Tuesday, August 7, 2012

A night of poetry: book launch

Reading my poems, and others, in the 16th Edition of, Botsotso Literary Journal
Literary Journal, Botsotso, edition 16 cover

Oh so very New York, or London, of Johannesburg, to shower us with snow; coinciding with the highly anticipated launch of, prominent and striving, South African literary journal, Botsotso16. My own heart had been overcome with much delight, as the evening drew near. Melville was filled, for what was, arguably, one of the coldest nights, of the 2012 winter season. News of heavy snow storms were making headlines, across the country, and every single social feed- from Twitter to BBM- showed the reaction, from Joburgers; following the heavy snow. Yet, there I sat; a little too preoccupied, with attending the book launch, in which two of my poems, would be included, than to be fussed over the snowfall. Elation is not a strong enough adjective, to describe exactly, what I felt; no other synonym thereof, would suffice either.

So much to smile about

One of the poems, on Page 66

Nadia and I, looking rather panache, before launch.
The inside of the quaint, Cafe De La Creme, right next door to, Book Lovers, on the iconic; 7th Ave (or 7de Laan, rather) began to quickly fill, with poets, poet enthusiasts, and photographers, as my friend's and I walked in; a little later than the expected time of commencement. The man, I presumed, was the MC, had already made several announcements, and later, summoned us, to front row seats. Though I was unable to spend the entire evening at the launch, while there, I did get to listen, to some of the most beautiful pieces of prose, and poetry alike. Everything was genuine, yet still surreal, and for a while, I became rather overwhelmed, and walked out, for some fresh air.
With my doll and everything more, Chanelle, at the launch

INSIDE: Sophiatown Cafe. Pre-launch coffee.

It was exactly as I had always imagined it; the people, their expressions, clothes, and even the ambiance, were in line, with what I had long associated, book launch's with. Mostly, I was thrilled to have two of my closest friends, Nadia and Chanelle, right there with me. Their support will always mean the world to me. Later, I chatted with the editor, Allan, who also handed me a complimentary copy, of his very own anthology; There are two birds at my Window, before encouraging me to continue, submitting work to Botsotso.

Monday, August 6, 2012


Oh, rebel-eyed boy,
Not sure you understand me;
Not sure you know all the world ain’t one big toy,
And that caged birds are really meant to be free.

You just want what you desire,
Tossing all the inanimate into the chuckling fire;
Dancing to the 80s in your parked car,
Wishing on an unseen shooting star;
You’re not as innocent as your blonde curls,
You dance with boys, and wound all the girls.

Sometimes when you’re feeling down,
You turn the coastline into a frown,
Before you strangle the local circus clown,
And become the talk of the town.

‘Rebels live on’ is inscribed on your heart,
Heartache is your favourite abstract art,
And when you’re out of paint and inspiration,
You paint barriers along continuation.

Oh, rebel-eyed boy of yesterday,
Only your sins are human today;
All your soul has been demanded,
And your body just so reprimanded,
Yet you continue to spit and defy,
Flapping your demon wings faster than a fly.

All your songs are about that boy,
His face hangs from the mirror; your good old little toy,
With his heart of zeal,
And the way he made you reel,
Like a hill rolling wheel;
You’re ashamed of the things you feel.

You’re lost in the country without a route,
And you call Jesus a brute;
Taking the rosary along on your destructive pursuit,
‘Till you end up in the valleys of mute;
The places afar where there are no lies,
And where all can permeate any disguise.

You’ve grown shy and meek;
Crumbled as a fallen leaf, victim to the peck of the beak,
And Jesus is now on your sweaty neck,
But his trust you’ll never win back.

All those hours of Rock ‘n Roll,
Indignation, and the dirty letters you wrote,
Have indented your surly soul,
As if you’re a tempest-struck lone boat.

