T.A.O.W

The Art of Writing: a blog by Moso

[mvdarko]

Drive

I love the drive through the Free-State from Pretoria. I don't think many South Africans have seen, or are even aware that this land exists, this barren land without buildings. It's an old land. It belonged to the Boer farmers in the Old South Africa. Or the Khoi. Or the Zulus, or the Xhosa or the Sotho, depending on which side of history you stand on. Even though this history is common knowledge, I can't help but feel that there is knowledge yet to be gained from this land. It's a land that guards its history jealously. The cows grazing lazily, the immobile windmills in the too-dry air. I watch the sky unroll, big and blue, over this land, and it meets the land somewhere over the horizon, where my eyes can't see, into secret oblivions. Sometimes, I wonder how Lesotho would look if Moshoeshoe didn't give this land up. Would we have lived prosperous lives? Would we have become a failed nation? But then again, one thing that I've learned about History is not to bother it with 'what-ifs'. History doesn't want to be disturbed. It is only propelled by dreams, hope and strength.---06/19/2015 M.V.S

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DISHONESTY (An observational sketch from Merensky Library Pretoria)

The sadness was like an iron weight around them, isolating them in a timeless mist where anger, betrayal, and heartbreak swirled together as one. He lifted his finger to her chin. She turned her face away. He whispered the low, murmuring phrases of love that had kept the chains of their relationship intact. But it was too late. The chains were broken, and they both knew it. 

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Orlando

In this time of great misunderstanding, and great bigotry, and great violence, and great self-involvement, it is important to realize the value of stories. Whether film or books, or folktales told by our grandparents, stories have a way of humanizing ‘the other’. I’ll speak specifically of novels since this is a fiction/prose blog. Novels, by far, are the only art form that ask us to step outside of ourselves and experience life through the eyes of ‘the other’. What’s more important is having sufficient representation in these stories, especially from groups which history has, and continues to cast as ‘the other’. Seek love and not hate. Dare to imagine and dream, but also dare to imagine yourself in the shoes of your fellow gay/straight/transgender/black/albino/white/atheist/racist human being. Everyone has a story. Let’s immerse ourselves in each others’ narratives. 

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by Moso Victor Sematlane Starring Teboho Bereng - The Dreamer Mamello Bereng (nee T...

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[femalepentimento]

[exiledwoman]

Chris Burden - Doomed (1975)

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Writings from my laptop archives /2

I am convinced that the end of the world will begin in cities. And I don’t mean the classic movie trope where buildings fall over or the earth opens up or whatever. I mean that the destruction will start with the people themselves; one day, their cars won’t start and their back accounts will freeze and their poor brains would collapse as they finally realize that the world was not theirs, it never was, and it never will be. I suppose my fascination with the apocalypse began with the day my grade six teacher read HG Wells’ War of The Worlds to us. I would imagine every electronic device—T.V’s, Smartphones---going silent one day and leaving us with endless static. Of course, I’d also seen the movie with Dakota Fanning and Tom Cruise, so my fantasies were also filled with the blaring horn that signified the arrival of the alien colossi. But then I grew up. I realized that our beloved Mother Earth doesn’t like making grand ‘exists’. She likes to die quietly. As we flit in and out of our routines like worker bees, she sits in chamber all by herself, mustering all her concentration and strength…to die. She challenges us to notice her. She dares us to climb out of our own self-involved lives, and look at the irreversible destruction our existence has caused.

[mvdarko]

Writings from my laptop archives

If I’m honest with myself, I only enjoyed the parts where stuff was being blown up. Psycho, I enjoyed especially, because the protagonist died before the end of the movie.  I didn’t care about the ‘quiet’ ones, where the clever dialogue was supposed to ‘affirm the human experience’. Or maybe I was being too hard on myself—watching twenty-seven movies in one day is sure to get tiring at some point. I bet even Quentin Tarantino couldn’t manage the feat without coming to the realization that actors and directors don’t consume cinema because they’re in love with their art. What lies at the root of this ‘artistic binging’ is insecurity—the fear that you’re being a phony, and the world will call you out on this. This isn’t because the world is judgmental. It’s because the world is a phony as well. Nothing in life had purpose, whether it was James, Liam, Karen, me or even Quan Duc. Whenever a storm came, I’d sit alone in my apartment listening to it, trying to wrap my head around what it was I found beautiful about lighting and chaos. Sometimes, it even felt like I was challenging the earth to ruin itself, to ruin us. Whether it was a financial recession, or 9/11, I knew that humanity had a great capacity for destroying itself. But for me, the destruction that had happened already wasn’t enough. I didn’t know what more I wanted to see destroyed. All I knew was then when it finally happened, maybe I’d feel alive.

[mvdarko]

Lesotho is Like Stepping Into a Frosty Fairytale | by M V Sematlane | African Erotica

Bodies Sundays are for sex. That's how it is and that's how it always was. This ritual carried me and my boyfriend through our short relationship of the summer of 2011. In my dorm, I liked pulling up my blinds to allow the sun in. It would turn everything into gold, and m

Brittle Paper  livin’. Give it a read.

[mvdarko]

The Artist

Look at all the things I’ve made for you. I’ve woven dreams for you. I’ve created characters and filled their mouths with dialogue, so I can create a reality where u notice me. Look at all the things I’ve made for you. And if you wish that I should unmake them, I will. Look at all I’ve made. It doesn’t make sense to me. It’s beautiful. It’s mad. But it’s a message in a bottle that I hope will reach you. One day (someday). How long should I watch u escape my heart? Like a movie on repeat, the pain of not having you returns. And returns. And returns. Look at all the things I made for you. For you, I would destroy every single one.

[shydruids]

Patti Smith, 1976

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