skin cell exchange, they believe that you leave a part of your “spiritual essence” with every person that you are physically intimate with. Well, if that is the case then many of us are scattered far and wide like rainbow coloured shards of glass at the bottom of a very vast kaleidoscope (It makes sense if you consider all the mirrors and mirror-balls in gay clubs). I am probably the last person to advocate abstinence. With regards to most things I consider life to be like a “buffet” and I have queued with the best of them to sample a taste of everything on offer. It’s been fabulous. Until about nine months ago. I haven’t lost my appetite I just haven’t found a decent meal and I’m tired of junk food. <br />Originally I wanted to write a blog celebrating all the “singular sensations” that I know. I have become aware of how many gorgeous, creative, intelligent and sexy single people there are out there and I wanted to write something acknowledging them, thereby comforting and acknowledging myself. I was going to gush but, something about the content didn’t seem to sit authentically with me because I kept putting it off. There are loads of hot, clever, single people and there are also loads of scary, “Hildegard”, stupid people that have been happily involved with a significant other for years. There are also single “ugly stupids” and involved “pretty clevers” of course. It appears to be random, like being born with a tongue that can fold into a tube, or one that, despite working well in the tasting and blowing “raspberries” department, cannot. Being single does not equate being a failure or an inability to be attractive. It is merely what it is: being single. <br />Sex is something that involves both ‘single’ and ‘involved’ people and is in my experience something to be enjoyed most frequently by some of the ‘single’ people I know. I’m not exactly sure that I have left a part of my “being” with every person that I have had sex with like one would a sock, a cap or a pair of sunglasses, but, I do feel that there is no such thing as “no strings attached” sex, not for me anyway. It always means something in some way and every action has a repercussion. On one occasion it may leave you feeling sexy confident and grinning as you “mince” through a mall with your newly reinforced ego. On another it may leave you feeling inadequate, isolated and yoked with regret. It is no longer something that I feel that I can take lightly and although I have been charitable, has never been something that I have been able to dispense too generously. I realise now that, to me, sex is too important an expression for that. <br />I am by no means a monk; I am far too promiscuous with religion for that! (Buffet again) it’s just; I am beginning to think that (for the umpteenth time) Madonna had a point. “Like a virgin, touched for the very first time.” this from a woman who had previously marketed herself as a sexual ‘libertine’. From “the whore of Babylon” she repackaged herself as “the Virgin”. I think she did this for the purity and the clarity that this title would afford. Going around smearing yourself off on people must get a little emotionally untidy after a while. <br />A laser beam is potent because it is concentrated light focused on a specific spot. Diffused and general light does not have the same efficacy although it is very illuminating. If I try to shed light on everything I encounter I will become more aware of my surroundings as my light bounces off everything, but I will never have the potency to be able to truly penetrate anything. I think sex is a bit like that, and not just when it comes to the ‘penetrate’ part.<br />Sex is easy and available yet, I hope it has the potential to be more than just a mutual body function. I have never been of the opinion that it is overrated. Sex has killed and conquered thousands of brave and wise souls. There must be more to it than procreation or in our case recreation. I wonder if it is perhaps something worthwhile waiting for after the initial discovery and experimentation has ended. Do we ever stop experimenting and discovering? Two of the longest and most successful gay relationships I have encountered have been ‘open’ relationships. But why does that fact leave me with a dull ache in my gut? Maybe my massive actors’ ego doesn’t like the idea of someone I love getting sexual satisfaction from another soul. Am I deluded by thinking I can be the sole source of all that special man may want or need, sexually? Maybe I just don’t know enough monogamous and happy long term gay couples. I’m not sure. <br />I know that life is short, but I’d really like the next person to be someone I have a meaningful connection with. Not just someone who has the right look or ‘bad boy’ quality. Delayed gratification seems to be a recipe for many types of achievement, perhaps in this matter too. But then again the loins can roar like lions. I wonder if I can make them tame.Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-53174038635104935642009-06-18T12:07:00.000-07:002009-06-18T12:10:31.336-07:00Reflection Zone<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6NJWU0r6SL-widcR5zesUKUuNy2Na9yPdDalI5McuTstRGjjzd2lZ-w2faErm98XdK9Zda3aB3avq1bJHm2_0ETD6kl8PwR0gLRkcmFnQYFwlKw2_7JvWtY5Xs30DlG6LVLEUF5wkLz8/s1600-h/reflectionzone.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 283px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6NJWU0r6SL-widcR5zesUKUuNy2Na9yPdDalI5McuTstRGjjzd2lZ-w2faErm98XdK9Zda3aB3avq1bJHm2_0ETD6kl8PwR0gLRkcmFnQYFwlKw2_7JvWtY5Xs30DlG6LVLEUF5wkLz8/s320/reflectionzone.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348746829019231650" /></a><br />After three or so months of getting up at 4h15 am to perform in township schools across Gauteng life has conspired to give me a few weeks to recollect myself and have a bit of a break with my folks. They have a lovely house in Deneysville on the Vaal dam which I adore and it is doing me the world of good. My friend Sarah told me that she would help me edit a book if I would take the time to write it, so I have come here to start throwing down the foundations. It’s scary and all grown up to be trying to write a book and so far I’ve only written about twelve pages, but I’m really enjoying it. I get up drink my green tea write my morning pages and then, in between helping my mom lift the odd suitcase or drive her to the shops or hair salon (she’s still recovering from a big operation) I am pretty much indulging in taking a good look at myself, one of my favourite hobbies. Next month I turn thirty and it’s an important benchmark in my life. Numerous psychics, Astrologers and Sangoma’s have told me in the past that my life would come together just before my thirtieth birthday and here I am a few weeks away still waiting for that to happen. <br />I’ve joined the local gym in Deneysville and for R15 a day I can pump iron with a very sexy 20 year old who is a barman at one of the local bars. I find him there when I go around 4pm and he plays Eminem from his cell phone as he does his bench presses and I try not to look too gay as I do my second set of leg raisers. Most of the equipment looks like stuff you would get from Verimark and I suspect that 20 year old and I may be one of just a handful of members most of which I presume must come in the mornings when 20 year old and I are sleeping. Deneysville is quiet and villagey. The people are down to earth and quite friendly but I’m not here to socialise. My dad wakes early every morning to run his Laundromat on the main road and mom and I keep busy during the day on various projects. Other than recovering she’s currently making an inventory of all the stamps we found in old suitcases that my grandfather collected during his life. Mom does her thing and I do mine and occasionally we meet up for tea (which I keep flowing) or meals which my mother expertly prepares. It’s easy to manifest love-handles in Deneysville. <br />Since I’ve been here I’ve missed auditions for Grease the next big Pieter Toerien musical planned for next year and for the first time in ages I felt nothing but relief that I wasn’t able to go. I Love musicals but I don’t think I’ll be able to keep doing them and make enough money to sustain a real living. I’ve loved every moment of being a musical theatre queen but I’ve put a fork in myself and begun to realise that I’m done. There are just so many talented young actor/singer/dancers spewing forth from the universities and Colleges and it’s not really ever where I saw myself in the long run. <br />So, what next? I’m not really sure... I start a gig on the 29th singing opera in Melrose Arch to promote Bingo (you can’t make that shit up) and I am even considering doing the schools again afterwards if it continues to pay me enough to keep writing. Sometimes I lie in bed at night crushed by at least one of our five chubby cats and I fantasize about what I want for my life. I see my own imaginary home with comfy couches and cosy nooks that invite you to drink tea, read a book or write a wish list. I have my own cat or two roaming and occasionally gracing me with their presence as only a cat can do. Purring and sharing a spot of sunshine with me. I see myself singing to an appreciative audience, songs that I have written and in my fantasy they know the words as well as I do. I imagine spooning with a man that is a mystery but at once deeply familiar, a man with my hearts stamp of approval whose heart has stamped an approval of me, masculine and sexy, to share laughter and warm, delicious meals with. In this home I am drawing with my mind, I have a big wooden table and chairs and I enjoy food and consoling conversation over candlelight with my beloved friends. They bring their warmth across my threshold. Everything in life that is manifest must have at one point in time have been unmanifest, I entertain these pictures and hopes in my head and pray that they will all, someday soon, come into being.Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-39729343410560133972009-06-02T07:00:00.000-07:002009-06-02T07:57:48.479-07:00Own Little world."He's in his own little world." I've heard that sentence many times in my life. "Uh oh!", I hear you thinking. "Not one of THOSE blog entries!" But I assure you I'll try to keep the nostalgia and self-indulgence to a mild roar. I will make every effort to keep this amusing to the reader, but I admit that this is my therapy. Often I haven't got a clue about how I'm feeling until I've written something about it so keep a barf bag handy. Lately I've been losing at the dating game again. I hate reruns and remakes of old classics so I'll spare you the details, but basically hounded after someone who just couldn't be "sure" how he felt about me. Our last conversation felt like the final dress rehearsal for an episode of Santa Barbra. Cliched and predictable but like any dedicated actor I made like it was all happening for the first time. I'm disappointed but I'm not devistated. It's really not his fault. I think I only chose to fall for him in the first place because I could never really have him. Another excuse for drama, another reason to stay up late staring glassy eyed at the moon stretching my imagination with his image. Poor man, it's hard to imagine that we inhabit the same planet never mind the same wavelength. I think I just imagined that we could communicate through the impenetrable glass of our different space ships in the vastness of Gay outerspace. Sigh!A lot of what I wanted to say to him seems lost in translation. Through my tainted spectacles now everybody seems isolated and unable to communicate with others. I notice those alone. I see people desperate to have their stories heard. I watch hundreds of knuckles knocking on thousands of doors and like me not recieving a much longed for reply or opening. Working long hours immersed in the desperation of the townships is also not exactly doing wonders for my outlook. But if you ask me I will swear on my life that I am an optimist. However, I am not blind. Watching small children fight over a small handful of soggy fried potato chips puts things into perspective and then I notice how song and laughter permeates and soothes even the most dire of circumstances. The poor and abandoned I have encountered laugh and smile so freely. I see so much dissatisfaction amongst adults but I think it's merely my own that the world is reflecting back at me. This would make sense because I have been looking for myself out there. I understand why alchohol and drugs play such a major role in society because I find myself longing for something to numb the intensity of the thoughts that climb into bed with me at night. But instead of watching TV, I face them and its not unbearable. I am,for the most part happy in my own world. I make good company and am blessed in so many ways by so many people but it does feel at times like we are all in our own bubbles packed up against each others as tightly as foam. All together yet, each in his own little shiny rainbowed orb ocassionally popping one another as we squirm for our own space. I live on faith and I survive on a positive mindset and I can do this because I recognise the breadth and depth of the potholes in the road ahead and go around them rather than try to convince myself that they are not there. My current potholes are bad habits carried over from the past and the illusion that I need fame or a meaningful relationhip to be a succesful individual. This is not true, what I do need (I'd like to believe) is Love and laughter and already my accounts are brimming with both. Perhaps I'm not meant to come out of my own little world, and if so it wont be that bad because in here I am safe and Loved and maybe the "real" world can learn a lesson or two from me,even if its how NOT to do things. I think that if I just keep planting a Little Love and Laughter everyday of my life that eventually I will find myself the beneficiary of a very rich harvest. One can only hope, but even if I don't it will be a noble occupation nonetheless that should make the world a better place. Mine and everyone elses.Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-10611009302031271022009-05-03T13:08:00.000-07:002009-05-03T13:19:25.400-07:00The Little Boetie’s Big Trip to the mighty Bush!