cleft

He was ruined when he met her. She was young, fresh as a spring breeze and resplendent with fallow promise. He fell as her skirts rose in increments, sliding up as the season warmed. Inched above a bare, bruised knee, heading heavenward.

His eyes caught hers and sparked, desire igniting a conspicuous conspiracy.  His smile rooted in hers, growing across her face like a tree. His sad heart beat an earnest timpani, hoping hers would catch the beat and play. But hers knew a wholly happier tune for hers was an altogether more hopeful heart – she heard his melancholic plea and tapped back.

Quiet, he listened through the darkness, her tune finding him deep in the night, alone in his conjugal bed. Like a signal, a cipher, a code. He understood only in part – certain pieces fell through the floorboards and drowned in his sadness. Infinitesimal whispers were strangled, sucked into a pit of never ending sorrow. And shame.

Cautiously optimistic, his heart beat back a limping, broken rhythm in strange hope –perhaps they could bridge the void together? Like a butterfly, she flittered: first here, then there, back here, there again and then gone… He lost track, lost hope – frustrated.  Giving up, he sank back below oceans of self-pity.

She turned, beckoning him on.

Dejected, he sighed. “I can’t” he complained, beat. “I’m too old, too wounded, too sore.”

“But you can” urged she. “If you will. Keep going, keep on…”

“It’s too far” he moaned. “You’re young and strong. Too idealistic, too fast, too free. You don’t understand what it’s like to be me!”

..vs love

Tenderly, she smiled. Twin upward arching edges tinged through, rusting with subtle sadness. “Ah, but I do, I know you. It’s just fear which weighs you down, keeps you bound and tired. Leeching magic from life. Just keep on!”

“It’s too hard!” he groaned, teeth grit.

“Harder still to struggle and complain as you choose to” retorted she.

Face setting, humour failed, he growled “ok Ms Flighty – tell me what to do!”

She smiled, gentle. “Keep open, breathe, stay light, follow your heart…”

“Seriously?” he spat. Took out his dark sword and cut off her head.

*

So whilst I whittle my way through tougher posts with meatier word counts, I thought I might have a little fun with some flash fiction I started playing around with a couple of months ago. Here’s the first of what I’ve come to call the ‘Twitter Two-Step’…

some journeys begin… backward

*

See you next week… promise!

This quote found it’s way to me shortly after the stroke and offered abiding solace to guide me through the challenge of a ravaged body. Which is what I imagine Viktor Frankl, the inspiring existential therapist who survived the Holocaust to pen his seminal work :: Man’s Search for Meaning would have wanted. He gave me a light in the darkness.

And in keeping with the fiery theme, here’s a poem for good measure by the “laureate of American lowlife”, dark & morethan mildly twisty  Charles Bukowski::

How Is Your Heart?

*

during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with
whores
I always had this certain
contentment-
I wouldn’t call it
happiness-
it was more of an inner
balance
that settled for
whatever was occuring
and it helped in the
factories
and when relationships
went wrong
with the
girls.
it helped
through the
wars and the
hangovers
the backalley fights
the
hospitals.
to awaken in a cheap room
in a strange city and
pull up the shade-
this was the craziest kind of
contentment

*

and to walk across the floor
to an old dresser with a
cracked mirror-
see myself, ugly,
grinning at it all.
what matters most is
how well you
walk through the
fire.

And with that, I’ll leave you to your weekend. In South Africa, it’s cold :: winter is coming and we’re celebrating Freedom Day. So whoever you, wherever you are – this one’s for the firewalker’s on their path to liberty. Big love!

'Omnia Mutantur, Nihil Interit.'