                                 -Raeez Jacobs

© Copyright. 2012. Raeez Jacobs

Sunday, August 5, 2012

Our Own Black Dahlia: Murder Mystery

On a quiet, secluded hill in Los Angeles; far from the hustle and bustle of Hollywood and Malibu, Betty Bersinger and her three-year-old daughter, were strolling up the avenue, as they usually would anyway. But this morning would be different- Betty couldn't bring herself to believe it, and quickly covered her daughters eyes, after what she initially thought was a tossed-out mannequin, turned out to be the body of a young and attractive female; later identified as, Elizabeth Short (22), who had come from Boston, Massachusetts, to Los Angeles, California- hoping to pursue a career, in the fresh glitz and glamour of the Hollywood, movie scene. Her lower body had been cut from her upper body, and she was neatly placed, in a certain pose, with wires, and "clown-like" smile cut across her face; making her mouth stay open, and only partially sewn together, with the thick wire. Also, Smart's body had been drained of blood; possibly to hide all DNA evidence, as police suggested, claiming also that, she had been murdered elsewhere (possibly inside a house) before her body was dumped, on the quiet street.

Elizabeth Short - the Black Dahlia
Young and Attractive; Elizabeth went to LA, searching for fame, but wound up slain, instead.

There was no indication as to who would want to kill this beautiful girl, and soon as news of the grisly murder, reached the media; the story blew out of proportion, and catapulted into a phenomena- which would see the release of several movies, books, and even television series. Who knew, Ms. Smart would achieve fame, so uncannily; posthumous? To this day, investigators are perplexed by the mystery, and though many suspects had initially been brought in, for questioning, none were incarcerated, due to lack of evidence.

Black Dahlias (Elizabeth Short) body, covered
Body of the, Black Dahlia; as she was later called, following the  fad around the murder.

In Johannesburg, South Africa, on the 16 August 1949; a young girl, drawn toward the metro-infused glamour and glitz of Joburg, dining and socialising with the upper-class cohort of the then, divided country, was found murdered, in a field in the Johannesburg suburb, Birdhaven.

Pictured: Bubbles Shroeder in her prime

Her murder quickly emerged at the core of realistic narrative; cementing her death in the minds of those who were around then, for a very long time. Later, two men who had reportedly been seen with the girl, later identified as the voluptuous and dreamy, Jennifer De Klerk (18), known simply as, Bubbles, were charged, but then later acquitted, since the case rested, predominantly on circumstantial evidence. 

This week at Gallery AOP, at 44 Stanley; artist, Kathryn Smith, has set up an incident room, with images, videos and documents, etc; featuring years of research and facts, compiled and exhibited, to reconstruct that gloomy day, back in 1949, when Bubbles' body was first discovered.

Book: Bubbles, by Rahla Xenopoulos

In the midst of the 44 Stanley exhibition, taking place this week; a new book, titled "Bubbles" by writer, Rahla Xenoupolus, offers a creatively inspired, fictional tale- told alongside the facts, in a near-charming, sultry, and first-person account, with the dark lingering in the undertone of the narrative. 

Bubbles by Rahla Xenopoulus is published by Penguin and can be purchased at any good book store out there.

Incident Room, an exhibition by Kathryn Smith
at 44 Stanley, Johannesburg (close to the SABC and Melville)
Times: 14h00- 17h00; daily, to discuss the case

Personal Note:

I don't know, but I see so many similarities between these two cases; the themes of escapism, and the notion of beauty and fame, having devastating consequences, are present in both cases. Elizabeth Short, like, Bubbles Shroeder, were both attractive, aspirant, young and socialite-cum-celebutante silhouettes, who even while still alive, left a lot of mystery in their wake. Posthumously, however, both were achieved grander heights of fame, with staggering amounts of news coverage, adoption and adaptation from creative geniuses, all over, scratching their heads, in anticipation of a case, such as the Black Dahlia Murders. 

It's In the Window though...BIATCH

Framed, flavoured condoms.

Yeah well, it's no secret that my sex life has been rather, hey, I'm drying out at the moment, recently. Except for the occasional here, there and WHERE?! SIES MAN! It really has been as dry as a Nun's Vagina...sad to say...since, not so long ago, it would never have been this way. I had 3 condoms too many, and so, I decided to frame them, just like my sexual life; framed, just in a window (can't even really afford it), OUT-OF-REACH man. 
I thought it was a really cool thing to do though, like everyone really loves it; including my mom...yeah, she's probably going to make her own one soon. 