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_4NU9eVewC9dmJK_S_vdSoqHRxf3YXMjJ870eKyzPFYZ0bsc48ll7NN6FFZJgf2nvQHejVOVRM3DEk_CLZ41sYawDxx96lvp4f2mFBvd9jBSGIPMcmmTuEjct_Ws0YCiJSTf4Co7dsqk/s1600-h/DSCF2070.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_4NU9eVewC9dmJK_S_vdSoqHRxf3YXMjJ870eKyzPFYZ0bsc48ll7NN6FFZJgf2nvQHejVOVRM3DEk_CLZ41sYawDxx96lvp4f2mFBvd9jBSGIPMcmmTuEjct_Ws0YCiJSTf4Co7dsqk/s320/DSCF2070.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331694667793441682" /></a><br />One of the many things that make my relationship with my one and only sibling remarkable is that we were both born on the 7th of July. Yet we are two years apart. My brother Tigue (hereafter referred to by my nickname for him, Tigger) was born on my second birthday, an event that our dad has always slyly referred to being as a result of “precision grinding”, but enough said about that! Although we share quite a chunk of astrology and numerology we have been described by those nearest to us as being like “chalk and cheese” because we are so different. Although I am the older of the two of us, Tigger towers above me and has a much beefier build to my rather more delicate frame. I am the all dancing all acting, writing, singing artiste with a BA to boot and he’s a qualified electro mechanical engineer who now works as a top end business consultant. In other words he is sorted and I am choice assorted. Well so I’ve always believed. He is a thoroughbred hetero and I am known to be a celebrated fruit. We are different but I would prefer to compare us to “wine and cheese” rather than the “chalk” because we are both gaining value in maturity and we share a sense of humour that would make a block of cheddar feel inadequate. I have always followed my passion for music and acting but have rarely known any security or sense of financial stability, having to be rescued by my family on some desperate occasions, whereas my boetie has diligently slogged for many hours crunching numbers and squinting at computer screens to afford what I deem to be the luxury of self-sufficiency and independence, yet at the cost of not enjoying himself for large parts of his day. Clearly we have a lot to learn from one another. We are both at a crossroads and what better to do at a crossroads than head off together on a road trip into the bush!<br /><br />I want more stability and he wants more freedom and each is an expert on the opposite subject matter and so I knew in my gut I had to go when my brother unexpectedly asked me a few months ago to join him on what was supposed to be his solo trip on a motorbike through Botswana. He had bought and dismantled the bike and was in the process of preparing to restore it when out of the blue he asked me to come with. So he dumped the bike and we borrowed my dads Ford Ranger 4X4 and off we went, two boetie’s to the bush showered by much parental blessings.<br /><br />I had no clue where we were headed other than the fact that it involved Botswana and Namibia, and on many of the mornings I would wake up with very little idea of where we were going that day. It was an adventure! <br />On the first night we camped on the banks of the Limpopo at Kwa Nokeng Lodge at Martin’s drift very close to the Botswana border. It was the only night we each constructed our own tents, thereafter we shared one that was roomy enough for both of us. It claimed to be a four man tent but I think that is only if you and your three friends, like the tent, were made in Taiwan. Next we went to the Khama Rhino sanctuary were we narrowly missed interrupting an excavating rhino not even 50 metres from our campsite and met some very enterprising Tswana women at the gate. The one lady loved telling us how much “Poo Lah!” every exorbitant item in her shop cost and the other lady offered us a business card with the words “Botsogo massage” neck/foot/back 80 Pula full body 160 Pula. Don’t “Pula” my leg! In the middle of the bush in Botswana it seemed you could find yourself a happy ending. What tickled me even more was that this masseuse (calling herself Larona) had like so many other strange women in the “beauty” industry deemed it necessary to remove her natural eyebrows and draw in her own. I wonder what she would do if caught in the rain? Demonstrate a washed-out frown I can only imagine. <br />One of the highlights was a strange place in the middle of the Makgadikgadi pans named Kubu island. It is an island in the middle of a huge dry white salt pan and although it was very windy, I was enchanted by the strange and interesting baobabs that littered the place. If hugging a tree is supposed to be energetically healing I assumed that hugging a baobab is like super duper amazingly wonderfully good for you, so I went around throwing my arms around the more