It’s a bit before its proper time, given the hapless progression of the eXes but for various reasons, it’s entirely appropriate now. While I head for a few days of in hospital water deprivation and steroid free experimentation, I leave you with a poem marking the end of a cycle. So a new one can begin…

death

“…as it is – an ending; an ending in which there is renewal, a rebirth, not a continuity. For that which continues decays; and that which has the power to renew itself is eternal.”~ J Krishnamurti

to live

must die

the reason

why

wrapped

in thought

tis night

that finds

us

our sweet

dreams whisper

sewn shut

dark winds

blow 

the world

for a falling

star burnt

in morning

we

wider than

the sky

more open

and high

we, we

die

*

( inspired by Neil Gaiman’s parthenon of gods, The Endless. )

(f)light of fancy...

Happy Easter : roll away your stone, I’ll roll away mine? Yeah, it’s a special time of year for me. This time last year, I was in a lethal relationship with a (more than mildly) psychotic man that was quite quickly killing me. Easter being what it is – a celebration of life trumping death, I managed to find enough strength to finally make a life sustaining choice and leave. A long hard 365 plus followed to allow me to look back on that hell today, feel extreme relief for setting myself free and abiding gratitude to friends, strangers and family who helped piece together the broken bits.

Since this is a celebratory post (my baby blog is now officially 1 year old :: hip-hip-hooray!) C’mon, let’s get, let’s get, let’s get… Stoned? Yup. Send in the music (Dax’ll get the marijuana)! Thanks to good old Grey’s I stumbled across the broken vocals and lyrical loveliness that is Julia Stone. It’s All Okay all but stole my heart…

“… we may say we’re broken, we may say we’re weak * but we knew before we started oh the secrets we would keep * and it’s all ok, cause love will find a way to be what love is …”

And in keeping with my current covers phase, her soon to be released album By The Horns being produced by Thomas Bartlett (think The National… oh wait – I haven’t properly introduced you yet, have I? My bad, I will. But it’ll have to wait til I introduce Dream King…) which means there’s a hauntingly feminine version of Bloodbuzz, Ohio out in the ether.

whimsically wing'd...

Finding Julia got me well and truly Stoned – since she used to be a the other half of a sibling set, I took a listen to the cool indie folk rock duet from down under. She and her handsome (+equally talented) brother, Angus performed as solo artists but the need for a backup singer often resulted in them winding up on stage together. So it seemed both logical and natural that they collaborate. Ah yes, the convenience of blood… and the beautiful harmony it creates. Their ‘duo-licios’ website is a pretty little trip in itself, so go visit and check out their video for Bloodbuzz, Ohio  – it’s is positively magical…

“… you took me in gave me something to believe in * that big old smile is all you wore * girl you make me want to feel * things I never felt before …”

Now that we’re all suitably Stoned, I’m off to make a paper aeroplane, launch it across the stormy seas then slouch on the couch and nibble on chocolate eggs… happy happy y’all!

Now would be an awfully appropriate time to get back to those eX-files. Especially since life imitates art as the swirling mess that is the male midlife crisis plays itself out yet again. Oh yes, ye gods, I know: it’s hilarious. Hil-f*cking-a-larious.

When we left off last, I was a mighty mess post falling hopelessly for his royal huffiness, the Drama Queen. Giant mistake. Leaving me with 1x ticket to Cape Town and big block of unplanned time to spend crying over my erstwhile broken heart. It took great reserves of self restraint not to tip off the police to the 4 day drug binge wedding he was at (kissing married men amoungst things… yeah and we wonder why I was sorry this lunatic liaison came unstuck). And so it was in this state of idle grief and coronary warfare that I happened to stumble into the sights of…

The Mercenary

MLC Score: 1/14     KO Rating: 6/11

{ aside }

Repetition is a bitch. Oh yes, she is. A pretty evil one… My inner critic was already having a field day as I bounced from frightful ginja to blue-eyed Narci but when a midlife crisis with 4 kids appeared on my doorstep, it whooped for joy – and I experienced SERIOUS reservations (and not the restaurant variety). Hell, I’ve learnt to spot a pattern a mile off by now. But alas, I allowed my better instincts to be overruled by the pushy insistence of another full blown, half grown alpha male. Last time I make that mistake. Ever.  