POEM EXTRACT:Forever Young

Still afraid of everythin' around,
Closing our ears to every sound-
Can't hear 'em tell their daddies go,
Or hear 'em singing without any flow,
Or those ideas of drunk fortune, building lies
Without wiping tears from our eyes.

All the rebel theory, Bob Marley
Philosophy- you and then me,
And the death of detentioon,
Live in our souls, because we are deep holes;
Fillin' up with some black suspicion,
All our lives are based on supersition.

Forever young, toy boys kickin'
Laughter through the day,
Forever young, sweet-eye, lollipop lady,
Turning some of 'em eyes to clay.
Dressed like misunderstood icons,
Singin' all the war songs;
The bombs burstin' in air,
Giving proof, through the clouds,
That our flag is still there...
Forever young, always jittery and island-eyed,
So young forever, way after time died,
And we all will live as if we really tried.
We'll say, the Star Spangled Banner still waves,
Ever watching the ramparts; still in the land of the free,
Forever young, you and me,

In this city of little kisses, and too much bliss,
Where the streets go leading 'em astray,
All is lost and forgotten in one day,
But there'll still be a museam of eternity,
Around all losing against the glare of infinity,

Because we don't want, so much as we wish and feel,
Not for the beauty before us; for the turnin' wheel;
Twistin' and turnin' through space,
Inside god's face,
Wishin' we could just run this place.

Some random hour, and a cigarette bites the night,
Without a heart in sight;
Just some laboratory babe, clad in white,
Secrety fooled, intentionally betrayed,
By some wild-head, ripped stunner,
Who has just never ever stayed.

© Copyright. 2012. Raeez Jacobs.

NB. [Rest of poem cannot be included, for reasons of; exclusivity and copyright, since it is currently under consideration, with a Johannesburg journal of literature.]


I'm an avid believer of the "capability, inherent in all", to rise above, meet with, and transcend the iniquitous. And while I hold this believe, I shun the believe that 'iniquity', is a product of life and that facing it will make you stronger. Quintessentially, iniquity, at least as I construe it as; an apparently usual occurrence in life- predominantly existing where it's most likely to exist. Though, just because it exists somewhere; its existence should never be 'bred', or nurtured rather, simply because it's a commonality. Iniquity, like many of our other woes, have a tendency to indoctrinate our minds with incredulous, unfounded and imbecilic ideas; ideas which entitle us, to believe that, we are (in)capable of overcoming our iniquities, simply because we believe, opposed to just understand (as we rightly should), the definition and characteristics of iniquity.

So I say, just because there's evil, prejudice, iniquity, heartache, loss, etc, it doesn't mean we have to feel it, and even when you do; never should you come to believe that, your whole life is characterized by it. Sometimes you merely need to detach yourself for a while, and just NOT feel at all; refrain from giving in to your thoughts, conflicting yourself, and struggling. Of course it's not easy, one said it was; but there's enough propensity in you, if you're needs are authentic, to just disregard whatever you're feeling. Remember that nothing made you feel that way about something, before it actually occurred. So, go back to a time, in your head, and then stay there, where that specific woe did not exist. This also makes you see and understand that, the only reason why you feel so subjected by someone, and inclined to express grief, is because, you've made that issue, the epicenter of your world- when really it's not the only thing happening in your life. What about elation from some astonishment, in a time of iniquity? Are you disregarding that? Yes, frankly you are- and I implore of you, even if you're going to 'feel' all that strain, at least have bouts of happiness, so that you don't drive yourself to destruction. You have the power; you have the key, so set yourself free.

