Africa

I’m so fucken tired of thinking forwards, backwards, sideways and into the dark. Everything is spinning around and round until all this spin becomes by natural biorhythm, becomes me. Fate has altogether failed me, it seems to not exist, as everytime I seem to get my hopes up and down again. That also has become a fearful second nature to hope a conscious hopeless hope and wish without believing. This can surely lead nowhere, but if I thought that anything led to anything significant I would take up on it, but I don’t. I’m a lonely boy, I’m a lonely girl, I’m a mother and no longer a daughter, I’m in that position where I have to make it happen, cause if I don’t then no one will, but I don’t want to. I wish she was still alive, my mother, even though I’m fully aware that she was just there to make things worst in such a way that I would have to react in order to make them better.

Everyday I have to try to give too much, I’ve been sucked dry. There’s no blood, no hope, no fun in it, I have nothing to give, just the essentials required for a descent survival, how can a child live on that? And then again how can I say all that when a sea of people surround me, calling me, talking to me, touching me, hugging me, kissing me, wanting me, giving what they can? I must be some kind of ungrateful needy bitch. But I don’t really need them… I need love, true love, true desire, true sex. I need a man-trap, one, which by definition is bound to leave you high and dry.

I wish I could take them and fly off back to Tanzania… live in the rainforest and smoke joints, while little Pilos plays with blue colobus monkeys. I wish I could cultivate bananas and yams up in the East Usambaras with all those oblivious wise people, along with ghosts and faith in black magic. We would put Pilos to bed and go down to the bar in the evening for a Kilimanjaro beer and a joint and then have wild sex with the beasts and the ghosts listening and howling outside.

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