But now, back to the devil in the desert…

{ C1 }  The Call >  Staying with friends in Hout Bay (yup, my life’s shot full of irony), I licked my wounds and updated the shades of my mournfully melancholic mood on Facebook (remember that app?). A friend from the ‘Kei tried to comfort me with the assurance that there was a Romeo for my Juliette (dude: they both died! it’s a miserable love story: can’t I have another fairytale rather? seriously… ) and inexplicably led me to another old family friend. Who happened to be in Kabul. And was in the need of online company. So began a stream of emails and inordinate amount of instant messaging.

{ P1 } The Pull  > Boo was friends with Ma Nguni and some decidedly f*cked up members of my extended family from our ‘expat’ days in the Umtata. Everyone thought he was close to a saint, having married a beautiful but notoriously impossible woman who made up in affairs what she lacked in maternal instinct. He effectively supported the household, nurtured the kids and brought home the bacon. He followed her blindly into the bloody desert where her ‘last’ affair proved to be the final straw (post having hacked her email and tapped the phone – military training comes in handy at home…). The camelman’s back snapped. Which meant he was a right royal emotional mess. So was I. You can see where this is going, can’t you?

Add to the misery (loves company) mix: the polar opposite of DQ’s puerile Peter Pan syndrome, here’s a seemingly functional, handsome alpha male who knows how to handle guns – with a shot of new age sensitively. What’s not to love, right? And practically everyone I know (friends, family and foes alike) keeps assuring me he’s a gem. Lulling me into a false sense of sensible security which after the last fiasco was a little like offering a dehydrating man water. Ma Nguni went so far as exclaiming:

“You lucky little bitch! Don’t you dare hurt him!”

…when I told her I was flying to Dubai. Not her finest moment, no. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

deserted in the desert

We talk. A lot. Yeah, that well worn ‘we comforted each other’ chestnut. I type 6 novel worth of IMs. A flurry of transatlantic phone calls follow. Time zone induced sleep deprivation. He DHLs Starbucks coffee and a mug. Says “I love you” (scarily early on) mid flight through 300 000 feet of air. Sends me the plans for the house he’s building and asks me what I want to change. Makes promises of a highly symbolic promise ring. Buys me a plane ticket and the next thing I know, I’m bound for the largest strip of commercial sand known to man.

:: note :: for the record, he tells me they’re already divorced. Ipso facto. I accept his word as truth (something I do often with disastrous consequence – might be a lesson in that). Later on (quite soon after the mid-air declaration of affection in fact) it turns out it’s only in his head, still needs to be officially resolved by the law (which it is by the time I agree to step board a plane. For the sake of the children. And the settlement…)

{ C2} The Catch >  Ms Travel-Stresses-Me-Out, I opt to spend a few days in Jozi to visit a friend and see The Lion King the eve of my departure. Only I manage to get food poisoning which does nasty things to my pharmaceutically induced hormones so I board in a pretty precarious state. Which doesn’t stop some cute (much closer to my age) airhost slipping me his number – clearly I’m attractive half dead. Probably because I’m too darn tired to talk…

After HOURS of horribly hot, horrifically slow, hopelessly foreign customs, I’m met by Boo, nervously grasping a wilting bunch of red tulips (hmmmm… flash forward to last year’s clichéd red roses *sigh*). It’s 2am. Welcome to the desert. Home I go with a man I haven’t seen in 20 years. Things your mother warns you to avoid. Wham. bam. thank you, m’mam.