Friday, August 3, 2012


Tomorrow is my first class at the, Brumilda Van Rensberg Acting Academy and Agency. As you know, I am so super excited to commence this course, and start working in the area, I've been dying to work in, for a really long time. The Brumilda Academy is an amazing one, because it is run by Brumilda herself, former Egoli actress and South African household name. Some of the other classes are taught by other actors, directors, producers, and scriptwriter's, etc. The course equips one with the necessary skills, in order to start pursuing careers in the creative industries- moreover, the course offers exposure and agency representation for an entire year, after the course; meaning that in some way, or another, there is work guaranteed for you. 

Ahead of the first class, we were asked to prepare:

- Introduction 
- Any 1 minute monologue
-TV link- introducing show (e.g. Top Billing), or own
-News- with 3 headlines
-Song: 2 verses of any well-known song
-Learn words to, "Lion Sleeps Tonight." [Bring props]
-TV Commercial (Own) or copy one

Below I have attached the 3 possible monologues, I might do. The first one by Arnold Beckoff, is the same one I had prepared, a month ago, for the Youth Development Programme at the Joburg Theatre, and I really like it. There are so many elements I can resonate with in Beckoff's monologue; for those who don't know- Arnold is a drag queen, and in this opening scene of the movie, he seems to be offering a critique of his life and choices, thus far, using wit and a thick, raspy voice ton convey this. He remains relatively calm throughout, and becomes expressive by the pronunciation of certain words- he is also in the process of applying make-up, and staring into a mirror. 

I really love the movie-cum-play, The History Boys. It is a mellow, yet eerie account of life at an old boy's school, where boy's will be boy's; where stereotypes are sampled, and before a lens, zooming in to expose the somewhat, secretive and shunned world of 'teacher-scholar' friendships, with astounding results.

Mysterious Skin, is the book-turned-movie, directed by Gregg Araki, and starring, Joseph Gordon Levitt as the central protagonist of the story. The plot follows the life prevalent after Neil (Levitt) was exposed to, and molested by a former baseball coach, along with another boy, whose own anxieties and fears begin to merge with the main plot, before there's an intense moment of merging in the film. 

Torch Song Trilogy
written by Harvey Fierstein
Arnold Beckoff: I think my biggest problem is being young and beautiful. It's my biggest problem because I've never been young and beautiful. Oh, I've been beautiful. And God knows I've been young, but never the twain have met. Not so as anyone would notice anyway. Y'know a shrink acquaintance of mine believes this to be the root of my attraction to a class of men most subtly described as old and ugly. I think he's underestimating my wheedles. See, a ugly person who goes after a pretty person gets nothing but trouble, but a pretty person who goes after a ugly person gets at least cab fare. Now, I ain't sayin' I never fell for a pretty face, but when les jeux sont fais gimme a toad with a pot o' gold and I'll give you three meals a day, cuz honeys, ain't no such thing as a toad when the lights go down. It's either feast or famine. It's the daylight you gotta watch out for. Well face it, a thing of beauty is a joy 'til sunrise. (drags on his cigarette) There's another group you gotta watch your food stamps around: The hopeless.

The History Boys

 Dakin: "How does history happen?" I asked Irwin, and he couldn’t answer. But now he knew. Nothing special. Skid on a corner...ordinary stuff. Irwin had never been on the back of a bike before, so maybe going round the corner he leaned out instead of in and so unbalanced Hector. Trust him to lean the opposite way to everyone else. But he had no memory of what caused it. The last thing he remembered was me asking him out for a drink. Something we never did, incidentally. Still, at least I asked him. Barr the accident, it would have happened.

Mysterious Skin

Neil: [narration voice-over] And as we sat there listening to the carolers, I wanted to tell Brian it was over now and everything would be okay. But that was a lie, plus, I couldn't speak anyway. I wish there was some way for us to go back and undo the past. But there wasn't. There was nothing we could do. So I just stayed silent and trying to telepathically communicate how sorry I was about what had happened. And I thought of all the grief and sadness and fucked up suffering in the world, and it made me want to escape. I wished with all my heart that we could just leave this world behind. Rise like two angels in the night and magically... disappear. 

