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Tag Archives: democracy

This is apparently a quote from Ken Peters, Professor of Economics in the Czech Republic.

“The danger to South Africa is not Jacob Zuma, but a citizenry capable of entrusting a man like him with the Presidency. It will be far easier to limit and undo the follies of a Zuma presidency than to restore the necessary common sense and good judgment to a depraved electorate, willing to have such a man for their president. The problem is much deeper and far more serious than Mr. Zuma, who is a mere symptom of what ails South Africa. Blaming the prince of the fools should not blind anyone to the vast confederacy of fools that made him their prince. The Republic can survive a Jacob Zuma who is, after all, merely a fool. It is less likely to survive a multitude of fools such as those who made him their President.”

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the covers are worn
its leather looks frayed
the introduction is over
a new turn is paged

the next chapter begins
and the story unfolds, …again

and of the plot
who can tell?
an adventure delightful
or a horror story from hell?

little bubbles on the horizon
transient rolling foam
bustling, popping, bulging, bumping
looking for some space to roam

bigger bubbles pressing through
devouring, absorbing, expanding goo
all becomes one, one becomes all
increasing the space inside the wall

smaller bubbles lose their name
new spaces form, all the same
but on the rim, the outer lip
it’s the cutting edge that steers the ship

jagged edges expand the bubble
pesky lumps which cause the ‘trouble’
the shape of new things still to come
spiky angles only spoil the fun

the spaces shout to stake their claim
to give themselves a defining name
while the edges cut and break new ground
forging on without a sound

it’s not the empty space within
but the outer rim that grows a thing
perhaps over time as we look back
we’ll learn just where our universe is at

There once was a sociopath name Zuma
Who couldn’t fuck up the country any sooner
He raped Kewzi, then us, we applauded, even jumped on his bus
File that in the annals of protest humour

Does he suck his thumb at night when thinking back on the day…
Of the plans and procedures he secretly fudged in so many ways
In fright does he quiver at the pain and mayhem caused
Or does it not even bring even a second of reflective pause
That he filled his own plate and drained his oversized mug
rubbing his huge gut with a full face all smug
While the rest of the many wept silently in pain
For inside they all know it will happen again

The lust for more continues to dull his eyes
And fills his lips with even more filthy lies
So he justifies the abundance of plunder he has seized
Saying “this is just what my country needs”
The few get more and the most get less
And the rest… well it’s all just a godless mess

The once oppressed victim is now the oppressor
The great hero revolutionary is now the slave boss of the lesser
His singing of songs, dancing and casting of spells
Increases in might as it dries out the wells
in the hearts of the people who will queue, longing to be quenched
While it’s increasing poverty and oppression in which they are drenched

But they still seek for their heavenly king to unfold
Who will retell their story with glories untold
Patiently holding hands with ancient tradition
In desperate, blind hope they volunteer…
a suicidal mission

And who will stand up and speak up for the masses oppressed?
The obscenely salaried politicians they say…

…who would have guessed?

*

who is the fool,
tell me, who could it be?
the foolish, blind king,
or those who believe he can see?

who is the fool,
tell me, who could it be?
is it the fool of a king,
or is it you and me?

we want, demand new government
but then we will want, demand again
and again we will demand to be free
free from the choices we previously made
and the circumstance that followed
we, the ungovernable
wanting to be governed
by a government who are themselves endemically ungovernable
demanding that they themselves are to remain unaccountable
to govern in freedom without external controls
uncontrolled by those who demand to be governed anew
to be governed by those who will listen to them
and do their bidding
so we vote again
and again
again

– seconds out!

round number: one million, six-hundred and twenty-eleven & three thousand

pop! go the cultures

*

the crowd are on their feat

suddenly, an unscheduled happening…

lights fail momentarily, but not unexpectedly (that’s the way we roll with Eskom)

the microphone squeals and the commentator takes the first press-ing swing

it’s a stiff jab and it finds its mark – well exceeding the quota system

the self-crowned champion stops in his tracks for a brief moment as if to catch his breath

“hehehehehehe” he chuckles smirkishly

he staggers back and shakes his head

everyone waits,

no one dares to speak

nobody thinks

*

then suddenly he scrapes his toe like a cleft hoof in the dust

defiantly, he charges…

like a bull…

CRASH!

*

round after round

objection after objection

rebuttal after rebuttal

head buttal after head buttal

back and forth the battle rages on

the champion stands firm

but – out of the crowd someone shouts

“the champion is falling…”

“the champion must fall!”

but no, he only stumbles for a brief moment

and then staggers

he turns to his corner and fires a few of his ‘seconds’

“he must fall” some spectators shout

“no, he mustn’t” say others

*

the judges object, …eventually

“we must go according to the rules!”

“what rules? …hehehehehehehe!” says the champion

*

points are taken away

…and then added on mysteriously

*

the battle rages on into the night

*

will cultural tribalism triumph over constitutional democracy

or will it all end in unresolved conflict outside the ring?

*

[break for advertisement – Big business make their presence felt]

*

new replacement seconds out!

round number “AGAIN!”

*

the battle rages on

sweat drips,

runs into blood

(thank God blood is a consumer commodity and easily tax deductible)

*

the clock ticks on…

years turn into days,

days into centuries

decades turn into decadence

unwritten history rewrites itself

*

deadlock

both contestants drop to the canvas

bloodied, exhausted, frustrated

fights break out in the spectator seats

*

chaos

*

the fighters leave the ring momentarily

while local boxing clubs realign regional constitutions

the janitor shuffles amongst the overturned seats

all that can be heard is the slow swish, swish of his broom

*

“a point of order! a point of order!”

“the chairs have been unseated”

*

“when the lights are out its the janitor who is President”

…the sweeper mutters under his breath

promises are promising
when the promise is made
but time is the judge of most things it is said
speaking with a forked tongue
cuts just as bad
as a stab in the back with double-edged blade

but who is the culprit
who could it be
the double talking promiser
or those who promise to believe?

a chameleon remains a chameleon
regardless of its colour
though it tries and tries
with all its might
to become like another
we can close our eyes
and clench our teeth
and hold our breath forever
but everybody knows
that culture grows
regardless of the smelly effect
it has on the nose