We slip into a weird kind of domestic bliss for 2 weeks. He goes to work, makes coffee, leaves sweet notes. I stay within the claustrophobic comfort of air-conditioning and write til he comes home. Portentously enough, the day after landed, we stop at a car dealership en route to dinner and drive out in a sleek little Crossfire. I tease him for he’s showing tell-tale signs of a midlife crisis: divorced, younger (much!) girlfriend, sports car and not one but two (!!) Harleys. Oh. and he’s about to become a grandfather. High five Scar*let – see ‘em signs?

caught in the Crossfire

But, I fall in love with him. Sure as nuts. Or bullets. If these eX-files prove nothing else, I clearly possess one weird super power: the ability to love absolutely anyone. So I ride on the back of a Harley, chill at the yatch club, meet his friends & office colleagues, suffer the Sevens (ruby not sins), get henna done (me not him), dine at the mediocre by exorbitantly romantic At.mosphere (he falls asleep on me during the taxi ride home - occupational hazard of dating the elderly, folks!) and plays me The Grace of a Dancer in a 40 degree mall parking lot. Old school courtship, kinda. Wouldn’t you be charmed?

I fell for it: I was ready to move lock, stock & two smoking bazookas to the rootless hellhole to be with him while he went about his business, sold to me as something along the lines of peace keeping, braving gunfire to rescue hostages and helping restructure poor war torn countries. What a hero, habibi…

brew, my bru

I’m not exactly what one might be tempted to label ‘well domesticated’  – the most time I spend in the kitchen is about five minutes: enough time to heat milk, grind beans and make my morning coffee. But every now again the urge to play with food stirs and my repressed culinary side goes skipping merrily between the stove (in winter: soup) and the fridge (in summer: ice cream). So here’s a ‘re-invented’ older post in the ice-maiden (note: not domestic goddess) series, combining a few of my favourite things to keep you cool, calm and caffeinated as we head on into autumn:

Iced Tiramisu 

… for the perfect after dinner ‘pick me up’

Ingredients

• 400ml whipping cream

• 1 can condensed milk

• 1 double shot of strong espresso. Use good quality coffee (my favourite’s from Haas) and experiment with different varietals. Good coffee is like good wine – distinct and unique.

• 3 tablespoons finely grated dark chocolate

• 3 boudoir biscuits

Optional extra ::  for a touch of decadence, add a tot or two of brandy – or your favourite coffee/chocolate/nut liqueur. Depends on how drunken and slurred you want your dessert – and your guests…

 *

Method

Empty the condensed milk into a bowl and slowly add the espresso shot, stirring continually. Refrigerate. In a separate bowl, whip cream until thick enough to form standing peaks (forget using a whisk as an electric blender does the job, painlessly, in seconds). Finely grate the dark chocolate and crush the biscuits. Stir into condensed milk coffee mix once cool (add your liqueur shot now if you’re opting for the alcoholic alternative). Gently fold the whipped cream into the mixture, decant into a sealed container and freeze. The hardest part is waiting …

Serve with a piece of chocolate or hand-made truffle (Honest Chocolate makes some fabulously funky flavours incorporating grains of paradise or macca and using raw, organic cocoa). Bliss on a teaspoon!

And for those of you who truly can’t bear being in the kitchen, here’s a shortcut: simply go out for coffee at Hass and buy (a lot of) Honest Chocolate.

1. Anomali … jewellery ‘for the curious’

spoon-erism

Beautiful otherworldly artefacts for adornment made by two fabulous creative varsity friends, Marlette and Moniek, from pre-loved everyday utensils like forks and spoons. Taking the mundane and making magic… whilst recycling. And their packaging is an art form in itself. Love it!

2. Artymiss …making paper pretty

a merry little circus...

Pauline Irvine puts the fun in getting (a) paper cut by creating extraordinary artworks out of a medium most of us use every day – but take it’s beauty for granted. These lovely pieces (think menus, invites, placeholders, playing cards) evoke a deep sense of romance… who needs a gift when you could have an Artymiss card?

3. Helen Vaughan Ceramics …home with nature

wilderness : plated...

Talented multi-medium artist Helen Vaughn draws her inspiration from nature’s raw beauty and cleverly ‘reincarnates’ her experience into clay, cloth, paper and metal. Highly original and unusual, her pieces are functional but fragile, decorative yet practical – a beautiful integration of opposites. And you stand a chance of winning a little something lovely of hers… read on!