It's In His Risk

Maybe I am different- the way I react or counteract is an anomaly; nothing I say or do, is said nor done, in a similar fashion to other's around me. Bear in mind that this does not make me special, nor unique; surely there are a million other people out there, possessing the exact same traits as I. Perhaps the world is built in such a way, so as to leave room for differences; to entertain and allow for people to react and/ or counteract situations, differently- depending mostly on their will and their approach.
Why have you not broken yet? Well, no matter how many times someone is hurt- inwardly that is- it's never suggestive of any wounds or lacerations; we're not talking about accidents and falls, since if it were that physical, we'd never be heartbroken, because our medicine cabinets would be stocked up with Anti-heartbreak medications and all their different generics...you name it. I'm not broken, for I understand my "annihilation" merely as a metaphor, and never use that metaphor in my real life, because no matter how "broken" I am; if there's some other momentous task at hand [apart from mending my achy heart], I know for sure that I am going to do it.

And also I know that heartbreak is ephemeral; it can be easily overcome, though its ferocity should not be underestimated, and one should never add heartbreak to any bucket list. Heartbreaks are mundane as far as I'm concerned, yet, as is the case with death, one can not just simply become accustomed to the effects, since loss feels stronger every time, even if it's the millionth time. The point is not to view heartbreak literally, because, I personally believe that, such thoughts allow us to make wanton assumptions about our strengths and our weaknesses; the traits embedded within our psyches, yet when we make these assumption...the way we aver our destruction, suggests, partly that we have just broken down everything we have and own, because of the collapse of one thing.

Yes sure, admittedly, the heart is a vital organ...but then; what does the beating heart- prone to many more precarious injury, have to do with love? Yes, you're right...it's a merely a symbol- used, overused, cemented and explicitly meant to give love more power, prestige and vitality, by simply equating its life-cycle and existence, as well as preservation, with the heart, because apart from the brain, it's the most vital organ or system in the human body. Though ludicrous, there are those inclined to believe that they can love with all their heart, feel with it and experience; "a slow rush of warmth over it, and so I know its's heartbreak," as one girl said to me, once upon a time. Obviously I too say such things, but I acknowledge that it is not from within my heart, love emanates. Love is greater than any organ in our prone-to-disease bodies, and it is anything but physical; love is only given life, face, and then voice, once it starts to get swayed by a couple, etc.

Therefore, I am not broken yet, and I never plan to break, by the claws of heartbreak, since I know that, offerings always come, and should I assert myself as one who hurls good into the universe; my offerings could only get bigger with time. Love is within us all; even the ruthless and barbaric, garner and then radiate some "form" of love, though they may not understand it in that way. The problem comes when, as human beings, we completely impose all of these rules and cursors into love's wake; unsettling it, and so it can no longer survive- leaving it to melt or rot away while the 'heart' [person] is left fretting for letting a good thing go.

I've been hurt, however, I think that defiled, in the face of some other attackers, would be a more apt adjective, in regard to the magnitude of, or impact from the hurt I've felt before. Each time I pray the world swallows me whole; pray that the pain goes away, and wish that I could walk away and not feel a thing. Love is the bullet before which, even the hardest of hearts surrender, for there's no greater loss then the loss of love. And losing love has nothing to do with your boyfriend or girlfriend; it's actually about the disappearance of all those heart-warming feelings which make up the profile of love. Any other person could come around and give you all those things, and the only reason we say stupid things like; "only he can..." is because we are built on familiarity- trained to except, gravitate toward, and walk along paths we are familiar with. We're filled with unwarranted fear of the unknown, and spend our whole lives searching for some carbon copy of a former glory, when realistically speaking; each heartbreak signifies the end of a contract, and the upgrade thereof is due, and while the activity at hand may not entirely be, upgrading, part of it is learning. Learning where your loyalties lie, learning how to decipher the eyes of deceit- knowing not to welcome anything close enough, if it has initially made you feel uncomfortable. It's about trusting your choices, and finding the light within yourself, to guide you toward the places you're meant to be, without losing sight of where you come from, what you believe in, and what you feel in your heart...

So I'm going to love again, even by some unfamiliar hand. I'm not going look for love in his beauty or in his hair; I'll be there, waiting for the day I finally wish that he would never leave my side (eternity thus signifying the deathless flight of love).