interesting ones (I didn’t want to appear too desperate.) Tigger had a whale of a time driving maniacally all over the vast white terrain and even managed to get us stuck briefly in the swampy muck that lies only an inch under the crusty surface of the pans. Thankfully he let down the tyres and got us out before we had to slink sheepishly to a campsite to find someone to help us out. We went to Nxai Pan national park the next night where I saw an elephant that danced briefly through a veil of trees before slinking away as my brother returned from fetching firewood. The only elephant sighting we had the entire trip. Botswana is hot dry and vast as is Namibia and if you are looking for a perspective of your life and a place to stretch out your soul and breathe we were definitely in the right places. Every morning we would get up make coffee, eat, pack up the campsite and head off to our next fabulous destination. Our last night in Botswana was spent at a campsite close to Baines’s baobabs at the foot of another huge and mystical tree of the same species. In the afternoons we would nap on stretchers in the shade of a tree and at night we would lie in our tent reading by the white glow of these nifty little lights we wore as head bands looking like two casualties of a mining accident on our respective blown up mattresses. Life slowed down tremendously. We could take our time doing just about everything and that was mind blowing. That night we sat on the pan watching the sunset which was a techni-colour spectacle Hollywood will never be able to simulate. Then we took silly mid-flight photos of one another with the Wicks bubblegum pinks and fanta oranges of the sky as our backdrop. <br />Between Baines’s and Ghanzi I accidentally drove over a huge green and white cobra and felt really shit about it for ages thereafter. Watching it writhing in the rear view mirror as I drove away will haunt me for a long time. It took up most of the road it was so long and I wish I had managed to avoid it. <br /><br />I had never been to Namibia before and I was keen to get there because a week before Tigger and I left I met this really hot guy in Risque who said he was originally from there. I had this lame hope that his Namib brethren would be equally gorgeous and strewn all over the streets of Windhoek, but alas I was mistaken but, Joe’s beerhall with my brother will forever be a night to remember. Good Eisbein. Ja. <br />We climbed a big red dune numbered 45 and burnt the shit out of the souls of our feet because an evil little “tannie” at the foot of the dune told us it was better to climb it barefoot. We ate many cans of sweetcorn and fire roasted onions and discovered the deliciousness of Robert’s “Shisanyama” spice on just about anything. We baked beer laden “potbrood” on the coals and sang to the Beatles and the Rolling stones on the open road through the desert, my feet on the dashboard his hands on the wheel. My brother and me. Swakopmund, Sossusvlei and Sesriem so much fun. It didn’t really matter where we were because we were free. Often the cab of the 4x4 was crammed with laughter, foldaway map books and a handful of mosquitoes that managed to stow away with us the whole trip. We squashed “koringkrieks” (Parktown prawns on steroids) and then watched three others come to the funeral and enjoy a cannibalistic buffet. We overheard a Frenchman being bliksemed by his passionate girlfriend and then promptly reverse his rented bakkie into a thorn tree as she locked herself in the ablution block. We swam in Namaqua hot springs and made spooky echoes of our own voices through the incredible expanse of the Fish River canyon sharing a box of “Eet sum more’s” as the sun set. And of course we talked. I am still flattered and amazed that someone who has known me his entire life would so willingly invite me to share such an amazing and intimate experience in his life. I am forced to see myself in a very positive light because he is intelligent, “insightful”, generous and an absolute gentleman and I am honoured to have shared this time with him. We didn’t solve all our issues or create solutions to one another’s problems but sometimes in life it is enough, like I said, to have an adventure! <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Coldplay Talk lyrics</span><br /><br />Oh brother I can't, I can't get through<br />I've been trying hard to reach you, cause I don't know what to do<br />Oh brother I can't believe it's true<br />I'm so scared about the future and I wanna talk to you<br />Oh I wanna talk to you<br />You can take a picture of something you see<br />In the future where will I be?<br />You can climb a ladder up to the sun<br />Or write a song nobody has sung<br />Or do something that's never been done<br /><br />Are you lost or incomplete?