*

Next up: the Argus. Last year over the Big Bicycle Race I got mugged at knife point on Sandy Bay with Dax after living together for less than a week. A persuasive death knell, I left before April was out. And instead of looking back in anger, I’m actually grateful to the criminals who effectively saved me from a far worse fate. For they helped me ‘see’ what I’d been valiantly trying to ignore: that my life was in a very bad place. Oh, we’d just moved into the most amazing house in The Bay and although I’d noticed an immediate decline in the way Dax treated me, I put it down to him simply being stressed at work.

Which is a bit of a pattern: painting sh*tty stuff pretty – it’s how I’ve managed to excuse anything dodgy done by likes of Duke D. Nile; his malcontent mates; most of my eX’s and of course, the narcissist that started it all: daddy dearest. But such is the nature of cycles: we look back to learn so we can let go.

And speaking of cycles: time to celebrate! April 1st marks the official FIRST birthday of this blog: heppi heppi! So thank YOU all you lovely readers who’ve suffered through the evolutionary process pains and supported me in writing by keeping calm and carrying on… erhm, reading. So in the spirit of love, creativity and celebration, it’s time for another competition. Up for grabs is a lovely Helen Vaughan ceramic ‘silver heart’ necklace.

how to: ( enter )

It’s simple! Sign up and get the latest post delivered straight to your inbox. Just click the ‘sign me up’ button on the top right (above the search box) and enter your email address. Voilà!

( your ) silver heart?

For better odds and extra entries, do the following:

* share the competition details on your facebook page or via your blog

* like the scar*let nguni Facebook page (click here)

* share the love and tweet to your peeps (make sure you ‘tag’ me @scarletnguni and add #mysilverheart so I count your tweet)

For those who don’t do Facebook or Twitter, or who have already signed up: leave me a comment on this post or email me: scarlet dot nguni at gmail with ‘my silver heart’ in the subject line. The competition is open to all readers and closes at midnight Scarborough time on April Fool’s Day. I’ll announce the lucky winner on the 2nd. Good luck!

lunar lady... (image via www.keepyoursky.blogspot.com)

So while I try balance various spheres and keep surfing the forward momentum, I thought I’d introduce you to one of my all time favourite favourites: Florence + The Machine. Led by 25 year old creative genius and fiery redhead, Florence Welsch, this rockin’; genre crossing, award winning Brit band is best played real LOUD. Preferably whilst driving. Post breakup. Pre breakdown. To lift your spirits with a whole lot of beautifully energetic dark & twisty but oh!so! appealing songs. Because, as Ms Welsch says on her Amazon bio: “I want my music to sound like throwing yourself out of a tree, or off a tall building, or as if you’re being sucked down into the ocean and you can’t breathe. It’s something overwhelming and all-encompassing that fills you up, and you’re either going to explode with it, or you’re just going to disappear.” My kinda music.

Lungs, the fabulous debut album is a must have for any self respecting alternate/indie aficionado. Every track’s a winner. Seriously – if you don’t have it yet, buy it. Now. You can thank me later. I was first introduced to Kiss With A Fist and Girl With One Eye, which featured heavily on my crosscountry roadtrip soundtrack back to the prodigal City and had the conservative Cameron, my dear baby brother, wondering whether I’d finally lost my mind. I moved quickly onto the wrenching likes of Cosmic Love and Blinding (perhaps my favourite thus far, I just wish there was a music video). Look out for the B-sides: Between Two Lungs…. it was released.

“…the stars, the moon, they have all been blown out * you left me in the dark…” 

Album #2, Ceremonials was released late last year and is already sending waves of shock and awe. Seven Devils has been featured in Game of Thrones Season II teasers (what? you haven’t see it yet? oh good gods of all that’s holy, you HAVE to see this series) and the No Light, No Light video has caused all sorts of controversy. Not for the feint hearted, it could very well be the anthem of the dastardly Dax, Duke D. Nile himself – replete with references to weird voodoo and the catholic church.