"With love, you should go ahead and risk the feeling of getting hurt; because love is an amazing feeling."        - Britney Spears

That Doll in the Window

I’m a pitied, dysfunctional, wound-up doll in a window;
Afraid to think of the many things my still mind doesn’t know,
With my attention sucked into the state I’ve been cast,
Bereft of any memories indicating clues to my past

They come to see me, day in and day out,
With their eyes dancing about my mismatched suit
While I invisibly cry to the revilements they shout;
Accusing me of having once lived the life of a brute,
It’s no wonder my life prevails in mute.

                                       - Raeez Jacobs

© Copyright. 2012. Raeez Jacobs

Poetry: REBORN

You are your own audacity;
So comfortable in your own trajectory,
Superseding the norm,
You implicate yourself in needed reform,
Emerging moon-splashed and reborn,
With one finger on the tribunal horn;
It’s your own presence you adorn.

You’re the whisper of the sane,
With your heart presiding over doom’s lane;
You are ascertain of your grand measure,
Making you a most desired treasure.

                                 - Raeez Jacobs

© Copyright. 2012. Raeez Jacobs.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

The Year was 1969

Through the Pages

I've been reading for a very long time, and have loved it since I first started. I got into a really tight, never-ending relationship with literature, and every so often, I celebrate our anniversary by reading even more! Because I've been reading for so long, it's virtually impossible for me to remember every single book I've read; nonetheless, there are a select few-about 30 of 'em, that always stick out. From those, there are 10 I am most fond of, and they make up my Top 10 favourites list.

10. La Locandiera by Italian author, Susanna Tammaro

9. One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey

8. Possessing The Secret of Joy by Alice Walker

7. Confessions of a Gambler by Capetonian writer, Rayda Jacobs

6. I know why the Caged Bird Sings by American Poet, Maya Angelou

5. The Man who fell in love with the Moon by Tom Spanbauer

4. The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison

3. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

2. The Bell Jar by Silvia Plath

1. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling

and BONUS:

The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy


Wednesday, August 1, 2012


The Reason

You're not a Poet, and you know it!

Poets are often viewed as the "eccentric", otherwise emotionally attached personalities, walking about silently, just looking for some inspiration...in everything. However, being a poet myself, the definition of the poet by the description above, is completely misconstrued, as a poet is not a particular kind of person; a poet is the soul of the person, and the writer merely transcribes from the soul- verbatim. Maybe I can't offer a better explanation, and maybe other poets or poetry enthusiasts have a different definition for what a poet is, but I know that I feel very much comfortable with the definition I've presented, and I aver that poetry, to me, is all about being able to express yourself without feeling shame nor any bout of guilt; a true poet will expose even the most grotesque contours of their psyche and spirit, however many times they may disguise it by witty puns or metaphors. The point is; poets are fearless people who want to confront and grapple with, they want to understand, break down and construct, simultaneously. 

Over the years I have fallen in love with the works of many a gifted poets and I have even been similarly inspired them; though not always by their verses, but sometimes merely from their drive and will to open up, even in the most closeted form. Poets such as; Theresa Davis and Patricia Smith are two African American poets with the rhythm and verbosity to ravish me, while Shakespeare and Oscar Wilde are the kind who offer an alternative view of their emotions, using different literary techniques, mostly understood through intensive discourse and analysis. There's a voice in each poem and I usually fall in love with a poem, or resonate well with it when I've actually understood what the poem is at least trying to convey- and when I say, "I understood," I am merely referring to ones ability to feel moved or touched by the verse and relate it back to your own present, past or future life, and in no way does understanding here entail, dissecting a poem, word-for-word; digging for hyperbole's here and metaphors there. 