<br />Do you feel like a puzzle, you can't find your missing piece?<br />Tell me how do you feel?<br />Well I feel like they're talking in a language I don't speak<br />And they're talking it to me<br /><br />So you take a picture of something you see<br />In the future where will I be?<br />You can climb a ladder up to the sun<br />Or a write a song nobody has sung<br />Or do something that's never been done<br />Do something that's never been doneBrucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662773844099150626.post-57396392084233247382009-04-16T11:20:00.000-07:002009-04-16T11:24:10.782-07:00Put it out there!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsvwUzKn3zwm84Xr6FssOLMnP-a_dUGmqlVGJAscHZopAQ2MRjEbDzgbrnSw5MaYPA0cUAq0SdX9qZmH54Sb7Wuq32xDesgzmalBz8Xx_7j9HjPi78eoXuAVyC01He-yF0qzOKka3v8Q0/s1600-h/Put+it+outther.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 124px; height: 124px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsvwUzKn3zwm84Xr6FssOLMnP-a_dUGmqlVGJAscHZopAQ2MRjEbDzgbrnSw5MaYPA0cUAq0SdX9qZmH54Sb7Wuq32xDesgzmalBz8Xx_7j9HjPi78eoXuAVyC01He-yF0qzOKka3v8Q0/s320/Put+it+outther.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325356749648636866" /></a><br /><br />“Where do I begin?”<br /><br />What a fantastic last few weeks I’ve been having! I firmly believe that there is truth in the rumour that if you want something from life you should “put it out there” because that is what I did and it now seems to be paying dividends. It was about two weeks ago and I was on a dance floor in a gay club in Pretoria (Legends to be exact) and I was behaving like I had just graduated from Madame Sassy’s school of Extremely sexy dance. I was shaking my hips like they were confetti at a wedding and I was enjoying one dance anthem after another, Robin S. , Snap, David Guetta, Britney and of course the new cheeky popsicle, Lady Gaga! Then “POP!” I had a thought. “I wanna do that!” “I wanna be the person who gets to make the song that makes all the funky people wanna dance like hungry monkeys at a banana-bread raffle.” So that’s how it started. I went home and started throwing ideas around, the next thing I knew I was behind the soundproof glass wailing into a microphone and trying not to distort my voice too much with my swaying hips. I LOVE MAKING MUSIC! And so my first electro-house track “Put it out there!” (listen to it on my facebook profile), was born with the production skills of the amazing Helio aka Monotone, and although the lyrics are not going to win me a Pulitzer, I am very proud of it. It makes me want to dance and that makes me feel good! That aside I have met and been spending time with some of the most gorgeous and generous people imaginable. The face-lickable cast of Killer Queen + JC, (The vocal boy band Overtone, all of them, yum yum!), Chris, Ben, Andrew (the three lovely misters), Chet and Freda (Patrons of Perfection and Protectors of the Fabulous!), and of course scintillating Sam, Joan of Obz (Now of Norwood), Lerato the luscious, Guava princess, Punkris, Catharsis and every other “nca!” and “sharp sharp!” person I have seen over these weeks whose names just wouldn’t sound as good in this sentence despite being equally adored. So now the song is done and already all grown up and leading its own little independent life out there in cyberspace. Soon it will even be available to download on mtnxploaded.co.za so it hardly even needs me anymore. But I’m already working on two more songs. Hell, if I can’t be a breeder I may as well riddle the world with my lyrical offspring and hopefully cause hundreds of people in the world to get my songs stuck in their heads the way Kylie Minogue and Britney have been plaguing me my whole life. “Na na na… na na na na na… can’t get you outta my head…” Aaargh! <br />But I interrupt this broadcast to announce to everyone that I am about to launch into my newest and most exciting adventure yet. This Sunday I am heading off into the “bundu’s” of Botswana and Namibia for two weeks in a big butch 4x4. I kid you not! I am going on safari with my beloved younger boetie Tigue and will be unreachable until we return to civilisation on the 3rd of May. This is not to be confused with camping which I was doing earlier on at Legends in Pretoria. This is full tilt bushwacking and I am so excited, but also ever so slightly “kakking” myself. No cell phone network, no facebook, no agents, no castings, no Sandton! I’ll just have to cope (not the political party.) So, chow for now and catch up with all of you Love-blossoms of desire on the other side of deepest darkest Africa and watch this space for a “Little” Bush trip update. BIG LOVE!!!Brucehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14227038803221302113noreply@blogger.com1