“…no light, no light in your bright blue eyes * I never knew daylight could be so violent…”

Please hang in there, readers. The next post’s brewing with loveliness from Design Indaba, an opportunity to win and a little celebration. In the meantime, sit back and go with The Flo…

setting up: Tim and Nate

It sure does. Old school like the 60’s – only cooler, if that’s possible. Woodstock’s my old ‘hood (pre 1x catastrophic move to The Bay) and even though my bike got stolen and my car broken into, there was something magical swirling amidst the dust and decaying buildings. I’ve long said it’s the suburb to buy in – property prices are still relatively low (compared to the rest of Cape Town) and I believe there’s a major renaissance happening here – kinda like the mountain version of Melville. Just look at what’s happening on Albert Road and you’ll see what I mean.

However, this is not a post about property or the state of the economy. It’s about music. And the profound gig I had the pleasure of attending on Saturday. Wild Land maestro, Nate Maingard has been instrumental in supporting local music (and their musicians) and has strongly supported friend and fellow muso, Miles Sievwright latest project, the Woodstock Acoustic Sessions. It’s the gig to catch. The intimate, open air courtyard of West Street Cafe offers a perfectly hip, hot and artistically edgy but old-school venue to host a band of down-to-earth but über cool indie folk erhm… folk.

<  aside: >

seriously, I’m in love with the Foundry (longer post to follow). if you haven’t been yet, get thee hence. immediately. you can thank me later.

*

Tim - with Melody

But back to the music: Nate rocked a beer crate stage with lyrical Tim Hutchinson, ethereal Miles Sievwright and powerhouse Joshua Grierson. All four performers are rapidly rising stars in their own right (individual posts to follow) but to see them together, well, it’s sheer magic. Which is why you should scour the web and make sure you catch all future Woodstock Acoustic Sessions.

Nate - full swing

Tim opened to a bright, azure sky. His gentle molten chocolate voice lends an earthy counterbalance to the mystical quality of his songs. Influenced by Bob Dylan and inspired by Vusi Mahlasela this man means his music. His songs are moving, insistently questioning and oh!so! lovely to listen to. There’s a wonderfully playful synergy between him and Nate when they share the stage. And wait til he whips out his sax: it’s mesmerising.

Nate steps on stage with sunlight steaming behind him. I’ve had the privilege of knowing this practically minded idealist for almost a year and am still in awe of how his already brilliant music just keeps getting better. His haunting voice now has added complexity, greater depth and richness reminiscent of an exquisite merlot. This man’s all heart: a storyteller and giftedly romantic bare-foot young man. Both his music and manner reflect this. Make sure you see him this year at Splashy.

soulful strumming - Miles

Twilight floods the sky during Mile’s set creating a fitting backdrop for this beseechingly beautiful man. A philosophical singer/songwriter with a degree in maths and economics, his ephemeral voice is otherworldly and makes you wish you could drown any noise in silence to better catch each lifting lilt. Spellbinding: like Legolas covering Sigur Rós – with harps. Tender, heartfelt music invokes an abiding sense of peace: I can imagine him performing at dawn in a Norwegian forest. In spring.

The sky’s turning technicolour tricks by the time Josh takes the stage. Wild swirling energy, intense as a cyclone snaps suddenly into focus as he begins to sing: it’s a little like watching the Tasmanian Devil transform into a veritable angel. His songs are wrenching, visceral with a beguilingly broken Tom Waits-y sadness. His voice is refined but raw, he exudes power. Think Johnny Cash meets The Lizard King – at their zenith. Sheer genius – he’ll blow you away. Watch this space: I predict Josh’ll move millions.

Josh - in action

If you weren’t there on Saturday, you missed something special. Make sure to visit the Foundry – and whatever you do, make sure you get to the next gig.