Below are two videos from the American, articulate and witty poet, Shira Erlichman, whose poems I have come to learn of and love through searching thousands of poetry slam videos on YouTube. When I first heard Shira, most enthusiastically and passionately reciting her poem; Daddy's Parking Lot Sermon, I was instantaneously enthralled by her and have since gone on to include her in my Top Ten list of favourite poets. (Yes, I do actually have such a list). Her verses come with a twist; a difference from the norm, and are filled with the propensity to send the the imagination reeling. She is well articulated and exhibits a deathless confidence, which only adds ease to her works, meaning that her poems leave a lasting impression and are anything but of ephemeral quality. 

I've uploaded two videos of Shira Erlichman performing at two different events below, as I would like for you to see for yourself, just how much of an intriguing character she is, while at the same time, opening the doors in your heart and ears to imbibe the crisp nature of her work. I've also included a video of Patricia Smith, renowned African American poet, known for her calm recitals and her royal selection of imagery and personality within her poems. I have personally met with Patricia Smith, at a book launch and recital at Wits, and a while later she read one of my poems; proceeding to commend and compliment me, and since then I've just never been discouraged, because being called great by Patricia Smith in 2010, is just as great as it would have been getting called great by Shakespeare during the 1600s.


Above: Erlichman performing her poem, Daddy's Parking Lot Sermon

Above: Performing, Six Tips for Straight Girls, at The Boston Poetry Slam

Patricia Smith performing, Blood Dazzler 

Poem: The Things We Didn't Do

Last night we folded away the pains,
Prayed for the return
Of those blissful, love-making
Afternoon rains, last night
We gave the darkness light
Despite how fragile
We appeared in the photograph
Despite how our faces never understood
What our hearts were saying
Despite how we never looked
So damaged
Or scattered
Like our thoughts, so shy
Last night there was
Nothing to second-guess,
Last night we were the believed,
The recently graduated,
Succeeded and romantically redeemed
We have been dying
To be,
Last night we beamed,
And realised,
Last night we packed our suitcases
And reeled,
Last night, from each other's souls
We peeled.
Last night as you turned to go,
A far-off and disturbed wolf cried,
As a part
Of me abruptly died.

- Raeez Jacobs

© Copyright. 2012. RaeezJacobs. 

COUNTDOWN TO Joburg Arts Alive International Festival

Look out for the announcement, coming August 8!

Talent Promo & Development Programme

The word, Impikelelo simply means; persuasion, or rather directly, go on towards your goal, and that was exactly the agenda behind the godsend-of-a-creation of the Impikelelo Talent Promotion & Development Programme. The initiative was created in order to sustain, nurture, develop and groom emerging local talents, of every genre, from Music to Drama, and it seeks to enable aspiring artists to achieve their dreams of entering the entertainment and arts industries alike, as trained, well-groomed and like-minded individuals.

Joining up for the programme will expose vernal artists to the otherwise "closed" world of arts, and also assist them in driving towards their goals. While I am not sure whether or not there's a fee for the programme, by reading through the description of the company, which can be found here, I am certain that participation could only lead to heaps of success and life-altering opportunities.

There's currently an opportunity to do a photo shoot+ interview, which will be included on the Impikelelo website, launching Monday, August 6 2012, and the reel will be made available and ready-for-viewing throughout the next year, and information pertaining to that can be found on the Impikelelo Facebook page. However, please note that the photo session and interview will be taking place as soon as tomorrow, so make arrangements to be available, if you're interested in attending.

On A More Personal Note


With everything that’s been going on; my life’s been such an abused lift. Literally, I have been experiencing a heap of emotions, and yeah, sure enough I know, I can partially fend for where they emanate from, but I am still vexed by why they’re so impregnable. A while ago I had a conversation with a friend, and we got into how it’s so funny that, one minute everything can be going royally, and the next it’s just ambushed by some opposition; when good things happen, we often give way to the grotesque, because we’re too elated to protect ourselves. Too elated to protect ourselves- I like that; something about it is just so real, that it makes one wonder; is the result of too much blessing, happiness or ecstasy, really the pangs of destruction and suffering? And so I couldn’t believe I actually said: We often give way to the grotesque, because we’re too elated to protect ourselves. I cemented it as a personal quote of mine and actually proceeded to believe that, arguably, having said that, I was finally paying attention to the often discarded or missed voices of my subconscious psyche.

There have been so many times when I’ve wounded my armour, out of wanting to please, or comfort other people, and sure, there have been days when I’ve relented to what I could have overcome, but I know that, had I been in the right state of mind, none of my swords would be laying on the floor. Overcoming something or standing up for yourself, or even going to war is never about the victorious or the waving of your flag on the threshold of your opposition; overcoming is about being able to live and create good memories, even while there are tribulations taking place. So the construal of my state of my mind has been really questionable as of late, and I don’t deny that I’ve allowed myself to slip back into some trenches, from which I had previously risen, but I think It’s all in good reason and all because I don’t doubt that I am a mere mortal, meant to know the modus operandi of destiny, so that I don’t take advantage of what I am capable of doing.

Some people build walls around their problems and walk about as if they have everything sorted; some people toss their problems into the open so that they can garner attention, not to their problems, but to their own lives. And then some people keep their problems to themselves, then deal with them, accordingly, at their own pace, while a select few opt for keeping their problems to themselves, while giving other people insight, so as not to become overwhelmed. The latter presents a queer kind of resiliency, and I say queer, because we are not trained to be silent people; we’re carved to resist and revolt, making self-help and dependency, traits of a weak character. It’s not odd that human beings are so enthralled by the heroic and the edge of victory, since we have been socialised into believing that the only standard is the best.

I don’t want to deal with heartbreak by breaking another heart, nor do I seek to destroy, whomsoever had cast destruction on my path. Revenge is destructive and actually ends up exacerbating whatever had been avenged, since the problem doesn’t go away, it just comes from a different pair of hands. In my life, most of the mistakes I have made, I have come from the act of revenge and I believe that somehow, it’s the case for many other people out there. What I’m really trying to say is that, no matter how many times something bad happens to you, you’re never going to be equipped to face it; you’re never going to get used to it, and just be able to disregard it, simply because you had experienced it before. Therefore, though revenge may momentarily seem like the best thing to do, it should never be quintessential to your decision-making, since its effects are going to stain life-long events, relationships, etc, which may have well been avoided by opting to sustain the virtue of patience and forgiveness.

Maybe all I’m saying really is nothing but malarkey to you, but know that when I say something, I never expect it to carry the same weight as it does for me, for another person; I merely say what I’m saying, as a result of my own defence mechanisms, my own will and my own reasoning, while hoping that what had saved me, could potentially save another. Oftentimes when we’re called to give advice to a friend, or offer a nice word to someone feeling down, we become overwhelmed with that mini authority and proceed to lecture them toward bettering themselves, or preaching them toward living lives they don’t want to live, instead of trying to understand where they ‘re coming from. Ultimately, this causes many friendships and even relationships to fail, since the lines of understanding had been twisted, resulting in the emergence of misconception and disguised grudge. As humans we are too afraid to make ourselves known; we’re afraid of what we’ll sound like, or we’re afraid that what we say is going to cause dismay, yet we become vengeful and angered when we are tampered with or provoked, but how are we supposed to keep up our boundaries up when we’re so afraid to just be?

Don’t tell someone what they love to hear, tell them what they should be told instead. Don’t close yourself off from the people who are going to be there, when the focus of your mind is no longer fixated on the thing that caused you to eliminate what you had once valued. Never give in to compromise, and never allow yourself to be in a situation where you would need to defend what you believe in. Don’t submit yourself to the routes of another; go where you want to go, and keep away from the spaces that blemish your experiences. Live for what you love to do, for what you want to do, for whom you are and for whom you want to be? Only keep those people who add value to your lives, and remove those who threaten your destiny. Don’t choose friend’s based on how they make you feel now, choose friend’s who will want you to wish now could last forever. But mostly, having said everything I’ve just said, the greatest lesson I’ve learned is:

“Don’t let overwhelming happiness become the reason why you didn’t see the unexpected coming, and don’t let your happiness become the point by which another is made unhappy. Whenever you feel content in your world, make it known, but refrain from the belief that you are the happiest person in the world.”